GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #424: THE ENDING OF DARK SHADOWS

 

So as many of you know I finally finished the original Dark Shadows series. I've seen a lot of people complaining that there is no real ending. I don't think I agree with that. I believe there are three endings. And maybe four. If Peter Jackson added in Frodo's return to the Shire and his battle with Saruman and Wormtongue for Hobbiton, he might have beaten out how many endings Dark Shadows had.

Oh yeah, spoilers, if you haven't seen the show.

So the first ending: Barnabas, Julia and Professor Stokes coming back up the stairway into the future. Honestly, this is where the show should have ended. I believe their actions in . . . well . . . ah fuck it. It's super complicated, and I'm not sure I get it. So way back, Barnabas and Julia went back in time, and when they came forward in time to the present(-ish) they discovered the Collins family had been torn asunder, and Collinwood had been burned to the ground. They went back in time to fix the problem and discovered why the Collins family has such bad luck. Turned out they killed a sorcerer during the times of the Witch Trials, and he cursed them forever and ever. Except they repaired that bit and went back to the future to discover a very happy and untroubled Collins family. An uncursed Collins family. On the one hand, I hate that it undid nearly the entire show. Hell, probably the whole show. But they succeeded at their plan, and that makes for a great stopping point. It is, at least, *an* ending.

The second ending: The forced ending. So back in the past Lamar Trask gets shoved into a parallel universe by Quentin Collins (kind of) where he dies before the eyes of a parallel 1840s Collins family, and they are still cursed but in a much different way. Everyone thinks it was a spurned lover whose body doesn't decompose and is displayed in an evil room in Collinwood. The family has a lottery as to who must go in that room and spend the night, and no one has ever survived sane. They've either died or gone crazy. Sure enough, the two who go in there come out bonkers. Gabriel comes out a stark raving murderer, and Morgan isn't even himself; he's possessed by the spirit of the spurned lover. And it turns out, that guy didn't curse the family. Brutus Collins was disgusted by the weakness of his own family and curse them himself! It takes a stranger, Kendrick, who is only there to find out who killed his sister, to break the curse. And everyone lives happily ever after, right? Well, no. Because one of the family is carried into the parlor with an obvious vampire bite on her neck. So they really did plan to continue? Probably. But before it aired, they knew they were canceled, so they added in a quick voiceover explaining that it was just a coincidence. A mere animal bite. No vampires here. The end.

But . . .

The third ending: Sam Hall's epilogue. He was asked after the show ended what became of the characters he'd written for years, and he gave very specific answers. One of them was granting my biggest Dark Shadows wish of all. Barnabas finally acknowledged Julia's love for him, and they got married. Poor Quentin never did find the answers he was looking for and walks the earth a tortured man/werewolf/Dorian Gray. Roger doesn't live long after that final episode. And so on. I found that ending to be the most satisfying because even with the curse lifted, Quentin is still fucked. Nothing changes for him.

And then the fourth ending: the comic book series. Honestly I see no reason for Dynamite's series to exist. For some reason they decided that the story had to be finished. A story that had been finished no less than three times. But I'll say I enjoyed it. Even though Angelique (or Miranda, if you prefer) sacrificed her life to save the Collins family, she's back and evil in the comics, and she and Barnabas continue their love/hate relationship even though it ended in a very cool way on the show. Eh, it was a fun read, but you can skip it in my opinion.

I've seen all Dark Shadows has to offer. The original show, the two movies, the remake show, many novels (the best of which are written by Angelique herself, Lara Parker), a bunch of comic books (the original Gold Key books!) and even a few books written by the cast about their experiences and an album of the score. What I have not seen is the Tim Burton movie, and I dread ever seeing it. It looks like a parody of the show. Dark Shadows may have been unintentionally funny a lot of times, but the key word there is "unintentionally." They took their material very seriously. There were very few purposeful jokes in their scripts. I'm told there's a blowjob scene in the movie, for fuck's sake. On Dark Shadows, NO ONE HAD SEX. Was there romance? Sure. But as far as the show goes, sex is completely alien to the characters. I suspect it might have been in the bible for the show, like in the Batman bible it says that he's a virgin.

