Do You Seawell?

Today was the perfect day for lots of outdoor activities — you know, visiting wineries, having picnic lunches, hiking in the woods, geocaching, getting really small, and being menaced by man-eating trees. That was very much the day for Ms. B. and Damned Rodan. After a work week that just about did us poor old folk in, we set our sights on relaxing a bit in Chapel Hill — via Benjamin Vineyards and Winery near Saxapahaw, a ways south of Burlington. We had been to Benjamin once before and very much enjoyed the setting and the products, and when Groupon again offered a good deal on their fare, we opted to make use of it. They don't have an extensive catalog, but like so many of the local vineyards, the wines they do produce are of very good quality. They offered three white varieties, three dry reds, and four semi-dry to sweet types. I was quite taken with their Chambourcin and Norton, and though I'm generally not fond of white wines, I enjoyed their 2009 oaked Chardonnay. We had a picnic lunch in their picturesque little cedar grove, and then set out for Chapel Hill — with some caching along the way, of course.

Once in Chapel Hill, it was onto the very extensive trail system in the woods along Seawell School Rd. The most noticeable feature of these woods, at least this season, were the gigantic mushrooms, growing in profusion everywhere we went. Claimed several caches on the fairly lengthy hike, bringing my total to 4,936. Five-thousand is getting so close....

Click on the images to enlarge.

I didn't see it sneaking up on me. Really, I didn't. Don't know how I managed to get away from that one.

Brugger made a similarly lucky escape.

Some of the teeny-tiny fungus among us.

Brugger guards trail while ol' Rodan goes after cache.

Hydro Fox

Bridge over the Polecat Creek, Randolph County, NC, seen from near "Hydro Fox" (GC3TP19)

Nice afternoon of caching with Bridget "Suntigres" Langley down in Randolph County. A few new ones came out today, mostly tribute caches to Christopher "Ranger Fox" Hall, who has joined the ranks of those scant few geocachers who have logged over 30,000 cache finds. Bridget and I met up in Liberty and booked over toward Randleman, where we discovered a very scenic and marginally creepy area around Polecat Creek (yep) — plus a couple of caches, of course. We ended up hiking what started as a little gravel drive and then became a windy little trail that led to the dam near Creekridge Country Road. There we discovered a ramshackle house on stilts that doesn't appear to be much longer for the earth, as well as a mysterious little place that, in appearance, wasn't unlike the cabin in Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead. We didn't hear any ghostly voices, though. Just some dogs barking at the ghosts.

I'm nowhere near 30,000 caches and probably never will be, not in this lifetime, but as of today, my total count is 4,925. Five-thousand, here I come.

Today would have been my 26th wedding anniversary. I'm very pleased that life has taken me in different directions than I would have ever expected all those years ago, but there are a lot of good memories from that long marriage. I hope it's mutual.

And it's to bed.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The dam on Polecat Creek

Hey Bridget, I'm not sure that's the world's safest place to stand!

Dude contemplating wormholes at "Worm Rock" (GC3B5K6). They would explain a lot, wouldn't they?

Have You Ever Wondered?

I've found myself revisiting a lot of my favorite music in the past few weeks, particularly progressive rock from the 1970s. Last night, I treated myself to Jeff Wayne's 1979 musical version of War of the Worlds, which I still believe is the best adaptation of Wells's novel (perhaps my all-time favorite novel, apart from Dumas's The Three Musketeers). The recording came out at the height of the disco era, and the disco influence shows a bit — and despite an overall positive reception at the time, I recall some serious backlash because of it. Back then, being a progressive-rock purist, I was as anti-disco as they came, but also being a Moody Blues fanatic, Justin Hayward's presence on the album sold me. Upon my first listening, I considered the album a masterpiece, and to this day, I still do.

And on the subject of The Moody Blues, Graeme Edge, their drummer/lyricist, had a short but fairly brilliant run in the late 70s with The Graeme Edge Band, which featured Adrian Gurvitz on guitar/vocals. Their albums, Kick Off Your Muddy Boots and Paradise Ballroom were both jam-packed gems of progressive rock. They never achieved much recognition, but the little body of work they had still stands out as awesome. "Have You Ever Wondered" is one of the many noteworthy cuts from Kick Off Your Muddy Boots. Give it a listen; if you're of that age and/or musical persuasion and haven't checked them out before, you're so in for a treat.

Wettest Drought Ever

8-10-12: At the office — The storm took out a bunch of woods, our servers, email, and the coffeemaker.

We had a pretty good thunderstorm last night — as we have pretty much every day since this infernal drought began. We've had so much rain my house is waterlogged, the gutters are clogged, and some of the siding on the chimney has peeled off. Came into work this morning, and it looked like the woods had exploded all over the parking lot. Clearly, the storm was worse here than at home, and to top it off, all our systems in the office were down — including the coffeemaker. Fortunately, our priorities are in order here, and the coffee is flowing again. Thank Yog, for it was about to get ugly. If there were any mercy in the universe, it would be raining pancakes and bacon.

I'm sure the folks out west could use some of what we're getting. We're technically still in a drought here, but I might need to consider buying a boat so I can at least get back and forth to work.

Dammit, need more coffee.

Why is it not raining pancakes (maybe even with butter and syrup) and bacon?

