Sunday, October 19, 2014

The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits

For four days — until October 23 — you can get the Kindle edition of my short story collection, The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits, at for 99¢. It features 17 of my original short stories, including several that have never appeared elsewhere. My story "Abroyel," for example. A hard-boiled detective tale that also offers you a tantalizing glimpse of something from "other" regions. Dark regions, you might say. You may get a shudder — and a decent chuckle — out of "The Spiders of Galley Cove," a story about a peculiar young man, a peculiar town, and a peculiar horror that comes down from the stars during a science experiment gone awry. Or journey back to the Middle Ages in "Iron Heart," for a taste of life in a village that eats its children.

The Gaki offers you a fair sampling of my work over a span of nearly thirty years, and it's every bit scary. I know this because coming up with these tales scared the pants off me. In fact, if you see my pants, I'd kind of appreciate their return. There's no reward, I fear, but you'll be doing the public a service, for which they'll thank you, since most people don't seem to want me walking around sans pants.

Original cover art is by M. Wayne Miller.

You can read the story, "The Gaki," for free at my website, right here: "The Gaki (html, pdf, or Kindle file)

Check out my collection The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits by Stephen Mark Rainey — for your Kindle from, only 99¢ for a limited time. From Dark Regions. Note: If you prefer the trade paperback, you can also get it from, for $13.49. It's a beautiful book, all full up with excitement, terror, intrigue, even a little romance, all for about the price of a decent bottle of wine. Partake of both, and I guarantee you'll be one happy, happy reader.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

I've Been A-Ramblin'

On Sunday evenings, Lovecraft eZine editor Mike Davis regularly hosts an hour-and-a-half talk show with various authors on the eZine website, and he very kindly had me back on the show this evening. The video is presented here for your edification and torture. It's kind of a panel discussion, with several participants on hand and Mike moderating; structured but informal, I'd call it. Now, watching myself on video is a little excruciating, especially when it's clear that I'm trying to think but nothing is happening, and the number of "you-knows" in a sentence exceeds the word count for a novella, so beyond the little snippet of the video I just looked at, I'm washing my hands of it. That said, after the first few minutes, things pick up a bit as the writer dude manages to relax. So, if you have an interest in Lovecraftian fiction, monster movies, horror stories, geocaching, World War II, Godzilla, and/or Dark Shadows — and you have a strong constitution — this round-table discussion might be just the right poison.

I'm also the featured author of the week on the eZine website, and since expressing myself in writing has generally been easier than spontaneously vocalizing stuff, the the written interview may be a little more coherent. 'Tis here: Stephen Mark Rainey, Author of the Week at Lovecraft eZine

Be brave.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Fall Flingin'

For the past nine years, each fall, a veritable horde of geocachers have gotten together for a big social event called Fall Fling, sponsored by the North Carolina Geocachers Organization, a loose-knit but very active group of individuals whose aim is to "facilitate communication between North Carolina geocachers, the public, and land management officials in a cooperative effort to promote geocaching, an appreciation of the outdoors, and good stewardship of the land and environment.” This weekend, the ninth annual Fling was held here in Greensboro at Hagan Stone Park, with nearly a hundred cachers in attendance. There were prizes, contests, activities for kids, camping, food, hiking, biking, and — most importantly — a bunch of new caches to find, both inside and outside the park. First thing this morning, number one Trail Dawg and consummate old fart Rob Isenhour joined up with me to go after the new ones and make our way to the event. We had only just arrived at the first of the caches when a familiar figure appeared — Mr. Tom "Night-Hawk" Kidd, hoping to beat us to some first-to-finds. Ha! Foiled! We combined forces with Night-Hawk and did, indeed, pick up several first-to-finds before getting to the park.

A particular favorite cache of the day was a unique hide by Mr. Rob "Maingray" Maile — a new entry in his "Yuggoth" series, based on... you guessed it... the Cthulhu Mythos, and the cache itself lived up to the theme. Yes, I am feeling the unspeakable terror, thanks for asking.

The entire event was a volunteer effort, and I wish more people who were paid to do their jobs were as dedicated and efficient. From keeping events within the event running smoothly and on time, to cooking and serving the food, to all the administrative work, from my perspective, everything was flawless. Plus there were dozens of cachers in attendance I already consider good friends, not to mention others I'd never met before but have now made their acquaintance. All among the many reasons I love, love geocaching.

