The Siamese Cat's Weekend Guide...

...to Getting Breakfast When Dad Doesn't Want to Get Out of Bed

1. Sit on the pillow next to Dad's face and stare. Stare hard.
2. Add an insistent purr to the stare.
3. Gently boop Dad's nose with a paw. Repeat every thirty seconds or so.
4. When Dad covers his head with the sheet, use paws and teeth to furiously tug the sheet back. Repeat as many times as necessary to keep the head from being permanently covered.
5. Sing an aria about the repression of cats.
6. Go back to staring and purring.
7. Knock Dad's phone, glasses, and bottle of water off the nightstand.
8. Urp up a hairball on the floor next to the bed.
9. Stare and purr.
10. Enlist the aid of other cats. Rile them by swatting them upside the head; Dad will find it impossible to ignore the resulting ruckus.
11. Tear downstairs to the kitchen, resisting the temptation to trip Dad on the stairs.
12. If Dad insists on making his coffee before feeding you, every time he takes a step, wriggle up under his feet. Take care to avoid the sloshing water. Add lots of yowling for effect.
13. Enjoy your breakfast.

Scan in Progress

During my college days, I learned at least a wee bit about playing the guitar and for several years went at it pretty hard. Played the occasional talent show, open-mike night, a few actual gigs, etc. A few short years ago, Ms. B. and I got together and performed several times, and we've even thought about giving it another go sometime.

In the early to mid 80s, I wrote bucket loads of songs of my own, most of which were nothing special, though every now and then, I think I managed to nail one. Several weeks back, while looking through an old box for some completely unrelated stuff, I happened upon a couple of sheets of lyrics to some of my old songs. I've forgotten how to play most of them — for which some folks would probably thank me — but there was one in particular, titled Scan in Progress, that I thought was okay when I wrote it and it seemed to hold up. After a bit of struggling, I finally figured out how to play it again.

The song came about from working in the font compilation department at Alphatype Corporation, back in Chicago. To encode font characters on computer disc (those big 8" floppies), we had this big honking scanner with lights and wires all over it, and it made a noise like a gargantuan hydraulic press. Scared the crap out of me, this thing. So, I worked it into a song. Threw in some dark philosophy, a bit of almost Lovecraftian cosmic imagery, and there it was. Now that I think about it, I think I printed the lyrics in the first issue of Deathrealm back in the day.

Anyhoo, here's the lyrics to Scan in Progress. Pray you'll never have to hear the thing.

SCAN IN PROGRESS Upon the screen a light is speaking words in a voice that makes not a sound. Human life, electric coils in a song that passes through the wire. Charged by man, holding out his hand to touch the work of the scan. Thunder rolls as the sky unfolds, electric language of the earth. Ancient words in altar robes are bound — the failure of the mind of man. Locked and shackled in a shuttered room, all systems fatal by the scan. Clouds within blur the eyes again, circuit open, mind complete. Contact broken, energy exploding, and the voice replies again. Lightning is a knife that cuts like water flows like blood that runs like tears of mine. Older than the earth, the eyes of heaven watch and hold on man the common bond of fear. Enter scan with fear. Mortal words in blood are written in the body of eternal man. Systematic mind confusion leads the power of the waiting hand. High above rests the word of love, striking out in lethal beams. Breath of life, unending dark and light, wisdom knows no bonds of time. Protection costs the life of man, the time is right to scan the eyes that lie above. Living light that cuts the threads of life as on our knees we pray in fear. Lightning is a knife that cuts like water flows like blood that runs like tears of mine. Older than the earth, the eyes of heaven watch and hold on man the common bond of fear. Enter scan with fear. "Scan in Progress" ©1983, Stephen Mark Rainey

Go Big or Go Extinct

In the early 80s, when I lived in Chicago, I became a regular Japanese animation geek. Initially, I was most drawn to Leiji Matsumoto's creations, such as Space Cruiser Yamato, Space Pirate Captain Harlock, Galaxy Express 999, Queen Millennium, and so forth, but during that period, there was an explosion of anime involving robot mecha — Mobile Suit Gundam, Super Dimensional Fortress Macross, Fang of the Sun Dougram, Orguss, and scads of others. Some of these, particularly the TV series Macross (which, combined with the series Southern Cross and Genesis Climber Mospeada, found its way to our shores under the title Robotech) and the movie Macross: Do You Remember Love? turned me into a regular robot mecha fan boy.

