One month. 50,000 words. It's gonna be crap.

So I'm chugging along, working up some ideas for stories in various formats that I would like to do. A three-act play here, a script for a mockmentary there. Basically, just some diddling as I get my creative muscles working.

And then I came along this site: National Novel Writing Month. Basically, it gives all writers one simple, daunting challenge: Write an entire book, or at least 50,000 words, in a one-month period from Nov. 1 to 30.

I'm gonna do it. Why? Because I'm stupid.

Actually, I'd like to think my reasons are well-intentioned. One of the things that always trips me up as a writer, as I'm sure trips up thousands of other would-be authors, is that everytime you sit down and look at that blank page, all you think about is the masterworks that inspired you to try one of these things in the first place, whether it's Jane Austen, William Shakespeare, Alan Moore or whomever. I keep thinking whatever comes out of my head is going to suck compared to those writers, so I stop.

I figure I'm never going to get better doing that. Eventually, I'm going to have to work out a complete story as a first draft, and then I can go back and rewrite to make it something that, while it may not be good, at least not suck.

So National Novel Writing Month is probably the kind of thing I'm looking for. There's a goal and a deadline. It's all about pouring every little messed up thing in your head onto the page as quickly as possible. If I'm lucky, I'll have something on Dec. 1 that I can work with, touching up the story into something I'm proud of. If I'm not lucky, I can always think that at least I finished something, while learning more about the process of writing.

Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it.

The 10 O'Clock News

ON. THE. LIST.

For deciding to cut off the end of last night's "Veronica Mars" because you couldn't wait THREE FREAKING MINUTES to break in with the whole "Erie County is a federal disaster site" mess.

Also On The List? Tom Reynolds, just because I was watching one of my favorite TV shows only to see the sweaty mug of a human being I detest pop up suddenly. I'm not sure if it was his decision to start the press conference early, but he's SUSPECT.

TCM's The Underground

I sort of stumbled upon this Web ad for TCM's showing of the original "Night of the Living Dead" this Friday night at 2 a.m. Further research indicates that it's part of a new film series on Turner Classic Movies called the Underground, celebrating old trashy, nutty horror movies. They don't have a schedule up for beyond this week, but previous shows included a bunch of Russ Meyer movies like "Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!"

I've never seen a Russ Meyer movie, but I've got nothing to lose now. I've already seen the worst horror movie ever.

Oh, and the whole series is hosted by Rob Zombie.

On a related note, a DVR and a station guide to Turner Classic Movies is thousands of dollars cheaper than film school and a lot more fun to boot.

the nerf sniper rifle

I may have to get one of these. You know, for the office.

movies! (an actual review)

So I finished watching "The Grudge" recently. I was always kinda interested in the flick, basically because the visuals looked pretty nifty from the trailers I saw. Granted, I was never interested enough to get up off my ass to go to a theater or a video store, but still, it was one of those movies I always kept in the back of my mind to see.

So, why now? Well, it's Halloween season, the sequel just came out, and I can watch the flick on HBO OnDemand for free. Let's roll 'em!

My god, what an utter piece of shit. It's got atmosphere, I'll give it that, but this was one of the biggest, steamiest piles of turds I've ever seen float across my television screen. Well, I think it was a turd. It might have been the flowing hair that seems to come out of dark corners, but I like to think of it as actual turds because it allows me to retain my sanity.

By the way, spoilers ahoy, but believe me, I'm doing you a favor.

Here's my issue with the movie, and it's a big one: The Big Bad, a womanly ghost that kills everybody in the movie, has no rules. By which I mean a given set of parameters that allows the audience to understand the Big Bad's powers, what she can or can't do, to set up how everybody gets killed. In "The Ring," you watch the videotape, and you have a week to show it to somebody else or Cousin It comes out of the TV screen and gets you (of course, you have to figure out yourself you have to show it to somebody else). In "Saw," the Big Bad himself just tells you what you have to do to get out of his traps, even if it usually means losing a body part in the process. Yeah, I get all that. In "The Grudge," the curse is set on you whenever you walk into this house where a mother and a son were killed, and there's really nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing. So why what a movie where the Big Bad is completely unstoppable? That's what I'm asking myself right now.

I'll give you a few examples. A woman, who is the sister of the current occupant of the house and has been over for tea, is working late in her office. She starts getting phone calls and weird vibes from the Big Bad (which I'll keep referring to because I'm not sure she has a name. There's only 15 minutes of dialogue in the whole movie). So she runs home scared and locks the door.

