L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

Ha ha! I’m mixing it up a little bit on you this wonderful Friday morning (or afternoon, depending on when I’m finally able to finish writing this). Today is a special Flashback, because it’s all about a movie from my childhood that holds an extra EXTRA special place in my heart as well as having a wonderful teaser poster affiliated with it.

I give you 1982′s horror movie classic, Poltergeist. This is the first modern horror movie that I can remember watching. I say “modern,” because before seeing this movie, I remember watching 1950s/60s-era horror and thriller movies—things like the Steve McQueen version of the The Blob or Vincent Price in House of Usher. They were adequate, but they were also dated and sufficiently edited for regular television (yes, I am from the generation that did not always have cable or satellite television; save your tears).

But this movie…this was completely different. True, I have seen scarier since, but the impact this movie made on me when I first saw it remains with me to this day. I believe I was either 7 or 8 years old when I first saw it, although the more I marinate on it, the more inclined I am to go with 8. I saw it with my parents during a weekend visit to my aunt’s house. Perhaps not the best idea for one so young and with a rapidly developing imagination. I know that I had nightmares that night, but luckily I didn’t remember them.

I do, however, remember the utter panic that overcame me as I walked my aunt’s dog through the very large, very empty, and very soggy backyard. With each step I took, all I kept imagining were decaying hands thrusting through the damp soil, grabbing at our feet as we headed back toward the house. To this day, I can still remember the tang of that fear, the immobilizing strength of it in my mind. I might have even broken out into a run for the house, but I can’t be certain. All I know is that this movie scared the ever-loving crud out of me…and I love it for that very reason.

If only Hollywood had seen fit to leave this movie as a stand-alone rather than sully it with increasingly inferior sequels. And, of course, there is a deeper sense of sadness for me now when I watch this movie, knowing that two from its ranks—two of its youngest stars—are no longer with us. Not long after its release, 22-year-old Dominique Dunne was killed by an ex-boyfriend. And in 1988, 12-year-old Heather O’Rourke died from a stomach blockage. She was one year older than me, and I remember feeling her passing with a sense of sadness and incomprehension that someone so young and so important to my world could be lost before life really even started for her. Strange where and how life lessons arise.

On a happier side note, Showtime came up with a rather interesting show premise that fed on the marketing potential of the Poltergeist legacy, by creating a series called, ironically enough, Poltergeist: The Legacy. It was an odd show with an even odder collection of characters and actors. It hung in there for four seasons before being released to the wilds of sci-fi/horror reruns. I loved this show. It was campy at times but also laced with a disturbing darkness that for some reason appeals to me a great deal. I was overjoyed when the first season finally appeared on DVD. Unfortunately, that was two years ago, and they’ve yet to release any of the other seasons. I’m forced to question the sanity of a universe in which one can purchase all five seasons of The Simple Life with Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie, but I can’t complete my Legacy collection.

As for the movie poster, this is again proof to support my love of the “less is more” approach. Simple black background, with one image…one image that is so indelibly and intrinsically a part of the very fabric of my generation: Little Carol Anne kneeling, her tiny hands pressed against the static-filled television screen. Can’t you hear it in your mind right now? The small, lyrical declaration that sings from her lips? “They’re he-ere.” Not the least bit of fear in her voice when she says it, but even thinking about the line now gives me shivers.

Of course, this tagline needed to be included in the poster. Tobe Hooper and Steven Spielberg both must have known that it would be a standout moment from this amazing movie. Then we get a simple sans serif font, black with a ghostly white outline, for the title, followed by the second tagline: “It knows what scares you.” Emphasis on “it,” please. Such a great poster treatment for a movie that remains in my top 10 favorite horror/thriller movies. I might even have to fire it up for another viewing tonight. Just have to stay alert and make sure the TV People don’t get me when I go to bed…

That last book riled me up so much that it took me a bit longer before I was ready to wade back into the literary waters. Well, that and the fact that this whole month has left me feeling like I’ve gone 10 rounds of Velocity with a former Borg drone (come on, you know you’ve got to keep up with my geek references…or at the very least, tolerate them).