Over the years, my interest in such things dwindled, but when word of Pacific Rim surfaced a while back, and I saw the images of hardware designs that weren't just anime-influenced but were in every respect Japanese science-fiction mecha, I had to sit up and take notice all over again. Add giant monsters to the formula, and the old dude is all fired up about going to the movies.

Pacific Rim is a straightforward, uncomplicated story about a giant monster invasion and humanity's desperate efforts to fight the marauding kaiju. Rather than outer space, these creatures are springing from a dimensional breach in the Pacific Ocean and wreaking havoc over the surface of the earth. The only weapons capable of destroying them are giant mechanical monster hunters, known as Jaegers, operated by pairs of pilots connected to the mecha via neural links. These are not just big rock-'em sock-'em robots but actual mobile suits that respond to the pilots' mental and physical input.

Brothers Raleigh (Charlie Hunnam) and Yancy Becket (Diego Klattenhoff), piloting a Jaeger called Gypsy Danger, go into combat against a kaiju called Knifehead, which all but destroys the Jaeger and kills Yancy. Raleigh leaves the Jaeger force and for five years works on a construction team building a massive anti-kaiju wall along the coast. As one might expect, the wall proves ineffective, and Jaeger Force Marshall Stacker Pentecost (Idris Elba) calls Raleigh back for a last-ditch effort to destroy the dimensional breach itself. Raleigh is paired with a new pilot, Mako Mori (Rinko Kikuchi), who, at first, has certain difficulty adapting to the mecha's neural link. In the meantime, the kaiju assaults increase in frequency — and the monsters themselves grow increasingly larger and more ferocious. Scientists Newton Geiszler (Charlie Day) and Herman Gottlieb (Burn Gorman), each working on separate approaches to conquer the kaiju, come up with an extreme plan that offers hope... but involves potentially unpleasant commerce with a notorious black marketeer named Hannibal Chau (Ron Perlman), who has turned the kaiju attacks into a golden opportunity for himself.

Early in the film, I found myself absolutely not taken with the Becket brothers. They were the epitome of gung-ho naivete, spewing constant, trite attaboys to each other. It was inevitable that one of them wouldn't survive. However, as the film progresses, Raleigh's character becomes more appealing, particularly when he begins to interact with kaiju attack survivor Mako Mori. Mako shows herself to be a valiant fighter but a very vulnerable young woman. She and Becket develop a fair chemistry, both having unique strengths as well as frailties. There's an effective flashback chronicling the events that brought her to the present, the revelation about her relationship with Marshall Pentecost standing out as especially poignant. As Pentecost, no one could have been a better choice for the part than Idris Elba. He makes the perfect commanding officer: clinical, calculating, decisive, with just enough human warmth to make him sympathetic.

The scientists, Geiszler and Gottlieb, are a bit cartoony, played as much for laughs as to propel the story, but both prove ultimately engaging. Charlie Day as Geiszler brings to mind Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters, and his meeting with Hannibal Chau is both tense and funny — side-splittingly so in a couple of instances. Ron Perlman as Chau chews up the scenery, the script, the monsters, everything, especially when explaining how he chose his name (it came from "his favorite historical military commander and Chinese restaurant in the United States").

Now, as for the monsters and the mecha....

The Jaegers themselves are the stuff of pure, classic anime, made as realistic as such things can be made in a live-action film. The designs, if not necessarily "believable," are functional within the scope of the movie, and quite beautifully so. Each robot has its own name — such as Gypsy Danger, Crimson Typhoon, Kaiju Crusher, Coyote Tango — much like a combat aircraft or naval vessel, and each comes equipped with its own unique weaponry.

The kaiju designs clearly hearken back to such Japanese monster franchises as Ultraman and the Gamera series. Although the generally decent CGI brings them to vibrant life, they are, on the whole, less impressive and certainly less memorable than the monsters from the original Godzilla series. Unfortunately, spectacular, lingering views of the beasts — especially during the city attacks — are few and far between. I've always enjoyed seeing daikaiju in all their glory, the camera views positioned to emphasize their size, their demeanors, their grandeur. While the direction and blocking of the scenes do give the monsters a certain organic authenticity, it's rather difficult to glean true pictures of them in their entireties. Think about the best of the Toho Godzilla films, and how many beautiful, panoramic scenes exist of Godzilla set against a doomed cityscape, allowing you to admire those familiar contours, the intricate back plates, the glaring reptilian gaze. While there's no shortage of spectacle with the Jaegers, I was hoping for an equal sense of the awesome with Pacific Rim's kaiju. To me, it's a noticeable but hardly critical flaw in the film.