Caching on the Brain

Yeah, that's Damned Rodan on "The Brain" (GC2JGGM), down near nothing, somewhere between Asheboro and Lexington. A nice day on the caching trail with Bridget "Suntigres" Langley; mostly park-&-grab caches, which added another 26 to my total, now at 4,896. "The Brain" looks like a big old hunk of marble, though my expertise in things geological isn't exactly prodigious. Caching, though, has certainly helped dredge up a lot of forgotten knowledge from my school years, particularly when I'm out in the field with science guru Mark Case, who never lets slip an opportunity to share his love of geology. Aptly, Mark was the first finder of "The Brain" when the cache was published a ways back. The one disagreeable aspect of digging into the brain to snag the cache was the fact that, when brains haven't been discovered for a good while, sometimes vermin set in. As I moved the medulla oblongata to access the cache, all kinds of hopping, scuttling, slithering things exploded from the dark recesses, and I'm pretty sure I saw an icky little tumor back in there. No matter, though. We signed the log, and from there, went forth to take on a host of spiders, including black widows, at a few more caches around Randolph County.

Thanks for the caches.

Click images to enlarge.

Suntigres contemplates the answers to life, the universe, and everything.

A fun array of signs near "Bus Stop" (GC2FM4V)

And here's where it all ends: a graveyard in a cornfield.

Coming Soon to an Atomic Drive-In Near You

The name Mike Bogue is familiar primarily to readers of G-Fan magazine and, in that venue, mainly as a writer of nonfiction articles about daikaiju movies and the associated joys of being a diehard fan. Since Mike and I grew up about the same time, evidently in the same small town but several states apart, I have frequently enjoyed his exuberant reminisces about his visits with giant monsters on the big screen, many of which almost eerily reflect my own. Among our shared joys was going to drive-in theaters, when multi-feature monster shows were the order of the day — or night, rather — and some of us actually did go to drive-ins watch the movies.

Recently, Mike has leaped with all eight legs into the realm of fiction-writing, with a post-apocalyptic-alternate-reality-retro novella titled Atomic Drive-In. It has not been officially released yet — it is slated to be made available soon in various file formats for a modest fee; I will certainly convey that information here when it's available — but I got a sneak preview of this mutated monstrosity and figured a few thoughts from another hardcore giant monster drive-in-movie maniac would be in order.

To be clear, Mike is not a professional writer of fiction; however, his prose is at all times competent and frequently gripping. I'd go so far as to say that, despite its inevitable rough edges, Atomic Drive-In is more engaging than the efforts of many accomplished authors that I've read in the not-so-distant past. It's good for a PG-13 rating, with a wee bit of graphic violence and explicit imagery, perhaps a bit more than the cinematic properties it seeks to emulate — though this is, for the most part, anything but a drawback.

The story opens with a pair of friends, Brent and Jerry, both aged fifty-ish, visiting a closed-down drive-in theater, having made a deal with a mysterious, unseen character named Moonman to experience something beyond their imaginations. Moonman has provided them with an antique 1957 Chevy — complete with a charred skeleton in the front seat — that will transport them to an alternate Earth where the monsters of the movies they grew up with are quite real. Anxious to put this fantastic claim to the test, the two crank up the car... and before they know it, find themselves in an open, functioning drive-in theater running a Bugs Bunny cartoon. However, the theater itself proves to be something far different than they could have expected. They have indeed arrived on a parallel earth, but this is a war-torn, radiated world populated by mutants — human and otherwise — and the drive-in theater has been turned into a fortress against the things "out there," with movies played regularly to keep the entrapped population focused on something other than their own dire circumstances. The refugees' de facto leader, a gentleman named Isaac Carpenter, explains that some of their number have attempted to escape to the "other" Earth in the quantum-powered Chevrolet, but inhabitants of their reality are reduced to cinders if they attempt to pass through the barrier between worlds — hence the skeleton in the vehicle, who turns out to be none other than Carpenter's own son.

Before they know it, Brent and Jerry experience an assault by a giant dragonfly, which indeed resembles something out of one of the monster movies they love, but the heavily armed drive-in guards manage to dispatch it. Next, a giant gila monster attacks, proving somewhat more difficult to kill than the oversize insect. Once again, however, the powerful weaponry the refugees have at their disposal proves adequate to fend off the beast — but their supplies are perilously low, and they fear it is only a matter of time before they succumb to either the monsters' attacks or the radiation itself, which is steadily, insidiously working its effects on the DNA of the survivors.

Both Brent and Jerry find themselves infatuated with Carpenter's daughter, Lori, who is pregnant with the child of her missing fiancé, whose fate is unknown. Initially, she appears reticent to speak of either her fiancé or the baby, and both men soon discover why: her distended abdomen has become transparent, like a window to her womb, revealing a mutated horror inside her, which, to their shock, she feels compelled to love and protect. This revelation sends Brent retreating from her, but Jerry is more accepting of the situation and vows to protect Lori and her child at all costs.

But then a new horror appears: none other than Sean, Lori's fiancé, only now having grown gigantic and become quite mad, resembling none other than the mutated Colonel Glenn Manning in the horror classics The Amazing Colossal Man and its sequel War of the Colossal Beast. The mutant's onslaught is ferocious and deadly, but once again, after a violent battle, the drive-in refugees prevail. Finally, however, the survivors' stronghold is attacked by the two most terrifying monsters yet: a gigantic preying mantis and a monstrous wolf spider. In the midst of the attack, the two creatures turn on each other, wreaking havoc as they fight to the death.