But yeah. I guess someday I'll see it. As I understand it Jonathan Frid has a cameo, and it would be nice to see him again. But the joke goes that he was so embarrassed by the movie that he promptly died just before it was released.

*sigh* Yeah, yeah. I'll watch it. Just not anytime soon, okay?

PS: If you like Barnabas Collins, and you like Carl Kolchak, you should probably read "Interview with a Vampire." I remember enjoying the short story more than this comic book, but they're both good.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #423: LASIK

 I've flirted with the idea of getting LASIK done for many, many years, but I don't think I'll ever do it. First of all, it's kind of weird to have someone shooting a laser into your eyes to do some good ol' fashioned eye-cutting. It was a scary concept to me, and years ago when I saw a video of Kid in the Hall Dave Foley getting it done, it did not help matters. If you're going to do that shit to me, you'd better knock me out first.

But I've had glasses since third grade. I would feel absolutely naked without them. I couldn't imagine going to bed at night and being able to see everything clearly. It would weird me out. And when it's raining, what if water goes directly into my eyes? My glasses prevent that from happening.

But then again, what if the zombie holocaust happens? Or a cannibal holocaust? Or both at the same time? If my glasses break, well, I have a back up pair that are almost as good. And if those break? I have a pretty shitty back up pair. And if those break? I'm fucked for the rest of my life. Which might not be that long. I remember my old doctor once saw me reading a Walking Dead book, and he said, "Do you know who doesn't survive the zombie apocalypse? Fat diabetics." Sure, a little mean, but it was on point. I am fat, and I am diabetic.

But I'm not a fan of stuff in my eyes, which is why I don't do contacts. My eye doctor, when dilating my eyes, has to pry my lids open to put the drops in. I would not do well with the Ludovico Treatment, for example. The scene in Fulci's Zombie? Yeah, you know the one I'm talking about. I first saw that at a young age, and it has stuck with me pretty clearly over the years.

So while it might be for the best, I'll probably never get it done even if I could afford it. That's OK with me.

See?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #422: DOWNTIME

 I miss having a job with downtime. The one I work now has zero downtime. Well, mostly. Someday I'll describe that last qualifier, but for now it's like this: calls come in constantly. I talk with approximately 100 people a day. If calls stop coming in, and it happens, then we start calling out. There isn't a lot of time to get to know my coworkers. Most of them I just know as someone I work with and say hi to every morning or bye to every evening. There are exceptions but not many.

All of my other jobs have had downtime, and as a result I've made a lot of friends with coworkers over the years. When you have downtime you can bullshit or tell jokes or just hang out or in one notable case watch I Come in Peace on company time. Then of course there is mischief to be had. Pranks to be played. I have to say my finest moment was when a coworker/friend left his computer unlocked. He absolutely despised Pulp Fiction (his love of the Fast and Furious movies explains everything), so I snuck by his desk and opened Chrome, his browser of choice. I then got an add on that changed how it looked. You know when Travolta and Jackson empty their guns in that one scene?

Yeah, that one.

From that moment on that image was at the top of his Chrome browser. He gave me credit for that one, and when he asked how to get rid of it, I said I didn't know. I was maybe telling the truth. The fog of memory . . . obscures . . .

(And if that prank sounds kind of mean, it's not. He drew first blood when he changed my background to an almost naked picture of Nic Cage that could have led to an HR conversation.)

But my favorite job for downtime was working at the library, especially when I was working behind the circulation desk. That meant that whenever someone checked out books, I got to see what they were interested in. If it crossed with my own interests, then a great conversation about books ensued. I can talk about books for a very long time. I think I might still be able to do it from beyond the grave. I have no way to prove that just yet, but don't be surprised if, after I die, I start hanging around your place talking about books.

I truly miss that job sometimes. But then again, a lot of weird and horrible shit happened in that place, too. I'm not sure if you ever read my two Tales from the Library columns from Tabard Inn, but if you have, you know what I mean. And it gets even worse. I'm talking arrests, convicted kid rapists, sexual harassment and assault. Crazy shit you would never expect to happen in a library.

But the pros outweigh the cons.

