Audio Neurotic Fixation: Prince's "The Love Symbol Album"

There are a good many artists with whom I have a love/hate relationship. Prince would be such a case. He's in the ...nurgh... banner, has produced some of my favorite music ever, and I even bought the 1991 "Prince: Alter Ego" comic by future Milestone creators Dwayne McDuffie and Denys Cowan at full cover price. However, he also generates more unwarranted pretense and godawful filler crap than any remotely comparable artist, and I'm speaking as someone who likes "Rock-A-Hula Baby" by Elvis. He has never appeared in a good movie, very much including "Purple Rain." In fact, DAMN U, 4 EYE have seen "Under the Cherry Moon." Especially DAMN U 4 popularizing the inane alpha-numeric/iconographic interchangeability prevalent on the web, in rap, and text messages today. Also, I can't comfortable post the cover of "Alter Ego," or the album art above, because Prince is currently going all Lars Ulrich against the entire internet in a bid to remove any instances of his likeness appearing without consent or payment.

Still, I've decided he's an excellent candidate to inaugurate music coverage within the nurghosphere. "Audio Neurotic Asphyxiation" will suffocate its readers with either the dizzying highs of its track-by-track reviewers, or send them to meet Michael Hutchence, another 80's favorite of mine. Further, I've chosen to start with an album with an unpronounceable symbol for a name and a dim history of positive reviews. My own thoughts on the release?

1. My Name Is Prince: A first attempt at a quasi-rap, and I enjoy it very much. If anyone has a right to swagger and talk shit, it's Prince. Again, his name is Prince. You expect humility?
2. Sexy M.F. : One of the worst possible songs to hear edited, as it was in the music video. Sure, "motherfucker" is only uttered 7 times in the first 3 1/2 minutes, but another 20 times audibly over the remaining minutes, discounting the chants of same buried by production. It works great, but seriously, are you still that pissed at Tipper Gore nearly a decade on from "Darling Nikki?"
3. Love 2 the 9's: cutesy, jazzy number far from my speed, but inoffensive.
4. The Morning Papers: The first ballad, once again to the type of underage virgin Prince favored. Still, "If he poured his heart in2 a glass and offered it like wine, she could drink and be back in time4 the morning papers" remains a swell line.
5. The Max: The first subtle but direct reference to this being a concept album. Not coincidentally, also one of the limpest tracks present. WTF guest rapping, some weak glory mongering-- ugh.
6. Segue: Dialogue "skit" setting up the hero's only vocal adversary on the album, a reporter played by Kirstie Alley.
7. Blue Light: Nothing special, but the faux reggae and likely anecdotal lyrics keep it palatable.
8. Wanna Melt With U: A thumping, semi-industrial number that makes the mistake of recalling the classic Modern English single in title, but not in quality by any stretch. Pretty sloppy regardless of association, in no way helped by shoddy rap from NPG frontman Tony M.
9. Sweet Baby: I swear, I consistently forget this song exists, even while its playing.
10. The Continental: Sounds more like a parody of this period's work by Prince than a legitimate entry.
11. Damn U: As above, but his time parodying 60's crooners. So blah they tacked another skit onto the end of it, and I never bothered to care.
12. Arrogance: The pseudo chop-socky music at the opening is far better than the rest of this cacophonous wreck. Seems more like a bridge to more cryptic details relating to the "concept" than a song. Even still, the forced intrigue tweaks part of my lizard-geek brain, compelling me to learn more about the half-conceived conceit here.
13. 7: ...muchly because of this, one of the Prince songs I've been known to sing along to without being conscious I'm doing it. I adore the imagery and hopeful feeling this song invokes, plus the engaging chorus managed to work in "savoir faire," which rates mad props. If I were a minister instead of negative creep, I'd make my congregates sing this on every sabbath day.
14. And God Created Woman: I swear, I started this with the intent of bucking the trend and giving a positive review. What happened? Prince filler can really sneak up on you.
15. 3 Chains O' Gold: I never have gotten my hands on the comic book follow-up to "Alter Ego." I'm sincerely curious if it managed to make more sense of the muddled concept than the album or video collection. Also, I want to see a Prince "Who's Who" entry someday. Say, did the Ann Nocenti "Ace" analogue from those Spider-Man annuals with Mark Beachum ever get a Marvel Handbook entry? Also, with his fervent assertion that he'd "sho nuff" save the princess, doesn't the repeated line "If one of us has 2 go, U will go before me" seem like Prince's equivalent to Captain America's classic faux pas "ONE of us is gonna walk OUT of here -- under his own steam -- and it won't be ME!"
16. Segue 2: I recently rewatched the 80's "Flash Gordon" movie, and with Prince's fixation on "Barbarella," wouldn't it be great to see him score Robert Rodriguez's upcoming (and hopefully true-to-camp) remake ala Queen? "Baaaaaaaaah-ba-re-lla! Her juices will quench your thirst. Baaaaaaaaah-ba-re-lla! That girl's coochie... will sho' nuff save this Earth!"
17. The Sacrifice of Victor: Sounds like a testimonial of import, but I'm not sure where it's going, and I myself never got anywhere. It works great as metafiction, though. "Victor" dies and is reborn as the "Love Symbol," just as Prince did. Also, while no satisfactory answer comes frok the music, I understand the Artist Formerly Known As Prince totally tapped the underage princess. Hello marriage #1!