She gets another phone call from her brother (which the audience knows is now dead). Apparently he's outside the door. She opens the door and there's nobody there. The Big Bad gets her a few minutes later in her bed. The impression we're supposed to get is that you have to let the Big Bad in before she can take you. But how does she suddenly show up at the office? Nobody let her in, as far as we've seen. That is what the people in the critic business refer to as a PLOT HOLE.

What's irritating is that this whole movie is full of them. Every five minutes there's a contradiction from what we were previously shown. This can get annoying, because nothing makes any sense. The Big Bad can slowly come after you, or you can turn around and there she is a second later. She'll show up in your bed without warning or slowly stalk down the hall towards you. The Big Bad can do anything and everything! The audience is given no information how to beat her! They do, towards the end, attempt to burn the haunted house down, but we never actually see what fire does to the Big Bad because they cut away a second later. So it's fairly anticlimactic when she shows up three minutes later in the final frame. In other words, THERE IS NO RESOLUTION TO THE MOVIE.

Hell, the Friday the 13th movies and the like are pretty crappy flicks in my opinion, but at least they set up the ground rules. This is one of the worst movies I've ever seen. How does "The Grudge" get a sequel? And why did people get fooled into buying tickets a second time?

spam spam spam spam

I just received this one at work entitled "Banality." As I writer, I feel you have to open those e-mails because you're always worried they're talking about your work, which in my case, may be entirely possible.

But no, it's about something ... well, I have no idea what it's about. It's like getting an e-mail from Borat.

"break guttural competently anomalous
Check A R S S right now, stockjobbers drop the price, it's time to get in
and get profit!
inform inordinately washbasin cosmetic"

When I read "stockjobbers," I immedately thought of nameless stockbrokers who always lose money quickly to the bigger profit guys like Donald Trump or somebody. But that could be the wrestling fan in me thinking.

book review

I just finished "Great Expecations." I thought it would be better.

the day I became a man

What a wacky couple of days. Luckily, our apartment never lost power, so we woke up Friday morning as wide-eyed as kids hoping for snow days. And we got one! Julie and I then proceeded to spend most of the day watching TV and occasionally taking phone calls from our moms, both of whom lost power.

I think I wandered outside to clean off my car late in the afternoon, and it was my first chance to get a feel for how nasty it was for myself. Our complex has a lot of trees, and all of them were destroyed, or at least damaged. Thankfully, I used a bit of rare foresight for myself on Thursday when I decided it was not a good idea to park underneath a tree.

We got more phone calls from our moms, and something about removing water from their sump pumps. Hey, I don't our my mom's basement flooded, I got my comics down there! Finally, my mom broke down on Friday night and said I have to come over, because she's been at this sump pump thing all day and she's exhausted.

Taking buckets of water out of a hole in the ground occasionally doesn't sound that bad. Yeah, it is.

Bailing water out every 15 minutes sucks. The water never stops coming! I would be dumping five five-gallons worth of water out of the ground at a time and it looks like I barely made a dent. If anybody fell asleep for more than 30 minutes, the basement floods! It feels like being one of the button-pushers on "Lost," with the added gift of sore arms and backs.

Julie's mother was going through the same thing. Thankfully, she lives in a duplex with her friend on the other side, so they were taking shifts through the night. I was at my mom's in Lancaster until late Friday night ... yeah, that's right, fuck you driving ban! ... and then drove back to Buffalo. I'd be up by 5:30 a.m. to head back to Lancaster for another shift.

How does one occupy yourself inbetween bouts of water dumping? My laptop has a battery life of about 3.5 hours, which meant I was able to get through six episodes of Arrested Development S3 with the DVD player. After the laptop was done, I listed to WBEN for a while, and two thoughts occurred to me ... One, why does every weather related event have to have a catchy media nickname? Yeah, kiss my ass, "October Surprise!" Two, and this happened when hearing a commercial about external batteries for sump pumps, I figured out such a device could be useful to me right about now. Especially when the radio reports that it could be a week before power is restored.

My mother woke up later Saturday morning, and then mentioned to me that my father actually has a gas-engine generator sitting in the garage. Um, what?

First, I'd like to explain something about myself. My dad was always good with the mechanics, while I was the book guy. I was an English major. I've lived in apartments for most of my adult life, which means I have a Mitch Hedberg philosophy to maintenance: I don't have to do shit.

But the revelation that there's a generator sitting upstairs baffled me. See, you have to run the generator outside because of the carbon monoxide (Hey, I worked that out myself!) However, the plug on the sump pump is telling me that I can't connect to an extension cord if it isn't a grounded circuit, which might have well be written in French for all the good it does me. I'm really, really out of my element when it comes to this stuff. Fuck the trains leaving at 1 and 3 bullshit they put on the SATs, why don't they have questions like how to use a generator outside to power the essential things downstairs using a grounded circuit?