Hey, what is Brian Benben doing these days? Last I saw him he was in The Deer Woman

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #421: MORE COMPLAINTS FROM THE SUBURBAN PRAIRIE

 Every time you think I've forgotten about calling my hometown the Suburban Prairie, I feel the need to remind you that I don't forget these things, and as long as I'm alive, you're stuck with it.

Anyway, the complaints. The last of my medications ran out from the old (and much preferred) pharmacy. I'm stuck with CVS for as long as I have this job. Don't worry. I planned far ahead in advance. I have my new meds from CVS, as I learn from missteps of the past pretty well.

But the whole thing reminded me of the last time I went to the ER, which was after I learned of my forced transition to CVS. It turns out, going a few days without your meds is not good. For me, the result was a return of my stomach issues. Stomach, not pancreas. Yes, because of that madness, I wound up in the ER. If I'd gotten my meds just one day sooner, it could have been avoided, but what the fuck do I know, right?

So I got treated, and as per usual I got a few new meds to take. If this was back when I was with my previous pharmacy, all I had to do was head over there, and the fax is waiting for me there. They ask if I want to wait for it, and I always do. They say fifteen minutes. It's more like seven minutes. I take my meds and go home happy.

What happened this time? The fax was sent, sure, but unlike my favored pharmacy, CVS said, "It's not ready yet."

"I can wait for it," I said.

"We'll send you a text when it's ready."

"How long will that take?"

"It shouldn't take too long."

Yeah. That just fills me with confidence. When were my meds ready? About 45 minutes later. So maybe you can see where my discontent is coming from.

I am in kind of a mood to bitch tonight. I've entered the new phase of quitting caffeine. The first was not having any after lunch. The next was not having any after my morning Monster. This phase is only having that Monster every other day. Today was the first day without, and it kicked my ass. It usually takes a couple of days for the withdrawal headache to kick in, but this bastard wasn't fucking around with me this time. I call it Kreese because it struck first, struck hard and showed no mercy. My God, it crippled me during the second half of my workday.

These caffeine withdrawal headaches are nothing to fuck with. I remember going through it in the hospital once, when I was forbidden caffeine, and it cut through all the lovely morphine I was on at the time. Not even motherfucking morphine could stop the bastard.

So yeah, I caved. I got some caffeine as soon as I got out of work. Dammit, though. I need to do this. My blood pressure is so high that ER doctors lose a year of their own life just looking at it. These days caffeine and cheese are probably the chief contributors, and I ain't gonna cut the cheese out of my life. Caffeine's got to go.

So TL;DR: fuck CVS and John Kreese and caffeine withdrawals.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #420: HIGH

To be read to this song. 

Yes, I'm high. Why do you ask?

Time to come clean a little bit. I don't always go to bed after posting these things. The problem is, there comes a time every night when I'm high that I lose my ability to complete sentences. I do this when speaking, too. I can start a sentence and suddenly have no idea of what I meant to say or even what I'm doing. As a result, I can't write these when I'm in that headspace.

So I wait until I feel the cannabis kick in. I have about a half-hour worth of a good buzz before I turn stupid. That's when I write these columns. And then, after I post, I put my phone away and let the drug have its way with me until I've degraded to the point of goofy laughter, which I then promptly forget what I was laughing about. And I mean promptly. I'd say three seconds after I finish laughing, I've already forgotten what I laughed about.

It's a good feeling, but it's not conducive to writing things.

Get some . . . some beer. And some . . . and some cleaning products.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #419: PETER JACKSON?!?!?!?!?!

That guy? Really?!?!?!

When I was a very young man, Hollywood had been threatening to make Lord of the Rings into a movie for about as long as I could remember. By that point we had three cartoons: The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings (which did not cover the whole story) and The Return of the King. I'd long given up hope that they would ever make the movie, much less make it a good movie.

Then came the day that I learned what the world now knows as history. I was working at the library in those days as a page. It would take me years to graduate to the circulation desk, but I worked the stacks, and on Friday nights I would work my final hour in periodicals. Josh, a friend of mine, worked behind the desk on some Friday nights.