Recently, Ms. B. and I have been watching the TV series Prison Break on DVD, and I have quite admired composer Ramin Djawadi's scoring for the show. His work in Pacific Rim is effective, appropriately grand and often distinctive — which is too rarely the case with so much modern film music. There's lots of deep, pulsing bass, electronic techno rhythms, and blaring, martial brass. Having an extensive library of daikaiju soundtrack albums on CD, I absolutely do look forward to adding the Pacific Rim soundtrack to the collection.

There have been a few non-Japanese giant monster films in the past couple of decades, but only a handful of them have been even a cut above mediocre. Pacific Rim may not be perfect by any stretch, but it's a damned good movie — oftentimes impressive, consistently entertaining. While I am clearly a diehard daikaiju fan, I think Pacific Rim's excitement factor ought to be sufficient to engage muggles as well.

The Lamia

Back in the late 70s, I was a monster fan of the band Genesis, especially the early albums that featured Peter Gabriel. I actually discovered Genesis via the album And Then There Were Three, after both Gabriel and guitarist Steve Hackett had parted ways with Tony Banks, Phil Collins, and Mike Rutherford. It was a fine album in its own right, but once I started working my way backward, I discovered what an incredible progressive band they had been. One of their best works was the concept album The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, which chronicled a surreal journey into a mysterious netherworld by a New York City Latino youth named Rael. My favorite cut was... is... the song The Lamia, in which Rael enters one of the many chambers of the weird world into which he has stumbled and discovers its lovely yet horrifying inhabitants. Steve Hackett has released some exceptional work in his time, and on his tours, he and his band play many of his compositions from his Genesis days. I saw one of Steve's solo shows in Atlanta back in 1980 or 81, at the Agora Ballroom, where I got to lean up against the stage and watch him play from ten feet away. It was a staggering experience for me — in the best way possible. Here is a decent video of The Lamia from a relatively recent show, featuring Nad Sylvan on vocals. He captures Gabriel's style and range without merely aping it. I'm quite keen on the extended instrumental at the end with Rob Townsend on woodwinds.

Enjoy.

The Game Changers

That's the name of the story I'm currently writing. Here I will do the thing I hate most, just because. I will say that the tale is for one of those anthologies coming down the pike about which I can say nothing. Just to change up the game, I will say this, however: it involves Vietnam and Lovecraftian beasties.

And that, as they say, is that.

Brugger on a Bike, It's Hot!

Like I said.

Leaf me alone.

Finally today, the rain that's been falling so long I've started channeling Noah let up long enough to grab a couple of caches and do maintenance on several of mine around Martinsville. Brugger and I headed out from Greensboro last night, stopped in Reidsville for a fabulous dinner at The Celtic Fringe (she had superb polenta — yes, at a Celtic place — with vegetables, I had excellent fish and chips), downed a couple glasses of wine at Rania's in Martinsville, and then went round to see Mum, whom we've not visited in too long a while. Today, we met up with my friend Ed "Kuykenew" Kuykendall to find some caches, including a quite novel one ("The A:Maze:ing Micro," GC4F9D9), which was placed by a relatively new geocacher. With over 6,000 caches under my belt, I'd not seen one quite like it before; a commendable job! Afterward, it turned out Mr. Kuykenew had the same lunch destination we did — Garfield's, over in Koehler, which is good, southern home cooking — so we put up with each other for just a bit longer and swapped a caching tale or two... or several dozen. Garfield's fried chicken is the best dead bird around, no question.

Next, Brugger and I hit the Dick & Willie Trail (shut up), hopped on a couple of bikes, and put in about seven miles... which, on a fairly full stomach, in 100% humidity and 90+ degrees, was kind of tiring even for this sturdy old man. When we got back to Mum's, Ms. B. took a nap, and the blasted rain started up again. This is easily the longest spell of essentially nonstop precipitation I've ever lived through. Coming back to Greensboro on the back roads, we came upon road after road closed because of swollen creeks and washed out bridges. No doubt it's something to get used to as the planet gets hotter and uglier.

Perhaps I will sleep well tonight.

That is one big passel of water gushing out from under the old warehouse near the rail trail.

These are activities for which one should always wear a helmet.

