Sunday, June 26, 2011

Personal Heroes

I thought I might go on a bit about some particularly exceptional people in my life. I had thought about doing so a couple of months back, when the furor about the evils of unions for public employees was at fever pitch, but I figured it was more prudent to let things cool down a bit, so that I might write with a clearer head. I have very strong feelings about teachers, and I haven't been as angry in years as I was to hear some of the nasty rhetoric about them—particularly by a lot of pinheads on Facebook—during the early May "debates" about collective bargaining in Wisconsin. If you frequent this blog, you probably know that, when I'm not writing infernal tales of woe and dread, I work in the educational publishing business, and thus I have close ties to the education field. I feel very strongly about academics, and participating in this business is my way of contributing to education without actually working in the classroom—which, I might as well admit, would eventually lead either to my murder or my incarceration for murder. Hence much of my respect for those who are there on the front lines, giving everything they've got and then some to keep the youth of this nation from slipping ever deeper into the vast cesspool of stupidity, which has spread like a giant oil slick since the nobly intentioned but ultimately misguided No Child Left Behind Act became the law of the land just after the turn of the century.

Now, tell me. Could you read the above paragraph? Did you find any spelling, grammar, or usage errors? Did you discern any particular personal bias? Could you identify some of the liberties I've taken with formal English to write colloquially? Do you know what "colloquial" means? Does "hyperbole" mean anything to you? If you answered "yes" to any of these, thank a teacher.

I was fortunate to have been educated in a time when the economy in my community was booming, and educational standards were high due less to mandate than our community realizing they needed to be, and because education—and educators—were valued as the long-term assets they rightfully are. Now, you and I have both had good teachers and bad teachers, and sometimes, despite the best efforts of the good ones, neither of us do much learning. I usually attribute that to laziness on my part—probably yours too—but against all odds, the better part of the important lessons they taught me managed to stick. For example: At my job, I occasionally have to use algebra and/or geometry to accurately create a page for one of our publications. To be honest, a honey badger can solve simple math problems better than I can (I am very much in my right brain); however, while I can't recall particular formulas without serious research (and then with serious lapses of comprehension), I have somehow managed to recollect exercises in logical thinking that, in the end, have allowed me to re-invent algebra from the ground up and ultimately get the page done right.

Credit goes to Ms. Frances Harris, eighth grade, Martinsville Junior High School, and Mr. Glenn Sellers, 11th grade, Martinsville High School. No doubt, they'd cringe at my methods, but by god, they were the ones who presented me with challenges that, at the time, I knew were beyond my means, and essentially dared me to overcome them.

Smart, them ones.

Now, I'm not writing this as much to make a political argument as to highlight the dire need our society has for excellent educators. I'm going to tell you right now, you could not pay me enough to work in a public school—especially in an impoverished or otherwise challenging community—because, above all things, I value my sanity. Yet I personally know many, many individuals who lay aside their personal fears and biases; they draw on every ounce of creativity they have; they sacrifice the wealth they might otherwise gain in their field to pass on their knowledge to our young because they feel it's the right thing to do. Because they care.

Now, I will tell you, I've been there, at least in some limited capacity. I've taught adults, I've taught youngsters; I've extended myself far beyond my comfort zone to give a little bit back to a community that by and large did me right. Back in the 80s, one of my students in the Patrick Henry Community College program for continuing education (I taught art) was my 12th-grade English teacher, the late Mrs. Lula Johnson. Never was there a more gratifying moment: I got to challenge her the way she had challenged me. She knew I was going to do this and was absolutely sporting about it (the fact of which increased my admiration for her all the more). Of course, she was teaching me the basics of communication; I was teaching her the basics of a hopefully enriching elective. Some difference; yet it put me in the position of seeing things from the other end of the spectrum. I don't know that I've ever been more enlightened.

In eighth grade, I had a most wonderful art teacher. Although I was artistically inclined, I had always considered myself a far better artist than I really was; still, I did have at least some grasp of the basics, and Mr. Colie Johnson recognized my inherent strengths. Yet and still (his favorite expression), he always took it upon himself to challenge me to strive harder than I thought was necessary. No matter how much effort I put into a piece of art, no matter how deeply I drew on my creativity, he'd look at what I did, smile encouragingly, tell me I was doing beautifully, and then wonder if there was anything else I could think of that might make it work better. I was sometimes offended and occasionally quite indignant. What do you mean it's not perfect as it is? But his manner was irresistible; there was no choice in the matter. I had to make it better. Somewhere along the line, that became my philosophy in life: it had to be better.

In tenth grade, my biology teacher was Mr. Bill Vickers (who went on to become the principal of Martinsville High School). Now, I don't remember shit about Gregor Mendel or the phylogenetic tree of life or the finer points of natural selection. But I clearly remember the labs where we evaluated the merits of evolution vs. scientific creationism (because in those days you could do this without offending a bunch of overly sensitive religious pricks [note the personal bias]); debated whether marijuana should be legalized (and to what degree, be it medicinal or in general); and analyzed current social issues (such as whether we favored busing students to distant schools to fulfill integration quotas). Of course, we did actually study the more traditional aspects of biology, and to reinforce our learning, we often played games, such as Chalk Talks, which made the subject fun and, above all, memorable. Part of the class's appeal was that Mr. V. had nicknames for everyone in class. I was Polo (you know, as in Marco). We had Sir Slab, Ms. Red Nose, Jaypee, Bonneville, and all kinds of other colorful names. Mr. V. taught me more about critical thinking than any other teacher, either before or since. In fact, I credit Mr. V. with being perhaps the most influential individual in my life, apart from my immediate family.

