Scorpio Holiday NYC 2009

I tried posting this last month, but it wouldn't.

So...we revisited NYC last month. It was nice getting back during the holiday season. I hadn't seen NYC during the holidays since living there when younger. We met friends and had a great time. This video contains images from our visit as we celebrated Scorpio Holiday.

Video contains only photos, over 1,000---no video clips.

Music by Telepopmusik "Breathe"

Start saving your pennies - Scorpio Holiday NYC 2010 goes down next November.

I love NY!

No recent blogs, yo

My apologies for the lack of blog entertainment over the past months. Life is crazy. How anyone can make it with three or more children is beyond my comprehension. Kudos to those bastards. However, I may have reached a milestone. I may have figured out this parenthood thing. I may have regained hours of life. With that said, I hope to blog more in the new year. Meanwhile, Harper and Miles are learning to cook their own meals and do laundry.

That's hows I roll.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas EVERYONE!!

His name is Johnny.

So... Being an older brother of two sisters, aside from babysitting, one of my main tasks in life was tormenting. Well, let's not say 'tormenting'; instead, we shall call it 'firmly establishing fear within younger siblings when the parental units were not present'.

We would often play games, like school which one of my younger sisters would pretend to be the teacher figure, the other would play the role as a smart student and I would often be the new kid at school. Of course, my role was never that easy. Seriously, that's too easy. With my performance abilities and imagination, the role required something of Oscar quality. Therefore, my new student character would always have some mysterious background, initially appearing soft-spoken and pleasant until some small incident, like a broken pencil for instance, would push him mentally over the edge thus spiraling into a world of psychotic melodrama. Minutes later, my sisters would usually run into the bathroom, locking the door behind them, with the "new student" chasing behind a la Jack Nicholson in "The Shining". Yes, often frantically wielding an ax, knife or any other object seen in your everyday slasher-type movie. Needless to say, growing up with me was quite an adventure - but, really, would you expect anything less? I think not.

Weeks ago, my youngest sister, Tonya, came to visit. I had some idea, but up until this visit, I suppose, I never truly understood the haunting, lingering effects my actions left upon my siblings. In addition to the "New Kid in School" game, we played with another childhood fun toy: A ventriloquist doll I simply named Johnny. I cannot remember exactly why our mother brought this little doll home. Once he and I met, however, it became quite clear the two of us would have years and years of scary fun ahead. Mom picked up the doll at a garage sale one Saturday morning. He is the typical Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist doll, except, as the case with most items found at a garage sale, a bit "used" and in need of help. His clothes were damaged, probably not the authentic pieces; many of the original accessories were long gone; and, very eerily, he had a blackened, smoke damaged face, which made his follow-you-everywhere eyes highly unpleasing and terrifying to my sisters. Even more after the incident.

Perhaps it was the fire damage, or an after school special, which prompted this, but my sisters and cousin Marcia decided our ventriloquist doll had a smoking problem. Since playing make believe games with me led to crying, screaming and basically running for their lives, poor Johnny became the male character in their one act performances. In one particular game, Johnny was a kid who had a smoking problem. Honestly, I do not recall all the events, only the ending which forever changed the lives of Tonya, Stephanie and Marcia, so let's fast forward to the good part:

Due to Johnny's desire to smoke, he died. Not my idea, believe me; this was all the imagination of my sisters. To honor his life, they set up a funeral. Yes, they actually chose to play "Funeral". A very morbid game for little girls, but, hey, what else did they have going on in Big Spring. Looking back, due to the macabre nature of the game, I have no regrets. Honestly, they asked for it. While they changed into their funeral clothes and readied themselves for their little fun "Funeral" game, I sneaked onto the "set" and, let's say, enhanced the entertainment element of their little game.

Huddled in a sobering trio of tissues and flowers, the three of them slowed entered the funeral to say their last respects to Johnny, who again died of smoking. Together, they stood next to Johnny's coffin holding one another pretending to cry while recounting fond moments and memories. All reminiscing came to an abrupt end when their eyes popped out of their sockets upon suddenly noticing a paper cigarette in Johnny's mouth in the coffin. And then, it happened - the incident. Hiding behind furniture mere feet away, I had tied kite string to Johnny, underneath his clothing. With one tug, I instantly set in motion years of post traumatic stress, anguish and distress. The single tug of the kite string, attached to dead Johnny with his burnt face while holding a cigarette in his mouth made him spring to life, rolling out of his coffin towards my sisters who immediately (a) wet their panties before (b) sprinting into the bathroom locking the door behind their nightmarish cries. Since that day of the horrific resurrection, my sisters will not have anything to do with poor Johnny.