Until Fling #10....
Chow time!
"Please, sir. I want some more."
The 2McTwins, from Reidsville, NC, possibly up to no good. Wait... did I say "possibly?"
Group shot

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Live — Almost — at Lovecraft eZine

Coming up this Sunday, October 12, at 6:00 PM EDT — I'll be live with Lovecraft eZine editor Mike Davis on the eZine's Live Web Series. This event is sure to be cacophonous, laugh-riotus, rip-roarius, and who knows what all, so please consider joining us. I did one of these shows last January, and it was great fun, with several irreverent attendees heckling the guest and the unflappable Mr. Davis in the center of it all to add a modicum of dignity. To jump in on the live edition, visit here to sign up. After it's all over and done, the horror will be preserved for posterity on YouTube.

Here, just to taunt the bravest and most daring among you, is my previous stint on the show:

Monday, October 6, 2014

In the Court of the Yellow King — It's a Book

My return from Michigan ("Midland and More in da Moonlight") indeed did feel rather sad, but upon arriving home on Saturday, my mood was bolstered by finding on my doorstep a box of contributor copies of In the Court of the Yellow King, which features my short story, "Masque of the Queen," a "tragedy told in fire and verse." This is a beautiful, beautiful trade paperback from Celaeno Press, edited by the notorious Glynn Owen Barrass, with cover art provided by the illustrious Daniele Serra, and featuring the talents of Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, T. E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, C. J. Henderson, Gary McMahon, William Meikle, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris, Robert M. Price, W. H. Pugmire, Peter Rawlik, Brian Sammons, Lucy Snyder, Greg Stolze, and Jeffrey Thomas. Read more about the book, along with a few personal reflections on Robert W. Chambers' The King in Yellow stories, here.

Check out In the Court of the Yellow King at

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Midland and More in da Moonlight

Midland in da Moonlight: view of the Tridge at the confluence of the Chippewa and Tittabawassee Rivers
A week with Kimberly in her home state of Michigan — from Midland to Clare to Mt. Pleasant to Munising to Marquette to Whitefish Point — and what an enthralling trip it was for me. This entry is pretty much my own personal chronicle, but if you feel inclined to read on, then by all means, please do. I'm loading this sucker up with some photos (click on them to enlarge); be advised there may be scary folks among them. Proceed at your own risk.

Prior to leaving last week, Ms. B. prefaced our trip by showing me the 2001 Jeff Daniels movie, Escanaba in da Moonlight, which is about as authentic a filmic excursion one might experience into Michigan's upper peninsula (a.k.a. da UP, which is populated by Yoopers). On Friday, 9/26, we flew out of Raleigh/Durham bound for Flint, MI, and ultimately to Kimberly's hometown of Midland, which is located just about the middle of the mitten — known to Yoopers as the Land of the Trolls, since they live "under the (Mackinac) bridge." I've been to many places in the United States, especially during the 80s, when I had to travel all over the country for business, but I had never made it into Michigan before. For me, this trip was a first.

Midland is a beautiful, relatively small town, quite prosperous, the Dow chemical corporation being its primary employer. On their numerous visits to NC, Kimberly's folks, Del and Fern, had welcomed me into their family with open arms, and they were better than perfect hosts during our few days' stay with them. I'm pretty sure Fern would as soon die as see anyone in her home with an even slightly empty stomach, so there was good food aplenty, available most any time of day. That first evening, Kimberly drove me around Midland to visit some of her old stomping grounds, such as the local Center for the Arts, where she had performed in numerous shows, including The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Pirates of Penzance. Much to my satisfaction, there was a geocache on the premises, so my moniker soon adorned its logsheet. In fact, Midland is a veritable goldmine for cachers, and over the course of our trip, between the upper and lower peninsulas, I managed to claim over 50; not too shabby for a trip for which geocaching wasn't really its primary purpose.