That fateful day he greeted me as I walked up the three steps and into the periodicals department. "Did you hear the news?"

I had not.

"They're finally making Lord of the Rings into a movie!"

I highly doubt it.

"And you'll never guess who's directing!"

Okay, I'll bite. Who?

"Peter Jackson!"

Peter Jackson?!?!?!?!?!?! The Dead Alive guy? Meet the Feebles? Bad Taste? That guy?!?!?!?!?!

"Yep."

Josh knew my love of Lord of the Rings, and he knew my love of Peter Jackson. It had to be a trap. Why would Hollywood let a guy primarily known for weird and gory horror movies direct Lord of the Rings?

"I read about it in Fangoria."

I didn't believe him. I had to see the issue of Fangoria myself before I could believe it. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that a horror director would helm Lord of the Rings. Think about the Barrow-Wights! And Frodo's fight with the King of the Nazgul! Gollum would be in the best of hands. And the Dead Marshes! And the Dead Men of Dunharrow!

I was sold on Peter Jackson doing it in that moment. It would take years before I'd get to see that first movie, and I was not disappointed. I have a problem here or there with the films, but nothing that irritates me to the point of no return. Plus, watchful viewers will catch references to the Silmarillion, and that's pretty cool.

And now what was once an unthinkable film is being adapted as a show. I'm not certain how I feel about that. Do we really need a new Lord of the Rings show? Maybe. I doubt it, but maybe. I guess I'll hold off on judgment until it's released. But what I'd really like is a history of Middle Earth type of show that builds up to the trilogy. That would be pretty nice.

It would be sweet to see Morgoth in action.

We never got the Barrow-Wights, dammit. Way to go, Peter Jackson . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #418: LOOK WHAT ARRIVED TODAY

 

When I got home from my adventures today I was very pleased to see the new Lansdale had arrived. I took a look at that cover and thought, huh, that style looks very familiar to me. It took me a moment to think about my own books. STRIP and POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS in particular. And then it came to me.

Luke Spooner! I'd know his work anywhere! I'm glad to see that he's getting great work. I remember a while back I saw his work in Cemetery Dance, and now here he is working for my favorite living author! That's a hell of a gig, Luke! Congratulations!

Here's something very few people know right now. I can count the number of people on my fingers, in fact. Luke did the cover for my next book, too. One that has not been announced yet. One that some know I've been working on, but they have no idea that it's almost upon us.

I'd wanted it out in time for Printers Row, but things got in the way. I no longer had as much money as I was supposed to have due to surprise expenses, so I had to backburner the book. I'm going to try to get it out by Christmas just in time for the sick fucks on your shopping list, but in all likelihood it will probably be out early in 2022.

I can't wait to show you what Luke did for this one. It's an amazing cover, and you're all going to love it! Stay tuned . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #417: READING ALOUD FOR A LIVING

 It's not often that I have to read scripts to customers aloud for my current job. There is one script that I use often, and it's pretty easy except for one sentence, which I'll discuss in a moment. When I worked as a conference operator, on the other hand, I had to read scripts all the time. When I became a senior operator and then joined the Strike Team (the best of the best conference operators), we were expected to read some insanely long scripts and Safe Harbor statements for things like investor relations calls. The people who write those scripts know, intellectually, that someone is going to have to read them aloud live over a conference call, but they sure don't take that into consideration when writing the fuckin' things.

There is one line in that script I mentioned earlier that you are guaranteed to run out of breath while reading. There is no way you can read the whole thing without pausing. Luckily I don't have to read it for live investor relations calls--you know, the things major global corporations post on their websites for the world to listen to--so it doesn't bother me.

Let me give you an example of a Safe Harbor statement. I got this from Workday. Try to read it out loud and see where you get hooked up.

This website may contain forward-looking statements that involve risks, uncertainties, and assumptions. All statements other than statements of historical fact could be deemed forward-looking statements, including any projections of revenues, gross margins, earnings, or other financial items; statements regarding strategies or plans for future operations; statements concerning new features, enhancements, or upgrades to our existing applications or plans for future applications; statements relating to the expected performance or benefits of our offerings; statements about current or future economic conditions; and any other statements of expectation or belief. Because forward-looking statements relate to the future, they are subject to inherent uncertainties, risks, and changes in circumstances that are difficult to predict and many of which are outside of our control. Our actual results and financial condition may differ materially from those indicated in the forward-looking statements, and therefore you should not rely on any forward-looking statements that we may make.

