GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #102: PRIZES AT PARTIES

Tomorrow night, I'm going to a party. I'm not entirely sure if they would want me to specifically name their party, so I won't. Twitter people probably won't know, but Facebook people will have an 80% certainty rate. So I'll keep my mouth shut for now, unless they give me permission later.


However, they throw the best parties ever. When I was younger and living a block away from Jay, who was interviewed for issue 2 of TABARD INN, things were different. He threw the best parties (made better by the fact that I could walk home after, instead of driving). Now, as an adult past the age of 30, someone else throws better parties. This husband/wife team also tends to have prizes for various things.


The last party at their place? I won a Tuggie. You probably don't know what that is. Here is a picture of me wearing one of them (if you can see past my awful gut):

It's not as warm as the advertising on the box says, but it looks pretty cool.


I will never win something as awesome as this at any party, even one of theirs. But there are prizes for this Halloween party tomorrow. I don't expect to win one, although it would be cool. However, I think getting drunk and passing out at their party will be reward enough.


If you're attending this party, I'll see you there. And I'll try to keep my pants on, but I don't make any promises. Goodnight, lovelies.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #101: HIDDEN REALITIES

Have you ever noticed something odd about the routine world around you? Something you probably should have noticed years, maybe even decades, ago? Something that was probably there all the time, but you just never noticed it before?


This happened to me several times today. Maybe it was just the way the sun hit these places, but I wonder. Usually, I'm driving around Elmhurst late in the day, but today I was going around in the early to mid-afternoon. I noticed an alley I'd never seen before, despite the fact that I've driven past the area at least every weekday for the past twenty or so years. And I'm not an unobservant guy.


You look at a building that has been there for longer than your grandparents have been alive, and you see something different, something you haven't seen before. A beauty in age, overlooked by most, if not all. It's almost like being the narrator of HPL's "The Music of Erich Zann."


Is it possible for pieces of the world to remain hidden from the perception of most people during certain times of the day? Can you only enter Smaug's mountain on that one dusk of that one day of the year? Maybe. I doubt it, of course, but things look different at different times of the day, at least for those who are willing to watch and wait.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #100: MY GRANDFATHER, A MAD MAN

Tonight was spent in an unexpected fashion: I was in the hospital with my grandfather, who had slipped and fallen outside. He scraped his noggin pretty badly, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It's OK, he didn't even need stitches. The VA took a CT scan and saw there was nothing wrong. They just put a bandage on and told him to put ice on it for 20-minute intervals.


Still, it's kind of fucked up that this happened today when I told you all I was going to talk about him in tonight's GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS.


First, I should give a great deal of thanks to him. All of the times you've heard about me being in the hospital, dying from pancreatitis or suffering from a mystery illness or trying to live with an abscess or fighting through dental problems, he drove me to the ER. For a change, I got to drive him. I rolled him around in a wheelchair. I stayed by his side while the hospital ran a variety of tests on him. And then, as I left with Gramps in the wheelchair, bringing him out to my car, I brought the wheelchair back to the lobby. On my way, I saw the guy who collected wheelchairs from the parking lot. He was in his own wheelchair, and he thanked me profusely to the point where I started wondering if I was the first person to ever bring a wheelchair back to the lobby to save the poor guy from having to go out and bring it back. It's not like this is a shopping cart you can just leave in the parking lot. It's a frigging wheelchair. I couldn't imagine someone NOT bringing one back to the lobby.


But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I want to discuss my grandfather's youth as a mad man. No, he wasn't in advertising. However, he led the kind of MAD MEN lifestyle you see in Jon Hamm & Co. He went to martini lunches and smoked in the office and all the other things you see on that particular show.


Truth is, he was in men's clothing. He worked in sales at Bonds until it went under. Then, he worked locally at Leonard's until that was sold. All told, he worked in the business for more years than I've been alive, even now. But back in the day? That was something different.


Gramps taught me how to make a real Manhattan. Mixologists get it wrong all the time. If there's ice in your Manhattan, the guy who made it fucked up. A long time ago, I posted Gramps's recipe on MySpace, but since that's no more, I'll post it here for posterity: Take two shots of whiskey (it can be rye, but it's better if it's regular whiskey) and one shot of sweet vermouth. Stir it together over ice. DO NOT SHAKE. Then, pour it into a martini glass, but make sure none of the ice gets in there. Put a cherry into the glass (I skip that part, because I'm an asshole and I hate fruits and veggies), and you're done. Gramps told me that he knew a guy back in the 'Fifties who would drink about 10 of these things and then drive home to his family. Do that math: three shots (two of which are whiskey) times ten. I asked my grandfather if this guy died young, and he didn't. His heart gave out about twenty years ago, which placed the guy in his seventies.