Did you have a teacher like that?

We need teachers like that. We need individuals who can inspire our young people to strive beyond the short-term strictures of achievement tests. We need to give them every means at our disposal to make sure that this country regains its respected stature in the field of education. To me, it's an almost personal affront that our public education system has slipped from being the pinnacle of the civilized world to a transparent shadow of itself, and that here, even in this country, short-sighted politicians, media blowhards, and, yes, the ignorant masses have somehow taken it upon themselves to demonize some of the most intelligent, influential, and crucial members of our society.

Never was this more evident than when a Facebook "friend" with right-leaning tendencies went on, day after day, about those overpaid, elitist, lazy-ass teachers whose only function is to indoctrinate youngsters into the ranks of stupid liberals, and who spend every summer lounging on the beach on our tax dollars, and then have the gall to do all they can to retain their professional, personal, and political influence as a group. Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion, of course; but if your every post is riddled with spelling, grammar, and usage errors, and you can't piece together two coherent sentences—I'm sorry—your semi-literate rantings on this subject are not exactly credible.

Then there's the fine lady I know whose emotionally challenged son is more than a handful for his poor teachers, to the detriment of the rest of the class. Needless to say, in her eyes, all her son's problems are his teachers' fault because, for one thing, he's smarter than they are (in fact, he's smarter than most adults!) and they just don't recognize it, and for another, he doesn't really have any discipline problems, he's just bored. Well, you know, it may be that he's a smart kid at heart, but it's so much easier just to blame teachers for his problems than to actively get involved, work with the teachers instead of fighting them at every juncture, and, well, you know, maybe being a decent, forward-thinking parent.

So yeah, these things drove me to write up a little something in the defense of one of the most under-appreciated groups of individuals in the land. At my job, I work with a passel of former teachers. Over the years, I've kept in touch with a number of my former teachers. Sadly, almost all of them lament where the education system has gone over the past decade or so. The biggest complaint I hear is that all the creativity has gone out of the classroom in favor of teaching to the tests, which in itself has resulted in a marked decrease in kids' critical thinking skills and increased school administrators' motivations to manipulate the system just to keep their federal dollars coming in. What we, as citizens, need to recognize is that we are jeopardizing our own future by implementing short-sighted policies that discourage the best teachers—who appear to be leaving even decent school systems in droves.

Yes, by all means, let's look at areas where there's waste and do something about it. But we can't keep financially gutting our education system and not expect the direst consequences down the road. Our teachers need to be given every possible tool to succeed. Lord knows their jobs are already more than hard enough. No, not all teachers are saints or paragons, but in my experience, most of them really have a stake in your kids' futures. If you're a parent, get involved. Get to know your kids' teachers. Give them a hand. For God's sake, don't fight them. Or you, not they, are the problem.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

We All Scream

Spillway on the Dan River, viewed from the Riverwalk Trail.

It was up and out early, bound for Danville, for a bunch of new caches and a gathering of cachers at the Corner Cafe in Ringgold, VA. Ice cream and good company aplenty, plus first-to-find on a couple of new hides. As is pretty much the norm, while out on the trail, I encountered Lynn and Norm, a.k.a. Spring1, who took me in like a stray dog, and we conquered a few caches together.

Afterward, I snagged Ms. B. and headed out to Mahi's Seafood Restaurant in Greensboro for a superb dinner. It's been there in an all-but-hidden little corner of Lawndale Ave. for many years, even since I lived in that neighborhood back in the late 80s/early 90s. It's a little pricey (we poor 'uns had a coupon), very cozy, with excellent service and ambiance. I had oyster & shrimp creole, which was perfectly spicy (probably too spicy for those who don't enjoy fire as much as I do); Ms. B. ordered baked Tilapia Parmesan, which clearly treated her right as well. We ended the evening getting together with our good friends, the Albaneses, at their place to sample a few decent wines. Since we've caught a break from the oppressive heat these past few evenings, we decided to hang out at the nearby, ever-so-lovely gazebo on Lake Jeannette, only to spend most of our time cowering from the world's second biggest spider (the biggest lives in Burlington), which made it its business to perch above our heads, adopting a menacing fighting stance.

At least it never pounced on us. That would have been bad. Bad, I tell you.

Friday, June 24, 2011

No Dead Baby Jokes, Please

I found it just off the Palmetto Trail, near Lake Brandt, in north Greensboro. An old geocache had been archived, thus opening that area up for a new cache, so I decided to head out there and hide a new one. While I was scouting the area, I saw something peeking out from a dark hollow, and upon closer inspection, I determined that, yes, it was in fact a dead baby. Well, a dead, disembodied, plastic, eyeless, mindless baby head, at any rate. On first glance, it gave me a wonderful little case of the creeps. Little dude makes a cool cache guardian, as he's stationed only a short distance from the hide. Geocachers, you need not look inside the head for the logbook, as you'll find only an empty brain pan. The cache isn't published yet at www.geocaching.com, but when it's up, you'll find it under the moniker, "No Dead Baby Jokes, Please" (GC2YVWF).

"Cursed is the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil is the mind that is held by no head."
—Abdul Al-Hazred, The Necronomicon

Yep!

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Father's Day 2011

Dad died just over ten years ago—April 11, 2001. A great man he was. Seen here with a strange little dude, sometime in 1959.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Caches, Cemeteries, and Catses

Ms. B. at Old Union Cemetery, near Stokesdale, NC

Off with Ms. B. to Stonefield Cellars Winery in Stokesdale this afternoon, where both the wine and their resident cat make for quite the attraction. On the way over, we stopped for a couple of caches, then paid a visit to the Old Union Cemetery, off Harrell Road, where veterans of both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars are buried—which I had discovered quite some time ago on a caching outing. The graveyard is set back in the woods a ways, and the stones are so ancient that most are completely illegible. A scenic and very tranquil little historical spot.