Unable to deal further with the hideous reality he was initially so intent on exploring, Brent decides to return once and for all to his rightful world, while Jerry opts to remain with Lori and her people — for he has himself succumbed to the mutating powers of the widespread radiation. Just as Brent is making his escape, a radio broadcast warns of an impending, horrific attack, and he knows he must leave his best friend to grapple with the consequences of his fateful decision....

Mike Bogue constructs a grotesque post-apocalyptic world, described in details more typical of contemporary genre authors, but at its heart, the story remains true to its 1950s roadshow–inspired origins. A few niggling problems do spoil the flow of the narrative, such as the characters going back and forth between worlds in the interludes between monster attacks; for the most part, they're unnecessary and feel more like padding than true development. Still, you just don't get that many knock-down-drag-out tales about giant monsters, mutants, and alternate realities, and Mike pretty capably covers all the bases. I hope the story will soon see widespread release and you can check it out for yourself. I'll be sure to post an alert when The Atomic Drive-In is open for business.

Nothing to Wine About

Kimberly on the porch at Brandon Hills
Vineyards, near Yadkinville, NC

For the nice lady and I, visiting the multitude of wineries in the region has become one of our favorite leisure activities. It's only been in the past couple of years that I've come to appreciate wine of any variety; a particular incident back in college — something about being on the newspaper staff and going to a staff party, where the sports editor and I got into a race to see who could chug the most Chardonnay — had put me off wine in general (and even now, 35 years later, I can barely stomach most white varieties). However, over time, the dry reds began to grow on me, and both Kimberly and I have enjoyed many of the different varieties produced locally, some of which rate among the most palatable wines I've had anywhere. North Carolina now ranks number ten among wine-producing states, and I suspect it's liable to rank higher as vineyards increasingly replace tobacco farms, which are — quite understandably — no longer as profitable as they used to be. Many of the wineries frequently offer discount deals through Groupon and Living Social, so it's possible to get a good sampling of their wares quite inexpensively. With most tastings, you get a glass to keep, so I doubt that Kimberly and I will need to invest in wine glasses during in this lifetime.

Yesterday, we paid visits to Brandon Hills Vineyard, near Yadkinville, NC, and Hanover Park Vineyard, a short distance away. Brandon Hills is relatively new, with its first harvest in 2007. Their selection of dry reds was limited to a Barbera, a Merlot, and a blend called Raptor Red, but all quite good, particularly the Barbera. They offer more dry and semi-dry whites, a couple of which I found quite palatable, the 2010 Pinot Gris being the best. As with most of the vineyards in the Yadkin River Valley, the setting is picturesque, and they offer plenty of outdoor seating, including an arbor-like gazebo. It was scorching hot out there yesterday, but nice lady and I persevered and enjoyed a glass on the porch. The staff is knowledgeable, friendly, and very accommodating. They are also avid supporters of the Carolina Raptor Center, which is dedicated to the conservation of birds of prey, through education, research, and the rehabilitation of injured and orphan raptors.

From there, we headed to Hanover Park, less than five miles away, and discovered one of the real treasures in the region. The winery was established in 1996, with the retail/tasting area situated in a farmhouse built in 1897, beautifully restored to retain its original character. The owners are clearly accomplished winemakers and have a small but extremely personable staff to take care of visitors. Their wines rate among some of the best I've had in the region, including a couple of reserve blends that were produced under unique conditions and will never come around again. They have several excellent dry reds and only a handful of whites. I was especially taken with their Chambourcin, Mouvedre (quite rare in these parts), and a 2006 blend called Michael's, made of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot. Again, it was almost too hot to enjoy being outdoors, but we braved the oppressive temperatures to enjoy a glass in their very scenic front yard. For sheer character and charm, not to mention quality of product, Hanover Park is one of the best.

To get a nice overview of the wineries in North Carolina, go to visitncwine.com.

Needless to say, one of the most desirable aspects of visiting wineries is that there are almost always geocaches in the bargain — some, such as Benjamin Vineyards, in Saxapahaw, and Laurel Grey Vineyards, near Hamptonville, have caches on the premises. Grabbed a handful on the trip yesterday, to bring ye total to 4,841 and counting....

Click images to enlarge.

A pair of very happy glasses enjoying the scenery at Brandon Hills Vineyard.

Dude on the porch at Hanover Park. His glass clearly needs some TLC.

Another satisfied customer at Hanover Park Vineyard.

Nice Hat

It is a nice hat, isn't it? It's new, as I've worn out three of them already.

It's usually entertaining to meet other geocachers out in the field, mainly because most of them are far more entertaining people than I am. Today, it happened in a kind of roundabout way, and until later, I didn't even know I had encountered another cacher. This morning, I decided to head up to Danville, since a crapload of new caches have been published there in the past month or so, several of them in Angler's Park, which is one of my favorite places in the world to hike. One of the new caches was hidden in a small shelter next to the parking lot, and when I pulled up, someone was in the shelter, apparently using her phone. A bleepin' muggle, I'm thinking. Thus, I get my gear together and head out to the trail to snag the other caches I need, figuring on hunting the one in the shelter upon my return. I did this thing, but when I arrived back at my car, I found a note expressing admiration for my geocaching hat, along with a pathtag belonging to one Turtle & Hawg. Well, what do you know! The lady I'd seen was indeed a geocacher from a far off land — evidently, the "Turtle" half of the Turtle & Hawg couple. Once aware of each other's identities, we swapped pleasantries via email, and resolved to at least say "hey" should we run into each other again.