I know that I’ve mentioned Paul Auster before and how I discovered him by way of one of his books having a dog on its cover. Thank goodness I’m a softie like that. I believe Paul Auster is a brilliant writer, one of the best in the modern literary game today. Every time I read one of his novels, I’m transported to places and ideas and imaginings of the most wonderful varieties.

Man In the Dark is no exception to this rule. In fact, I daresay that this particular novel might be one of my favorite Auster offerings so far, as it resonates with me on a particularly intimate level. The main character, August Brill, weaves a tale for us through reality and imagination, seeking truth and comfort in the small hours of night, as he lies awake in the darkness of his room…lost in the stories he constructs within his mind (sounds familiar, no?).

A large portion of this book, in fact, takes place in these stories that Brill creates to keep himself entertained and distracted as he awaits sleep’s arrival. I love how deftly Auster is able to craft this scenario, shifting us from Brill’s imagination to his reality with effortless certitude. That’s what it means to be a master of your craft.

If you have never read Paul Auster before, I urge you to give him a try. His works are surreal, but not complicatedly so. This is an excellent place to start. So is Timbuktu…you know, the book with the dog on the cover.

Final score: 5/5. More than likely I’m biased, but there wasn’t one part of this book that failed to hold me rapt and ready for more. I may even have to add this one to my personal collection.

Never fear! My crotch flare and ripped physique will protect us from ghosts!

It’s been a while since I visited this particular topic…and since this is only the second entry and it’s about another Travel Channel show, it must seem like I’m focusing all my ire on one of the few channels that I still watch with any frequency. Don’t worry. There’s enough anger within this wolf’s warp core to break the Travel Channel barrier soon enough.

Right now, though, this is the show in my line of fire. First, let me point out that I love scary things. Scary books, scary movies, scary music, scary coworkers…love it all (well, maybe not the coworker part). I always have. Even before I was assimilated into the Star Trek Collective, I was a horror hound.

Additionally, within recent years I have become addicted to many of the “reality” ghost shows out there, starting with another Travel Channel offering, the British BS of Most Haunted, right down through Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State, The Scariest Places on Earth…hell, my obsession probably started with the scary episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. I know that most, if not all, of what is seen on these shows is either faked or edited to be more than what it really was, but I still find them fascinating.

As for what I believe in regard to the paranormal, supernatural, otherworldly, or whatever…I’m not really sure. I’ve experienced things that, I’m sure if I thought about them long enough, I could come up with a logical explanation for them. But would that be me just trying to rationalize something that really was irrational? Or me getting a grip on reality rather than letting myself be swept away by the fantastical? I’m not really sure.

I do know this, though: If the afterlife is real and I was somehow stuck in that netherworld and forced to walk this earth as a spirit, the last thing I would want is to have my sanctuary disturbed by these douchewangers from Ghost Adventures.

These three are the most insipid, ridiculous, posturing assclowns ever to enter the paranormal reality show genre (and that’s a huge feat since they share this genre with the likes of Derek Acorah). I suspected as much when I heard them being marketed as “Extreme Paranormal Investigators.” The word “extreme” makes me want to vomit. Why does everything for my generation have to be “extreme”? No, I’m sorry… EXTREME!!!!1!!1!!!

Whatever. I’ve actually watched several episodes of Ghost Adventures. Yes, I secretly am masochistic. The premise itself is quite intriguing: Three investigators are locked inside a location that is presumed to be haunted, with no camera crew, no additional staff, no nothing. Just them, their equipment, and the possibility of paranormal activity that they must find before sunrise. What could have been an amazing premise in the hands of actors able to inspire a sense of competency and intelligence is instead a clusterfuck of testosterone-induced strutting and screaming strung together by the ever-present bleat of curse words being censored out. It’s boring. It’s tedious. It’s predictable. It sucks.

