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

Snapped a shot of this lovely little dragon sculpture over the weekend, and I liked it so much that I simply had to play with it in PhotoShop.

Whilst walking/jogging/limping/suffering around the local high school track on Sunday, I listened to one of my favorite podcasts as they dissected the Halloween movie franchise.

This is quite the bittersweet topic for me. I continue to consider John Carpenter’s original 1978 movie to be not just a horror classic but quite possibly one of the absolute finest that the horror genre has to offer. At the very least, I know that it’s in my top three (and if you ask me on the right day, it’s my number one favorite horror movie of all time).

That being said, the franchise itself is…well, “a bit shit” is probably the nicest way I can describe the rest of the Halloween franchise. With the exception of one or two of the sequels, which aren’t necessarily good but rather palatable in comparison with the rest of the franchise, I’d have to say it’s an embarrassing legacy to the macabre joy of Carpenter’s original offering. And don’t even get me started on Rob Zombie’s vulgar reboot. Actually, you don’t need to; I’ve already torn into that particular affront to my horror movie sensibilities.

A strange thing happened, however, as I listened to the guys discuss these movies: a funny little idea that, throughout the rest of my torturous time at the track, took root in my overly fertile imagination and bloomed into the following poster. I’m not even certain what moment sparked this idea, but the more I thought about it, the more I needed to make it happen. Plus, the fact that the original Michael Myers mask was an altered Captain Kirk mask makes this all the more humorous to this horror movie/sci-fi dork. After all, what better way to update the original than to make it another Trek icon’s face as the new mask?

As for the image of Patrick Stewart in a rather non-Picard outfit, I decided that I wanted him to look more like Donald Pleasence’s Dr. Sam Loomis than his TNG counterpart. For a nanosecond, I considered going with Malcolm McDowell as sort of a Dr. Soran/New Dr. Loomis crossover. But then I remembered my anger toward McDowell’s Loomis and quickly kaboshed that idea. Besides, we all know that Sir Patrick is the best choice anyway, right? Right.

I know, I know. You wish you had this shirt, don’t you? Sorry, denizens. La Loba has to keep some secrets to herself…

A Star Trek/X-Men crossover? Wouldn’t that be the most awesome thing ever?

Actually, no it wouldn’t be. Okay, sadly, I own this book. It’s sitting on my bookshelf right now. Mocking me with its blatant mediocrity. I have nerd shame about very little, but this book sends nerd shivers through my spine. And not the good kind.

Anyway, I whipped this up after random afternoon geek-dreaming in which I tried to figure out a way of fixing the X-Men movie franchise while crossing it over and tying it in with the aftermath of the TNG episode “The Host.” You know, the episode that introduced us to the Trill…and also introduced us to the uncomfortable realization that Beverly and Riker did the nasty, Trek-style (but only after Bev made sure Deanna was down with that).

No one checked with Professor Xavier…er, Captain Picard, though. I suspect he might have been a bit miffed, don’t you?

Like I said…silly geek-dreaming. Of course, this actually sounds better than that shit bog of a third X-Men movie that they actually made.

I’m foregoing Flashback Friday this week, denizens. Today was hella busy at work (it was the first day back in the actual office since last Friday), and the more I thought about writing a flashback, the more irrationally irascible I became. So instead I’m posting my latest Gates McFadden/Beverly Crusher-inspired PhotoShop trickery.

Do I really need to say how much this poster delights me? If only this had been the movie Cameron made…

Oh, and you can see ZomBeverly here, in case you missed her the first time around.

On behalf of Lwaxana, Jean-Luc, and all the crews from all the ships, starbases, space stations, outposts, inposts, brigs, cargo bays, and all other reaches of the galaxy, I wish you all a very happy new year. Here’s to the surprises that are still to come.

I set out tonight, hoping to watch something with the parental units that was as un-Christmasy as you can imagine. Then I realized that TBS was yet again running their “24 Hours of A Christmas Story.”

Oh, how do you resist Ralphie? You simply can’t, can you? I think that A Christmas Story is to my generation what It’s A Wonderful Life was to its generation. Only A Christmas Story is actually enjoyable. So we watched it twice. And now the SyFy Channel’s Ghost Hunters marathon is playing. And I’m about to refill my wine glass.

Could this be a more perfect start to Christmas?

I wish for you all a wonderful day, regardless of what holiday or beliefs you may hold. In fact, I wish for you wonder and merriment every day. And I hope that 2010 holds amazements unimaginable for each one of you.

And here, before I depart, is a special holiday wish from my favorite dancing doctor. I designed this for two very special ImagiFriends^TM. I hope they don’t mind if I share it with all my denizens…but how can I resist?

So I’m not seeing a big increase in hits based on my previous zombie references. Maybe I’m not being specific enough. Maybe I should have said something like Zombie Barbie. Or Rob Zombie.

Or maybe I should combine zombies with the one topic that has proven, much to my geeky delight, to bring in the most hits to the lair: Gates McFadden.

I kid you not, denizens: Teh Interwebz is full of love for the Dancing Doctor. Thanks to a couple of incoming links, my Flood Gates posting is by far more popular than anything else I have written here since the lair’s relaunch. My own love for the lovely doctor is such that I am perfectly okay with this fact.

However, this leaves me in a bit of a quandary. I’d hate for my ImagiFriends^TM to be incorrect in their supposition about the popularity of zombies. So, after a bit of thought (and apparently too much spare time), I’ve come up with a satisfactory solution: I simply have to combine the two.

Therefore, I present to you…Zombie Dr. Crusher. Or, more in line with my affinity for portmanteaux, ZomBeverly.