So, okay, "Love Symbol" isn't such a great album, but I still got swept up in its mythology, because I'm a stupid dork. I will continue to defend my love of "7" and the other singles, and I'll even say it's a better album than "Diamonds And Pearls." Maybe, Tune in same (INSERT TAFKAP SYMBOL) Time, same (TAFKAP SYMBOL REMOVED per Cease & Desist Order) Channel!

A Frank Review of "Masters of Horror: Imprint"

IMPRINT


I'm always willing to give a film directed by Takashi Miike a shot, because he never fails to deliver images that stick to your brain. His films are often excessively violent, even by my liberal standards, and are jut as likely to be nonsensical. Regardless, he has a gift for finding a new way to present a horrific circumstance in such a way that the viewer has never experienced. "Imprint" is no exception. This is actually something of a dark fairy tale, and could potentially be quite enjoyable and mostly palatable for a good half of the film. Then, as when "Audition" transformed from a mild romantic drama to a David Lynch-style mindfuck, "Imprint" diverges quite heinously. A twice told tale darkens considerably when revisited, and a lengthy sequence made clear why this one could never make the cable broadcast rounds. At this point, the film turns to torture of a sort that only the most desensitized person of highly suspect empathy would be disinclined to turn away from.

The acting is servicable. English is clearly not a first language for the Asian cast, and even Billy Drago had me wondering at times. I imagine Takashi Miike's on-set translater disappearing for long periods of time on a heroin binge or somesuch-- leaving his sole direction to Drago much stomping of feet and the resonate intonation of "bigger. BIGger! BIGGAR!" Drago is usually to Jack Palance as Christian Slater is to Jack Nicholson, if anyone decides to go all Gus Van Sant on the Burton "Batman" film. I've loved Drago since freakin' "Vamp," and his characters tend to be broad, but he's completely off the map here. You can smell the ham wafting out of your speakers.

Aside from a perhaps too obtuse ending, the story works wonderfully, and the author of the source novel makes a deliriously effective leap into acting in a cameo. The production design is fantastic, mingling authentic period with intentional anachronism and strong elements of anime (including primary colored hair to differentiate between the female characters.) Most of these "Masters of Horror" entries have served as reminders of why these once famed directors are working on direct-to-cable "movies" today. In Miike's case, it was an opportunity to see why horror must look to the future instead the past. Horror is like comedy, it must stay fresh, surprise, and push boundaries. In this too rare instance, mission accomplished.

A Frank Review of 2 Films to Die For

I suspect a good many folks were like me in late 2006, bopping along the internet, when a interesting banner caught your eye: an attractive woman with a wolfman tattooed on her nude backside. I passed over the banner, only to have the wolfman spring up and scream at me. Ha ha, nice, whatever. I followed the link for the first round of 8 Films to Die For, uncovering a variety of trailers, with several looking interesting. There were no reviews at that time, and when ads for the event started hitting the papers, I asked friends if they'd be interested in checking this business out. Well, then the reviews started trickling in, revealing the movies too intensely graphic for mainstream release were in fact mostly tepid direct-to-dvd crap spun through marketing into an event. Worse, every time I visited a geekcentric web page, my mouse would inevitably graze that stupid ad, turning any once positive notice into scorn. I steered clear, but one of my friends retained interest, and loaned me her copies of the two films I had the most interest in.