Thunderstorms threatened the entire time I was out on the trail, but they never broke, and so I managed to remain dry — other than sweating off half my body mass and losing some blood to a tick. Out on the trail, I thought I saw a sad-eyed little Chihuahua dog gallivanting my way; turns out, it was the smallest, youngest fawn I think I've ever seen. Tiny, and a little wobbly on its feet. It steered clear of me, and I attempted to get a few photos of it, but I wasn't able to get a decent shot before it disappeared in the woods.

Lunch was sushi from The Tokyo Grill. A couple of more caches, and then the rain began to pour. All in all, fine day of it, bringing my cache total to 4,823.

Click on the images to enlarge.

Can you see the fawn? It's dead center of the photo.

A nice little stair-step waterfall along the Riverside Trail.

The guardian at one of the caches along the trail. Careful... it bites! Twice.

Have You Ever Seen a Horse Flop?

Every evening after dinner, we have a case of Siamese Flopitis, which usually involves three to five minutes of Chester falling over and flopping happily back and forth on the carpet. This has been going on since the day he came round back in 2002, so it's just accepted as a family tradition.

Today, I spent a hot, muggy day at Tanglewood Park in Clemmons, NC, hiking five or so miles and snagging a few geocaches. As I was passing by the stables, I saw an elderly lady leading a horse through the pasture to the trail. About the time he came up to me, he must have had a moment of inspiration, for he lay down and began to do the Siamese Flopitis thing — quite expertly, I might add. The lady with him appeared to take it in stride, as if this is as much a horse thing as it is a Siamese thing. I wouldn't know; I've never seen a horse flop before. I consider myself a little more educated than I was at this time yesterday. Unfortunately, the horse finished up having his fun before I could get a photo of him. Pity.

At the end of the excursion, I came out about nine caches richer and hit minor landmark #4,800. It was a fun little hide next to a church, hidden by a Girl Scout troop, called "A Trunk Full of Junk" (GCWEM2). Lovely stuff.

Yep, it's a Trunk Full of Junk!

Crazy as Fire

Who goes out on a five-plus-mile hike in some fairly rugged terrain on a day when the peak temperature hit 105? Yeah...a bunch of lunatic geocachers. Specifically, Mark Case, Scott "Diefenbaker" Hager, and old Damned Rodan. About midday, we hit the trails at the Birkhead wilderness area, just southwest of Asheboro, to hunt a handful of caches, most specifically, one called "Mystery of the Birkhead Ghosts" (GC3C2A), which requires deciphering a code key that had daunted us for some time. A few days back, Scott and I managed to decrypt the key independently, so this was the day the bunch of us opted to make a go of it.

Holy crap. I've been hiking in some heat, and ordinarily, it doesn't really faze me. Today, however, it came damn near to doing the old man in. At least we had presence of mind to take plenty of water with us so we could keep ourselves hydrated. As all good geocachers do, we occasionally left the trail and bushwhacked to our various destinations, at which time we discovered... per usual... that the short way is all too often not the best way. Still, we managed to conquer the ghost and a couple of other caches lurking in the wilderness. We happened upon numerous very cool rock formations, and Mr. Case, science teacher extraordinaire, enlightened us with some fascinating facts about the geology of the region. Certain of the rocks indicated that we were treading on some of the oldest exposed earth on the planet, which is rather humbling, when you think about it....

Anyway, we all survived, so that young Kimberly and old Rodan could visit with our friends, Joe and Suzy Albanese, at their neighborhood pool. Never was a dip more welcome. (Do not over-think that last sentence, for it means nothing. Seriously.)

One of the intriguing rock formations we happened upon in the wilderness

Funny how some of those rock formations tend to grow, almost as if someone actually
placed them that way. Scott Hager (L) and Mark Case (R).

Biggs Trek's THE HAUNTER OF THE DARK

This is a neat animated adaptation of "The Haunter of the Dark," which I consider one of H. P. Lovecraft's most effective and memorable horror tales. The feature is quite true to the original story, and, for the most part, the iClone animation offers some decent, even haunting visuals, particularly its representation of the Shining Trapezohedron. Overall, the music is well done, occasionally reminding me of Ingram Marshall's "Hidden Voices" — which is the perfect soundtrack for HPL's "Dreams in the Witch House." Now, this is a personal peeve, to be sure, but I am annoyed by the fact that some of the human beings involved in the production go by names such as "Fulkster," "Goof Parade," and "K4" — even Biggs Trek, for that matter —  as the whole business seems a pointless and even cheapening affectation. But, objectively, that's neither here nor there. Give this little feature a look. For the cost of — well, nothing — you'll do okay.

And the Victims... er... Winners Are....

The winners of The Gods of Moab contest, chosen by random drawing at 12:00 midnight last night....

1) Autographed copy of Blue Devil Island: Greg Cohoon
2) Autographed copy of Legends of the Night: Jonathan Knott
3) Autographed CD of Dark Shadows: Curse of the Pharaoh: Merry Priddy Mounce

Congrats to the winners, and my sincere appreciation to everyone who participated in the contest. Hope none of the prizes, or The Gods of Moab itself, ends up driving someone off the deep end. I mean, that kind of thing has been known to happen....