Noah, the Stonefield Cellars Winery mascot, is a beautiful Bengal cat, with a very sweet temperament. I want one. And their wine is superb. Afterward, there was a new cache in Eden, so we detoured over to give it quick hunt. Ran into fellow cachers, Team Collab, and shared first-to-find honors with them. Yay.

Noah! My man!

Friday, June 17, 2011

The Wacky Tobacco Trail

The American Tobacco Trail is a 22-mile rails-to-trails project over in the Triangle area, a portion of which passes through the extensive Chatham County gamelands. My old comrade-in-geocaching Beth "Bog Turtle" Walton had come down from Illinois for a visit, so this morning, she and Debbie "Cupdaisy" Shoffner and I got together and trucked over to the ATT for a bit of hiking and caching. We put in about five miles on the trail and snagged a dozen caches, including a very evil multi called "I Had a Nice Visit—Again" (GC2RGXZ), one stage of which cost me an ungodly amount of hair from all the hair-pulling. (Yes, this is how we have fun.) Afterward, we discovered a most wonderful little restaurant called Ted's Montana Grill, which specializes in bison—a particularly fortuitous event for us, as Ms. Bog Turtle and I both can't get enough dead buffalo, and they really do it right here. I will mention that Ted's a reasonably classy restaurant, with fairly upscale ambiance; now here come Damned Rodan, Cupdaisy, and Bog Turtle, fresh off the trail (meaning definitely not so fresh), looking like something Bigfoot dragged in. An appealing incongruity, I think. Anyhoo, we enjoyed a very late lunch or early dinner (dunch?), and then it was back on the road for home.

I hope Ms. Bog Turtle enjoys the rest of her visit, and snags many caches.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

June Madness

It's a big month for adaptations of H. P. Lovecraft's short novel, At the Mountains of Madness. Italian filmmaker Michele Boticelli has made an intriguing, 30-minute animated version, capturing the essence of the story with unique style. It's a fairly admirable job, given how much of the novel is given to relating the ancient history of the denizens of the mysterious mountains. I'm quite taken with the film's ending, which neatly references numerous several other Lovecraft tales, such as "The Whisperer in the Darkness" and "The Shadow Over Innsmouth." You may view the entire film here.


Also, for the month of June, the BBC is presenting an audio version of the original story, capably read by Richard Coyle. It won't be available very long, so check it out while you still can. Link is here: BBC's At the Mountains of Madness

Thanks to Lovecraft E-Zine for pointing the way to these and many other blasphemous treasures.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Bigfoot's Library

Despite the heat and unruly hordes of bloodsucking critters, it was necessary to hide a new trail cache. Thus, there is a new one, which has just gone live, out on what I call The Bigfoot Trail—a well-maintained but "unofficial" trail on Greensboro watershed land, a little ways north of town (see The Great Blue Heron Nursery for a bit more description). Each time I've been out there—four times in four days—I've heard something very big and very heavy splashing through the marsh, and I've come to the conclusion that it can only be Bigfoot. Thus, I hereby proclaim this trail the Bigfoot Trail, and that is my proclamation. Since cryptozoological horrors tend to enjoy scary literature (so I'm told), I've placed in a mysterious, dark hiding place a Bigfoot-sized ammo can full of scary books, including a couple that feature horror stories by ye old dude. Mind you, Bigfoot's Library is for premium geocaching members only, but if you're a devoted cacher, this sucker has your name on it: (GC2XMG1)

Be aware, the ticks are out in full force. I waded through one small patch of tall grass and ended up with three deer ticks embedded in my leg. The most insulting thing is that they laugh at all varieties of insect repellent; near as I can tell, you have to set yourself on fire to get them to shy away from you, and even then, it's hardly a sure thing.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Scarecrows


I recall seeing the box art for the 1988 horror flick, Scarecrows, back in the dark ages when I used to go down to the video store and rent VHS tapes, but I never actually bothered to check it out. This evening, I needed a horror fix in the worst way, and since the movie is available for streaming on Netflix, I decided to give it a look. Dang if I'm not glad I did. It's a solid, atmospheric little film, with fair acting, a decent story, and a particularly eerie musical score by Terry Plumeri. It's about a team of mercenaries gone bad, who have robbed Camp Pendleton of three million dollars or so and hijacked a private plane to make their escape. One of the team members double-crosses his compadres—creating a diversion on the plane and then bailing with the cash. The remaining bunch force the pilot and his daughter to put the plane down in a field so they can hunt down the rogue brigand and recover the loot. They find themselves at a remote, deserted farmhouse, guarded by several scary-looking scarecrows. Needless to say, the scarecrows aren't exactly what they seem. Creepiness and mayhem soon follow.

The storyline in no small way reminds me of Dead Birds (2004)—or rather vice-versa, since Scarecrows was made 16 years earlier—focusing on a band of murderous antiheroes, but whose characters are developed sufficiently to generate at least some interest in their fate. All of the action occurs over the course of a single night, and there's nary a trace of daylight to be seen before the end credits roll. The cinematography works well, especially the lingering shots of the scarecrows' faces following significant moments of violence and gore. There are no pat explanations for the events in the picture, and while some might feel this is a serious shortcoming, I believe quite the opposite. The "essence" of the supernatural menace is left to one's imagination; again, like Dead Birds, the narrative offers you enough information to draw your own conclusions based on its internal logic. In horror fiction, this particular quality is often exemplified in the works of Fritz Leiber and T.E.D. Klein—and both of them have strongly influenced my own creepy fiction.