Penny Dreadful


The basic premise: Penny parents were killed when she was a child in a grisley car accident she survived. This was the best, most effect scene in the picture, and its about five minutes in. As an adult, Penny has a serious car phobia, so her therapist suggests a road trip onto an isolated mountain road in winter. Oh yeah, the premise is that thin. So a creepy hitchhiker is picked up, and the mayhem begins.

In all honesty, I only wanted to catch this picture because I find Rachael Miner to be really, really hot. Sadly, she spends pretty near the entire movie in a huge furlined coat, possibly on loan from Penelope Cruz's character from "Vanilla Sky." Mmm, Cruz and Miner. So the thought advanced by my previous sentence was better than anything this film had to offer. Woman, trapped in a car, hounded by a psycho. Since in itself that should take ten minutes tops, lots of additional roadkill are introduced half-heartedly and dispatched with little more care. Also, the mostly unseen killer is exposed in the final reel, which almost always means a huge letdown. Yup. Remember that rumor that Josh Saviano from "The Wonder Years" had grown up to become Marilyn Manson? No, that's this kid.

The Hamiltons


Dead parents? Suspicious nomadic family of anti-social teenagers? Insinuation of incest between the fraternal twins? Potential fratricide? Hot chick butcherbait held in captivity? Homicidial gimp in the cellar? Directed by "The Butcher Brothers?"

How did this all go so terribly un-wrong? This could have been the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" for the "Scream" set. Instead, it's "Party of Five" to the... wait, I think this is just "Party of Five." Little violence, some bothersome misogyny outweighed by days spent with crying victims, entirely too much first person narrative from the little bitchboy POV character... just bad all over. Pretty much every "twist" is spoiled in the trailer, which is okay, because they would have otherwise been spoiled in context by context.

Two duds out of 8? Or maybe it's just best to get out before I'm really upset by the loss of my precious time...

A Frank Review of "Day of the Dead 2: Contagium" (2005)

The Short Version? Dirty Cheap Zomedy.
What Is It? "Horror." "Comedy."
Who's In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? Not if you have brrr-AInnsss. Altered states optional.



Over the last few days, I've been talking quite a bit about my experience with horror movies, specifically George Romero's "Dead" films. After the landmark "Dawn" and a new appreciation for the original "Night," the third of these films left a great deal to be desired. In the classic clip movie "Terror in the Aisles," there's a wonderful excerpt from "Day" in which a mad soldier leads an army of the dead onto an elevator platform. As the flesh eaters begin their business on the soldier, he presses a button that begins to lower the platform. His fellows look on in horror as this terrible throng is ever so slowly presented before them, the mechanism moving as deliberately as the dead themselves, but with the same dire consequence. This excerpt, combined with my love for "Dawn," set me up for a massive fall when seeing "Day" as a whole failed to deliver on this promise. I've revisited "Day" many times since, and forgive it more of it's weaknesses with each viewing. Still, so much emphasis was placed on the grisly effects and overblown characters, it could never stand next to the prior installments.

The zombie craze that began with 28 Days Later... and continued throughout the Bush presidency freed up money for a pair of 2005 direct-to-DVD sequels to "Day," obviously with no input from and little regard for George Romero. As might be gleaned from my review of Diary of the Dead and mentions of "Land" and the original "Day," I see this as no great shame. I rented "Day 2" with no more prejudice than I would have toward any D2DVD movie with clearly dubious production values. From interview material during production, it's clear the filmmakers were passionate about the material and excited by the results of their efforts. I appreciate their enthusiasm, though it also makes me sad, because the movie they created is pretty darn terrible.

The flick starts in 1968, and purports to be a prequel to "Night of the Living Dead," seemingly with a lower budget than the original (without adjusting for inflation.) A dirty Ruskie stole a mystery substance from the Americans, before a defector returned it, but not without exposing himself to zombie dust. Seriously, this stuff is in some sort of mod sci-fi salt shaker that periodically opens up and releases glowing white pixie things. Like most of the movie, the effect is so unbelievably ill-considered, you're left wondering if the whole thing is a gag. So anyhow, a random hospital orderly steals a salt shaker in the midst of a zombie outbreak for reasons unknown, hides it in a thermos, and tries to escape a military clampdown. He trips, then gets back up as an insta-zombie, and is gunned down. This opening sequence is an excellent gauge for how gloriously awful the film is, and somehow manages to get worse when it jumps to the present. Let me count the ways:

1. Between the zombie salt chess piece dispenser thingees and the ethereal light of the living dead, the movie recalls 1987's "*batteries not included." How's that for weird association?