E-burst

The western sky at dusk, viewed from U.S. Hwy. 58, just east of Martinsville, VA, 6-29-12

When I left work at 4:30 PM yesterday afternoon, it was 105 degrees in the shade. I didn't let that alter my plans to head to Danville, VA, to get in some geocaching, and then go over to Martinsville to visit Mum. First stop was Angler's Park, just east of Danville, where I put in about a mile hike and claimed a handful of caches. Yes, I took plenty of water. Hit the road to grab a few more, only to end up at the Corner Cafe in Ringgold, VA, where I went for the fabulous Friday night meatloaf special. Proprietor and fellow geocacher Keith McCoy was on hand, so we sat and yakked geocaching for a good while; then I left to make my way toward Martinsville.

The air was unbelievably humid and still, the sunset fiery and gorgeous. The weather report came on the local radio station, indicating record-breaking heat, of course, and partly cloudy skies, with only a minimal chance of scattered thunderstorms. However, not three minutes later, here comes a severe weather warning for the entire listening area, alerting us to impending violent thunderstorms and damaging winds.

Sure enough.

I arrived at Mum's just after dark and had just made a martini when I noticed the wind picking up outside; only a minute or so later, the power went out. I stepped out to the front porch and was promptly just about blown right back in. Now, every few years, a hurricane will move this far inland and hit us with some severe weather, but I don't think any hurricane I've experienced has brought winds like those that blew through town last night — at least not when I've been out in them. (This morning's Roanoke newspaper put the gusts in excess of 80 miles per hour.) There was thunder and lightning aplenty, but not a drop of rain. Mum lives in a very wooded area, and I could hear trees cracking and falling, and a couple came down with such force I thought I was hearing explosions. The energy burst lasted only a few minutes — certainly less than half an hour — and we were lucky, as no trees crashed down on the house or on my car, which was parked in the driveway.

With no air conditioning, it was a right warm night, and when I woke up at 8:00 this morning, the power was still off. I decided to go out and try to find some coffee, since I obviously wasn't going to be making any at home. I knew the winds would have done some damage, but holy Moses....

The first thing I encountered was power lines down across the road, only a quarter mile from Mum's house. Next, I saw huge trees lying in yards, branches across the roads, more lines hanging from splintered telephone poles. I essentially took a tour of the entire town of Martinsville, and there was no electricity, anywhere. Once I reached Collinsville, a few miles north, there was power — and a regular stampede of human beings looking for food, gas, water, groceries, you name it. I managed to get into McDonald's to grab coffee and some breakfast, and to their credit, they were moving the massive line through at express speed. Would that they were always so efficient!

On my way home, it finally occurred to me to take a few pictures. The worst damage I saw was a massive, 200-foot-tall tree that had crashed down on a beautiful house on Mulberry Road, but the owners asked me not to take any photographs, and I respected their wishes. The entire time I was out and about, I didn't see a single utility truck. Apparently, a large part of southwestern Virginia got hit hard, and no doubt electrical crews are taxed to the limit. The Martinsville Bulletin website has not been updated since yesterday — no doubt because they have no electricity — but I imagine it will have significant news about the storm when power is restored, which may be quite some time yet.

Addendum: The tree in question in the paragraph above: Storm damage

I headed on back to Greensboro this afternoon, after once again getting in some hiking in Danville, which appeared to have suffered considerably less damage than Martinsville. I hope I sweated off last night's meatloaf and this morning's McDonald's crap. And though my house is hotter'n hades, even with the air conditioning on, I count myself quite lucky not to have been adversely affected beyond a bit of discomfort. Quite a few folks in Martinsville — and elsewhere in southwestern Virginia — clearly were not so fortunate.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The temperature on my car thermometer at 4:30 p.m. A couple of hours earlier, it had been even hotter.

Power lines down on Indian Trail, in Martinsville

One of the big old trees that came down on Mulberry Road

The most common sight around town — big tree limbs down in people's yards.

Danville didn't get it as badly, but there were a number of trees down on the Riverwalk Trail this morning.

HorrorWorld v. Moab

"After devouring The Gods of Moab in one short sitting, this novella has not only has become my favorite work by the author, it has become one of my favorite reads of the year. Rainey balances his supernatural frights with the natural, and it works beautifully. From the first page to its mind-bending final sentences, The Gods of Moab will have readers wide-eyed and enthralled." So writes HorrorWorld's reviewer, TTZuma, of my recent novella. Very gratifying to see that, in general, Moab is doing its part to satisfy some horror cravings. Read the whole review here.

And on that note, be advised that The Gods of Moab Contest ends this coming Saturday night (6/30) at midnight. Three (un)lucky winners will receive their just comeuppance, in the form of these prizes — an autographed copy of Blue Devil Island (trade paperback, Marietta Books), an autographed copy of Legends of the Night (trade paperback, Wildside Books), and a CD of Dark Shadows: Curse of the Pharaoh, which stars original Dark Shadows cast members Nancy Barrett and Marie Wallace. Pick up The Gods of Moab for your Kindle at Amazon.com for only $2.99. You could do worse for the price of a beer.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

An opulent spread at Volcano Hibachi & Sushi Restaurant in Elizabeth City, NC

Note that these pics are in no particular order. I'd hate to hurt anyone's feelings, particularly the sushi's. Anyhoo, this past weekend has been one of those that is really special to me because so many of my favorite people/places/things/experiences have all been rolled up into one.