Over the years, Johnny has become a great friend. Obviously, when I left for college, Johnny was ordered to leave the house. Together, Johnny and I went through life, experiencing our own adventures, and meeting new people. Johnny even played a key role in a short horror film I submitted into a film competition years ago. Now, I cannot say life has been roses for Johnny. Unfortunately, there are still people who fear him as do my sisters. My dear friend who watches our house, Amber, for instance, once spotted Johnny in a closet, and later admitted frequently checking the area to make sure Johnny is still in his spot throughout her visit; my good friend, Mike, who quite frankly is a wuss, has called Johnny 'creepy' and 'eery' on several unnecessary occasions; and now my daughter, Harper, after seeing the reaction of her aunt Tonya this week will not go near Johnny. Sad. Sad.

We live in a world with people are different. In fact the differences are what make each and every one of us special and unique in our own way. I wish some people would set aside their ignorance, look into his follow-you-everywhere eyes and realize Johnny is special.

Johnny, I love you. Let's make this the best Halloween ever.

REDRUM.

ducktheflu.com

So... It's been awhile since my last post. Sorry. Life is a little crazy. I promise to get back into the blog swing very soon.

In the meantime, I wanted to post something special: Harper's first commercial. This is a PSA which will begin airing locally this week. It was shot a few days ago. Kudos to the crew for the super fast turnaround. I've mentioned that my Harper tends to be a DIVA. The idea of making her actually "behave" on camera worried me---incidentally, the same problem Paris Hilton's parents deal with, but on a completely different level. With a DIVA, you never know what to expect. We were delightfully surprised. She was wonderful. It took an hour to get comfortable around the lights, strange people and such, but we escaped without injury. She even got the biggest line. The director could not find a child who could say 'hand sanitizer' without babbling the words together until we all overheard Harper muttering the line while combing a Barbie doll's hair in the background. The line was passed down from a 6 year old to our little Harper. I must admit, it's all little bittersweet. I mean, I've done commercials for years and have yet to utter a line. Not even four, and she's already eclipsed my performances. Meanwhile, the other child remains unemployed.

Enjoy---and don't forget to duck the flu these upcoming months :)

Meanwhile, the other child remains unemployed.

I'm here.....

New blog post coming later............. I've been slacking. Darn, kids and family matters :)

Ads, Ads and More Ads

Dear GQ Magazine:

On the cover of your fine magazine, could you please include the page number for the table of contents? After perusing 30 pages of advertisements, I grow weary.

Sincerely,

Patrick

Inglourious BRILLIANCE!

So... It's been awhile since my last blog. Doubling the kid census has forced me to hit the sack earlier than usual. At least a few days a week. Only a few. I mean, I cannot let them win, right? True, sleep is for my survival in this new world, but still...I cannot let that change ME. The essence of patty would be gone. Nope. Not gonna have it. Tonight was not one of those early to bed nights. Instead I caught a midnight showing of the new Quentin Tarantino flick, "Inglourious Basterds". First, I love Quentin. Love him. Great storytelling, great style, great music, great, great, great... "Pulp Fiction" in my opinion will always be one of the greatest films ever made. The way he presented that story was sheer genius. Brilliance. "Kill Bill Volume 1", I can watch every day. Again, pure genius. I can go on and on---"True Romance", "Jackie Brown", "Death Proof"---but I will stop only to highly recommend his new flick. Wow.... Wow. With that said, I am making a movie. What the hell am I waiting for?

Word.

Priceless

Tuxedo Rental: $125

Roundtrip flight to Houston: $300

Pregnancy contractions causing trip cancellation: $425

Reservation reimbursement claim denied: PRICELESS

So.... Here's the deal. Last Fourth of July, my good friend Derryck proposed to his girlfriend, Kristin. YAY!! Obviously, I was thrilled for them both. (Honestly, Derryck needed to settle down; he's not getting any younger.) Along with the news, I was both flattered and honored to be asked to stand alongside Derryck on his special day in June 2009. Of course, I said yes. Definitely yes. That's what friends are for. Incidentally, I believe guys who stand in for their boys at weddings are the same guys who carry that friend's casket. Ironic, huh? (On the other hand, they are also the same people the wife ignores when pleaded to sprinkle ashes over some football or baseball field.)

Shortly after their engagement news, I had news: We were pregnant with child numero two, expected early July. The wedding was scheduled for mid-June, so my plans to participate went unchanged.