Final analysis: If you like paranormal things like I do but have no patience for predictable Gen-X drivel, definitely skip Ghost Adventures. The Mystery Inc. gang is more professional in their ghost hunting than these piles of smegma. Check out A&E’s Paranormal State or Syfy’s Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. Sure, they’ve all been edited down to meet viewer expectations, but at least these shows offer something a bit more intelligent than “Holy shit! Oh my god! I am fucking out of here, dude!”

Indeed.

I first read about this video on Wil Wheaton’s blog, but I didn’t check it out at the time. Now, I’m sad that I missed out on watching it more times than I have since I rediscovered it this morning.

To anyone who has spent as much time “living” online as I have, this is so very funny. Funny because it’s true. What better way to release the creatively deceptive (or deceptively creative) fires within than by coming up with avatars that resemble the you on the inside? Yeah, you might be a boring government contractor IRL, but online there are no limits. You can be whoever, or whatever you’d like, whether it’s a a nameless lupine lover of locution or perhaps an ever-intoxicated alien officer with an anger management problem.

…

Whatever. Just watch the video and shut up.

Okay, so here’s the thing, Mr. President. Don’t ever use vernacular in your professional political setting that you use with your children. It makes you sound stupid. In fact, I daresay the phrase “wee-weed up” might be more ridiculous sounding than anything your predecessor ever uttered (although that might simply be because we expected stupidity from him and so the shock was always tempered with a general “What else did you expect” attitude).

However, I must admit to a new appreciation of this ridiculous phrase after Saturday evening. I think that was the closest at this point in my life that I have ever come to public incontinence, and it’s all Wanda Sykes’s fault. She was in town this weekend for her “I’ma Be Me” tour, and we were lucky enough to catch her Saturday night gig.

I love Wanda Sykes. I’ve been a huge fan ever since seeing her “Sick and Tired” special on HBO. This was even better. She is quite possibly one of the funniest comedians out there right now. In fact, I daresay I would place her up there with one of my all-time favorite comedians, Brett Butler, as being comparably intelligent, satirical, raunchy, and real.

The other thing about her is that she spans such an incredibly diverse cross-section of the population. Normally, I hate to use the word “diverse,” because, to quote Inigo Montoya, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Seems more and more, when something is called diverse, it just means there aren’t any White people there. You know, because we suck up the diversity with our bland Whiteness.

This time, though, it was a combination of all races, ages, genders, orientations, religions, and personality types. It was awesome, especially when you looked around and saw all of these different people from so many different paths laughing uncontrollably, together, at this incredibly hilarious woman. Now that’s something worth getting all “wee-weed up” about.

Wanda Sykes is teh awesome.

If you build it, they will squeak

No, I’m not referring to the Agatha Christie play. I’m not that old. I’m referring, instead, to that awesomest of awesome board games.

I was originally going to do this entry on a variety of board games. I used to have a nice little collection, including several from the series of board games based on video game classics, such as Donkey Kong, Pac-man, and Frogger. Of course, I had Hungry, Hungry Hippos, but that’s a game that I daresay most formerly fat kids hate in a very special way. I also had a Clue knockoff called Mystery Mansion as well as Uncle Wiggly and classics like Life, Parcheesi, and Monopoly.

The problem, though, is that I hate board games. I was an only child and, after the two families nearby with children my age moved away when I was 11, I was pretty much left to my own devices. I played a game every now and then with my parents, but it’s not quite the same as playing with someone your own age. So the board games sat in my closet or under my bed, providing shade for the dust bunnies while I retreated into my internal imaginary worlds.