While my mom attempts to track down the instruction manual for this generator, I shove off for a few hours to acquire a pair of sump pump batteries (yeah, nice try Mark) and check in with Julie's mother. They have now enlisted a third party to help with the bailing of their pump. She also managed to have somebody deliver a generator later that day. So while the bailing is handled over there, I grab a shovel to clear out the driveway of snow. Fortunately, it was actually very nice on Saturday afternoon, so much of the snow was beginning to melt. Unfortunately, plows left a good five foot pile of the cold stuff at the foot of the driveway. Between shoveling and the bailing, I was enduring Dickins-like backbreaking labor here.

My mom calls me and she's found the generator manual. Hurray! But while I take that break, my mother-in-law decides to clear the afore-mentioned five-foot pile of snow by driving over it with her Landrover. Didn't really work. You'll have to excuse her, this is her first winter dealing with this snow stuff by herself. Anyway, I have my handy excuse to bail out of there and back to my mom's place.

So remember that bit about the grounding circuit? According to the manual, the generator's already grounded! How exciting. After a few more trial-and-error moments (mainly, I put too much oil into the damn thing), we got the generator fired up. A few extension cords later, we connected it to the sump pump, which immediately began draining the water, and there was much rejoicing. I think I even heard angels sing. Lo, today was the day an English major got a gas engine to work.

After I jumped in the car, guess what was playing on the radio? Big Pimping. Awww yeah.

By the time I got back over to my mother-in-law's, several people have come over to help with the driveway and the bailing. A few minutes later, the generator came. Three guys were around to put it together, and considering that even I was able to figure this whole thing out, I felt my work here is done. My Catholic brain needed beer.

Remind me to buy two sump pump batteries (whenever they become available again) for future needs. And a home guide to electrical systems and appliances, because unless audio/video cables are needed, I'm a total idiot.

playwriting

I was going to check out Studio Arena's open house for theater school this Saturday morning, but a closer look at the release shows that it's pretty much just acting classes for the fall. As The Dude would say, "It's a bummer, man." Less about the class as some kind of magic bullet, but rather getting into a format that forces me to produce something every week. Plus, I would have liked to pick up some tips.

I'll probably stop down anyway, just to touch base with somebody over there that might point me in the right direction in terms of writing a play, or anything in general.

The Departed

Just got back from a showing of the new Martin Scorsese flick "The Departed," with Jack Nicholson, Matt Damon, Leonardo Decaprio, Alec Baldwin, Martin Sheen and Mark Walhberg. That's a pretty impressive cast, but I'm pleased to say the movie kicks ass. There's a lot going on in the movie and it's filled with some pretty mindblowing twists, but they all flow logically thanks to Scorsese's direction. The actors are all solid, even DiCaprio, who didn't impress me all that much in "Gangs of the New York." It's one of the better Nicholson performances in a while, as he dials down the Jack stuff for the most part except for one scene. I totally recommend this ... it's one of the best movies I've seen this year, and contender for THE best.

By the way, whomever Matt Damon's agent is should get some kind of raise. We saw a preview for another movie of his coming up, "The Good Shepherd," directed and starring Robert DeNiro with Angelina Jolie, Joe Pesci, William Hurt and Billy Crudup. Is there anybody in Hollywood that's worked with the kind of directors he has with the cast of stars he's with? It's pretty impressive.

joke of the day

Why don't congressmen use bookmarks? Because you don't need them when you bend over pages.

i'm so trendy!

My first official post from my brand spanking new MacBook! It's a pretty exciting time over here at Mild-Mannered central. It's not only my first laptop, but after spending all of my professional career, plus most of my academic years, on a Mac while I endured viriuses and crashes at home, it's my first personal Mac computer.

I realize this would excite nobody besides myself and probably my wife, but it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.

boob tube thoughts

After watching three episodes of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, my first impression is that the dialogue pops and is wonderful to listen to. On the other hand, there are a lot of shots taken towards organized religion. “A lot” as in it’s been a major subplot of every episode thus far, and I’m wondering if this is all Studio 60 has to say.

I feel like I’m in a weird middle ground on this. First of all, I happen to work within one of those organized religions. On one hand, I’ve never been too impressed with the lectures we all receive from the loudest voices of religion … guys like Pat Robinson, Jerry Falwell and William Donohue turn up the volume on anybody who disagrees with them or with their way of life, which destroys any reasoned analysis we may receive on spirituality. When I think of “What Would Jesus Do,” pictures of them do not pop into my head.