No, Scarecrows is hardly a horror classic, but I would consider it slam-bang perfect drive-in movie fare—though in its day, it went direct-to-video, and even in 1988, drive-in theaters had become a rare and dying breed. It's nice to have this one available at the click of a mouse via Netflix, and it's definitely worth checking out. I'll even give this one four Damned Rodan's Fiery Martinis out of five.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Great Blue Heron Nursery

It was up and out fairly early today to hunt up some new trail caches not far from here. They're in an area of woods I've only entered at night, so it was interesting, to say the least, to view the area in daylight. It's very primitive, more so than most of the woods in the Greensboro watersheds—very marshy and dense, and it was rather surprising to find an actual trail, and well-maintained at that. I managed first-to-finds on the caches, but most impressive was discovering what the cache owner called "The Great Blue Heron Nursery." Never seen so many herons in one place. Really beautiful, and thanks to Mr. Isenhour and Ms. Stevens to placing the new caches. This is the reason I started geocaching in the first place.

Click on the pics below to enlarge.


Carpet of ferns on the way to "The Trail Dawgs Mark Their Territory" (GC2VR9A)


A surprisingly well-maintained trail through the wilderness


Lots of blue herons nesting in the trees


More herons on high

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Old Man Riv...er...Rodan on the Hunt

Kicked off the long Memorial Day weekend with a bunch of caching. Yeah, shock of shocks, right? Last night, I headed up to Danville; went after a few relatively new hides, including an excellent, four-stage multi called River Overlook (GC2NM75); and then stopped off for sushi at the Tokyo Grill, which I had tried once before and was suitably impressed (their spicy tuna roll is awesome). Then it was on to Mum's in Martinsville for the night, and this morning, I ventured out to Fairystone Park to hit the trails and find the last few caches out there that I hadn't already claimed. It was only about three miles total distance on the trails, but it's some serious terrain with major altitude changes—especially when one veers off the trail and goes bushwhacking. In the end, I was successful on the hunt, and claimed those last four caches I needed. Well, there are three more in that area, actually, but they're on islands, and one needs a boat—or to be a good swimmer—to get to them.

Last week, we had Employee Appreciation Day at the office, and I won a gift card to Fleming's Restaurant, so tonight, Ms. B. and I availed ourselves to some mighty fine dining. I gotta tell you, that carpaccio (raw dead cow) of theirs just can't be beat, and the white chocolate bread pudding for dessert was one of the best things I've ever tasted. Fleming's is one of those places I'd need to take out a second mortgage to go on my own dime; but the food is about the best in town, and the servers treat you like royalty. I tell you, I really could stand to frequent this place, but I'd have to write a best-seller every night.

A few new trail caches here in Greensboro were published over the weekend, so I've got some new ones to go after tomorrow. I'm already getting antsy to hit the woods. After tonight's dinner, I've got most of a cow to work off.


Twin bridges over the Dan River in Danville


View of the Dan River from the River Walk trail


View of Fairystone Lake beach from Stuart's Knob trail


Entrance to one of the old iron mines off the Stuart's Knob trail

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Caching Post-Apocalypse


Salem Lake is looking more like Salem Plain these days.

To celebrate surviving yesterday's obviously devastating apocalypse, I set my mind on some trail caching today—which, to hunt any I haven't already found, required going a little distance. Thus I headed over to Salem Lake, near Winston-Salem, put in about four miles, and then another mile or so around the town of Kernersville. Quite hot out there, and the old man is now pooped.

One of the few downsides of geocaching is when individuals don't get permission to hide their caches on someone else's private property. The rules of Geocaching.com clearly state that caches may be placed on private property only with permission of the property owner. Alas, too few cachers pay sufficient mind to that little stipulation. I ran into that situation today for the umpteenth time; fortunately, the property owner who confronted me was civil and reasonable. Others have been far less so when they discover something has been hidden on their property without their knowing it, and that people are coming around with some frequency to find it. I confess there were times in the past when I was guilty of being lax in securing permission for some of my hides, but I have long since learned better. Nowadays, as more people are geocaching, it's imperative to follow the rules—this one in particular—or individuals, businesses, and communities that are currently open to geocaching won't stay that way. So hey, you cachers out there: get permission.

I did spend a most enjoyable day of rapture yesterday. Got in a bit of hiking, and then Ms. Brugger and I headed up to Eden to the drive-in theater to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which I enjoyed a lot, and I Am Number Four, which was no great shakes but still highly enjoyable...because, hey, it's the drive-in theater. The cheeseburger, fries, big honking cookie, and Woodford Reserve really hit the spot.

G'night.

Friday, May 20, 2011

FAMOUS MONSTERS Reviews THE GAKI


And it's an okay review. I smile.

"This outstanding collection brings together some of Mr. Rainey’s previously published works and six new tales. These stories are varied, dark, frightening and very well written. The myriad styles and scope of these tales covers everything you could want in a horror fiction collection, I don’t think there is a weak story in the book." (Peter Schwotzer)

Check out the entire thing here: Famous Monsters of Filmland Reviews The Gaki by Stephen Mark Rainey

The Gaki is now available in trade paperback from Dark Regions; I believe a few numbered copies remain; the lettered edition is sold out.

"Strange shapes hiding in the shadows cast by the moonlight. Eerie noises drifting out of the forest and rising into the night. The sound of inhuman footsteps approaching from somewhere in the darkness. A pair of gleaming eyes peering in through your window at midnight....