The risks and uncertainties referred to above include, but are not limited to, our history of losses and expectations as to future losses, limited operating history, competition, management of growth, development of the market for enterprise cloud computing, market acceptance of our applications, breaches of our security measures, compliance with global laws and regulations, risks associated with maintaining a global business and global economic conditions, fluctuations in our operating results, interruptions or delays in the provision of our services, and risks associated with selling to larger enterprise customers. Further information on risks that could affect Workday’s operations and financial results are included in our annual report on Form 10-K and other filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission. These documents are available on the SEC Filings section of this website.

Workday assumes no obligation for, and does not intend to update, any forward-looking statements.

Any unreleased services, features, functionality, or enhancements referenced in a Workday document, roadmap, blog, website, press release, or public statement that are not currently available are subject to change at Workday’s discretion and may not be delivered as planned or at all. Customers who purchase our applications should make their purchase decisions based upon features and functions that are currently available.

So yeah, you can see why not every operator on the floor was trusted with these statements. It would be pretty nice if whoever threw this shit together knew how hard it would be to read to others.

Which brings me to the point of this. My books and stories are meant to be read out loud. I try my absolute best to write short sentences, or at the very least put in some natural pauses to catch one's breath. Chances are, I'm the one doing a live reading, so I want to make it easy on myself. I also know that a lot of people listen to books these days instead of reading them, so anyone who would care to read it to someone else should have the easiest time of doing so.

Because some of this shit gets nuts. When I was younger, a friend of mine and I used to write together, and just for shits and gigs, we'd see if we could out-do each other for writing the longest possible sentences we could. Sure, it's fun, but if you're trying to read that to someone, you're kinda fucked.

If you're looking for advice, and chances are you're not (but you'll get it anyway), try to write short, natural-sounding sentences. That sounds like an obvious thing, but after all the reading I've done, it clearly isn't. When editing, I read my work out loud and strike out anything that makes me pause, or anything my tongue might stumble on. Your readers will thank you.

The conference operator job had a few perks. I used to run calls for a Republican pollster you've probably seen on Fox News when your grandparents are watching it. His security lists were the thing of legends. I introduced Morgan Fairchild and Christine Hefner and the like, and one time I had to cut off Joe Pantoliano because he kept asking questions. Our company handled the Disney calls where they took over Star Wars and Marvel. WWE was a regular customer, and I've introduced Vince McMahon a couple of times. And then there was the time when Bill Cosby used us for dial out conferences. I remember when I got my first Cosby call, and we were trying to figure out if it was THE Bill Cosby. It turned out that it was, and we got a little excited over it. Knowing what we know now? Eh . . . That's a real collar-puller right there. Yeesh.

I will never not laugh at the House of Representin'.

And then there was the time Terry Crews called in as President Camacho from Idiocracy. Sadly it wasn't my conference, but not a single one of the rest of us did our jobs when this one was live, especially not me.

In case you were wondering, I've been told that I have a very pleasant voice, which probably explains why I keep getting customer-facing jobs. It's gotten to the point where I'm starting to wonder if I should go into voice acting. I hear it's pretty lucrative. I keep telling myself I'll look into it. Maybe I'll actually do that some day.

You're still here? It's over. Go home.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #416: THE FIRST TIME I EVER DROVE

This is probably how Gramps saw me at the time

 

I remember the first time I got behind the wheel of a car and drove. I terrified everyone involved. I was about five years old.

Gramps had a boat of a Chevy in those days. I watched The Dukes of Hazzard religiously as a child, so it should come as no surprise that I didn't open the door of the car to get in. No, I jumped through the window feet first like them Duke boys. It irritated the shit out of Mom and Grandma, but Gramps thought it was fine. I remember long night drives while laying on the shelf just below the back glass of this car. The car had seatbelts, but we never wore them. Sometimes I marvel at how I survived my childhood.