I’m sorry if this distresses anyone, especially considering how this is supposed to be the festive holiday season…not the festering one. But I’ve been a bit absent in my blogging lately, and I noted a distinct drop in numbers because of this. So please forgive me for what I acknowledge is a pathetic attempt to increase the number of hits I log each day.

Of course, you do realize that if this works, I might end up making this a regular feature in which I turn various other Trek characters into zombies. Ooh, or maybe I’ll start turning Dr. Crusher into characters from various other movies, shows, and books! I like that idea much more.

Not that I’ve given it any sort of serious thought or anything…

I was looking at a recent photo of “The Governator,” when something quite troubling struck me: When did Arnold Schwarzenegger start looking like Ronald Reagan?

Okay, so the above image has been given a little…assistance from me in proving my point. But I dare you to tell me all the places where Ahnold begins and Ronald ends. I know that both are former actors-cum-governors of the great state of KAHLEEfornia…but this is a bit ridiculous.

Of course, you could call me out on my hypocrisy right now, since it does seem that I’m poking fun at Arnold for looking like the 62-year-old man that he is. I am the one, after all, who railed against Mary McDonnell for all the plastic surgery she got while starring on BSG.

If it seems that I am being hypocritical, I do apologize. I think I’m more fascinated by the fact that Schwarzenegger has been cut off from the rest of his plastic Hollywood herd by his gubernatorial endeavors. Running California into the ground doesn’t leave much recuperation time for vanity stops with the plastic surgeon like the ones he used to make (or is there anyone out there who believes that his jaw shrank and shaped itself naturally?). So I admit that a part of me admires him for believing so much in his political objectives that he would leave behind his vanity. Part of me, though, wonders how difficult it must be for a man who once based his entire career on his looks and his muscles to have to actually look his age while all his counterparts move forward to their fifth, sixth, and seventh faces.

Ahnold’s political service will come to an end in January 2011, unless he plans to run for a congressional seat. There will be no “Presidenator” in his future, however, thanks to that messy Constitutional amendment about needing to be American-born.

I can’t help but wonder if, on January 21, 2011, there’s going to be a hot time at the old plastic surgeon’s that night. True, Maria’s been keeping the family sawbones busy with her slow transformation into Skeletor, but I suspect that the doctor is champing at the bit in anticipation of Ahnold returning with a valiant, “Come on! Do it! Do it! Come on! Peel me! I’m here!”

Okay, that was a lame ending that only Predator fans will follow. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to end it with some reference to “I’ll be back.” Again, sorry. Just look at the image again and think happy Ahnold thoughts.

November now and thus the end of the Halloween-themed Flashback Fridays. Ah well.

This is a bit of an odd one: It’s a “rerun” if you will…a blog post that I made on October 18, 2006, during my Angry Blogger^TM days.

I was stuck on the road for almost 3 hours last night because of the stoplight computer crash that I discussed yesterday. Obviously, I had plenty of time to think…and sift through all the flotsam that floated up when I set my iPod to shuffle (where the hell did that Emmy Rossum song come from?!). Of course, the sun began to set during my commute, and something about the colors reminded me of my 30th birthday trip to Ireland.

So this morning, I went back to the blog entries that I made right after that trip, and I found this little gem. It’s actually one of my favorite posts from those days. I hope you enjoy it, too.

Oh, and as an added bonus, here are two versions of a PhotoShop project that I’ve pretty much been working on ever since that trip. It’s a shot I snapped while on our tour of Glendalough. As you can tell, I’ve been going a bit tweak crazy. I can’t help myself. I loves me some PhotoShop!

And here, now, is my 10.18.06 blog post, originally titled, “Universal Sign Edition.”

The cabbie who had driven us from the airport to our hotel had recommended this as a great pub for music and dance. We wanted a place to unwind; I wanted a place to have a proper pint and a glimpse of the Dublin norm to top off our touristy day. Inside, bodhrán, flute, and accordion merged with that most glorious of all sounds in Ireland: that gorgeous Irish accent. The musicians sang; they chatted up the audience with meandering stories that may or may not have been true…but they were marvelous either way. There is nothing more loquacious than an Irishman with an audience, no matter what the size. And this pub was packed. We were able to finally locate one empty table near the door and I quickly made my way to the bar to appease my desire to drink Guinness as often as possible.

Soon another couple entered the pub, making their way in from a damp evening stroll. They saw the two empty seats at our table and approached. “Are these seats unoccupied?” Their English was proper and tentative; not their first language. The accent hinted at a Scandinavian root as did their appearance: fair hair and almost translucent skin etched with the ruddiness of blustery winters passing. We smiled and gestured that the chairs were theirs. The man brought back pints for them–not the thick darkness of a Guinness, but the golden hue of a Heineken. We all sat silently, our chairs turned toward the stage where our entertainment played on.

Shortly, the woman turned her chair back toward the table and began removing something from her coat pocket. It was a small pouch, which contained an envelope of rolling paper and a tin of tobacco. Her companion noticed her movements and they conversed quietly in their native language as she proceeded to hand-roll a cigarette. I’ve seen this in movies before. It’s so much cooler in reality. She deftly measured out the perfect amount of tobacco onto the paper and rolled it into proper form. Sealing the cigarette with a swift lick, she patted his arm and moved once more to the door. Smokers are now exiled from pubs, so they contentedly line the curbs outside, puffing plumes of smoke into the heather-colored dusk.

Smoking must have quite a drying effect on the palate, because when she returned, she knocked back half her pint in one impressive swallow. Her companion was absorbed in the music, his back once more turned to the table. His pint was still nearly untouched. And then his pint became the nearly finished as she switched glasses. She glanced up at me and winked—that universal symbol that transcends any language barrier with its simple impish elegance—and I couldn’t help but laugh.