My grandfather told me about the time he was driving home with the woman who would become my grandmother, and they hit a guy in a shady part of town. They looked in the rear view mirror, and they saw a guy back there in the street, but they were certain the guy was pretending, so they drove on. This, of course, shocked me when I heard about it. However, he told me that people who didn't have so much money back then had a habit of jumping in front of cars just to get a payday when they get hit.


And then there were the stag parties. Gramps would get all of his work buddies together, and while their wives played bridge in the living room or parlor, the guys would watch stag films while smoking cigars and drinking scotch.


Surprisingly, these are all things I learned as an adult. You'd think that knowing these things as a child would have informed my career as a writer of fiction. Not so. The world has always been fucked up, it's just that most people don't think about it.


I grew up in a house that was next to a whorehouse. Of course, I never knew that when I was a kid. However, my mom and aunt went to school with the daughter of the woman who whored herself out next door. Johns would drive through the neighborhood, looking for the house, and they would sometimes see my grandmother, who was only forty back then, and think she was the woman they were looking for.


They eventually arrested that poor woman. The family that moved in after her bore a daughter of their own, who would eventually become the first girl I ever played doctor with.


There are certain things you don't expect of suburbia . . .


You never think your neighbor is selling her body to stay afloat.


You never think of your coworkers as guys who would gather together to watch porn while their wives played cards downstairs, and that something like that would be a socially acceptable practice.


You never think of your grandfather as a guy who drank and partied and fucked and generally had a good time.


You never see Gramps as Don Draper, but let's face it. He probably was. I know, in my case, that my grandfather lived up to those kinds of things.


It's not always a good thing. He's sexist, even though he doesn't mean harm. My grandmother once told me that he said, on their first night together back from the honeymoon, that he swore to never do the dishes because that was women's work. He's racist and refers to the mail woman as a Negress, but he means no harm to her. He would actually step in and do his best to stop harm from coming to a woman or a person whose race was different from his own. He's not a hateful guy. He knows that the world has moved on, and he's trying to be better about it. He's not there yet, and he might never be. But he's trying,


I don't know about his feelings on gays. I've never asked him or seen anything from him on the subject. My guess is that he doesn't like them, but he would not want them to be hurt because of their sexual inclinations. If he saw someone being hurt for such a thing, I'm certain he would step in and do his best to help them out of the situation.


My grandfather is not perfect, but he raised me with as much love as anyone could ever bestow upon another person. For all of his flaws, I love him more than I've ever loved another man.


Tonight, I washed blood out of his hair. I treated the wound as best as I could, and I bandaged it with what I had at hand. I looked up the symptoms of a concussion, and I asked him about his experience. Thankfully, he was in the Army, and treatment for him at the VA was free. I drove him there, and the VA checked him out, tested him and made sure he was OK for release. Thankfully, I was right about my diagnosis: there was no concussion, and he didn't need stitches. They let him go after three hours.


In three years, he will be 90. He's got a lot of my medical issues: the 'Beetus, high cholesterol and hypertension. He's had all of these without losing limbs, losing sight, having a heart attack or having a stroke. He gives me hope.


I'm an atheist, so I don't do prayer. He's Greek orthodox, even though he hasn't practiced since he was a boy living in a household that demanded he reject English for Greek in ordinary conversation. As far as I know, he only prayed once as an adult, and that was when he had skin cancer. It was cut off of him, and it was benign, so he was fine afterward.


If you pray, I'm sure he'd be grateful for anything you would say to any Lord that might exist. I even hedged my bets a little. I don't believe in God--or any god at all--but I offered my prayer to whoever might be listening, not because I think anyone's listening, but just in case. I would never ask anything for myself, but for Gramps? I'd ask the world.


Thank you, John Kopoulos, for everything you've done for me. I hope for . . . well. I just HOPE.


Thanks for reading this GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS. It's the most important one I've ever written, and I love you all for making it this far. Hugs and kisses for you all. Goodnight.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #99: THINGS I DID TODAY INSTEAD OF WORKING

OK, so I had to go to a retina specialist today to make sure I wasn't going blind. My eye doctor said that he saw something that might be diabetic retinopathy, which eventually leads to blindness, so you can imagine the fear involved in going to the specialist. Luckily, the guy told me he saw nothing to indicate diabetic retinopathy, so it all worked out. However, it took me three hours to get that answer. Plus, they put a lot of drops in my eyes because I wasn't dilating properly. This took such a chunk out of my day that I might as well have not been off from work, since I didn't have a lot of free time to do things I wanted to do, namely write my ass off. It's hard to write with dilated eyes. I'd say it's near impossible. By the time clock I had in my head, the drops should have worn off by eight, and I could get to work. It wound up lasting a lot longer.