2. CGI jeeps, helicopters and classic cars that look like a cut scene from a video game. We're talking Sega CD here.


3. Several obviously fake guns and rifles-- possibly made of wood or carved out of a bar of soap.


4. There wasn't enough money for blanks, so soldiers just pretend to fire their weapons by jerking them upwards when "shooting." Sometimes directly into the camera during close-ups.


5. Blood is cheaper than blanks, so that goes everywhere.


6. ...but squibs are used sparingly, in favor of just falling down.


7. Classic "look everywhere but at the approaching monster" stupidity.


8. Zombie Patient Zero looks, acts and talks like Baron Zemo.


9. Did I mention Zombie Patient Zero talks? As do all of the other major zombies.


10. Vague references to and a pseudo-sequel of "Night of the Living Dead" is a trademark of the "Return of Living Dead" franchise, all rights reserved.


11. An uncredited cameo by Adam Carolla as the military chief? Nah, his quote was much too high.


12. All persons changing into a zombie must first drip Hershey's Chocolate Syrup from their mouth.


13. Anyone being eaten must drip Hershey's Strawberry Syrup from their mouth, even if it's a leg wound.


14. This is supposed to be a "sequel" to "Day of the Dead," which took place well into the global zombie apocalypse. Instead, its serio-comic tone fits better after "Return of the Living Dead Part 2," which itself sidestepped the nuclear holocaust at the end of its prior installment.


15. The zombie thermos is found forty years later by mental patients forced to clean a park, who treat it as an object of great interest.


16. "Mental patients" could easily double as leads in a D2DVD "Revenge of the Nerds" sequel, and can also double for more generally "mentally challenged," because I suppose some people find the conditions interchangeable.


17. Each character, aside from the lead, is defined entirely by their neurosis.


18. The males are mostly a freakshow. The females are all reasonably hot...


19. ...which might explain why two of them get into a catfight.


20. Zombies in an asylum is (c)1989 "The Dead Pit."


21. Since the movie takes place in an institution, there must be a creepy head doctor conducting unholy experiments with his patients...


22. ...and the abusive, rapist orderly, 'natch.


23. ...and the "Patch Adams" good guy doctor, though he's responsible for most everything that goes wrong in the picture.


24. The black mental patient seemed to take his acting cues from Wiploc and Zeebo of 1988's "Earth Girls Are Easy."


25. We can give the evil head doctor a thick German accent, or make him sound like he's deaf? Hey, why not both?


26. Zombie fist fights?


27. Zombie sympathy pains?


28. Zombie telepathy?


29. Zombie cure?


30. Zombie puns?


31. Jerry, the Lone Gunman exposition geek.


32. Hero cop Geraldo Rivera?


33. At some point, when your monster is a virulent, talking bag of mutated meat, you're just not a zombie movie anymore.


34. Especially when you have a clash between good zombies who don't eat flesh...


35. ...and bad who taunt and gab with the intent to turn the good zombies to the dark side.


36. Zombie immaculate conception? For no apparent reason? Even when addressed in the director's commentary?


37. Instant zombie baby (c)1992 "Braindead/Dead Alive."


38. I HAD to listen to the commentary track with the two (!) directors, which is the most patronizing thing ever...


39. Stating proudly that you left the ending "wide open" doesn't make it artistically ambiguous, just vague and anticlimactic.


40. Despite all of the above, still a better and more enjoyable picture than George A. Romero's Diary of the Dead."

Opening Minutes:

A Frank Review of "George A. Romero's Diary of the Dead" (2007)

The Short Version? The Blair Zombie Project
What Is It? Zombie Horror.
Who's In It? Nobody.
Should I See It? No, unless you were big on lonelygirl15.