Fast forward to June 2009. The wedding was scheduled Saturday, June 20th. Since, our delivery date had been pushed up to induce on June 29th. Yikes. Close but still good. Going about the routine, I made all the necessary arrangements---tuxedo, hotel reservations, gifts, and of course roundtrip plane tickets to Houston. Now, the latter truly concerned me. A couple years ago, I got really burned by flight tickets my dad purchased for a family reunion trip to Ohio. Something came up at work not allowing my departure. The tickets were bought through either Travelocity or Expedia. After learning the trip would not be in my future, I called the one of the companies. They explained all would be fine, that I'd receive a credit for the cost to use for another flight in the future. Ok, cool. What they failed to mention were all the small print rules and tricky tomfoolery involved, like no flights on days that end with 'Y', no flying to reach a destination, must fly before sand runs out of mysterious sand hourglass hidden deep within a cave of the Island of Misfit Toys, etc. Ughhhh, the fine print. Always a stipulation missed. To make a long story short, I ended up kissing $650 down the drain. Poof. Gone. Buh-bye.

Hoping not to do the same with my wedding flight, knowing full well with an incoming bundle of joy anything could happen especially with my luck, I opted for the Access America travel insurance which would reimburse my cost 100% should I not make my trip. Feeling leery about the deal, I even called a representative of Access America to explain my situation in order to determine if this insurance was what I believed it to be. The person on the other end of the phone was extremely polite. She went over every point of the insurance policy and assured I would be taken care of.

The Wednesday before the wedding, baby contractions turned that mutha out. Ouch. Seriously, I am so glad I am a boy. Really, if reversed, could men endure the pains involved with having a child? I absolutely, unequivocally say NO. Are you kidding me? Especially if babies still came out of...that area. Oh my.... Continuing... Not wanting to be away for a long period of time, my flight was scheduled for Friday morning @ 6A with a quick turn around Sunday morning @ 8A. In and out. Boom. By Thursday afternoon, I realized going to Houston would be a poor mistake. If something had happened while I was in Houston, it would have been hellish dropping everything and making arrangements back home. Plus, the possibility of missing the birth of Harper's sibling would forever sting my heart. With those thoughts---not to mention, the woman moaning with a bowling ball between her legs---confirmed my decision to skip the wedding and wait patiently for that hurried drive to the hospital sometime that weekend. If you're wondering, nothing happened that weekend and I could have gone to the wedding---and I still feel absolutely terrible about not being there for my friends, Derryck and Kristin. Sorry :(

Shortly after the arrival of Miles Robinson, I submitted my claim to Access America for my full refund of my Continental Airlines tickets. At first there was some drama as they required I have our OB/GYN fill out information. Such a hassle, I thought, but if it hurries reimbursing my banking account, oh well... With all the necessary paperwork completed, I faxed my packet of information. Like a Nike executive at a sweatshop, I then propped my feet up on my desk waiting for the sound of a cash register. KA-CHING! Now, I had already lost the tuxedo money. Well, I could have not taken it from Men's Wearhouse and been refunded a fat twenty bucks. Instead, being a filmmaker and overall silly guy I could not allow the missed opportunity to goof off in a perfectly fine tuxedo. Especially when I'd opted for the insurance. (Video silliness may soon follow.)

Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail from Access America:

"Thank you for submitting your claim with Access America. We have completed our review and unfortunately we are unable to provide benefits under the coverage purchased for the following reasons - blah blah blah blah blah blah, a normal pregnancy is a general exclusion and is not included..."

WTF?! Are you serious? What about the kind words of advice from the representative who again was told details and ensured satisfaction before purchasing the agreement? WTF?! Are you serious, dude?

Just like that, POOF, the airlines kick me squarely in the baby maker. Added to my list of organizations I will actively plot against and ultimately have my revenge - Access America.

Oh no, we're not done, Access America. Watch your back.

Orphan

So... I've decided to see "Orphan", one of the latest horror/suspense flicks in theaters. As the name suggests, it is basically the story of people who adopt an orphan girl...things start happening...yada yada yada...the kid is not what they expected with all hell breaking lose. Now, we all know I dig the horror movie scene, but I'm not much into those featuring so-called scary children with the exception of "The Omen" and "The Village of the Damned" did spook me when I was little---albeit mainly because the kids looked like every blond haired kid in my music class. I often dreamed the class turning on me during "Row, row, row your boat". Eerie. Movies with scary children, I believe, can be easily remedied with two things: A leather belt and no witnesses. By no means do I condone abusing children, but, let's face it, sometimes a good whuppin' is the answer. One of those spankings where even the parent thinks about calling CPS afterwards. Frankly, this is how my parental units rolled. They understood how to raise children without the interference of a child abuse hotline.