This is the nightmarish, haunted world you will enter in this new collection of 17 tales—including six never before published—by Stephen Mark Rainey, longtime editor of Deathrealm magazine and author of such acclaimed works as Balak, The Lebo Coven, Blue Devil Island, The Last Trumpet, and Other Gods. Enter willingly…and prepare yourself for a chilling journey through some of the most frightening literary landscapes you have ever experienced."

More info on The Gaki here.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

BLUE DEVIL ISLAND Paperback Now Available!


Hooray for Marietta Publishing, who has released my novel, Blue Devil Island (originally published in hardback by Thomson Gale/Five Star, 2007), as a trade paperback. With gorgeous cover art by M. Wayne Miller, neat interior graphics (including insignia for the Navy and Marine units in the novel—a nice touch I did not know about), and a reasonable price ($15.99, but many vendors offer discounts), this has got to be one of my favorite book releases ever. It's in stock (online) at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and other vendors; may be available at select brick-and-mortar stores.

Here's a synopsis:

Autumn 1943: the beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomons lies a remote desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of the Coral Sea. The Blue Devils soar into combat against their enemies—both known and unknown. The squadron's island home may not be secure, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives—natives that resemble no known living race. As the Solomon campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese at last turn their attention to Conquest Island. Now the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and a mysterious, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.

More info is available at my website: Blue Devil Island at The Realm of Stephen Mark Rainey

If you enjoy any or all of the following, this one is for you: historical fiction, scary stuff, action-adventure, engaging characters, a bit of blood and guts, monsters, perhaps a hint of social commentary, not even a whiff of fluffy friggin' romance. Do check it out — you can order it from Amazon.com here.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Decree Received

Le temps de bonheur, 1986

I keep this blog as much as for me as for any interested readers, and today, I'm writing one primarily for me. I received the official court decree in today's mail, which means the divorce between Mrs. Death—my wife for 23 years—is indeed final. I figured I'd post a few pics and reminiscences from years gone by to reflect upon.

Peg acquired the name "Mrs. Death" back in the 1990s, when I was editing Deathrealm. I received mail addressed to Deathrealm all the time, but one day, a Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes envelope arrived addressed to "Mrs. Deathrealm." Needless to say, this drew a few chuckles—it would have been interesting to claim that prize! Anyway, the name stuck, and over time, it got shortened to Mrs. Death, and even now, Peg still uses the moniker for semi-official purposes.

Apart from our wedding, which really was the happiest day of my life, one of our best times together was going on a cruise to the Caribbean in 2002 with our friends Wayne and Sharon Euliss. We celebrated Halloween on the high seas, went snorkeling in Key West, smoked Cuban cigars in Mexico, ate quantities of excellent food like we'd never eaten before, and drank damned Bloody Marys like a bunch of famished vampires.

Things were rough in 2008, both between us and in various other ways, but early in the year, we discovered geocaching, and for a couple of years, it was a wonderful, fun way for us to bond and forget about some of the troubles that had overtaken us. If you've popped onto this blog even once, you've no doubt surmised that I'm still an avid cacher, and I will go so far as to say it's been the most vital, energizing activity I've known in my entire adult life. Mrs. Death isn't able to get out and do it the way she used to, but I cherish the memories of the good times we had out on the hunt. There were quite a few of them.

Perhaps the greatest legacy of our time together is our daughter, Allison, who has grown up and is living out her own dream in New York City. Allison is Peg's natural daughter, but I adopted her when she was a just a wee young 'un, and for all intents and purposes I'm her dad as surely as if the relationship were biological. Way back when, particularly right after the wedding, it was very difficult for both Allison and me—I'm not exactly known for my overwhelming paternal instincts, and I had become an instant husband and father; to say I was ill-equipped for this role is a gross understatement. But over time, Allison and I became close, and somewhere along the line, I believe she managed to forgive me for my mistakes and my sometimes outright wrong-headedness. I'm glad that Peg and I were together as she developed from a strange little child to a far stranger adult; I'm quite certain that, today, despite the emotional storms we had to weather, she's better off for us all having been together as a family during her formative years.

Peg and I have both made our share of grave mistakes, and whatever pain we caused each other, particularly during those past couple of years together, I hope we both can move past it all and be happy as life takes us where it will. For my part, in my heart, I've forgiven her for what I perceive as the wrongs she committed, and I hope she can find it in hers to forgive me for mine.

"When love is young and love is fine, it's like a gem when first it's new,
But love grows old and waxes cold, and fades away like the morning dew."
—The Water Is Wide





Click on the images to enlarge.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Gods of Moab

If you've been following ye olde author's escapades here and on Facebook, you're probably achingly aware that I've been working on a new novella for the past couple of months. Well, the damned thing is finally finished and has been tweaked, busted up, duct-taped, polished, and sent to the editor. Early on, I had slapped the working title "The Demon of Ice Valley" onto it, but now that it's done, its honest-to-god given name is "The Gods of Moab." The story quite overtly ties into both my novel, Balak, and several of the tales in my short-fiction collection, Other Gods. When I know its status, I will post a corresponding status report. Rest assured, my poor dear readers, it will be inflicted upon you.

There has geocaching in the bargain as well...as if you couldn't have guessed. The pic above was taken yesterday from the Lake Brandt Greenway, shortly before dark, as mist moved in over the lake. I must say, it was pleasantly eerie out there. Managed a few first-to-finds over the past several days, including one this afternoon. Not too shabby for Friday the 13th, but then I usually have very lucky Friday the 13ths. Unclean living, don't you know.