The Big 6K

Old Man and the Tree (one of us is
holding on for dear life)

No, not my weight — or age — you wisenheimer... just a geocaching milestone. Grabbed my 6,000th cache today, in Huntersville, not far from Charlotte. Ms. B. had an art class down that way, so I decided to go along with her and spend the day caching while she was making nice pictures. I tell you, North Carolina is no longer a temperate state; it's subtropical all the way. I don't recall when I've been out in such consistently high heat and humidity. My spectacles steamed up constantly, and even where it hadn't rained for a while, the trees continually dumped water on me. Not to be swayed, of course, I put in several miles of hiking at several different parks before heading to the one called "Wrap Your Legs Around This," which I had targeted for my 6,000th find.

The cache is located in a good-sized tree, not that far off the ground, but such that it's tricky to reach. Getting to the first branch required using the car as a stepping stone, and then I had to scoot out on the limb about fifteen feet or so to grab the container. The cache placement is nowhere near as high as "Up, Up, and Away" (see "Fear Is the Mind-Killer," Sunday, June 2, 2013) but is perhaps more precarious, as there are no supporting branches to hold onto. Some might consider it foolhardy to go after this thing on my own (some did, as a matter of fact), but it was hardly the first time and won't be the last that undertaking the physical challenge is just too much what it's all about.

Several of the other caches I found were quite fun in their own right. One is called "The Bates Motel," and it's at... yes... an abandoned motel along Old Statesville Road. My kind of creepy, it is. Another was a little puzzle hide called "Put Me In, Coach," after the John Fogerty song. I tell you, this is my very least favorite Fogerty song, but now I can't get it out of my head. The only solution, I expect, is to start wailing "I Can't Get It Out of My Head" by ELO.

All in all, Kimberly and I quite enjoyed the day in Huntersville. I picked up 22 caches, bringing my overall count to 6,007. After she was done with her class, we had a couple of glasses of wine at The Corkscrew, a decent-enough wine bar in Birkdale Commons, and then some acceptable sushi at Eez Fusion, just across the way. Happily, there was also a movie theater nearby, and as we'd been wanting to see World War Z, we did exactly this thing. The movie isn't wonderful through and through but proved an enjoyable enough way to spend a couple of hours. Much of it is reminiscent of 28 Days Later, if a bit less gory. The musical score by Marco Beltrami quite stood out for me, which is a rare thing these days.

Back home to Greensboro, and now off to bed, for the old man is tired and sore, but at least not ornery. Not right now, anyway.

The setup.

The cache.                                                               Looking down.

An imposing structure near the cache. It's not much evident in the photo,
but it's high enough to be just about dizzying.

A sprawling greenhouse complex near one of the caches. Pretty sure this is where they grow pod people.

Cum Park

Kids what live 600 miles away in New York City don't get to hang out with their mum and dad all that often, so it's nice when the young one graces us with a trip to North Carolina. Allison arrived yesterday and stayed the night at Mrs Death's place; today, she came round to torment... er... visit her old man. Grandma came down from Martinsville, Brugger ventured out from her domicile, and we all went out for bison burgers at Ham's. Well, a couple of us had the bison. Then we migrated eastward to visit GlenMarie and Iron Gate Wineries, which was great fun — particularly the drive back through Burlington, where there's this shopping center called Cum Park, see, and... well, yes. I've passed this place numerous times — there's a geocache there — but this particular trip, with this particular crew of juvenile adults, it's not hard to guess how things devolved. All that and worse, it was. We finished up at Simply Thai in Elon, one of my favorite places for Asian cuisine.

Kimberly and I have been watching Prison Break on DVD from Netflix, which has been mightily entertaining, so after dropping the young one back at her mum's, we spent the rest of the evening thus engaged. That, and being smothered by cats. Many, many cats.

And a good night to you too.

A spot of wine with a visitor from a strange land.

A sign of the alpacalypse at GlenMarie Winery.

Dad's Day

Pa on his honeymoon, August 1956; that stance sure looks familiar.

It's Father's Day, and yesterday actually would have been my dad's 83rd birthday. It's been over 12 years since he passed away. There's not a day I don't miss him. After his long decline due to complications from diabetes, it took quite a while for me to be able to look back without the accompanying sadness. Nowadays, though, it's easier to remember all those wonderful times from days past.