The next morning, we set out on Kimberly's parents' bicycles for a riding tour around the neighborhood, including the nearby Plymouth Park (caches). The fall foliage was just reaching its peak, and since Midland has largely and wisely decided to eschew the horrid clear-cutting of forests and planting of generic subdivisions that so dominate our area in NC, the settings for our ride were nothing short of stunning. Michigan is loaded with birches, ironwoods, and maples, interspersed with more blue spruce and hemlock than I've ever seen anywhere (hemlocks in the south have gone virtually extinct because of the Asian Woody Adelgid parasite). If you're not looking for too strenuous a workout, the terrain in Midland is perfect for bicycling — though that one grade near Chateau Brugger that reached an incline of about 0.005 degrees damn near did me in. One of the most entertaining things I discovered was that many of the squirrels that call Midland home are black. Solid, shiny black. I'd only once before ever seen a black squirrel, and I quite enjoyed watching them play in the Bruggers' backyard.
That evening, we visited Midland's attractive downtown area; had drinks at Cafe Zinc, a classy little establishment at the Hotel H; and took a nighttime stroll down to the Tridge, a three-span footbridge at the confluence of the Chippewa and Tittabawassee rivers (see the photo at the top of the page).
Ms. B. beneath a massive weeping willow at Dow Gardens
A spot of caching followed. Next day, we returned to the Tridge; hiked along the Chippewa; and visited Dow Gardens, an extensive and quite beautiful nature center with numerous trails, streams, and colorful trees. We then went up north of town a ways to visit Midland's city forest, another sizable preserve that's home to quite a number of caches. I claimed a handful of them. Afterward, we discovered a charming little bistro called Whine, whose selection of wine, cocktails, and tapas is varied and very appealing. We tried their tray of goat cheese, baked pita wedges, and olive tapenade, which sent both of us just about over the moon. One of their best drink features is a series of wine flights, each from a different country. They also make a pretty mean vodka martini. In fact, I discovered that most of the restaurants and bars in this good north state make fine non-frou-frou martinis, both gin and vodka, something I've found sorely lacking at too many places here in the south land. We paid Whine a couple of visits, and I do so look forward to returning on some future trip to the mitten.
Old dude marring the view at Dow Gardens
Hanging with The Family, near the Tridge
Monday, Kimberly and I hit the road and visited Clare, about a half-hour west of Midland, where she was born. A very small, rather quaint community with a few caches and a renowned bakery called Cops and Doughnuts, where — I shit you not — one can find some of the best doughnuts and baked goods anywhere in the free world. The shop has been in constant operation since 1896, though in more recent years, it was on the verge of going out of business. Rather than let that happen, members of the local police department bought the place, and it exploded in popularity. The place is not only big with the locals; I think a fair portion of the state's population was there at the same time we were. Indeed, you can find billboards advertising the shop just about anywhere you go in the Land the Trolls. From there, we hit Farwell, another tiny, quaint town where Kimberly's family has a lot of history. There, we visited her grandparents' graves in the old, historic cemetery (her grandmother died just a few years ago at the age of 100). Then it was back on the road to Mt. Pleasant, the home of Central Michigan University, where young Kimberly spent more years than is customary for the average human at an educational institution. Yes, there were caches, and there was also Samuel Mancino's Italian Eatery, which specializes in grinders, a type of sandwich similar to a sub or hoagie, but freaking huge, with delicious, toasted bread — very crispy on the outside, warm and soft on the inside. They're a northern thing, these sandwiches, very different from any I've ever found here in the south or even in Chicago, where I lived in the 1980s.

Come Tuesday, it was time to depart Midland and head for the UP. It's about a three-hour but very easy drive up I-75, and the foliage in the mostly rural part of the mitten was beyond brilliant. Caches, yes. Then we came to the Mackinac Bridge — at five miles long, the longest suspension bridge in the western hemisphere. Lengthy, very high bridges occasionally bring on a mild case of acrophobia, usually if they're very narrow, but the Mackinac didn't faze me at all, and it hardly seemed like a five-mile trip across the strait where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron come together. Once actually in the UP, on Highway 2 heading west, we stopped for a picnic lunch at a little overlook from which we had a gorgeous view of the bridge. A couple of hours later, we took a side trip up Lake Manistique Road, to an area that used to be a resort where Kimberly and her family vacationed regularly back in her checkered youth. It's now private property, the resort long-since closed. From there, though, we did get a nice view of one of the three scenic Manistique lakes.