Anyway, the day in question, Gramps was supposed to take me to preschool to drop me off. He'd already started the car, but he forgot something inside, so he went back in the house. At the time, I used to pretend to drive every chance I got. Usually the car wasn't on, so I didn't expect anything to happen when I grabbed the shifter and put the car into reverse.

The car slowly moved backwards down the driveway toward the street. For a second I panicked, but then I realized I was driving, and that was pretty cool. My feet couldn't reach the pedal, thankfully, so the car continued to crawl backwards. I steered the car pretty well, if I don't say so myself, looking back just like Gramps always did when in reverse. Well, I had to boost myself up a bit. Gramps always put his arm over the top of the bench seat when doing this. I grabbed the top and pulled myself up so I could see.

I reached the street, where I was supposed to turn the wheel, but I realized that I was supposed to hit the brake while doing this. Like I said, my foot couldn't reach, and that's when true panic set in. I realized I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, and I was powerless to stop the vehicle as it backed up into the neighbor's driveway across the street from home. Very slowly the back of the car approached their garage door, and I figured that I was just going to crash into it. I braced for impact.

Gramps suddenly appeared next to the car, and he reached into the window and threw the car into park. I was going slow enough that it didn't throw out the transmission or anything, but he looked scared as all shit. He caught his breath, and then fear turned to anger, and he yelled at me for a while. As he should have, I think.

Guess who stopped playing driving games after that. This guy, right here. *hooks thumbs back*

Gramps had to run pretty quickly to catch up with me. I wish I'd seen it because he was never much of a runner. I don't think I've ever seen him run in his entire life. I'm sure it would have been a scene to behold.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #415: HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOMS

 At work there are two stalls in the men's room, and one of them has a door that never closes. No matter what you do, it will always open on you.

That made me think about something. I remembered in high school, none of the stalls in the men's room had doors. I was the kid who never went to the bathroom at school. The main reason was that I really didn't want to go to that horrorshow of a bathroom. I also didn't want to have to take a shit because of the lack of doors. I went through a lot of indignities, including the horrible shower room after PE, but one thing I couldn't (and still can't) do is shit in front of others. I know no one is looking. No one wants to see that. At the same time, I don't want the mere risk of someone looking at me while I strain and grunt and sometimes do gymnastics to get a shit out of me. Shitting is a very private thing for me.

Do you know why there were no doors on the stalls? The faculty and staff were deathly afraid that someone might be sneaking a smoke in there. Can't have that, now, can we? It's like it's the end of the fucking world if a kid smoked a cigarette in the bathroom. Thankfully the smokers had plenty of other places to indulge themselves. But honestly? If you can't tell whether or not someone is smoking behind a closed toilet stall? You might not be all that bright, anyway.

So as I thought about those old days, I also thought about these new days. A lot of stuff has changed since I was a kid. I have to wonder if this is one of them. Like, do kids still destroy other people's property just for the sheer hell of it? Do kids still fire bottle rockets at each other? And do they have to deal with the indignity of shitting in front of their peers?

I'd wager not. In this day and age when adults actually do care about kids' feelings (or at the very least they to pretend to), there's no way there are doorless stalls in high school bathrooms.

Right?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #414: CLASSICS ILLUSTRATED

To the best of my memory, I had this one.

 

So I watched The Many Saints of Newark when it came out, and I liked it. It was good. Not great. But something happened in it that reminded me slightly of my own childhood. There is a scene where a young Tony Soprano is reading a comic book. It's the Classics Illustrated version of Ivanhoe. When he's caught, he's given shit for not reading superhero comics like a regular kid.

It didn't happen that way in my own childhood, but it kinda-sorta happened. Aside from reading actual books, I had a collection of Classics Illustrated given to me by my paternal grandmother. She was a teacher, so it was very important to her that I became a reader. She was a little late to the party on that one. Mom had already started me reading at a very early age. I've been told that my first word was "book."

My favorites of the CI issues were A Christmas Carol and a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories. But the best was probably Poe's The Gold Bug. That was a lot of fun.