In my teenage years, I always enjoyed the time around his birthday and Father's Day because it meant we were going to Myrtle Beach, where we had a time-share apartment at Regency Towers in south Myrtle. I had some of the best times of my life there, and I think those are among the days I'd most like to re-live. (Though I can't say it was quite the happiest thing ever to discover that just this morning a young girl was attacked by a shark at Myrtle Beach!)

At the other end of the whole fatherhood thing, I can't say as I ever had much in the way of paternal instincts. I was kind of thrust into the role of parent when I got married way back when, and it was one hell of an adjustment... not to mention a rigorous, ongoing learning experience. There were lots of trials with the young 'un way back in the day, but even since my divorce, my daughter, Allison, has remained very close and has proven herself a remarkable, wonderful young critter. I'm very proud to be her dad.

Happy happy day to all the fathers. Be a good one.

A rough-looking bunch! 1973, I believe.

Dark Shadows: Dark Decades

On the way to "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" (GC18NT4)

Mercy, this week has been too busy to blog. A short while back, I posted that I was starting a retrospective article on Dark Shadows ("It's Business Time," May 23, 2013), which, as of tonight, is done and sent out. It proved a big one — over 7K words. Assuming it gets the green light, I'll be hollering all about it, so watch out.

Didn't even get much geocaching in this week. The only day I made it out on the trail, I decided to go for as many stages as I could of one of the few nearby multi-caches I haven't already found — "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha" (GC18NT4) — knowing full well I wouldn't be able to complete it, since even at the best of times you need a boat to reach the final stage. However, with all the rain that's swept through here recently, I couldn't even access the penultimate stage without going wading. Snakes, mosquitoes, and other creepy crawlies, which I witnessed in abundance, added no appeal to this idea. Now, last night, big old storm drove through the region, knocking down trees and cutting power all over the place, and I was without electricity for seven hours (small beans compared to a bunch of nearby areas, some of which are still out). Since I couldn't do much about cooking my own dinner, I was forced to go have delicious Thai food at Thai Garden on Tate Street. I spent the rest of the evening placing a couple of caches. Even  after that, I had to wait a fair while for power to come back on, but I'm mighty thankful it did, since the house was getting hot and muggy, and the stuff in the freezer and refrigerator was getting perilously near critical mass.

Next up is a new Lovecraftian story to start plotting. Maybe I'll head back out toward Marsha for some inspiration.

Yep, a stage of the cache is out there. I think I heard it laughing at me.

Dwellers in Darkness

Trail caching is always fun, especially at night, and especially when it's an honest-to-god night cache, set up with reflectors, multiple stages, and a few surprises along the way. I put together one such cache last year, out on one of the Greensboro watershed trails, and I periodically like to go out and make sure the reflector tacks and physical stages are in good shape. When I do, it's fun to take some hapless victims along with me, just to see if they can complete the cache and get out of the woods alive. This evening, my friends Shannon (a.k.a. 3Newsomes) and Jeanne (a.k.a. Cantergirl) met me at the trail head to try their luck. Happily, most of the reflectors remained in place, and the stages were in good shape. After surviving "Dweller in Darkness," they thought it might be nice to seek out "Hellraiser," which lurks not very far away. So, off we went to the neighboring trail and hiked out to ground zero. Once there, they made fairly short work of the cache while I went to investigate what looked like reflector tacks along the trail. I was pretty sure the glowing lights weren't tacks but spider eyes, and... sure enough... they belonged to one of the biggest eight-legged critters I've ever seen.

The thing was eating a Hummer.

Good night!

Cantergirl and 3Newsomes signing the log at "Dweller in Darkness"

I saw one eat a rocking chair once.

Fear Is the Mind-Killer...

There's a geocache — and a geocacher — up in the tree.
Can you see her?

...To quote Dune. Or perhaps it's that a little dose of fear is merely a useful... necessary... instrument for self-preservation. A wall, of sorts, where remaining on one side of it might be considered healthy and sane, crossing it might not.

A bit of all of these things, I would say.

I'm all about some tree climbing — within reason, of course. I have hidden lots of my geocaches in trees, some that are fairly challenging to negotiate. I have also gone after quite a few, and quite happily, that seriously stretched the limits of my physical abilities.