Our final destination for the day was Munising, a little community on the UP's northern coast along Lake Superior. Munising, I swear to god, is Michigan's answer to Twin Peaks — a picturesque, forested area into which the little town is carved out, with a tiny business district; a paper mill; a handful of shops, restaurants, and motels; and some possibly eccentric if personable locals who were a joy to meet. Our lodgings were at the rustic little Terrace Motel, whose proprietor — a friendly, slightly garrulous fellow named Larry — gave us a most helpful introduction to Munising's landmarks and amenities. The nearby Falling Rock Cafe and Bookstore proved to be our go-to place for breakfast and coffee each morning. I can tell you their toasted English muffins and cinnamon rolls can't be beat. That first night, we went to Muldoon's for pasties (pronounced with a short a), a regular UP staple. They're baked pastries filled with beef or chicken, diced potatoes, rutabagas, carrots, and onions — kind of like pot pies to folks in other areas. Surprisingly, I preferred the chicken to the beef, as it had a more intense savory flavor. Over the next few days, we tried a couple of the other restaurants in town, which were decent enough: Sydney's, a seafood place with, of all things, an Australian theme, where I enjoyed the golden fried Lake Superior whitefish, another of the area's most notable specialties; and Dogpatch, whose Lil Abner theme was almost too overwhelming to take. Their burgers pretty well rocked, though. We ended our first evening by taking a late-night walk along Lake Superior near Sand Point, a few miles northeast of Munising. Well, we had to, didn't we? There was a cache out there.
"Yes!" to the Terrace Motel in Munising
Still life with wine at the Terrace Motel. Yes, it's art.
Glow-in-the-dark Damned Rodan and some driftwood along the Lake Superior shoreline near Sand Point
Waterfalls. That's what you'll find in the UP. Many, many waterfalls, some small, some gigantic, all spectacular in their way. Our most physically active day was Wednesday, when we undertook a six-plus-mile hike into the forest in the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Here, we made our way out to Chapel Falls and Chapel Rock, the latter being a natural formation right along the Lake Superior shoreline, where a solitary pine tree grows on a tall pillar of rock, its roots stretching thirty feet to connect with the mainland. On the beach near the formation, we had another nice picnic lunch, then hiked back to the parking area. Straight away, we headed back toward Munising and a couple of nearby falls — MNA Memorial and Tannery Falls, which are tucked in the woods behind a residential area. Memorial Falls, in particular, was striking, in that the terrain forms a huge, circular gorge, into which the water streams from above. You're hiking down a gradual decline, only to suddenly reach a sheer drop of at least a hundred feet (I'm thinking that roaming around back here at night would be a bad idea). From there, a trail winds down the cliff face so you can actually go into the gorge beneath the falls. Directly adjacent to this is another, almost identical gorge, this one absent any flowing water. Nearby but up a very steep, rugged incline — at least on the route we took — you'll come upon Tannery Falls, similar in size and formation to its nearby neighbor. By the time we returned to the Terrace Motel, we were pretty well exhausted, and so we hit the sack relatively early.
Chapel Falls, seen from the trail in the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore forest
Hemlock roots on the cliffside along the trail to Chapel Rock
Ms. B. at Chapel Rock with Lake Superior in the background
From our picnic area: Chapel Rock in the distance, the mouth of Chapel Creek in the foreground
A very small person in the gorge beneath MNA Memorial Falls
For our last full day in the UP, we went down to Laughing Whitefish Falls, southwest of Munising, which was one of the longest falls I've ever seen. At the top, the stream makes a spectacular plunge into space and then cascades several hundred feet down a long flight of steep, rocky stair steps. You're not allowed to climb out on the rocks, but it was about all I could do to keep Ms. B. from vaulting the fences and venturing up the cascade to provide a sense of scale for a photo op. Impetuous youth, I tell you. In the end, she broke no laws or any bones, but she did have to console herself by sharing a bottle of wine with me. There have been worse endings. But I jump ahead of myself. After the falls, we moved on to the town of Marquette, a relatively small community, though the largest town in the UP. It's one of Lake Superior's major ports, and along the lakefront there are both functioning and retired iron-ore docks, which are massive structures that extend far into the lake with chutes along each side for transfering ore into the holds of freighters. We enjoyed a decent lunch at a cozy little restaurant called The Vierling before making our way out to Presque Isle Park, a peninsula on the town's north end, and the Black Rocks, an expansive formation of volcanic rock, including some high cliffs, that extends far into the lake. Caches? Yes. We finished our day in Marquette with a visit to L'Attitude, a classy bistro with excellent drinks, service, and ambiance.
Laughing Whitefish Falls seen from the bottom. Alas, there's no Brugger in the picture
to provide a sense of scale. It's big. BIG.
Laughing Whitefish Falls seen from the top. It's a loooong way down.
Old iron ore dock in Marquette
Upper Tahquamenon Falls
Friday, unfortunately, was a day of nonstop frigid rain. I had picked up a little cold along the way, and I wasn't feeling top-notch, so we didn't spend much time exposed to the elements. We did, with the utmost sadness, check out of our home away from home in Munising and head toward Whitefish Point, some distance to the east, stopping along the way at the upper Tahquamenon Falls for some photos and a cache. Then we continued on to Whitefish Point and lunch at Brown Fisheries' Fish House, where they catch the Lake Superior whitefish in the morning and serve it to you for lunch. Oh, my lord, this is what fish is all about. While the whitefish at Sydney's in Munising was damned good, Brown's was phenomenal stuff, as flavorful and "non-fishy" as fish gets, with homemade tartar sauce, lemon, and malt vinegar. They don't skimp on the servings, either, so one really can't walk out of there wanting, barring some misguided personal volition.
Bell from the Edmund Fitzgerald, raised
from the wreck in 1995