Several, several years removed, I still remember the first, and only, time I pulled the "falling out in the store because my mom wouldn't buy something" trick. We all know what I'm talking about. This favorite kid move is seen across the world in every Toys-R-Us. Scene plays as follows: Kid wants toy, mom says no, kid throws a tantrum which includes kicking, screaming, and tears before losing control of legs and entire body dropping onto the floor. Amateur parents usually cave and appease the child's demands; others immediately collect their melodramatic kid before hurriedly exiting the store, vowing never to take the kid toy shopping again. My parents, mom especially, had her own way of dealing:

It was in a grocery store, I recall. Aisle 16B, breakfast cereals and crappy grocery store toys. Not crappy gadgets to a kid though. These toys were the coolest playthings on the face of the planet. To any kid, those crappy toy sections could have been mini-FAO Schawrz stores. Yo-yo's, Slinkies, army men, generic Barbie dolls... Seriously, who could ask for more? That day, I cannot remember what item flipped my demon switch. Whatever it was, I wanted it, and I WANTED IT BAD. Mom said no. I said yes. Again, she said no. I said I want it, so buy it. No. Yes. Let's go, son. BUY IT NOW. I had the last words of the rebuttal, ending with my head spinning while spitting green goo. Then, the patented kid's move was launched. Boom, onto the floor I went continuing full-fledged tantrum. Imaging it now, I was probably on my side, moving my legs, running/spinning in complete circles while screaming and yelling. No doubt I'd seen it performed by a fellow kid. Perhaps fellow kid got whatever he wanted. My act, however, included a very different variable - my mom. By no means am I old, but back then things were a little different. Back in those days, people weren't scared to spank their kids in public. There was no fear of someone calling the child abuse hotline or directing store security towards the belligerent parent with the broom handle. Oh, the broom handle. Although I never felt the broom handle, it was definitely an instrument of control I feared. In fact, the house was filled with parental weapons. The backscratcher, the flyswatter, the belt, rolled newspaper (the Sunday edition was frightening), shoes - all these tools could be utilized and were readily available anytime a kid forgot his standing in the home. Outside was no better. Switches pulled from trees were highly effective. Being asked to go outside and get a switch was like loading a gun with bullets. Back in those days, if a kid got in trouble at school, the teacher spanked him and anyone he encountered between school and home was allowed to get a lick in. Ouch. Back in those days, things were just different. I mean, back in those days, kids got spankings at school, spankings from grand parents, spankings at church, spankings at a friend's house. It amazes me those days did not bring forth the invention of a spanking machine. Or, maybe it did, but not that kind we're discussing here.

Anyways....

I fell out in the store demanding mom BUY IT NOW. Very calmly she smiled and shook her head towards onlookers, giving that "oh, silly boy" look. Certainly there were several returned nods accepting her unspoken apology for my behavior---not to mention an approving go ahead for any actions that may follow. My tantrum did not last very long. Mom made certain of it. With no homefield advantage, no parental weapons conveniently located, she made do with the most readily available item. Skillfully maneuvering our basket of grocery goodies around the Cheerios display, she reminded me how painful a grocery filled cart felt when mercilessly running over an idiot kid laying on the floor thus really giving me something to cry about. Remember those words: "Don't make me give you something to really cry about"? Those words...yikes. Thinking back, not once do I recall the guardian figure(s) on any scary child movies ever raise their voice or go nuts after the kid pulled some demonic crap the first time around. Maybe later in the movie when the dog was dead and the wife tossed down a flight of stairs. They must get to those demon kids early on. The first sign of diabolical tomfoolery: "DAMMIT, DAMIEN! GET OVER HERE. GET. OVER. HERE. NOW. PUT THAT KNIFE DOWN AND BRING YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, OR BY GOLLY I WILL BEAT THE DEVIL OUTTA YOU, MY HAND ON A STACK OF BIBLES! DON'T MAKE ME GIVE YOU A REASON TO WANNA KILL SOMEBODY! GET OVER HERE!!" Those words followed by a good whuppin' may have made a difference.

Back to my story... After feeling the wheels of a loaded grocery cart, I learned a valuable lesson about falling out. Never did I allow such foolishness to happen again. For years, seeing other kids pull that trick baffled me. I was wondered how their parents would react. Sometimes, I'd just shake my head and move on.

I'll see "Orphan" this weekend. Friends, knowing how snobbish I am about horror film, highly recommend it so it'll be pretty good suspense thriller, and I am sure I will enjoy it. Still, in the back of my mind whenever the orphan girl acts foolishly, kicking things around and yelling at her new parents and siblings, I will know the solution---and silently thank my mom and dad for raising me not to be a little shit.