Yesterday, I talked about my long history of watching horror movies, and I'm especially fond of the Romero-style "dead." I'm perfectly happy to call them "zombies," as I'm not one to stand on ceremony, and that is how the creatures are popularly known. In fact, I'm perfectly willing to cast the net more broadly than most, as I consider everything from the Rage-infected humans of "28 Days Later..." to the vampiric hordes of "Lifeforce" to the eponymous "Aliens" to be "zombie movies." I suppose I should take a page from "Resident Evil," and declare my love for "survival horror," but again, they're all just zombie movies to me. I like a small collection of smart, determined individuals struggling against overwhelming hordes of mindless abominations, preferably of the undead variety in a familiar backdrop.

This gets me back to the Romero-style dead. The horror in these creatures, when properly employed, does not come from their speed, capabilities, viciousness, nor visage. They are the creeping inevitability-- no matter how pathetic they seem, nor how easily they can be outsmarted, outgunned, or outrun. Ultimately, there are just too many of them, they cannot be stopped, and everyone will succumb to them regardless of their beliefs or abilities. We are all among the dead eventually. Great "dead" movies confront us with our mortality and our hubris more than ghouls and gore. They are moaning, mindless, and a reflection of our innermost failings and unavoidable doom.

I've been reading reviews of Romero's latest "dead" picture, which is 60% Fresh(ish) at Rotten Tomatos. The previous "Land of the Dead" and Day of the Dead" are at 74% and 79% respectively. Many reviews note that "Diary" finally broke Romero's streak of great "dead" pictures, being fair-to-middling. I don't fully understand this, as I haven't truly enjoyed a Romero flick since "Dawn," and in some respects "Diary" is better than the previous two installments. However, it is still a mostly joyless chore to watch, much like those other two.

I was supposed to see George Romero's "Diary of the Dead" with a friend, but his fiancee got sick, and I really needed a nap. I slept until 11:30p.m., and realized that the last showing of the film in town I was likely to catch before it left theaters was that night at 12:40 a.m. I was slightly apprehensive about the thought of walking out of what was guaranteed to be an empty theater alone at 2:30 in the morning after watching a zombie movie. However, there were 2-4 other patrons in my theater, and the movie was in no way disturbing. The best moment was when someone's head kept bopping over the corner of the exit stairway, likely cursing the few of us keeping him from cleaning the auditorium, but resembling one of the shambling dead while obstructed.

In the film, Romero attempts the same ham-fisted social commentary as in "Land," this time targeting the emotional exhibitionism and egocentric detachment of the YouTube/reality programming era. Now, a good social critic can watch some poor soul on a streaming video trying desperately to connect with humanity and express themselves via an inherently impersonal barrier medium. Romero, unfortunately, just sees their delusions of grandeur in the midst of an opportunity at unlimited access to information and "truth." His subjects are supposedly contemporary, but his mindset is still entrenched in 1960s radicalism, so that his characters are just soapboxes to express his editorializing. This problem is made worse by Romero's actually having money to pay "talent" rather than whoever was around that could speak dialogue, begging impotently for the audience to respond to PYTs of both genders going through his motions without an inkling of verisimilitude. Very much like every "dead" movie since "Dawn," come to think about it.

Where "Diary" improves on the post-70's installments is in returning to realistic surroundings, as opposed to the underground military facility and the "Mad Max" post-apocalyptic ridiculousness. "Diary" also has a visceral pull thanks to the first person perspective from his subject's video cameras. This mode puts the viewer into the action, without the nausea of "Blair Witch" jerkiness, and with the limited scope that allows the bogeymen to reach out of the blackness at you. There was much gnashing of teeth when Romero was removed from "Resident Evil" in preproduction, but based on "Diary," the real loss is that he wasn't hired for "House of the Dead" instead.

On the other hand, there's so very much wrong with the movie. The "characters." The "actors." The dubious motivations. The episodic nature of the narrative, which plods through such silly territory as the militant black militia and the deaf Amish man communicating via chalkboard. To a large degree, "Diary" seems to exist to either criticize or crib from the many zombie movies of recent years. It's less a story as a storehouse for bits Romero didn't manage to get into his other films. At a mere 90 minutes, it's amazing how long and meandering this mess felt while watching. I hope I never feel a compulsion to see it again, but I'm confident I will, and will be the poorer for again wasting my time.

