Let me tell you how I feel.
Want to know how I feel right now?
Let me tell you how I feel.
Here I am, sitting in my flat.
Deep in the heart of Vielle Ville (Old Town)—Nice, Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur, France.
Random thoughts bounce hither and yon in my head.
I saw a Facebook page last week about a pub in Nice called Le Ketje. Once every few weeks at Le Ketje, aspiring rock stars can join in live karaoke. Now, when the karaoke is live, that means you have a real band playing behind you. The lyrics are printed on paper instead of spoon-fed on a flat-screen monitor.
The Facebook page listed the songs in the visiting band's playlist, most of them French pop. But there was a mouthful of English-language ‘60s/’70s songs thrown into the mix.
Day three of 2017, and I’ve already gotten into it with a Trump supporter. I won’t flesh out the details of the argument or which one of us was obviously right (hint: I think it was me). I will just say that when the smoke cleared and I walked away from Facebook, I felt like crap. This is common in most people, actually. Too often, when confronted with a position or situation that is almost unfathomable to us, we try to make sense of it by forcing our wills upon others.
Been there, done that, bought the DVD, ate the Happy Meal.
It doesn’t work. Never has, never will.
So this cool horror film is screening in Wichita, Kansas (my old stomping grounds) this weekend, and I AM GOING... to be Wichita the following weekend! So I can't be there to see this, and that pisses me off.
You all know Hank the cat--writer, muse, survivor, and dead ringer for the Beast in Jean Cocteau's La Belle et la Bête. Back in mid December, I decided to expose Hank to the original Star Wars trilogy, Episodes IV through VI, in preparation for the release of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Hank had some pretty strong opinions about the first film, some of them a bit R-rated. What follows is an account of that viewing experience, which will appear in my upcoming memoir (originally titled Geek Pray Walkabout, later changed to Geek Pray Evolve, currently a nameless manuscript in search of an identity). If you love Star Wars, you may not like what Hank has to say, but please don't take it out on him or his kind. Cat lives matter, after all:
I am sitting here in Florida getting used to my new digs. It has been a long strange trip these past few weeks since my return from Europe. I returned to a home I no longer recognized, with half the furniture gone and all of the wall art removed. I was then forced to jump feet-first into this crazy-town move from Cali to Flo, a process that included sneaky trickster moving companies, strained backs, aching joints, and a three-day drive across the country in a car full of mewling cats.
Hell, my friends. A steaming ball of hell.
Fortunately, when I arrived in the Sunshine State, I got to sit down for coffee with one of my favorite authors, Robbie Cox. If you don't know anything about Robbie Cox, that's what the video below is all about. Below the video, you will find links to Robbie's blog, which gives you information on all of his books. Definitely check him out when you get a chance.
I will say this: connecting with a fellow writer is a nice way to acclimate myself to a new area... but being able to help that writer is even nicer. Read on, my friends, and viddy well.
When we first meet Nym (Nicholas Zorro Iway, who also wrote and directed), he is wearing a mask--stark white, epicene, recalling the façade worn by Edith Scob in Georges Franju’s Eyes Without a Face (1960). He is videotaping himself in his car using a portable video camera, and the shadows of the night make for a nightmarish visual. Within seconds he will attach the camera to the side of the mask, enter a home, and brutally beat two men with a baseball bat, capturing it all digitally to rewatch later on his computer.
It is an opening as misleading as it is shocking.
About the Bloggers
The doctors have a name for it: confabulation. The filling in gaps in memory by unconstrained fabrication.
In the latter half of the 19th Century, there was this Russian psychiatrist named Sergei Sergeyevich Korsakov observed this behavior in chronic alcoholics. Most often, these patients resorted to imagination to compensate for irregular memory loss and impaired ability to acquire new information.
The phenomenon is called Korsakov's psychosis.
Listen: most of this blog is true ...