But Mouse Trap was different. This was the one game I pulled out on a regular basis, not to play it but because I wanted to build it. Truth be told, I never once actually played the game. But I wore the board out, piecing together the trap. Maybe this game is the root of my lifelong love of building things and taking things apart. Who knows? All I know is that I could spend hours just tinkering with all the pieces, figuring out the “how” of it all. No wonder Velma Dinkley was always my favorite Mystery Inc. member

While looking for a photo of the version of the game that I remembered, I came across the following video of people building a life-sized version of the Mouse Trap for a charity event. Could this be any more awesome? Also, check out the hat that the guy at around the 57-second mark is wearing: That’s what the little mice looked like in my version of the game! Good times

Ah, I wish I had more time for the lair than I do right now. However, as it is, I’m stealing time whenever I can just to keep an eye on my tracking statistics. This afternoon’s check is what has brought me here, to share with you how someone found their way to the lair twice now. Seems someone out there has an even more…interesting obsession with Dr. Crusher than I do. I was sorting through my keyword report and found the following: “nc 17 fanfic dr crusher vampire slayer.”

Holy Horny Crossovers, Batman! This is undoubtedly one of my absolute favorite keyword hits ever. Lately, the bulk of the keywords have been about sexting and Chuck E. Cheese (yeah, I’m equally disturbed by that combination, too). Plus, several of my Flashback Friday entries have popped up on the search radar; guess I’m not alone in my Gen-X nostalgia kick. But this little gem just cracked me up to no end. Could this be the next big thing in crossover fanfic? How in the world would Dr. Crusher end up in Sunnydale in the first place? That’d have to be one hell of a temporal distortion.

Okay, I’ve really got to go now…but I hope this little interlude amused you even half as much as it amused me

So, remember when Data showed Dr. Crusher his “On/Off” switch in the first season episode, “Datalore”? Even if you don’t remember or have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, just nod. It’ll make me happy.

I think I found my “On/Off” switch for work. I found it on Saturday, the second my supervisor told me that I could leave the onsite meeting we had all been working downtown last week. I flicked that switch off faster than Data replaced all the isolinear chips down in Engineering during “The Naked Now.” (Again, just smile and nod.) I spent from Saturday through last night in an undisclosed Southern location with a whole passel of family, consuming mass quantities of delectable food and beer and just enjoying the transformation of my neural pathways into blobby tapioca pudding. It was wonderful.

I can’t seem to get the switch to turn back on though. I’ve been here all day, trying to focus on a task that I do every year, only this year it’s taking me far longer. I don’t think my brain is quite ready to return to active duty. So I’ve been coaxing it along in the most ridiculous of ways. For every page I complete of this task before me, I allow myself to read a page from the latest story I’ve been perusing on one of my consistently favorite Web sites EVAR: FanFiction.net.

I love fan fiction. You can’t really be as big a nerd as I am and not at least have read some of it. I read a lot of it. Not as much as I used to, but I’ve been getting back into it lately. Some of it is breathtakingly beautiful, written with a care and talent that rivals or sometimes surpasses the professionals. Of course, some of it is achingly atrocious. I can suss out the truly horrid works quite quickly most of the time, but I have to confess that I delight when I find a gem among the sludge. And FanFiction.net is probably one of the largest collections of fanfic anywhere on the Internet, with stories on almost any television show, movie, cartoon, manga, etc. They’ve even got Golden Girls fanfic (no, I haven’t read any of that; I know what takes place in some of the other fanfics I’ve read, and I don’t think I could handle reading something similar about any of that cast).

Yeah yeah, I’ve written it, too. You can’t find mine online anymore. I keep it under lock and key now and only show it to those who are really in my good graces. There’s nothing that can test the bonds of friendship quite like sharing bad fanfic written by a teenage Trek geek who hasn’t experienced anything beyond school and a deep burning love for a nerdy sci-fi show

To be honest, I still write fanfic, but only in my head. I haven’t put any of the stories to paper since I was in college, but I carry around certain stories inside my messy tangle of a brain, and I dip in every now and again to push along the plot. I have my favorites. One takes place on Deep Space Nine and Bajor and centers on a character I actually created for something else a long time ago, but kind of found a more permanent home in my Trek files. You don’t get anymore than that though. Yes, that’s right: I’m a Trek tease.