Just add zombie

So... This weekend was the first time my Playstation 3 had been powered on in about four months. Sad, but true. Having kids eliminates daddy's playtime. Several months ago, all of us old high school pals and a few new friends would spend every Friday night playing games. Modern technology has come a long way. Sadly, we still do not have any of the cool stuff as seen on "The Jetsons" or a Buck Roger comic book, but, by golly, a bunch of boys can turn on their Playstation 3 systems, connect online and then play one another no matter the locations. After a long week of work, these evenings were always a nice getaway, even if we cursed the young kids who showed no mercy by beating us relentlessly. Sadly, we haven't played in some time---four months for me apparently. Saturday night, I fired up my system, and following a few updates, "Call of Duty: World at War" began playing on the HDTV. Kids today, they have it so much better than previous generations. Not once, in all my Atari playing days, was a game updated whereby enhancing its content and gameplay. Amazing. Ok, ok, this blog is getting boring with all this talk about video games, but I do have a point. Again, my mind works in very mysterious ways. My "Call of Duty" was updated, and I was happy to see new games available. New games featuring, what, oh yeah, NAZI ZOMBIES. Are you kidding me?? Sweet action. Not only can I continue playing simulated WWII battles against the Nazis, but now I can kill Nazi zombies too. Now the point of my blog tonight: This proves a theory of mine I've argued for some time - things only get better when adding zombies.

Examples:

Movies. Who didn't see "Titanic"? It was a huge blockbuster. Huge. One thing always bothered me though: Why couldn't Rose share the piece of driftwood with poor ol' Jack? Really. Kind of selfish if you ask me. After all the entanglements he escaped, both on the ship and in his hard knock life, his end comes by freezing to death while holding on to a piece of wood. Pathetic. Now, what if James Cameron had thrown some zombies in the mix? If anyone steals this idea, you are all my witnesses: So, the survivors drift to a distant island and wait for rescue. Days later, parts of the Titanic float to shore. And then it happens, bodies begin drifting to the shore, but once on land, they become ZOMBIE-FIED!! Seriously, this would be the greatest movie of all time.

Books. "To Kill a Mockingbird" will always be my favorite book ever. Ever. Bonus - it's one of the few books with a movie just as wonderful, starring the late, great Gregory Peck. Again, it's already greatness in my opinion, but what if---go with me here---what if Tom Robinson returns as a zombie extracting revenge on Bob Ewell and the courthouse mob. Before you know it, most of Maycomb, Alabama, has been transformed into zombies. Only Atticus, Jem, Scout, Calpurnia and few others remain un-zombie-fied. How can this madness be stopped? In steps, Boo Radley, a brilliant young man who has concocted an antidote that will end the zombie transformation process. Dude, talk about ZOMBIE-RIFIC! You're feeling it, right?

TV. "Full House" + zombies....'nuff said. Well, poor example. Very little can help that show. Really, what were we thinking?

Music. If someone can make money from dogs barking "Jingle Bells" while another profits by the lyrical masterpiece describing a Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, a zombie Christmas record would be holiday happiness. Maybe even add them to one a Christmas cartoon. Rudolph and zombies, maybe?? Merry Christmas.

Now to review:

1 - Adding zombies to anything makes it better;

2 - Buy your husbands/boyfriends a Playstation 3 this holiday season.

:)

Shawshank with a Discount

This is an actual conversation I overheard at a local WalMart this afternoon between a father and his 9 yr old son:

son

Oh cool, GI Joe!!

[browsing and grabbing new action figures]

father

Ain't no fuckin' GI Joe I know about.

Come on.

Ahhhh, WalMart.

Next time you venture into a store, pay close attention to the conversations around you. Listen in, but keep a safe distance. Having spent zero time in a confinement, I am willing to bet most of the conversations overheard in WalMart stores are the same often taking place on penitentiary grounds right after dinner and between the 8PM shanking of the newbies.

Do Not Go Gently into that Good Night

So... It's 5AM. Another night I cannot sleep. My mind is racing. Buzzing with thoughts and ideas in all directions. It's like a major traffic jam. I knew it would happen tonight. It all started with a few Twitter updates, which BTW I find completely & totally ridiculous, but I do so only to appease and aggrevate friends who demand I tweet, but I will address this topic with another blog.

Continuing.... Then, I bought new Sharpie pens. The advertisement says they are like pens and won't bleed. Perfect for my journal. I miss writing in my journal. I recently purchased a new one, but have yet to add a single word. There is something retro cool about a journal. Plus, it's always right there. Believe it or not, some of my brilliant ideas aren't always while sitting in front of the computer. Oh, the goodies which have died between the car, for instance, and grabbing my Mac Book Pro. Sad.