For such a revered figure, George Romero hasn't made very many good films. The more I look at his filmography, the more I feel he absorbs the material around him and spits out a byproduct. The late 60's and 70's were an excellent time for subtle, relevant, sophisticated films. The 80's were a time for excessively violent action fests. The "Dead" films of those decades reflect their time, and I suppose I'm sad that the dead of the oughts are so empty, slick, and self-important, because it speaks ill of us all.

Frank L. Delano's Journal of Horror

1983
For much of my young life, I was raised by two women, the pride and joy of my grandmother. I was such a sweet sweet thing, but a side effect was that when it came to horror, I was an utter pussy. To my recollection, the only scary movie I'd seen up to that point is to this day mostly unknown to me. My mother had drug me to the cinema on a date, and my only recollection was her covering my eyes as a woman bounced on a very basic bed, confronted by an unseen ghost/demon/etcetera while a crucifix spun on the wall. For years, I assumed I must have seen a re release of "The Exorcist," but that proved not to be the case. I remember my best friend of the time telling me about seeing the "boogieman" in a film, which left me conflicted, as the term stuck me as less than terrifying. I had a strange attraction/repulsion to the movie poster for the "Rocky Horror Picture Show," which seemed to hang perpetually at a theater we frequented, its crimson lips promising thrills at midnight. I was startled by the book cover for Stephen King's Cujo, and avoided the book rack for a while after. A black and white image in TV Guide promoting the killer ventriloquist dummy from "Magic" haunted me for years. The I caught a few minutes a movie where a human head was found in a soup pot, which I found oddly less disturbing than "Cujo" and "Magic." I loved the concept of werewolves as a child, and even went one Halloween as a wolfman, but the movie poster for "The Howling" unnerved me. A Frank Frazetta cover for Dr. Strange featuring green arms ripping out of the ground to ensnare our hero was transformed by reoccurring nightmares of the same coming out from under the bed as I slept. An advertisement for "C.H.U.D." bothered me so much I hovered outside the door of my now newlywed mother, prompting a declaration from my stepfather that I would not be allowed to finish watching the unrelated "V" mini-series. My oddest fantasy was of miniature versions of Laurel and Hardy who would sever any limbs I left dangling off the bed as I slept. For years I lay in the fetal position, a pillow propping up my feet as a decoy to protect my tiny legs.

1987
They got ahold of me. While still in grade school, I made a crack about "Jason Lives" while my teacher was using one of those guillotine paper cutters, and I was suddenly supposed to be some sort of "horror king." I often wrote short stories for my teacher in my spare time, and prompting from classmates led to my attempting to write one about Freddy vs. Jason. I had barely any inkling of who the characters were, and it showed. My teacher explained the concept of only writing what you know, a lesson I value to this day. Meanwhile, my biological father and other testosterone-fueled kin slowly but surely educated my on Mr. Krueger, Vorhees, and more. I was still a pussy mind. My heart actually skipped a beat upon opening the cover of an issue of Uncanny X-Men to see a Marc Silvestri image of Mr. Sinister, black lips encircling fangs as he snarled at the reader. It just occurred to me that the image combined elements of primal terror felt when I first saw the aforementioned "Cujo" and "Rocky Horror" images. Still, I was developing both a tolerance for gore and an appreciation of horror, especially as my life had become increasingly horrible. I actually found "The Exorcist" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" more laughable than anything. "Halloween" was a bore.

1989
By this point I'd seen all of the "Nightmare on Elm Street" series, which I initially enjoyed, but were becoming increasingly bland and sadistic. I never cared much for "Friday the 13th," but I developed an appreciation for the Michael Myers mythos that only grew with time. My interests began to shift away from blood and guts material toward more psychologically traumatizing material, more along the lines of "Henry: Portrait of a Serial Kiler." I at the time found "Night of the Living Dead" okay, but "Dawn" instantly became one of my favorite movies of all time.

1994
By this point, horror movies were old hat. I laughed along with the "Evil Dead" series and Peter Jackson's "Braindead" more than anything. I experienced a massive sense of diminishing returns though, as horror tends to be a ghettoized genre for lack of craft as much as anything. By this point, even those that would come to be known as "Masters of Horror" were shitting one brick after another.