David Niall Wilson — writer, editor, publisher, proprietor of Crossroad Press — has probably been my best friend in the wacky world of writing and publishing since the late 1980s. I published his short story, "From My Reflection, Darkly" — in Deathrealm #13, I believe — and after that, his work became something of a staple in the magazine. We met face-to-face for the first time at Necon (I suspect it was back in 1988), and from that time on, we started getting together regularly, whether it be at cons or at our respective residences. Over the years, we've shared a lot of experiences, creative energy, writing (we collaborated on a tale or two; see Joined at the Muse for a horrific example), and some significant life changes (i.e., divorce, re-marriages, re-relationships, etc.). It's been over three years since we've seen each other, and that's the longest time between visits since we first became acquainted. Those big life changes get in the way, don't you know....

After work on Friday, Brugger and I set out for Elizabeth City, only to encounter some of the biggest, most violent storms shy of a hurricane that I've seen in quite some time. Consequently, driving was not fun, and geocaching was minimal. It seemed a bad omen, though I don't think either of us allowed the inclement weather to significantly dampen our spirits. Happily, we made it safe and sound to Stately Wilson Manor — but a different Stately Wilson Manor than I was accustomed to, for the last time I ventured in this direction, the Wilson folk lived in a historical, haunted mansion in the little town of Hertford. Not anymore. In this new place, it appeared, the only ghosts we'd find would be the ones the Wilsons brought with them (which, granted, could be plenty...).

Brugger had never met Clan Wilson before, so I suspect there was some nervousness involved (see photo of said clan below and tell me you wouldn't be fucking freaked). Immediately upon our arrival, though, drinks and conversation began to flow, and I don't think anyone felt under immediate bodily threat. Yap went on till the wee hours, until crashing and burning up and interrupted our revelry. Saturday morning, in its own inimitable way, greeted us with superb Keurig coffee and some delicious crap from McDonalds. There was caching (yay!). Then... Mystery Men! I had seen this 1999 superhero bonanza exactly one time — at Stately Wilson Manor — many years before, but it seemed only proper that we introduce Brugger to the fun. For us, this movie was number one. (Everything else is number two, or lower.)

Major highlight: sushi and sashimi combination dinner from Volcano Hibachi and Sushi Restaurant in Elizabeth City. Oh, but gracious, the presentation was purty (see above) and every bit as delicious. The sake martini was most appealing: vodka, gin, and sake with a slice of cucumber. A little too cloying to have more than one but enjoyable the first time. I noticed some negative comments about the price and quality of the sushi in various restaurant reviews, but I had absolutely no issue with the dead fish — I mean, it really is dead, if only just — and the price was no better or worse than any comparable local place. I rate it as decent indeed. After dinner... more movies, in this case, some old black-and-white thrillers, including Crimes at the Dark House (awesomely bad fun from 1940) The Long Hair of Death (mostly dullness but featuring a hot Barbara Steele from 1964), and The Incredible Petrified World, from 1957, starring John Carradine, which finally sent most of us snoring. The best thing I can say about the latter film is that I discovered what I suspect is the origin of the stock military march music used in the American version of War of the Gargantuas.

I always feel a bit sad on the last day of a fabulous visit, and this morning was no different. We all headed out for a final meal together at The Circle Restaurant, which was tasty, if not exactly zippy in the service department. Dave found himself confronting this giant hot dog that could have stomped Coney Island to smithereens. Finally, Brugger and I set out for home, this time sans rain but with high temperatures and high humidity, making for some particularly sweaty geocaching. However, we stopped at Dairy Queen in Rocky Mount for sundaes and blizzards, and once again, all was right with the world.

Now, I'm all creatively recharged and have a new novel bursting to get out. Dave and I tend to be good for each other that way. Well, I get the novel; he gets charged. I'd say that's okay by me. Hah!

Clan Wilson: Zane, Zack, Stephanie, Katie, Bluto, and Trish

Brugger (supporting a tree stump that was falling down on the job)

Damned Rodan's backside at "Guarding a KISS" (GC39QJV)

The Bermuda Depths

One of my little pleasures in life is revisiting some of the scary TV movies from the 1970s. For the most part, they weren't particularly good, but they were often quite creative, sometimes even compelling; some were based on noteworthy works of fiction; and, despite relatively tiny budgets, they frequently showcased some decent acting talent. My favorite of the lot is certainly Something Evil — Steven Spielberg's second directorial effort, circa 1971 — starring Darren McGavin, Sandy Dennis, Johnny Whitaker, Ralph Bellamy, and Jeff Corey. Between 1970 and 1978, there were scads of others that left lasting impressions on me. One of them is The Bermuda Depths (1977), produced by Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass, best remembered for producing Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964); the animated King Kong series (1966–1969) and its companion film, King Kong Escapes (1967, co-produced with Toho Studios); Mad Monster Party (1967); and Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (1970).