A lot of people know my love of comic books, but they're puzzled that I have no love of superhero comics. That started at a pretty early age for me. My dad tried to get me into them, and I still have copies of Spider-Man and Incredible Hulk that he got for me, but even then I thought they were kind of stupid. I liked the TV shows, but the comics bored the hell out of me. I stuck to the Classics Illustrated books until I discovered GI Joe and Transformers. Those books were the shit! They were so good that when Marvel canceled them both, I gave up on comics entirely and refused to read another one until my friend, CJ, put a copy of Evil Ernie into my hands during senior year of high school. I still don't read superhero books, unless they're written by someone I respect a great deal. I only read one superhero book currently: Batman: Reptilian. That's because Garth Ennis is writing it.

I still have my Classics Illustrated books somewhere. I think I know where, but they're under a lot of other stuff right now. Very hard to get to them. I'm thinking I should dig 'em out again to see if they still have the same power.

Well shit. It just occurred to me that not all of them were Classics Illustrated, after all. Some were the knockoff King Classics. But what the hell. Look at that glorious cover!

Behold! the glory!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #413: TM

Words to live by

 

When I first heard of Transcendental Meditation it was as a kid because my parents loved the Beatles. It seemed kind of silly to me, so I forgot the whole thing. And then I saw Twin Peaks when I was a bit older, and it interested me a little more, but not enough to try it. And then I read David Lynch's Catching the Big Fish, and I figured, why not?

First of all, and this is very important, the way I use TM is *not* to transcend or do anything spiritual. That still sounds very silly to me. As far as I can tell, Lynch doesn't use it for that, either. From my interpretation, it helps him think a lot clearer, and it does the same thing for me. It clears my head, and it helps me think about things from different angles.

Remember a while back when I talked about teaching myself to cook? TM is how I did it.

So this might help you, too. This is what I do.

I mediate twice a day (if I'm lucky). Once in the morning before work, once in the evening after work. I set twenty minutes aside for each session. You're supposed to find somewhere quiet with no distractions, but I don't have that luxury. I live close to the expressway and the train tracks, which are constantly noisy. Birds nest just outside my bedroom window, and the neighbor has a dog that barks constantly. To say nothing of screaming children walking through the alley behind my house.

But I do the best with what I've got. I sit comfortably. I cross my legs, but that's not important. Just so long as I'm comfortable, I can meditate. I close my eyes, and for the next twenty minutes I say my mantra over and over again in my head.

It important to choose a mantra that doesn't get said in regular conversation. It's like training an attack dog. The attack word should not be something someone might say accidentally around your dog. The mantra itself means nothing. It's just a thing for you to concentrate on. For example, I use a made up word. You're not supposed to say what it is to anyone else. That's probably bullshit, but I won't mention it here.

There are risks. Sometimes your thoughts will intrude on your mantra. That's natural. Get back to your mantra as soon as you can. You might start getting itches all over your body. Some will say to ignore it, but I find that if I do, all I can think about are the itches, so just scratch 'em and get back to the mantra as soon as possible. And the mantra might start morphing on you into another word. Try to stay focused.

By the time twenty minutes are up, you won't even think it was twenty. Today I thought I was meditating for ten minutes when my alarm went off and brought me out of it.

It refreshes the mind and promotes deeper thought. I recommend it.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #412: MY SECRET ROSE

 A few months back, when I walked from my car to the office building, I would see a hidden rose in the bushes next to the sidewalk. It was way back in there, surrounded by plenty of plants so it was hard to see. I only noticed because I saw a flash of red one day and decided to check it out. It was as perfect as a rose could be, and it was pleasant to look at. It gave me a moment of beauty before I punched in and slogged through my workday. I only looked for maybe five seconds each time, but it was enough. I'm pretty sure no one else looked at it. Everyone who walks up to that building watches the doors, probably because they know they're in for a shitty 8-hour day.

Naturally, the rose started dying. Its petals withered and fell away until only a bulb on a stalk remained, and soon that, too, was gone. I missed it.

Earlier this week a new rose appeared, and I was glad to have my moment of beauty once again. My life sucks. I know, that doesn't make me special. Still, we need to get our moments of beauty where we can get them.