However, I’ve found in my experience the vast majority of people in churches, temples or whatever denominational building they’re in at the time do not have an extreme reaction like the ones that get all the press. They believe in a set of morals, they believe that there is a better way. They go to church every week, or sometimes, or not at all, but they think there is something out there that is beyond our human understanding. Some people have faith because it gives them hope they can see and talk to people they loved and lost. For whatever reason that gets them through the doors, they all have one thing in common: they have faith.

I firmly believe that for all the crap organized religion gets, whether it be pro-life supporters shooting abortion doctors, televised evangelical preachers publicly calling for the assassination or people sexually abusing minors, the vast majority of the people who attend services are good people. They donate to charities, they help out at the food pantry. They volunteer. They do this at the religious building, because … well, there are not a lot of public places in the community that offers so many one-stop shop options to be a better person. And it makes them feel better about themselves. Is that really so awful?

I realize that when Aaron Sorkin writes about representatives from Rapture Magazine ambushing network executives, he’s rebelling against a reactionary, fanatical sect that manage to be the killjoys at every party. Lord knows, they get the most press. But to make it such a prominent part of the show with stuff like the Crazy Christians, the sketch so genius we will never see it, or whatever-game-show-that-mocks-religious-beliefs-whose-name-escapes-me-at-the-moment that was on Monday’s episode is a bit of a turn off. Yes, Mr. Sorkin, people who support Intelligent Design over hard science are ridiculous, I agree with you. But to make people with religious beliefs the punch line of every other joke is not only an attack on them, but it becomes an attack on reasonable people who happen to be religious. I’m fairly cynical, but I’m starting to feel uncomfortable watching this.

There is one character, Harriet, that is religious, and is presented fairly positively. Initially it felt like she was thrown in as a way to deflect criticism that the show is anti-religious, but on Monday’s episode she had an interesting comment. The scene involved making a joke about how some rural community in Michigan (or Ohio or some other flyover state) cancelled a high-school production of Grease because parents thought it was too racy. Harriet wants to can the joke, saying something to the effect of, “I’m making millions of dollars and these people are just trying to raise their kids. Why am I making fun of them?”

That’s a question I’d like to pose to this show. Believe me, I completely understand you’re frustrated and angry with how the Christian Collation, the Moral Majority and the like have taken over the country and demonized anybody who disagrees with them, but I wish the producers did not fight fire with fire in this case. It’s not going to win the hearts and minds of people in the pews, which is still the vast majority of the country, whatever their denomination. It only makes agnostics, atheists and liberals who piss on all things god feel better about themselves. Which may be what Sorkin is going for, but I don't think helps resolve the whole red state-blue state nonsense.

Hopefully the next few episodes will be less Crazy Christians and more “why am I making fun of them?"

cat's out of the bag

Local Congressman Tom Reynolds contacted Mild-Mannered Blogger! early Wednesday morning to grant me an exclusive interview. It seemed an odd request to me at the time, seeing as how two or three people read the blog, plus I’m not even in his district. Still, he wanted to clear the air.

“What about,” I asked. He replied it was in regards to his role in Rep. Mark Foley’s alleged sexual comments to a 15-year-old congressional page.

“Oh,” I said. “I haven’t heard a thing about that.”

Anyway, I do some research and head off to the office where he’s located for the interview. I walk into the room, and he’s surrounded himself with kittens.



Aw, lookie at the lil pumpkin! Yer so cute! Yer so cute! Come’ere and let me give you a big old hug!

Ahem.

I managed to pull whatever journalist balls I have left in me to hammer him with some questions, because the people demand to know his role in this scandal with a month left in the election cycle. But first, I politely asked him to have the bunch of kittens leave the room to discuss a human issue.

“Well, I’ll take your questions, but I’m not going to ask any of my kittens to leave the room.”

When asked where did the kittens come from, he noted that a number of them are from the community.

Just as I tried to get a third serious question out, this little fella found a ball of string and won me over.



Aw, lookie at whatca doin! Whatca got there? Whatca got there? Yer just a big bowl of cute, that’s what you are!

UPDATE: Shortly after posting this message, the Reynolds office called to blame me for photographing the congressman with kittens and making them a part of the story. They also said Democrats, who hate kittens, sent him the box of kittens, but Rep. Reynolds showed he is above partisanship by accepting the kittens. It didn’t make sense to me either.

ummm....

Former Congressman Mark Foley, who resigned last week over charges he was sexually harrassing a 15-year-old congressional page and recently entered rehab for alcoholism, is now saying he was molested by a priest when he was a boy.

That's got to be a hat trick of some kind.