The Bermuda Depths is now available on DVD from the Warner Bros. Archive, and of course I had to snap it up. I only saw it on its first airing in 1977 or 1978, and all I really remembered of it were images of a giant sea turtle; an impossibly hot Connie Sellecca; and a vague, haunting quality that lingered more as a general feeling than as a specific memory. Seeing it again after all these years, it's easy to see why. It's a simple yet intriguing tale of a young man named Magnus Dens (Leigh McCloskey) who grew up on the island of Bermuda, met a mysterious young girl named Jennie, raised a newborn sea turtle with her, and lost his parents in an unexplained disaster. Years later, he returns to try to piece together what happened in his youth. He soon finds himself encountering the same girl, now a young adult, (Connie Sellecca). He joins up with an old college friend, Eric (Carl Weathers) and Dr. Paulis (Burl Ives), who are investigating crypto-creatures that reportedly thrive in the Bermuda Triangle. They turn up firm evidence that a gigantic sea turtle exists in the vicinity and set out to hunt the thing; along the way, Magnus becomes convinced that it — or one such monster from the deeps — killed his parents. When he tells Dr. Paulis about encountering Jennie Haniver, the girl he'd met as a child, Paulis tells him there's no such person; "Jennie Haniver" is simply a name made up by sailors for the legendary mermaid that supposedly frequents the local waters. However, Paulis's housekeeper, a native islander, tells Magnus the story of Jennie Haniver, who, in the 18th century, was a beautiful young woman who made a pact with the devil to stay young forever, and anyone who meets her is doomed. Naturally, he believes none of this, yet every time he meets Jennie, she appears and disappears mysteriously. He remembers that, when they were kids, he had etched his and Jennie's initials on their sea turtle's shell. Eventually, out, at sea, Magnus, Eric, and Dr. Paulis find the giant turtle, and Eric wounds it with a powerful harpoon. The beast retaliates by killing Dr. Paulis and Eric. At the end, Jennie saves Magnus, but he resolves to leave the island forever; as he sails away, he drops a necklace Jennie had given him years before into the sea, where we see the giant turtle, with Magnus and Jennie's initials on its shell now revealed.

Like many movies of its time, The Bermuda Depths is a bit slow and ponderous, yet I find this particularly refreshing in light of ubiquitous contemporary films playing at short-attention-span theater. The musical score, by Maury Laws, is particularly emotive, and I'd love it if a soundtrack album were available for this movie. It's oftentimes reminiscent of Robert Cobert's Dark Shadows themes, with swirling, reverberating flutes and punctuating, staccato brass. Rather than playing as eerie and foreboding, most of the music builds a wistful, romantic, occasionally tense mood. It suits the film's tone perfectly, and in fact is one of the reasons the movie has haunted me for so many years.

There's not a whole lot of acting going on in this picture, but this is really not much of a flaw. There are long passages of no dialogue whatsoever, leaving the music and imagery to propel the story. Magnus Dens is not your usual TV movie protagonist. He's moody, troubled, and, despite his tragic past, not particularly sympathetic. Burl Ives provides a sincere but vain attempt at gravitas; you just can't do much with lines like, "Magnus, you're a scientist... but you're also a human being." Regardless, it's kind of wrenching when Ives's character meets his end. I mean, that's the dude who voiced the kindly snowman in Rudolph; you're really not supposed to go killing him. Ah, well, writers do what writers must, right? And really, it was for the best. A very young Carl Weathers is a little too exuberant as the intern marine biologist. As Magnus's only real friend, he tries very hard to convince us that some warmth exists in the relationship, since Magnus doesn't exactly have a lot in him, but it never does happen — though at the end, I did believe, whole-heartedly, that Magnus was all about saving Eric from certain death. Alas, too little, too late....

As I mentioned earlier, my most vivid recollection of this movie from my teenage years was Connie Sellecca all hotter than hot. Truly, in this film, she is the most beautiful woman on Earth, and with one look, she effectively conveys both innocence and self-destructive vanity. She's the perfect actress to play the part of a doomed, beautiful woman willing to sell her soul for eternal youth. She doesn't have a lot of lines, and they're not necessary. Her body language is perfect, so to speak....

The Warner Archives DVD is bare-bones, but the print is decent, and after all these years, I'm ecstatic to have this thing in my eager little paws. Also on the way is the Rankin/Bass Production, The Last Dinosaur, starring Richard Boone. I remember it being entertaining as all get-out, despite the very sad absence of Connie Sellecca from any of its frames....

 

 

The Deeps

Okay, not "the deeps," as in Bradbury's "The Foghorn"; more as in "Let's grab a geocache down in a big honking drain pipe!" For me — Damned Rodan, geocacher — such places are commonplace settings these days, so I'm really glad I'm not utterly freaked out by giant freaking rat bastard hairy ugly vile beastly monster man-eating spiders... at least, not the way I used to be, or some caches I would just put on my ignore list (and really, most caches I consider very good friends of mine). Yesterday, I found myself underground again — not far — but absolutely surrounded by these big old Wolf Spiders. There was a time — even as recently as a three or four years ago — I would have been utterly paralyzed with terror. I shit you not, pee-in-your-pants, speaking-in-weird-obscene-tongues horrified scared. I suspect it all goes back to the time that, as a five-year-old, there or about, I was playing under the back porch at home, and a grandaddy longlegs the size of Sheboygan dropped down on me and started prancing about. I was, I must tell you, unenthused. To the point of screaming bloody murder unenthused. Ever since then, arachnophobia has been a very real, very intense issue for me. As I've come to find over the years, though, geocaching is handy as hell for conquering old fears. Hang around with giant freaking rat bastard hairy ugly vile beastly monster man-eating spiders long enough, and you kind of begin to take them in stride. (Mind you, hopefully not too much in stride.)

