Lost in…

Ok, I admit it. I’ve never seen Lost in Translation. At least until now. And since everyone in the world has already seen it, I’m not gonna add a lot to the public dialog. But just lemmee say this; Wow. Let’s just say, I know these characters, and I love this film. The list of […]

Ok, I admit it. I’ve never seen Lost in Translation. At least until now.

And since everyone in the world has already seen it, I’m not gonna add a lot to the public dialog. But just lemmee say this;

Wow.

Let’s just say, I know these characters, and I love this film. The list of things to love is long, and I’m not gonna bore you with it, but seeing Charlotte through Bob’s eyes – yeah. I get it.

And of course, I could spend a week just looking at Scarlett Johansson.

Sigh.

Too much clay

So we now have conclusive proof. 23 is right. 85 is right out. That’s the account for how much Wallace and Grommit is right. Now, let’s state up front. I love Wallace and Grommit. I think Grand Day Out is simply one of the best animations ever made. I love all the W & G […]

So we now have conclusive proof.

23 is right. 85 is right out.

That’s the account for how much Wallace and Grommit is right.

Now, let’s state up front. I love Wallace and Grommit. I think Grand Day Out is simply one of the best animations ever made. I love all the W & G shorts. I think Nick Park’s a brilliant animator.

But you know, some things are meant to be a certain length. Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit is all the proof we need of this.

Ok. There’s lots to like. I mean, it’s W & G. Grommit manages to say more with an eye-roll than most real people can say with a monolog. The animation’s great, Nick Park’s touch with sound – which is what makes Grand Day Out so brilliant – is still evident. The visual humor is inventive.

But I just don’t want to look at Wallace’s teeth for eighty-five minutes. I don’t want to look at Lady Campanula Tottington’s clown-gumby mouth for eighty-five minutes. Even Grommit, the heart and soul of Wallace and Grommit doesn’t keep me completely entertained for eighty-five minutes.

I dunno. Maybe I needed to be really really stoned, or to be under twelve. That might have helped. Certainly the people sitting next to me were giggling a lot harder than I was; so it worked for them.

Also, maybe a none-story-high screen isn’t that forgiving for claymation. On my teevee, it seems brilliantly lifelike, even while clearly cartoonish. Here, it’s just a clay face of nightmarish proportions.

But no. That’s not it. Because the good parts – the action scenes, and some of the jokes, and there are lots and lots of jokes – work very well. I think it simply comes down to length. What works in a tight thirty minutes, as with The Wrong Trousers and it’s brilliant train-chase – can’t carry an hour and a half.

And you know, maybe it was made worse by following a simply brilliant short featuring the Madagascar penguins (the only thing about Madagascar that was memorable) titled A Christmas Cape; I don’t recall laughing this hard at a cartoon in a long time. That certainly didn’t help.

Whatever the cause, though, I think it’s safe to say “wait for the DVD“.

Never Learning

Geez, you would THINK I would learn. I’m not doing nightly database dumps on my new server. Yeah, I meant to, but… Anyway, I just bolloxed up my main template while I was working on someone else’s. Luckily, I have some copies that are a month or so old, and was able to restore quickly, […]

Geez, you would THINK I would learn.

I’m not doing nightly database dumps on my new server. Yeah, I meant to, but…

Anyway, I just bolloxed up my main template while I was working on someone else’s.

Luckily, I have some copies that are a month or so old, and was able to restore quickly, but why the fuck don’t I have one from last night? I’ll tell you why – I’m a fucking moron.

But you knew that.

Anyway, I’m now setting up nightly dumps again, while I check with my sysadmin to see what he’s doing about mySQL dumps. Because I’m reasonably certain he’s not as lame as I am…


Ok. I think I hacked most of my changes back in. If anything looks really fucked up to you (well, other than the content), let me know. And now I’m makin’ mySQL backups as well…

How much I really hate you all

This is just how much I hate you all. I’m going to stick this stupid song in your heads. Magical Trevor Magical Trevor 2 Magical Trevor 3 Because Badger Badger isn’t evil enough, not even when you get the xmas badgers or the lotr badgers. I blame it on my dear, sweet Booty Girl. Boots, […]

This is just how much I hate you all. I’m going to stick this stupid song in your heads.

Magical Trevor
Magical Trevor 2
Magical Trevor 3

Because Badger Badger isn’t evil enough, not even when you get the xmas badgers or the lotr badgers.

I blame it on my dear, sweet Booty Girl. Boots, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson now – watch out!

Slashdotted (or is that fleshbotted?)

So I check my site stats today, like, you know, always, to see who’s reading what. I’m like that about checking the logs. He knows when you’ve been sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. Like that. And I see this big fuckin’ spike it my hits over the last three or four hours. Turns out […]

So I check my site stats today, like, you know, always, to see who’s reading what. I’m like that about checking the logs. He knows when you’ve been sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. Like that.

And I see this big fuckin’ spike it my hits over the last three or four hours. Turns out Long Dark Car is in BacchusSex Blogs Roundup.

Excellent.

Hey, if any of you enjoy, or even hate, that story, do us a favor and leave a comment. It’s what the writer thrives on. and you can also clix me while you’re at it.