I don’t really have more to say beyond this. I suppose this was a purely indulgent post, but I really don’t have anything relevant or poignant to say. How about this? I’ll repost the cover I drew for my fanfic. I used to have it in my old site’s portfolio section. I haven’t really put pencil to paper since I drew this. I was never happy with it and finally just gave up. Besides, PhotoShop just makes everything so much easier now…

Free Inside Each Specially Marked Box of Cereal!

Was there any joy comparable to picking out your cereal based solely on which one had the best prize inside? This was, of course, long before the days of Nutrition Facts panels that droned on about sodium levels and fiber content (and, of course, long before we would care about these things).

Who cared that the cereal was filled with enough sugar to possibly quadruple your blood sugar levels? It’s the one that had the ___________ (fill in the blank with whatever cheesy piece of plastic crap you simply HAD TO HAVE but now couldn’t remember what it was if your life depended on it) inside! And, of course, the instant you got home, it was absolutely imperative to rip open the box and cram your little hands into the bag of cereal until you dug out the prize inside (or maybe that was just me). Between you and me, wasn’t the end result of all that anticipation usually about as much of a letdown as Ralphie’s Ovaltine revelation?

My favorite go-to cereal, both for toys and taste, was always Frosted Flakes (Tony the Tiger never steered me wrong!). These lovely trinkets to the right are obviously little Tony baubles. For the life of me, though, I can’t really remember what they’re supposed to do. I know it involved dropping them into an old soda bottle filled with water, but that’s all I can remember right now. Strangely enough, though, I still have six of them.

I guess cereals still have prizes inside, right? Sadly, it’s been a very long time since I walked that far down the cereal aisle at the store (the oatmeal and bran flakes are all right at the beginning of the aisle…I guess they don’t want us old fogies walking too far to get our fiber). I can’t really imagine getting that excited over a hunk of plastic floating around in my Special K, but I might change my tune if they ever advertise something like “Free Dr. Crusher Action Figure in Every Box!”

Now that would be awesome.

Bet you thought that I abandoned den, didn’t you? Not quite, but kind of. I’m working a gig downtown all week, and my online free time is severely cramped as a result. It’s hard to blog when you’ve got people coming up to you with their laptops in hand, crying “Save us!”…and I sure can’t whisper no and get away with it with my boss right there (and, yes, that was a little nod to Watchmen, thank you very much).

Anyway, I did get to come home last night. My sabbatical, however, is almost up and it’s almost time for me to venture back. Never fear, though, my friends. There will be a Flashback Friday this week. I wrote it last week and it’s scheduled to go online automatically. Don’t you just love technology sometimes? I might also try to fit another post in between now and then, but I can’t make any promises at this point.

So I had this strange dream this morning right before I woke up. Never mind the strangeness that I remembered it, which I very rarely do with dreams. But this was about me hunting. Yeah, that sounds plausible already, right? I won’t go into details other than to say that the only people I recognized from the dream were my high school softball coach and a kindergarten teacher from my old school. I don’t know who I was supposed to be hunting with, but we were walking through the woods with shotguns and we heard this sudden commotion of screaming and crying. We came into a clearing where two bears were rampaging through a campground down below (we were standing on a cliff that strangely had a staircase carved into the side that descended down to the campground).

Next thing I know, I’m loading my shotgun, climbing down the stairs, taking aim at one of the bears, and then…BLAM! I shoot it and kill it with one shot. The second bear stops running, comes over and sniffs the now dead bear, and then just sits down and hangs its head. In the dream, I drop my gun and start to cry. In reality, I wake up and am five shades of relieved that it was just a dream.

Now I’m trying to figure out what the hell might have inspired that kind of dream. I don’t think I ate anything weird last night, and I went to bed early enough that I got a good night’s sleep. All I know is that if these are the kinds of dreams I have, maybe it’s for the best that I don’t remember most of them.

Anyway, I need to locomote now. I’ve got a jean folding seminar to get to (and if you sugar boogers can name the movie I just kind of quoted from, I’ll pay for your next tank of gas).