My most sobering experience came at the Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point. It has on display myriads of artifacts from the literally hundreds of shipwrecks from the nearby Great Lakes, including the bell from the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald, which went down in Lake Superior 15 miles north of Whitefish Point, November 10, 1975. Needless to say, the Gordon Lightfoot song went running nonstop through my head all day, but the museum's in-depth narrative of that event, along with so many others from the area, made a real emotional impact on me. The lighthouse at the point, built in 1861, still functions and remains a crucial beacon for ships in this frigid, storm-racked location. Over 200 ships lie at the bottom of the lake within just a few miles of Whitefish Point, dating back to the early 1800s.

At last, it was time to leave the UP and return to the Land of the Trolls — not that this was much of a source of pain for either Kimberly or I. We got back to Midland early in the evening and spent a last enjoyable night with Del and Fern, who I really hope do not end up catching my cold (it may be too late for Kimberly, alas). Then it was up bright and early on Saturday morning to catch our flight(s) back to the south land — Raleigh/Durham via Atlanta. A long layover and a slight delay leaving Atlanta made for a full, tiring day of travel, but eventually, we got back home to Greensboro. I have to thank my good friend Suzy Albanese for house-sitting and looking after the catses while dad was away — that was a major load off my mind while on the biggest trip away from home I've taken in many, many years. The welcoming committee was ferocious, enthusiastic, and relentless. I haven't had a moment in the last 18 hours without a cat on top of me. And today I even got the predawn good-morning-welcome-back urp to let me know how greatly I had been missed.

I'd hate to do it to the cats, but I do believe I'd return to Michigan for another extended stay at the drop of a hat. I'll be anxiously awaiting the opportunity.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Courting Disaster

There's been mighty little time for blogging these past few weeks, as I've been hustling and hustling to meet a couple of very tight deadlines. Done and done, so it's time to take a brief breather. Happily, the results of some of the more recent labors are beginning to manifest themselves. World War Cthulhu, featuring my story, "The Game Changers," is now in release. And just on the horizon, from Celaeno Press, In the Court of the Yellow King, featuring "Masque of the Queen," a tale I'm rather proud of. As of last night, I've just completed two new short tales — both on the longer side, actually, near 8,000 words — and submitted them to their respective editors. Tentacles and other appendages are all crossed.

On the home front, Droolie and his compadres, Chester and Frazier, have also been working overtime. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a photo or two this morning, but I was entirely too busy swearing a blue streak and cleaning the kitchen after a spectacular crockpot demolition. It certainly would have made a dynamic entry in the Designs by Droolie® line, and it has necessitated an altering of dinner plans. Fortunately, Ms. Brugger is quick on the draw when it comes to dinner arrangements.

An evening of wine and good company lies ahead, providing the cats haven't demolished the house when I get home this evening. Cash bets only, please.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Nothing Says "Boo" Like "Booe"!