Just for giggles, I've been on a Hammer Dracula bender the past couple of weeks, thanks to Netflix. Tonight, it was Taste the Blood Dracula, which I saw as a teenager, but my recollection of it was very hazy. Turns out, it's one of the better ones in the series, despite a weak ending. Apart from his portrayal in Jess Franco's Count Dracula, I always thought Christopher Lee was wasted as Dracula, since he mostly just hisses and looks wild-eyed, but in this film, he actually has a few lines, and the story holds up remarkably well. Next week, I look forward to Dracula AD 1972, another one I haven't seen since my slightly addled teenage years.

Oh, and yes...there is a cache in that tree.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

The Orange Jacket!

A fun evening in Burlington, finding a few caches and attending Geoputt (GC2QDVH)—yes indeed, a geocaching Putt-Putt event! In my younger days, I used to play real golf regularly, but I haven't even picked up a club in a couple of years, and it's been at least 25 years since I tried my hand at Putt-Putt. Apparently, it's kind of like riding a bicycle, only a lot different.

The afternoon had been fairly beautiful until I arrived at the event, and then the bottom fell out. Quite a storm! A bunch of us hung out under cover at the pro shop until the rain let up. Then it was out to the links with teammates Bridget "Suntigres" Langley, Christopher "Ranger Fox" Hall, and event organizer Mr. Robbin "RTMLee" Lee his own self. Fortunately for the rest of us, Mr. Rob entered the tee box first and made it his business to show us how it's done. Following his lead, I managed to sink a few holes-in-one (which actually became known as "Pulling a Rob," since he dropped a few spectacular putts) and even save a few utterly disastrous first shots. At the end of it all, our most benevolent hosts awarded me the orange jacket, and I have to tell you, I am humbled, honored, excited, and...kind of hungry, now that I think about it.

Unfortunately, www.geocaching.com, which has always been about most user-friendly site one could imagine, has undergone a major overhaul, and it is an unmitigated disaster. They're still addressing issues with the site since the update, and thus I'd like to reserve judgment, but this is an absolutely frustrating case of a bunch of evidently bored programmers deciding to fix something that was never broken—to the point of nearly destroying it. There had gotten to be some real performance issues with the site, but those could have been addressed without Groundspeak taking the place apart and putting it back together with duct tape. What a freaking waste of time, energy, and money. Last I heard, updates were supposed to ultimately improve a site, and given what it's going to take just to fix what was mucked up, actual improvements look to be a long way off. Big sigh.

A few pics from Geoputt....


RTMLee about to "pull a Rob."


Ranger Fox about to knock one out of the ballpark.

Suntigres lining up for a stunning double-bogey putt.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Unrest in the Planet of the Apes


It's kind of cool to have Osama Bin Laden dead for my birthday, but my satisfaction is tempered by a certainty that there will now be much unrest in the Planet of the Apes, and the pissed-off among them will deal us some unpleasantness as a result. Still, all things considered, it's a better world without that particular creature breathing on it.

On another note: I have discovered that other people have the same birthday as me. WTF?

Spent a very nice day off doing some geocaching, which netted me three miles of hiking, four caches, and a rattlesnake. Since the rattlesnake—which was quite small, probably only a few days old—was far more interested in getting away from the big dude than messing with me, I call that a good day. Made great progress on the novella-in-the-works as well. The end is near....

Sunday, May 1, 2011

My Not-Yet-My-Birthday Party


 Okay, not so much a party as a hike. Well, a pair of hikes, actually. Just as much fun as a party—unless you count those parties where people throw money at you, but since that never happens to me, just never you mind. My birthday isn't till tomorrow, but since birthdays and Mondays are essentially incompatible, the weekend has been properly utilized for the celebratory functions. I must admit, for the most part, I'd just as soon forget about these silly landmarks, since, in the end, the only thing they mean is that the old man is another day closer to the crematorium. Then again, since I'm not there yet...what the hey...on with the celebration.

Headed out pretty early today to hunt a handful of geocaches on two different trails—Lake Kammack and Haw River, in Alamance County—as well as hide a new cache of my own in the bargain. Trails with caches I haven't yet found are few and far between in this area, so it's necessary to venture farther afield to get to them. The downside of this is that I have to save up for weeks to afford the gas anymore. The upside of it is that I always find some really beautiful places and add to my total cache finds. The Haw River, I swear, is one of the most appealing settings in the southeast. Every time I find a new place to hike along the Haw, I'm utterly taken with its primal beauty. Even when there are plenty of signs of human habitation along its banks, there's something about it that seems ancient and serene. To be sure, much of the south's history is exemplified in this locale—a few miles north of Burlington, NC—and in my old age, I find such areas fascinating. Not to mention that, corresponding to this sense of antiquity, there's a subtle, inherent eeriness that stimulates and appeals to my imagination as a writer of scary things. A couple of times out there today, alone, the rush of the river and the stillness that otherwise prevailed in the woods made me feel as if I were walking into the setting of a Lovecraft story. What a deep and frightful pleasure!

Last night, Ms. B. took me out for an evening of old-age revelry, which included going to the theater to watch Insidious—which I thought was a hoot; kind of the Fright Night of poltergeist films—then drinks at Vintage 301 and dinner at Zen Sushi on Elm Street in downtown Greensboro. The transformation of Elm Street in recent years from a dying commercial district to a small nighttime entertainment mecca is both surprising and appealing; in some respects, it reminds me of Rush Street in Chicago, back in the 80s. I dont' spend much time down there—being that I'm all old and everything—but it definitely has its allure. Particularly because...yes, you guessed it...there are caches.