2007
I still watch horror movies regularly. I cannot fully explain why. I don't enjoy most of them. Looking at my collection, I seem to prefer dark and/or romantic comedies, but still keep up with a steady diet of the not-at-all-scary. With comic books, I still have an emotional attachment to the characters that are with regularity and ever increasing sensationalism molested by the latest hack flavors of the month. When it comes to horror movies, I have to shrug when I ask myself "why do you subject yourself to this shit?" It must be force of habit, or the hope of uncovering some jewel amidst all the detritus of the genre.

Where Do You Work, Mr. Delano?

A girl I'm talking to online was asking me about my work, which has been affecting the nurghal* stream here, as previously noted. The nurghal must flow! So, I get multiple uses out of the same bricks of text explaining my recent activities. Frugal!

Huh? My story? Okay. It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child. No wait-- that's Steve Martin from "The Jerk." I don't think we need to go back that far, anyway. Let's just say it's been a hard knock life. My nomadic upbringing was hell on my education, so I'm not degreed, and therefore my options have been limited to sales and drudgery. After I spent 11 years in sales, and found myself burnt out, so I began temping in the field of serfdom. After a couple of years I'd had enough, and committed to taking a couple of months off to become a Certified Nurse Aide. However, I soon realized this wasn't much of an accomplishment, as getting a CNA is maybe a hair more difficult than a GED. Also, during clinicals, I realized the work was more soul crushing than serfdom, due to maintaining the imitation of life at nursing homes. I still thought I could stick it out while going for an LVN, but only experienced Aides can make the "top money" of 25-30K a year, and I'd be stuck with a lousy $8 an hour with no likelihood of overtime. I could make more than that sitting on a phone as a debt collector, which is what I was hired to do at a job fair.

Working in a tall building while wearing nice clothes was a change of pace, though I felt disdain for a good many of my coworkers. I never had the heart to shake down cancer patients for money do to Zales Jewelers or Home Depot, but could have scraped by indefinitely with the lotto system in place at the agency (x hundred calls a day is bound to score at least y money per the law of averages.) I hated the physical inactivity and, y'know, the loathsome circumstances, so when another job fair was being advertised, I felt a pull. January is a good month to "motivate" employees with panic over money not collected over the holidays, and my turn happened to come up on the afternoon right before the end of shift and the day before the job fair. "You have to ask yourself, 'am I a debt collector?'" I said, "honestly, you know, I'm not." We then began a process of my director employing every manipulative trick we were taught to use on debtors to keep me from quitting, and my steadfastly arguing that it would be best that I pack it in. I won.

However, I forgot my cell phone, and I had some DVDs I'd promised to burn for my now ex-coworkers, so I returned the next morning. I wanted to just run in and out, so I parked my car at a Jack In The Box, and it was likely towed before I'd made it to the elevator. I relied on the kindness of strangers to get to a bank and pay the cash fee to the towing company for my car. This turned out to be an issue, because while my credit is great, I was a tad cash poor before losing the car, and now had to scrounge up bread to pay my roommate rent before the end of the month. I was less than pleased with my prospects at the fair (selling funeral plots/Green Mountain energy/etc.) I did run into the VP of the collection agency, who called out to me to tell me about my forgotten cell phone and express regret at my departure. That was nice, but it wouldn't pay the rent, unless I wanted to crawl back to debt collection. Instead, I crawled back to temporary serfdom.

So now I'm working 12+ hour days, 5-6 days a week, helping in the construction of cylinders and tubing for use in Slushee machines. After the first week of standing for 95% of that time, my legs didn't ache so much. I'm constantly cutting myself, as the shop is pretty low rent, and doesn't seem concerned about meeting any OSHA standards (nor several Texas state mandated employment benefits, sadly.) I don't hate myself for doing it, and it'll help replenish my bank account until I figure out my next step. My stepfather was an Al Bundy type, returning home every day to cry, cuss and moan about his day. I always swore I wouldn't do that, and I don't, but relating my general circumstances seems like a good idea. Hopefully, it had some entertainment value, as well. I'm struggling to be brief, as I'm fond of tangents and color commentary. Some stories tell better than they read, and I expect this is one of them, but this is the medium I'm working in right now. I'm just trying to make the best of it in the time available.

* I actually tried several variations of "nurgle/nurghle/etc." and found various oddities associated with those terms on Google. I'm afraid the Tiny Titan blog is covered in nurgh sauce, per the image search.