But never mind that. All of this happened in the afternoon and evening. When I woke up, I felt amazing. I had this whole day to myself, and it's only the first day of the week I have away from work. What did I do instead of working today?


Well . . . I had a couple of drinks, just to show the world that I could enjoy alcohol--strictly prohibited in the office--when I should have been at work. Then I looked at very questionable websites, which led to me jerking off a couple of times. Oh, how glorious it was to fuck around doing unimportant things when all of my coworkers were slaving away!


And then I watched MAVERICK while eating lunch. I washed up. I got some reading in before I had to go to the retina specialist. But goddammit, those first few hours when I woke up today were fabulous. I won't be doing that tomorrow, because I have a lot of shit to do, but just to do it ONE day was incredibly satisfying.


Hey! I'm 99 GF's into this thing. The 100th post will be something special. Maybe it will be tomorrow, if I'm not too busy. You'll definitely want to read the next one, though. It will be about my grandfather, and I know how you guys all love him.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #98: MY THOUGHTS ON THE CONSTANTINE TV SHOW

OK, I'll admit it. I went into the show thinking I was going to hate it. There was a part of me that hoped for the best, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. I knew that I'd get the New 52 version of John Constantine, which I loathe, for the most part.


But something interesting happened. CONSTANTINE, the TV show, wound up in the middle ground between HELLBLAZER and the New 52. I did not expect that, and I was pleasantly surprised.


Before we go any further, I want to state that I despise the idea of John Constantine, exorcist. He's not, all right? While he's had practice booting demons out of people, he's not an exorcist by trade. And I also dislike the idea that he doesn't smoke. Ordinarily, I wouldn't care about something like that, but the comic book version of him DOES smoke, and it's not a superficial ain't-I-cool kind of thing. It actually fits into the story, in particular the Dangerous Habits storyline.


But there were two moments in the pilot episode that sold me on the TV show. The first was when Constantine spiritually blackmails a character into doing his bidding. When you look at HELLBLAZER, very little of it is magic. It's almost always a con job. Constantine does have magical abilities, but 80% of his character is made up of conning other people into doing shit he wants done. That one moment is absolutely Constantine-ish enough for me.


And then there's the other side. Constantine isn't just a mystical character armed with wisecracks and a penchant for being in the wrong place at the right time. He's also a dude who likes to hang out, have a few drinks, get some laughs out of his mates. The very end of the episode shows him in a bar with his friend Chas, getting boozed up and bullshitting about something your friends would bullshit about. That's the part that the New 52 always forgets about.


But . . . goddammit. HELLBLAZER is a story of British horror. I'm glad they kept Constantine rooted in the UK (and they actually got an actor who looks like the character this time), but I hate that this show happens in America. I'm not sure that this could be fixed for a modern audience, though. As soon as Constantine took on the lead role in HELLBLAZER (he was always a supporting character in SWAMP THING before), Jamie Delano, the first writer of the series, definitely put a particular stamp on the character. I don't think you can have a Constantine who wasn't a young man during the Maggie Thatcher period of England. It had such an overpowering effect on the character and the storyline that a modern audience can't connect with the original John Constantine anymore. My John Constantine was a period character. He'd be in his sixties now, to give you a good idea. Of course, Nergal's blood has kept his appearance much younger than you'd expect, but still.


The TV show is good. Not great, but good. What would make it better? Chas being a hard man and British. He doesn't need to be involved with magic like he is on the show. It would be nice if his wife was introduced, considering her hatred of Constantine and the situations that could get the two characters into. What else? Well, I love that Astra is a major character point on the show, but it would be great if the people who died during that incident were haunting Constantine, like in the comics. Also, if those who died in SWAMP THING were haunting him like in the comics? That would be amazing.


It's too early to say, but my fellow comics fans know Constantine as a guy who will sacrifice his friends for the greater good. Maybe we could have some of that taking place on the TV show?


CONSTANTINE earns extra points for the Dr. Fate reference. I desperately hope that will come into play later on the show. Anyone who read the original BOOKS OF MAGIC by Neil Gaiman will appreciate this. Currently, the New 52 is trying to pull some kind of stunt with Dr. Fate. It's actually not bad, but it could be better. Waaaaay fuckin' better.