Anyway, if you have phobias you'd like to undo... my advice is to take up geocaching and go after a few challenging hides. Then make a habit of it.

It works for acrophobia, too. More on that one later.

PROMETHEUS: An Engineering Marvel

It's a bit of a mess, Prometheus, but it's an exciting, visually stunning, and ultimately satisfying mess. I was a fan of Ridley Scott's Alien from day one (a bunch of us in Chicago saw it three times on opening day in 1979) and damn near as much a fan of James Cameron's Aliens (1986). The subsequent films in the franchise went downhill and finally over the cliff, but those first two entries set an impressive benchmark for science fiction films for the next few decades. It's possible that Prometheus, at least in the spectacle department, has bumped it up another notch. Now, while this movie ostensibly ventures beyond technical excellence and delves into meaningful, universal themes — such as the origin of our species and the mystical and religious beliefs that have pervaded our various cultures since the beginning of time — it's not fooling anyone. Prometheus, like Alien before it, is a big old B-picture in extravagant garb.

In the late 21st century, scientists Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) discover that virtually every ancient civilization on Earth has left a record of having encountered oversized humanoid beings from a specific cluster of stars. Sponsored by billionaire Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce), who, for his own reasons, desires to learn the ultimate answers, Shaw and Holloway venture spaceward in the Weyland Corporation's spaceship Prometheus. Along for the ride, we have some 15 crew members and scientists, plus a prototype android — Weyland's brainchild — named David (Michael Fassbender). Overseeing corporate interests on the mission is the lovely but icy Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron), whose authority is constantly at odds with the exuberant scientists and crusty captain Janek (Idris Elba), all of whom have their own priorities for the mission. Once Prometheus arrives at the planet where Everything Evidently Began, the exploration of where we came from begins in earnest. The elder race, whom the scientists call "The Engineers," have apparently left some serious evidence about just what they were up to way back when, and — as we in the audience have all been figuring (and hoping) — it isn't terribly benign.

The epithet "Engineers" basically says it all, especially as it relates to the origin of our favorite aliens. For a time, in fact, the film appears to be revealing events that directly precede the original Alien; however, as the plot unfolds, the connection between the two films becomes less direct, and I think this may be for the better. Prometheus works as well as it does because it exists as more than just a prequel, which cannot be said of the recent prequel to John Carpenter's The Thing, to which Prometheus actually pays subtle homage. In fact, at the very end of the film, the not-so-subtle suggestion of the Aliens' genesis proves superfluous, if not actually detrimental to the picture. If a direct link is necessary, there are umpteen better ways one could be made.

The film's focus, like Alien before it, is fear of the darkness. Of the unknown that lurks within it. Though graphically much more explicit than its forebears, Prometheus successfully generates dread of what's out there because, even when you've seen the "out there" up close and personal, you don't know whether you've seen it all — much as in The Thing — or even a representative sample of it. The big questions, all that philosophical stuff that might have been meaningful to the characters, these things don't mean squat to us; we're busy ducking and covering because the fuckers on the screen are bloody lethal. And we pretty much believe in them. For that couple of hours in the theater, I sure as shit believed in them.

Some movies invite you to pick them apart, chew them up, and spit them out. A few weeks ago, Dark Shadows offered me an engraved invitation to question it, deconstruct it, and show it no mercy. Prometheus, by all rights, should have offered me the same invitation, and if I felt it worth my time, I could rip it apart and be downright happy about it — especially when it comes to the department of supposedly intelligent people doing bonehead things — yet, perhaps oddly, I feel no such compulsion. Unlike Dark Shadows, I never felt that Prometheus was insulting my intelligence. It may toy with thoughtful, imaginative concepts and do little with them, but it never sets up any real expectation that it's going to do more than that. Happily, it forgoes political sermonizing, à la Avatar. It's about the critters. Those nasty, beautiful, monstrous critters. I scratch my head over reviewers scratching their head about what this film actually means. Really, seriously?

None of the characters stand out as particularly deep or distinctive. Even the relatively unspectacular crew of the Nostromo kept us engaged with constant, witty banter. Not so much in Prometheus, though I couldn't help but appreciate one brief, sexually charged encounter between Captain Janek and Ms. Vickers, as well as the crew's display of loyalty to Janek at the film's climax. Scientists Shaw and Holloway, whom we see at closer range than most of the others, are far from pointless but don't give us much to identify with. David, the nonhuman, is easily the most entertaining personality in the film. Excellently portrayed by Michael Fassbender, David is an amalgamation of Alien's Ash, Star Trek: The Next Generation's Lt. Cdr. Data, and 2001's HAL 9000. David models his appearance and mannerisms after Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia, a film he is apparently fond of. The fact that the eccentric Weyland created David for his own selfish reasons tells us all we need to know about his raison d'être. The playing out of David's drama is probably the most satisfying of all the characters in the film.

Prometheus is a catalog of cinematic flaws, but a near-masterpiece of visual and emotional excitement. I'd love to catch it again at the theater, and I expect it'll be a keeper when it comes out on DVD — as much for Charlize Theron in her black catsuit as the incredible special effects. For those who just don't get it... you have my sympathies.