Continuing... Then, I watched a highly entertaining and intelligent documentary on HBO. Very well done and made me realize the screenplay/writings/stories I wrote and sold to Hollywood last year still sits on some shelf collecting dust. I often joke it sits between "Gremlins 3" and an unnamed documentary about socks. My joke is probably closer to the truth than I may realize. Still, I should not let it dampen my creative spirits. I have always wanted to make a documentary. Of course, it would be a documentary from my warped sense of humor. Years ago, a news story really hit me. It was Thanksgiving weekend, probably, 3 years ago. I was sitting at my parents no doubt eating a turkey sandwich waiting for ESPN SportsCenter highlights. On the news was a segment about the day's annual Black Friday events. Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving event when stores all over the nation open their doors super early and offer huge storewide markdowns on various items. Wal-Mart, a store I've learned to hate over the years, is notorious for its Black Friday shenanigans. Incidentally this news story prominently featured Wal-Mart. That Black Friday morning at one of its stores in Detroit, people were dropped to the ground and run over by others hurriedly entering the store for discounted DVD players and flat screen televisions. There were several serious injuries. One thing that struck me was a 30-something lady who was trampled by the crowd. Her misfortune was captured on Wal-Mart security video and replayed over and over on that news story. I felt sympathy for this woman. She touched me. A single instant when she believed she would be the first to obtain price reduced electronics came to a crashing, humiliating end when her feet tangled causing her to lose balance and crash to the ground thus igniting an onslaught of confused persons in her wake to do the same. The moment she grabbed her wig, placed it back on her head and then exited the scrummage was the single moment I realized I must meet this woman and do a documentary on the events that led her to this Black Friday event, the fall, the pain and of course the aftermath. The fact that she had the comeuppance to put her wig back on albeit soiled in foot prints AND return to her feet for sales goodies makes me want to know more about this woman. These thoughts have been on my mind for over three years. I found her name a year ago and almost began calling various homes hoping to find her, but I didn't. Maybe this will be the year. Maybe I can conduct a phone interview. Maybe she wants to discuss the black and blue events of that Black Friday. Maybe. One day, I'll find her and shot this documentary. One day. I wonder if she returned to Black Friday the next year? You do too. Therein lies the reason for this much needed documentary.

Continuing... Then, I checked on a friend's daughter via Facebook asking her thoughts on a collection of horror movies I gifted her before last week's family vacation. She claims to be a huge horror movie fan. I am a huge horror movie fan, so I gave her a dozen DVDs calling it a "Horror Movie Starter Kit". I am happy to report she loved the movies. One of my goals is to write a horror movie. The perfect horror movie---at least break the mold of this current blueprint of scary flicks. I do not like the "Saw" movies or those like it. These crappy things basically try grossing out viewers with their over the top slasher blood and gore scenes. Not scary. Not spooky. Wasted effort. I do not get it. I haven't seen a good scary movie in about 10 years. That's sad. Pathetic. Why the drought? I am uncertain, but I plan to change it. If I can write one good horror flick, I'd definitely set myself up for a comfortable living. One successfully movie could easily branch off into sequels, TV series, books, etc. These movies make huge dough. Huge. People crave horror. We love it. The first time seeing "The Blair Witch Project", I was in complete awe. Today I watch, and it's still the same. Granted, not everyone found it genius as I did, but the concept, the idea, and the marketing was simply brilliant. To this day I have friends who cannot be convinced the movie wasn't actual footage of three filmmakers lost in the woods. Genius. Perhaps Kat and I will make the perfect horror movie. I think so.

Tonight, with a day of ridiculous tweets, brand new Sharpie pens, a very well-done HBO documentary and a "Horror Movie Starter Kit" dancing in my head, I lay here at 5AM. I cannot sleep. My mind is too busy.

The Darth Maul

So.... Years ago, I lived with a friend named Matt. We shared a large two bedroom apartment for nearly two years. During the two year period, Matt never unpacked his belongings. He slept on my sofa in the living room while his bedroom looked like a self storage unit somewhere off the Interstate. Because our schedules were so different, the living situation actually worked out. Still, I needed an outlet for venting anytime I came home to find Matt on the sofa at 2PM. My outlet was a weekly newsletter emailed to family and friends, detailing my living situation, day-to-day adventures and stories of Matt.

Per request from a dear friend, here is a story from one installment of "The Matt Update".

---------------------------------------------------------

Monday, May 3, 1999

Actually this update begins a minute shy of Monday when the phone rang at exactly 1159PM. I checked the caller id---it is The Price, informing he is entering the city from his weekend excursion in Arlington & heading in the direction of our friendly neighborhood Toys-R-Us for the long awaited Star Wars toy kickoff. Oddly, I felt compelled to join him, mainly due to the fact that he had gone out of his way to pick up a delicious mess o' fish from my favorite roadside café inEastland, Texas, Ken's Fish and Chicken. No, that is not the reason: Let's face it – I too am a Star Wars geek who was eagerly counting down the days until the movie begins its box office dominance and any opportunity to observe a room full of Star Wars geeks is better than any reality show television network executives can ever dream up. Without haste, I hopped into my car.