I've got high hopes for the TV show. I'll definitely be back next week, and probably every week after. I didn't expect that.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #97: NOT MY CONSTANTINE

Looks like tomorrow is the debut of CONSTANTINE, a TV show based on one of my favorite comic book characters from the Big 2. I know I'm going to hate it. I'm going to give it a shot, but I know I'm just going to shit all over it later.


I don't want to, but the thing is, this show is based on the New 52 Constantine (pronounced CON-stan-TEEN), not the HELLBLAZER Constantine (pronounced CON-stan-TYNE) that I loved so much. It's pretty easy to cover that bullshit version of Constantine pretty well, since bullshit is easy for TV to deal with. However, I think it's impossible for a TV network to capture the essence of an incredibly complex character, like the Constantine portrayed in HELLBLAZER.


I think they're going to pull a WALKING DEAD on us. In the TV version of TWD, the characters of Michonne and Andrea are written as if they're the comic book versions for TV. Here's the problem: on the TV show, neither of those characters earned the things their comic book counterparts achieved so well. TV Michonne displays a hatred for the Governor that borders on the insane, which only makes sense if it's comic book Michonne, who was raped and tortured by the comic book Governor, things that never happened to TV Michonne. The same goes for TV Andrea, who thinks she's a bad-ass only because comic book Andrea really is a bad-ass. TV Andrea is a full-on fuck-up. I'm thinking the same thing is going to happen with TV Constantine.


At least this time they got a guy who actually looks like comic book Constantine. That's the best I can say, so far. I'm sure I'll let you know more of my thoughts when I see the series premiere tomorrow. Until then, goodnight fuckers.




























PS: If you're doubting my pronunciation of the HELLBLAZER CON-stan-TYNE, then we're going to have a problem. Alan Moore created the character for SWAMP THING. Constantine proved to be so popular, he wound up getting his own title, HELLBLAZER. I forget which issue it was in, but in the letters column of one of them, Moore is quoted as saying that Constantine, who was born in Liverpool and therefore has a Liverpudlian accent, pronounces his last name as CON-stan-TYNE. Here's a secondary source, which is also pretty official. Just scroll down to Major Story Arcs, under DC Comics: New Earth Swamp Thing.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #96: CHANGES

When I came home from work tonight, I didn't want to do anything. Fuck my workout, fuck my writing, I was just too wiped out to do anything. So I didn't do shit. Instead, I closed my eyes and dozed for an hour until AGENTS OF SHIELD came on.

This is not the life I want to lead. Granted, I woke up early to work early, but lately, things have been happening like this. I'll get home from work, and I won't want to do anything. I have to force myself through the motions, which makes me feel even more miserable. Some of it can be chalked up to my strong 'Beetus medication, but I had so much sugar today it couldn't possibly be that.

In the morning, I'm miserable. But I'm not so miserable that I give up on everything and close my eyes and pretend life doesn't exist. So here's my plan:

I'm going to start getting up early so I can get a workout in right away, so I won't have to think about it later. If I can somehow manage it, I'll get up early enough to write before I go to work. I don't know if that will happen or not. I doubt it. The exercise, I can definitely do. Writing will probably have to wait. But as much as it pains me to admit, writing isn't as important to me right now as being healthy.

I'm wondering if maybe I should take time off from writing to focus all my energy on getting back in shape. It's really hard to do both.

My new plan won't start this week, because I already have plans. Next week is out of my hands, too. However, the week after that should be perfect.

I hope.

Because if this shit continues, why bother with trying to be healthy? Why not just give in to the urge to eat fast food all the time? Why not get drunk every night? Why not sleep with women of questionable cleanliness? Like, a lot?

Seriously. I came home from work tonight and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. The only thing that kept me from this was because I didn't want to miss an episode of a show I enjoy, because tracking down that missing episode would be too much effort.

What ISN'T wrong with that paragraph?

Maybe I'm on the wrong meds. Maybe I need a new doctor. Am I depressed? Is that it? I don't think so. But what if I am, and I'm not smart enough to realize it?

I wonder what would happen if I stopped taking my meds and behaved with my diet. Because behaving and taking the meds always leads to disaster. I'm afraid to do that, because my doctor said that people who lost their feet to the 'Beetus are people who don't take their meds. I don't want to lose my feet. I enjoy walking a great deal, especially since it helps me work out writing problems.

I'm a fucking mess. To those of you who give me shit about not having a girlfriend and/or kids, that's why. I don't want the horror in my head to be transferred over to someone else. I think I'll figure everything out someday, maybe even soon. Otherwise, I probably would have offed myself a long time ago.

The one thing I have going for me is a scientific thought process. In my weaker moments, I'm a self-loathing baby, but when I think about things--which is almost always--I can at least experiment.

I just wish my experimentation would help me find something that works for me.