Enjoy my birthday, if you please. (Click the pics to enlarge.)
A bridge too far. Yep, caches nearby....

There were lots of these little doods hopping around.
 
A feeder, of sorts — or some kind of alien construct, perhaps.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Jess Franco's COUNT DRACULA


At some dimly remembered point in my past—probably the late 70s—I happened upon the 1970 Spanish-Italian production of Count Dracula, directed by Jess (Jesus) Franco and starring Christopher Lee, and since I seem to have gone on a vampire bender lately, the craving to give this film another look has been flung upon me. Fortunately, it's available from Netflix, and the Dark Sky DVD is currently in stock at Amazon.com. I sat down with a martini and the movie tonight, and I must say, while it's flawed in a bazillion ways, it's actually better than I remembered. As a reasonably faithful adaptation of Stoker's novel—and the vehicle for Christopher Lee's best performance as ye vampire—Count Dracula is a noteworthy horror flick.

The film begins as virtually all adaptations do, faithful or otherwise, with solicitor Jonathan Harker (Frederick Williams) traveling to Transylvania to deliver to Count Dracula the deed to a certain property in England (inexplicably, Carfax Abbey is not mentioned in this script), which the Count has purchased. Harker finds himself confined in an intensely creepy setting, with a grim, moody host, who is shown right from the get-go to cast no reflection in a mirror. Apparently, this is an insufficient red flag, as Harker continues to go about his business, but very soon, the infamous trio of female vampires introduce themselves to him, followed by the Count himself insisting upon a blood donation from Harker. This done, Dracula moves on to England, leaving a frail and somewhat deranged Harker to make his own way back westward. At this point in the novel, and in most adaptations, fiancée Mina Murray (Maria Rohm) pours out all kinds of misery, though in this version, not so much. It actually works to the film's benefit to spend minimal time on the characters' romance so that more of the film's running time can devote itself to some much-needed action. The usual shenanigans involving Lucy Westenra (Soledad Miranda) ensue—Dracula feasting on her before turning her into a vampire—and soon enough, Professor Van Helsing (Herbert Lom), Harker, Dr. Seward (Paul Muller), and Lucy's fiancé, Quincy Morris (Jack Taylor; there's no Arthur Holmwood in this version), are forced to drive a stake into poor Lucy's heart. The hunt for Dracula is on, culminating back at Castle Dracula, where ye vampire finally meets his demise...not by stake this time, but by flame.

Though Christopher Lee had already become well-known as Dracula, his interpretation in this film is quite different from his others, even in Horror of Dracula, which derived from the same source material. Unlike the hissing, leering, animalistic vampire of the Hammer films, Lee's Dracula here far more resembles Stoker's original, with much of the dialogue from the first half of the novel remaining intact. Most effective is Lee's makeup; just as in the novel, he originally appears as an aged, white-haired, mustachioed man, bereft of much energy. As he feeds on others, he gradually becomes more youthful, until, near the end of the film, his hair and mustache are black, and he gets about with considerably more vigor. During the scene in which he murders Lucy, his appearance—with bloody fangs and red-tinged eyes—is genuinely disturbing. I do find Lee's distinctive British accent almost disconcerting; one fully expects him to speak with a strong eastern European accent, a la Lugosi.

Herbert Lom makes for an adequate, if unremarkable, Professor Van Helsing. While Lom is a fine actor, he plays Van Helsing as needlessly enigmatic, frequently withholding information from his compadres, or speaking only in ominous riddles, until he is "certain" what he is dealing with, although he clearly understands Dracula's menace from the start. Before the climax, he suffers a cinematic stroke, which prevents him from taking part in the vampire hunt, in which he is a principle player in the novel. One would expect more from the renowned Van Helsing!

Soledad Miranda, as Lucy Westenra, is quite the standout—to my mind, the most seductive Lucy in any Dracula adaptation. Her finest moment comes when, as a vampire, she lures a young girl to her; she then smiles and exposes her fangs. She appears beautiful and frightening. It may be the movie's most haunting moment. Klaus Kinski plays our Renfield, this time mute, which works to varying degrees. At one point, he appears to chomp on an actual fly; here, he puts on a very thoughtful expression, as if genuinely contemplating all there is to contemplate about devouring an insect. It's quite an effective scene. At other times, his expression is simply inscrutable, and when Mina visits him in the asylum, he attacks her, at Dracula's psychic command. At this point, one really wishes for the pathos of Tom Waits's Renfield in Coppola's version, or even Jack Shepherd's maniacal poetry from the 1978 BBC production starring Louis Jourdan.

Count Dracula showcases all the excesses of most western European horror films of the 60s and 70s: lurid cinematography, with lots of primary colors; camera shots that linger too long at the end of a scene; loud, overbearing music (courtesy of Nicolai Bruno, who frequently conducted the orchestras for various Ennio Morricone film scores). Deeply shadowed, very gothic sets seem to hide all kinds of menace even during the story's more innocuous moments, creating a grim and sometimes surreal atmosphere more characteristic of D'Argento or Fulci than Terrence Fisher—which helps put more distance between this film and Hammer's Dracula pics of the same era.