Being lowly Lubbock, Texas, I predicted a maximum of maybe twenty-five people wandering the store. Many simply browsing and taking in the scenes. Driving onto Slide Road, I a, shocked to see the entire Toys-R-Us parking lot filled like the day after Thanksgiving. The parking is so overloaded in fact that I circled several times waiting for people to leave before an empty spot became available. While circling I saw the Lethal Weapon Grand Am entering the lot. The Price is in the building! I parked and, as a normal routine when doing anything with Matt, waited for him to exit his vehicle. Can anyone tell me what the hell he does in there? Combing his hair? Checking his nostrils? Brushing his teeth? It almost takes longer to wait for him to get out of the car than the time it takes to drive to the destination. Baffling. Finally, he emerged from the depths of the mighty GT, donning baggy jean shorts, goofy skateboarder shoes, socks pulled to his knees, and the patented tucked in Tommy shirt… oh, and the cellular phone dangling from his front pants pocket. My question: Were we at Toys-R-Us or Kid-n-Play's house party? Even Matt, a true student of bizarre behavior, is dumbfounded by the mass demonstration.

Upon, entering the store we immediately witnessed, literally, hundreds of people running throughout. Some are pushing baskets filled with Star Wars merchandise, while others are blindly scampering with their arms filled. Near the front of the newly revamped store (obviously remodeled simply for this occasion), there are even older men fighting through hot wheel cars in a kiddie pool. What was up with the hot wheel stuff, I do not know? Someone screamed out---"I need a Darth Maul? Anybody got a Darth Maul? Where are the Darth Mauls?" Apparently the Darth Maul was no longer available. The action figure was gone after only 15 minutes. Conformity is a bitch: Matt sprinted into the crowd amongst all the littered toys, searching for a Darth Maul figure. I stood motionless and wide-eyed.

People were everywhere! White, black, brown, tan, yellow (yes, someone dressed as C-3PO), old, young, fat, skinny, geeks, athletes, farmers, city slickers, female, male, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, me, and Matt. From afar, I stood back watching the affair with an employee. We both shook our heads and laughed. Geeks were every where, and admittedly, due to proximity, I was one of them. Matt immediately filled his arms with items---nothing of importance, mind you, essentially grabbing objects like a maniac. Minutes later, he fought his way through the inflatable Star Wars furniture where he bumped into a couple acquaintances, Michael and his fiancé. Michael and I were similar in regards to The Price: We realized Matt was an unusual case study and for the most part often sat back, enjoying the ride. He threw out a few jabs at Matt about being a spoiled brat and a lazy goof---albeit, all true---but let's face it he has no newsletter, nor sits awake in the middle of night wondering if the snoring in the other room, the living room, will ever stop, or if a certain roommate will ever unpack his belongings after 2 years and live like a normal human being, or if…I digress. Michael, himself, was embracing eight action figures and truly engrossed in the hype. More importantly he too sought the elusive Darth Maul action figure.

Suddenly, an announcement filled the air like trumpets might have blared Bible days: THERE ARE MORE IN THE BACK! Boom! Like a flash, everyone began making their way to section 8C. What had I gotten myself into? What was this? I spoke to myself while standing in aisle 3B. Fanatics whizzed past, bumping into me without uttering an excuse me. That, my dear friends, is when it happened. 'It' can only be explained as a tremor in the Force, as they say. Something I hadn't felt since the tender age of 8 or 9. In the recesses of my mind, I imagined myself wandering through the Midland Park Mall on a Saturday afternoon with my weekly allowance in hand, hoping to find Han Solo's Millennium Falcon. I had been there! It was all returning! Suddenly, my friends, the force was in me! YAAAAAA---OUTTA MY WAY, YOU BASTARDS! WATCH OUT, JEDI COMING THROUGH!!!! YAAAAAAAA!!!!! WHERE'S THAT DARTH MAUL?!?!? I pushed aside both dorks and geeks, not showing discrimination to neither. I knocked regular people out of my way, kicking glasses and pocket protectors aside as I traveled. From the storage area, employees frantically threw boxes into the aisles in hopes the crowd would stay at bay, not attacking. They had no chance to properly open or distribute the merchandise themselves for the masses were grabbing them and doing what they wanted! Boxes and boxes of Star Wars action figures were scattered everywhere. WHERE IS DARTH MAUL?!?!? OUTTA ME WAY!!!! I heard Matt's voice crying out in another aisle---"Where are the new Star Wars micro-machines?" Micro-machines? What the hell was he thinking? Nobody was punching their way through lines for damn micro-machines! His head obviously was not into the game, the lousy bastard. Why was he not searching for a Darth Maul? Instead, he was in the micro-machines section alone with absolutely zero interference as if enjoying a quiet day on the beach watching the waves. Complete serenity. What was the boy thinking? Who the hell wanted micro-machines? Even the littlest kids were dissin' the micro-machines for the action figures! I pushed him out of my mind. To hell with the weak & the ignorant, I thought. This is was and I am engaged in battle.