Saw it once, and I figured it might be a typo on a gravestone. Saw it twice, and I figured it was definitely deliberate. While out geocaching, Rob, Robbin, and I decided to visit the Joppa Cemetery, a little graveyard outside Mocksville, NC, whose most famous inhabitants are surely Daniel Boone's parents, Squire Boone and Sarah Jarman Morgan. A beautiful, serene setting; densely wooded; well-maintained for a relatively old graveyard. But the stones in question read Booe, not Boone. There was even a Daniel Booe. Apparently, the Booe family was fairly prominent in Davie County over a span of many years. The graves of Daniel Boone's parents, sure enough, were not far away, but happening upon the Booes was a little startling.

We did find the cache at the cemetery, then moved on to a portion of the relatively new, cache-rich Carolina Thread Trail, a few miles to the northwest. This trail is part of a regional series of trails and greenways that are intended to eventually link together, forming a network that will allow access to locations throughout central North Carolina. This ambitious project is well underway, with dozens of completed trails and many more currently in progress. Great stuff for hikers and cyclists — not to mention geocachers. We picked up 16 caches along a 2.2-mile length of trail along the South Yadkin River (Girl Scouts, Hornets' Nest Council Trail), and ended up running into several other geocachers, including our friends Christopher (Ranger Fox), Diana (half of David & Diana), and Phyllis (Liber) from the Piedmont Triad. A fine day of it, indeed.

Booe! Scared you, didn't I?
Coupla old farts: Robgso and Rtmlee, each with one foot in the grave
Mr. Lee wonders what's cooking with the dead folks
Long view of Joppa Cemetery
Big honking wasp nest on the sign at the Girl Scouts' Hornet's Nest Council trailhead
Rtmlee, Global Grandma, Pink Rabbit, Damned Rodan

Sunday, September 7, 2014

A Random Godzilla Story*

If you're an old monster movie buff like me, you might remember the daikaiju movie, Yog — Monster From Space (a.k.a. Space Amoeba) periodically showing up at drive-in theaters in the early 70s, usually on a double feature with Destroy All Monsters or Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster.

I had just turned 12, and sure enough, Destroy All Monsters and Yog were coming to the local drive-in (the Castle, may it R.I.P., in Collinsville, VA). While my parents didn't mind occasionally taking me and some friends to see monster movies, they inevitably ruled that the second feature came on too late for us to stay up. Well, I wanted to see Destroy All Monsters because it was a Godzilla movie; I knew nothing and cared nothing about Yog. Naturally, according to the published schedule, Yog was to be the first feature. So I called the drive-in, hoping to convince them to run Destroy All Monsters first. No way, they told me; the projector was set up to run Yog first, and that was that.

Well, young Mark is distressed. So for a couple of evenings, I called the drive-in relentlessly, disguising my voice, even getting my best friend Frank to call them, hoping to persuade them to run Destroy All Monsters first. Each call was answered with the inevitable "No way." Well, come the night my Dad takes us out there, we stop at the ticket booth, ask which show comes on first, and we're told "Yog, Monster From Space." (The lady pronounced it like "Yoga.") So Dad says, "Sorry boys," and figures we'll want to leave. But no; we put on the pressure and get him to drive us on in, just to see if maybe the ticket lady had made a mistake. Well, since we didn't pay, the manager comes to pay us a visit, and Dad tells him, "We just figured we'd stay for a few minutes to see which movie came on first." The manager bends down and gives Frank and me a very hard stare. "You must be those youngsters who've been calling nonstop for the last two days." We admit that we are. The manager sighs and says, "Well, we've decided to run Destroy All Monsters first."

You could hear us whoopin' and hollerin' over in the next county (which was actually just a stone's throw away). So it was a wonderful night for monsters. But had I known Yog was a fun little Toho film, I would have been just as happy to see it, since I'd already seen Destroy All Monsters once before (this goes to show you the value of research first). But, as luck would have it, Yog showed up at the downtown movie theater a few months later, all by its lonesome, so I went and checked it out.

It was a blast then, and by gummy it still is.