Unfortunately, Franco's budget exhausted itself before the film was finished, and in places, it shows—particularly during Dracula's death scene. It's a lackluster ending to an oftentimes impressive little piece of filmmaking. All in all...three out of five Damned Rodan's Dirty Hot Pepper Firetinis. I'd call that worth a look.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Dead People in the Woods


It's always fun to find dead people in the woods. Today's geocache outing included hiking at Philpott Lake, VA, not far from the dam. Ms. B. and I undertook a moderately strenuous trek into the woods for a challenging little hide called Dogwood Trail Cipher Cache (GC2JW41). We ended up at a tiny family graveyard out in the middle of the woods—obviously well-maintained—with graves going back to the late 19th century. Didn't encounter anything spookier than Ms. B., but it was quite an atmospheric spot...and there was a cache. Happy day. From there, it was over to the new trail at the Martinsville City Reservoir, where we met up with Scott & Chandres (yes, the inspiration for the character of Chandres Tessier in Dark Shadows: Blood Dance) Pickett & family, a.k.a. Krazy Tribe, and hunted up another one.

On the writing front: "The Demon of Ice Valley" is nearing its finale. Don't know that it will be finished this coming week, but it won't be too far down the line. Is scary.

Tonight...it was dyeing Easter eggs. Or maybe "dying" is more like it. After we got done with them, I'm sure they're on their last legs.

S'wonderful.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Cache In...Weeds Out

Geocaching Weed-Eaters
Geocaching isn't all just going after containers hidden in the woods and under light pole skirts. A fair part of the caching experience is to leave the environment better than we found it. Periodically, groups of cachers get together for Cache-In, Trash-Out (CITO) events, to clean up trash in locations that might be otherwise overlooked. Sometimes it's the woods around the local watershed lakes, or a community park, or a neglected trailhead. This afternoon, a number of us got together at the fairly new downtown Greensboro Greenway to do some cleanup, in coordination with the city parks and recreation department. Turns out, the landscaping at the site has about been overrun with weeds, so at the suggestion of the parks & recreation department folk, we ended up going a little greener than we had anticipated—we dug, pulled, and tossed a reasonably awesome amount of stubborn botanical pestilence. Afterward, the event's coordinator, Mr. Steven "Bear Oak Druid" Hinkle led us to a new, as-yet-unpublished cache for a first-to-find opportunity. Frankly, picking up trash is the easier job, but I gotta tell you—the greenway is now, unquestionably, a much finer shade of green.
Damned Rodan making a fancy tossed salad.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Coordinate Crossing


The old dude in the photo is thinking, "I have to climb up that?"

Mercy...it's been such a week that blogging hasn't been much in the cards. Work, work, work, and write, write, write; a productive week, to say the least. I did manage to get in a bit of caching and a spot of socializing this weekend—Ms. B.'s parents were in town, so we got together a couple of times to visit and share embarrassing Kimberly stories. We also fit in a brief trip to Martinsville yesterday to have lunch with Mum. Tonight, it was homemade Thai spring rolls, courtesy of Ms. B. I tell you, sometimes, she's all right.

Last night, I got together with Ms. Debbie "Cupdaisy" Shoffner to hunt a few caches, and then it was over to her place to jam on guitar with husband Pete Scisco and some highly talented friends. I haven't made a racket on guitar in so long, before I knew it, my fingers were on fire—and not from any impressive instrument-playing on my part, I can tell you. Today, it was out to Gibson Park in High Point for some caching, where I had to perform a few complicated treetop acrobatics to both find and hide a cache or two. Created a new puzzle cache called "Coordinate Crossing," which proved to be challenging both mentally and physically to set up. All very gratifying, to be sure, but now, the old dude is pooped. And tomorrow...it's back to the salt and pepper mines.

On the mixed emotions front, I've learned that my divorce—assuming there are no unforeseen complications—should be final as of May 9. It'll be a relief, yet at the same time, I am all kinds of sad. Most of the pent-up anger that consumed me for so long has, over time, subsided, and I'm able to remember many better times and emotions. I hope Mrs. Death can do the same.

On a very sad note, yesterday was the fourth anniversary of kitty Charcoal's death. I miss her as much as any critter I've ever known.

Without going into detail, also...please send good wishes to my daughter, who is having a bit of a hard time at present. I'm sure she'll be fine, but things are kind of dicey at the moment.

Oh, yeah. The old dude did, indeed, have climb a ways up that.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Ten Years After

Today, it's ten years since my dad passed away. A while back, I found this photo of the Midget League Basketball team I was on—1968 or 1969—which my dad coached. I still remember standing for this photo very clearly, those few years back. I don't remember the names of only two of the guys in this pic; the others I still do.
I sure was a shrimp back then. (Don't say a damn word.)

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Here We Go Flying Again

If you are particularly fond of flying through the air on cables suspended from treetops, like I am, then ziplining is just the activity for you. Today was another caching event—"Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" (GC2NTBJ)—sponsored by Rich "Night-Ranger" Colter, at Richland Creek Ziplining Tours, just outside of Asheboro, NC. This afternoon, I made sure my life insurance premiums were paid up and then got together with Ms. B. and my friend, Bridget "Suntigres" Langley, to truck on down to the event. Very well-attended function, I must say; I'm hearing 60-plus attendees is the official estimate. The course featured 15 stations, each run ranging from a dozen to about 50 feet above the ground, with some runs nearly a quarter mile long. As always, the company was great, the event very well-run. Afterward, Ms. B., Suntigres, and I snagged a couple of quick caches in Asheboro (only to find ourselves being heckled by cachers Ranger Fox and David & Diana), then availed ourselves to pizza and drinks at Bill's Pizza Pub.

It's the only way to fly.

Ms. B. and Suntigres contemplating their mortality prior to takeoff.

Flying through the air is the easy part. Walking the plank...not so much.

Ms. B.: "I'm not going! I'm not going! I'm gooooiiiinnnngggg!"


Keith McCoy about to flare for landing.

Taking five at the scenic creek underneath the zipline course.

Look out below....