Forty-year old virgins, holding Spiderman issue #342 comics, and I shuffled through boxes of action figures. There were Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jar Jar, an Ewok, and then finally the mother load, the golden ticket, Darth Maul himself. Finally, in like the 17th box I went though, a Darth Maul. Then another it hit me; this 'it' being sanity and common sense. I had not planned to buy anything. I simply came to see the happenings; to see the dorks on parade; to see the reactions upon faces when the first box was opened; to see the smirks of the employees who had the misfortune of working that night's shift; and most importantly, to usher in the Star Wars season. Again, that feeling overcame my mind, body, and soul---The Force---and I grabbed another Darth Maul. AH-HA, YOU BASTARDS, I'VE GOT TWO NOW! "The Force is strong in that one", I overheard a voice exclaim, as I stormed down 8C with my prize possessions. Meanwhile Matt was still in the damn micro-machine section! What was he doing? Micro-machines? War takes its toll on people. Enraged I approached Matt to deliver a salty smack across the face, and then to slap those kiddie Micro-machines from his hand. Before reaching him, however, a 9 year old boy toppled Matt while putting away his sister's micro-machine. The fall jolted life back into him, and he dropped his booty and joined the battle for Darth Maul.

Worn and ragged, I retreated to the front of the store gasping for air. As I sat collecting my composure, I saw The Price, hair frazzled and red faced, willing his battered body and a shopping cart towards the back of the store. Damn, that basket can hold a lot of micro-machines, I thought. Ten minutes later he surfaced with his valuables: 18 action figures, books, posters, puzzles, electronic gadgets, and even micro-machines. Without question, he too had felt it---that almighty tremor called the Force.

Two hours after our arrival we both emerged from the melee of battered bodies and busted eyeglass wear, making our way to the checkout. Sadly, Michael and his fiancé had been lost in the crowd and left for dead. War is hell. My battle cost approximately twenty dollars---not to mention time and respect; while Matt shelled over a cool seventy bucks. (The total fee would have been a little more, but some kids stole several Micro-machines off the cart.) After paying, Matt and I say our goodbyes. He departed for parts unknown; and my bed was calling. On the other side, we would see each other…

The next day we talked about our adventure. Mine ended hours before Matt's: After Toys-R-Us, he continued to wield his credit card at both Wal-Mart, and then K-Mart, where he spent the remainder of his evening watching "Return of the Jedi" with the overstaffed night employees.

The Price's total damage on this first day of the Star Wars holiday season:

• 19 action figures
• 1 beach towel
• 2 books
• 3 posters
• 8 micro-machines
• 1 mug
• 1 toothbrush
• 1 sports bottle
• 3 shirts
• assorted pairs Darth Maul boxers
• 1 David Robinson action figure (?)
• 1 novelty R2-D2 soap on a rope
• a bottle of Yoda hand lotion
• 1 Stormtropper Pez dispenser
• and much, much more

When Matt left my room that morning, I felt a special bond with my old roommate. Visions of Star Wars action figures, pencil-packing geeks, and Chewbacca shampoo bottles danced in my head as I sat staring across the room at my new Darth Maul with Double-Bladed Lightsaber. Thoughts of Matt and me braving the aisles of Toys-R-Us made me chuckle aloud. Like a classic episode of "The Wonder Years," I could softly hear the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel bringing my adventure to a pleasant end, as my adult voice, like Kevin Arnold's, spoke poignantly, reflecting on the special moment in time I had shared with my very special Paul Phieffer-like roommate. Together we had experienced a once in a lifetime thrill---a moment the world had eagerly anticipated for over a decade, and like millions across the nation we had become, in some small way, a special part of our American culture's history. Stumbling out of bed, I collected my new toy and opened my bedroom door. Alas, a sight I've come to know all too well: Hibernating on my sofa in all its hideous glory. Matt was fast asleep and as usual fully clothed with one hand resting beneath his pillow, and the other in his pants. The vision, for most, a Hellish nightmare; for me, the perfect ending to the perfect day.

And a Hellish nightmare.