Yesterday someone must have cut it out of the ground. I didn't see it go through the process of dying. It was there one day, gone the next, stalk and all. That irritated me. I liked it where it was.

Here's something you might not know about me. I don't get flowers for romantic partners. Never. There are two reasons. The most important is because I like them to remain alive and in the ground where they can be their most beautiful. I don't want to be responsible for their deaths. The secondary reason is because when they're in the ground, they're removing deadly CO2 from the air and giving us precious oxygen.

Wait, I hear you say. Why don't you get them fake flowers? Well, I did that once, and the woman I gave them to advised me that fake flowers aren't a good substitute for real ones. It's actually kind of tacky. I saw her point and adopted it.

So yeah. I advise leaving flowers in the ground where they belong. Also, stick to chocolates as a romantic gift.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #411: BAND PICTURE

 Recently on Twitter I've noticed people posting pictures of themselves that look like band pictures. I don't have any of those of me, or at least I don't think so. But it did bring to mind a moment from about two years ago in which I felt like I was in a punk band's picture.

For those who don't know me, I'm very much against consuming fruits and vegetables. I can tolerate apples, corn, carrots, watermelon and pears, but it doesn't mean I like it. I steer clear whenever possible.

So I was hanging out with a friend, and I was getting ready to leave. She was very concerned that I'm not getting enough potassium. To be fair, she was right. My kidneys have tried to kill me for this very reason. It's why I take potassium supplements these days.

As I was about to leave, she confronted me with a banana. "You don't get to leave unless you eat this."

No way, I told her. Not just no, but fuck no.

"Fine. Just take a bite, okay?"

Nope.

She got fed up with me to the point where she decided she was going to make me eat it. She's a pretty strong person. I remember once when she felt that she had to teach me self-defense, mostly against my will, and she accidentally punched me in the face. It was a solid hit. So it was very much within the realm of possibility that she actually could make me eat it.

I tried to escape, but resistance was futile. She had me on the kitchen floor, sitting on my stomach, her robe open, exposing her nudity beneath. And she held that banana like it was a knife she was going to stab me with.

In that moment I knew this image should be on the cover of a punk album. I really wish someone had taken a picture of that.

Anyway, she gave up and let me go. Bananas are fucking disgusting. They're slimy and they smell terrible. I'm very glad I didn't get that thing in my mouth.

And so I live to face another day . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #410: A SUIT OF ARMOR

 

When I was a kid, all I ever really wanted out of life was to have a suit of armor in my bedroom. This passion came from horror movies and cartoons. Imagine my surprise when I went to my stepfather's parents' place, and they had a suit of armor. I thought it was the greatest thing ever.

Quick side story: Scary German Guy from Monster Squad always reminded me of my stepfather's dad. He looked older than SGG, but otherwise it was pretty spot on. He fought in WWII, and I'm not sure which side he fought on. When I was a kid he gave me a bunch of coins, and many of them were from Nazi Germany, swastika and all. I'm kinda hoping he just picked those up while he was there as mementos, but, well. Oddly enough, both he and my second stepmom's dad were in WWII, and they both lost the same finger, so they could do the magic trick where you slide your thumb down, pretending it's a finger, but they could do it really fucking well.

Anyway, I'd hang out around that suit of armor wondering if it was possible to convince them to part with it in the interest of granting a child's finest wish. Never happened. But they gave me a plastic army dude with a parachute, and the top of their staircase was the perfect spot to drop him. Poor bastard's parachute never fully opened, and he always dropped like a rock. But he got to die at the feet of a suit of armor, which I think he would have liked.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I had a bunch of shit to do, so I left home. As I was driving by the front I saw my neighbor from two doors down had a yard sale going on.

AND HE WAS SELLING A SUIT OF ARMOR!

I had to keep going on my way, but I vowed that if it was still there when I got back, I would buy it, no matter the price. Yeah, that's an irrational thought, especially since I don't really have all that much money, and I have no idea where I'd put a suit of armor in this cluttered house. But goddammit, I wanted that suit of armor.

Imagine my disappointment when I got home and saw it was gone. Motherfucker.

Fuck.