Long Dark Car

Time for a dirty story. This is a slight expansion upon one of the best sex dreams I’ve ever had. This was a long time ago, and certainly, some of the dream detail is lost, and thus replaced with the writer’s waking imagination. Still, the basic details are direct from the dream. In the dream […]

Time for a dirty story.

This is a slight expansion upon one of the best sex dreams I’ve ever had. This was a long time ago, and certainly, some of the dream detail is lost, and thus replaced with the writer’s waking imagination. Still, the basic details are direct from the dream. In the dream the ending was, as all my sex dreams, a too-soon waking; so the ending here is of the writer’s-waking-imagination kind. But somehow the sudden ending didn’t satisfy.

Read more “Long Dark Car”

Sex Dreams and Dirty Stories

Somehow sex dreams are the source of a lot of my best erotic writing. I’ve got a piece finished, but I think I need to proof read it one more time before I post it. It should be up tomorrow sometime. It feels good to finish one, even if it’s a short piece.

Somehow sex dreams are the source of a lot of my best erotic writing.

I’ve got a piece finished, but I think I need to proof read it one more time before I post it. It should be up tomorrow sometime.

It feels good to finish one, even if it’s a short piece.

MirrorMask

Go. See. MirrorMask. Now. Two words sum this thing up. “Wow“, and “Acid Trip”. Wait that’s three words. But nevermind. I sat, partway through this movie, and thought, I’m watching an acid trip with my eleven-year-old daughter. And the sad thing is, I can’t explain to her how cool that is, not yet anyway. What […]

Go.
See.
MirrorMask.

Now.

Two words sum this thing up. “Wow“, and “Acid Trip”.

Wait that’s three words. But nevermind.

I sat, partway through this movie, and thought, I’m watching an acid trip with my eleven-year-old daughter. And the sad thing is, I can’t explain to her how cool that is, not yet anyway.

What makes up for this is that she got the movie. And I don’t know any other kid her age who would. She can’t think of a single one of her friends who’ll get it, and she has geeky friends. She lists Coraline as her all-time favorite book; she worships Wolves in the Walls and loves The day I swapped my dad for two goldfish. She can’t wait to read American Gods and wanted to know all about Anansi Boys, which is on my bedside now.

She gets Gaiman. She gets Dave McKean‘s art. She gets the crazed multi-media world he lives in.

She understands, without my having to tell her anything, what the inside-out dreamworld of MirrorMask was all about.

We walked out of the movie both saying wow together; geek rapture, but also art rapture. Because while MirrorMask is a movie, what it really is, is three-dimensional, moving art. like few movies I’ve ever seen, this film is complete, pure art.

It’s hard to describe. The closest you cam come in spirit is to say it’s like Yellow Submarine. But it looks nothing like Yellow Submarine. What it looks like, feels like, is walking into Dave McKean’s mind and wandering around, a place where schools of fish swim through the sky, where you need a net to catch books, where stone giants float in the sky and old ladies keep sphinxes as pets. I guess one part Yellow Submarine, one part Cabinet of Doctor Caligari; with a side of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and a pinch of Tim Burton.

And no, that really doesn’t capture it.

What’s it about? Hell, it doesn’t matter, at all.

Just go see it.

And let me add, I’m in love with Stephanie Leonidas, who looks like she’s about fifteen in this movie, but is evidently old enough that I can buy her a drink if I ever run into her into a hotel bar.

I wanna do drugs with these guys, I tell ya.

Dream Woman

Damn, I wish I’d had some un-interrupted time to write this morning. I had a dream, some woman dredged from my subconscious. A person as complete and real and defined as any dream I’ve had in years. The last time I had a dream like this, about a person this real, that dream grew into […]

Damn, I wish I’d had some un-interrupted time to write this morning.

I had a dream, some woman dredged from my subconscious. A person as complete and real and defined as any dream I’ve had in years. The last time I had a dream like this, about a person this real, that dream grew into Wanton, my novella.

I woke up with my head full of this girl – young, tattooed all over her back and shoulders with vivid images, plants and birds and colorful insects, curly haired, wearing hippie/gypsy sort of jewelry. She was wearing tiny round glasses.

I wanted to write out the dream, because I could feel a story forming in my head around this woman. I had the setting, the edges of a plot. And the scent of her, the feel of her skin.

It’s sliding away now, hours later, and I fear before I have time to write it, it’ll be gone.

Image stash

I just figured out that ecto, my blog editor (and dude if you’re not using ecto, get on it, it rules, at least on the mac) keeps an image cache of all image uploads. So I have this whole directory full of images I’d uploaded in the past. I’m right now pushing them all up […]

I just figured out that ecto, my blog editor (and dude if you’re not using ecto, get on it, it rules, at least on the mac) keeps an image cache of all image uploads. So I have this whole directory full of images I’d uploaded in the past.

I’m right now pushing them all up to my server, so the broken image links in old posts are almost all being fixed with no intervention on my part.

Let me know if you find any broken image links anywhere, I’m sure there are a few, but most of ’em are working now.

Once again, ecto saves me. I love ecto.