*A version of this random Godzilla story originally appeared on my pre-Blogger blog in March 2006.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Seven Souvenirs

"The Socializer" event in Reidsville — geocachers a-plenty!
What does a geocacher do on a long weekend? Go caching like there's no tomorrow, of course. Actually, most of last week I was hard at it on the geocaching trail, taking on several tough and/or otherwise invigorating hides, including a couple of mentally challenging puzzles (for some of us lacking mathematical prowess, "difficult" might be a more apt term), one way up in a great big tree, and a caching event held in Reidsville, hosted by 3Newsomes, a.k.a. Shannon. On Sunday, Robgso (a.k.a Rob) and I cleaned up in Mebane, and, yesterday, Suntigres (a.k.a. Bridget) and Rtmlee (a.k.a. Robbin) made short work of a geoart series called Final Approach, the geoart being the shape of an airplane formed by cache icons on the map.

It may be a stretch to call them "perks" from, but parent company Groundspeak awards virtual tokens, called souvenirs, to geocachers for various accomplishments in the field. For example, last August, you received a souvenir for each day of the month you went caching, and if you logged finds on all 31 days, you received a special "31 Days of Geocaching" souvenir. This year, during the month of August, you received a souvenir for logging the various types of geocaches — i.e., an "Explorer" souvenir for finding a traditional cache, a "Sightseer" souvenir for find a multi-stage cache, a "Nature-Lover" souvenir for attending a cache-in, trash-out event or finding an Earthcache, and so forth and so on. If you logged all six specified types over the course of the month, you received a special "Seven Souvenirs of August" souvenir. Yes, I managed to accomplish this perhaps not-so-astounding feat, but hey, it made for a fun little personal geocaching goal. Kimberly says it does enhance my status as a geek, so I guess I'll just go with that.

But, apart from caching, what's a long weekend without a couple of hot dates with Ms. B. and some wine to go with it? No worries! On Saturday, Kimberly and I joined up with our friends Terry and Beth Nelson to visit a few wineries out in the Yadkin Valley. The weather was hot, muggy, and downright uncomfortable, but since there was wine involved — some of it quite good indeed — we forced ourselves to make the best of it. On Sunday, after the geocaching event, several of us went to The Celtic Fringe, a superb little pub in Reidsville. And for afters, Peter Jackson's Bad Taste was on the menu, and it's really bad, but in the best possible way.

On top of it all, I managed to finish up my most recent work of short fiction, titled "Red Rage," so it's ready to go off to the editor of the anthology who requested it. So now it's back to the grind, and boy, there's some serious grinding going on.

Be sweet!
A rough gang at Raffaldini Vineyards
Throw them into the cooler! The women chillin' at Raffaldini.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Wicked Weddings, Pants-Down Races, and More

Detail from the awful mob scene pictured below

Over a decade ago, at a singularly infamous, unnameable Necon event in Bristol, Rhode Island, our good friend, the well-known hack writer Elizabeth Massie, stumbled over this particularly fascinating, very sad, and very mean artist named Cortney Skinner. The two of them caught each other's interest and apparently wound up rolling through a darkened duct tape factory because it wasn't long before they had become quite inseparable. Before anyone understood what was actually happening, this nefarious pair was cohabitating, living in sin, doing devilish deeds by day and by night. Based on their frequent, frightening appearances together in public, whispers began to circulate that the two of them had murdered each other in their sleep. Then, back in June, all these years of abominable abnormality culminated, when the perverted pair, in full silly hat regalia, tied the marital knot — in the common vernacular, up and got hitched.

Finally, unable to limit the practicing of their devilish whims to only themselves, the despicable duo decided to throw a big-ass bash to showcase their disgusting deviance, even inviting people they actually knew and disrespected — including the lovely Ms. B. and me. Unable to overcome our fascination with public perversion, we accepted. So, just this weekend, yesterday through today, we found ourselves subjected to a degree of depravity that, until now, we never could have guessed existed on this planet.

It started out innocently enough. Kimberly and I visited the beautiful Barren Ridge winery just outside of Waynesboro, enjoyed some wine, grabbed a few geocaches, and then — admittedly with some trepidation — we headed over to the hellish homestead. There were reunions with old friends, such as Jeff Osier; his wife, Cathy Van Patten; and her brother, John, with whom I had attended college a few years back. But these fair moments were not to last, for then the games began. Hideous, horrendous games, based on torture and humiliation. Things like "Pants-Down Races," in which even Ms. Massie's own daughter participated. To my shock, Kimberly was drawn into the evil circle, and I could only watch in despair as she, and numerous other inductees into this Satanic coven, raced around a blazing fire, pants down, tripping and falling and screaming and wailing. Never was there a more apt time for Jesus to appear and set things right. But he didn't, and so the heathens frollicked on.
Brugger was forced to walk the plank.

Next up, there were songs. And they drew me into it — me! Before I knew it, we were in a songwriting/singing competition, in which we had to compose canticles actually commemorating this demon pair's unholy union. I found myself singing along on a tune called "Bugle Whoo!" right smack in front of the couple, who looked down upon us from their camping chairs on high, nodding their heads in approval. And Lord, if that didn't sting. Except that... in a weird way... I almost enjoyed it!

Somehow, sometime later, Kimberly and I managed to escape. I'll never forget the sounds of agonized screaming, which — fortunately — receded quickly as we made our way into the night, seeking the nearest geocache with my trusty GPS.

The story would have ended there, except that, to our chagrin, we also accepted an invitation to breakfast with a select few of the coven, including the married couple. I should describe the beastly behavior during this smaller but no less traumatic event, but I doubt that repeating it would do my sanity — or yours — any favors. Suffice it to say that I am home now, writing this little missive, and constantly looking over my shoulder.

Should something happen to me, at least you know the truth.
A perfectly pastoral scene at Barren Ridge Vineyards, offering no hint of the trauma soon to follow.
Ms. B. and ye old writer, drinking away our cares before we even realized we had any.
Let the games begin. Grand marshall Cortney instructs participants in the rules of "Pants-Down Races."
Many celebrants, including this corrupt conquistador, crowded into the house to escape a brief rainstorm.
Hapless subjects serenade the vicious vizier and his bride, who look on with approval
After the party: Destined to walk the land of the dead.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Confusion on the Bigfoot Trail

Several years ago, geocaching took me out to what I call the Bigfoot Trail — a scenic and secluded hiking trail through the marshes along Long Branch, a few miles north of Greensboro (see "Return to Bigfoot Country," "Bigfoot's Libary," "The Great Blue Heron Nursery"). When I came upon the trail for the first time, it was undeveloped — not much more than a deer path through the woods, and human beings, other than the occasional geocacher, were happily never present. More recently, this extensive area of land has been made into the Richardson-Taylor Nature Preserve, and the old Bigfoot trail has been extended by a couple of miles and augmented by a bike trail that roughly parallels and occasionally intersects it. The preserve encompasses one of the most primitive, undeveloped areas in Guilford County, and since it is one of Greensboro's vital watershed areas, I am glad it has been acquired by an organization that will preserve it rather than rape it. All too nearby, acres upon acres of pristine woodland have recently been clear-cut to make way for yet more hellishly ugly, overpriced, cookie-cutter houses in poorly planned subdivisions that are steadily destroying the very resources that allow Greensboro to maintain adequate water supplies. The dreaded urban sprawl, don't you know. I hate it beyond words.

For now, while the trail is still unfinished, there is plenty of nature to be seen out there with virtually no sign of human intrusion. Near the trailhead, there are the remains of several old tobacco barns, for this area along Plainfield Road, which runs east-west near Greensboro's northernmost city limits, was not all that long ago completely rural, the forests broken only by a few farms and tobacco fields. The geocaching is good out here, and I was lucky to have been able to experience this unspoiled area before the inevitable influx of less environmentally conscious hordes. Today's hike was after a new, well-conceived multistage cache that required solving a novel field puzzle that involved dynamos and circuit boards (GC5B09K; "The Box of Confusion — I Wonder"). Mr. Rob "Robgso" Isenhour and I put in a nice three-mile hike and were able to log geocaching smileys after solving the puzzle and finding the final stage.

Yeah, Bigfoot is still out there, and I hear he's kind of pissed that the trail is now called the Bill Craft Trail, which may be fitting enough, but for crying out loud, how could any sensible soul not call it "The Bigfoot Trail"? Well, whatever its official name, to some of us, it's always going to be the Bigfoot Trail, and that will be that.
Old Rodan and old tobacco barn near the trailhead
They have these newfangled bridges out on the trail now. Not back in the good ol' days; you just got your feet wet.