For a couple of them, I just decided to say, "I'm not that crazy." There is this wonderful cache just up the road that, at the very least, challenges one's physical abilities, and is, in its way, educational ("Up, Up, and Away," GC4CB1N). For example, I learned that my comfort level for going up a sturdy, very vertical tree is about forty to fifty feet. In this tree, however, the cache resides at a point some sixty to seventy feet straight up. Now, I've done many more difficult climbs, but generally within that forty to fifty foot threshold. I have to credit the cache hider, Mr. Rich "Night-Ranger" Colter, with either considerable bravery or outright lunacy — as I do Ms. Debbie "Cupdaisy" Shoffner, who went all the way up to the hide this morning and signed our names to the log.

About 11 AM, we headed out to ground zero and started up that big sucker. The climbing wasn't bad, but sure enough, about forty feet or so up there, my arm muscles started sending me distinct signals that proceeding farther might be foolhardy; a little disheartening, but I opted to take them seriously. Anyway, the last time retrieving a cache required some climbing, I did the honors — much to her dismay, since Cupdaisy is an accomplished tree-monkey and it riles her when someone steals her thunder. In no uncertain terms, she put forth that I owed her a bleeping tree. So, today proved to be the perfect time to graciously pay my debt to her. I opted to make my way earthward and take some pictures while she was still high up there in the sky.

That is my story, and I am sticking to it.

Click the images to enlarge.

In the tree, about 30 feet up, looking up

You can actually see Cupdaisy in this shot; she's about fifteen feet below the cache.

Cupdaisy coming down, here about ten feet above the ground — home free, log successfully signed.

Subterranean Salem

I've never been claustrophobic, but back when I first started geocaching, going into underground culverts, storm drains, caverns, etc., tended to give me a moment's pause. Conversely, climbing big trees, grain silos, old radio towers, etc., didn't really cause severe acrophobia to kick in. Oddly, the situation seems to have reversed. These days, significant heights are more problematic; the depths less so.

To kick off the Memorial Day weekend, I left work this afternoon, hopped over to Winston-Salem, and went down into a nice, relatively dry, easy-to-negotiate tunnel beneath Old Salem. I was thinking I might get first-to-find on the new cache in there, but as I was heading toward the entrance to the underground, I got a notification on my phone that someone had just logged a find. Interestingly, they indicated they were logging it from ground zero.

Sure enough, I had only gone a few hundred feet into the culvert when I saw lights dancing in the distance and heard voices echoing through the darkness. Yep, the first finders, on their way back toward daylight. My initial inclination was to scare the shit out of them, but anyone who knows me knows that I am too nice a rat bastard to do anything like that on a Friday afternoon. As it was, we had a brief but enjoyable exchange in the darkness. Two very pleasant young women, going by the team name Birdray, who had only taken up geocaching as of last weekend. Quite an initiation, getting first-to-find on an underground cache after having been at it only a week. I was happy to lose out on a first-to-find for that; I bet it's an experience they'll remember and enjoy for a long time to come.

Along the length of the tunnel, I occasionally encountered graffiti, indicating muggles also have their fun in the underground. Fortunately, the cache is pretty well concealed from non-geocaching eyes. Once I had my moniker on the log, I made my way back out toward daylight, only to encounter two more young women — these from Charlotte — about to head in after the cache. Kind of funny, a new cache sitting idle for a week, and then three separate bunches of cachers hit it within a few minutes of each other. Good stuff.

Anyway, sushi from Asahi rounded out the evening. For the rest of the long weekend, more caching, lots of writing, gathering with friends, and maybe a spot of caching just for good measure.

Off with you.

The Droid doesn't take very good pictures in the underground, but the effect
is kind of interesting in its own right.

In addition to a bunch of errant geocachers, I'm pretty sure there are shoggoths down here.

A nice view of the interior taken by Ranger Fox, from the geocaching website

It's Business Time

No, not that business... well, not right now... but I suddenly find myself with more to write than I can shake a stake at. First on the slate is a fairly lengthy retrospective of Dark Shadows — not that this old man would know diddly about such a thing. Started it yesterday, making good progress. After that, a short story to compose — and possibly another one immediately following. Somewhere in there, I get to keep working on that novel in progress.

No time to lose, and all that. So, it's off to get cracking. Bye.

THE MONARCHS Now an Audio Book

The Monarchs is now available as an audio book from Audible.com! Narrated by the venerable Chet Williamson, The Monarchs is a tale of nightmarish intrigue, set in the Great Dismal Swamp of North Carolina. The audio production is unabridged, with a running time of 8 hours and 27 minutes. The novel is released by Crossroad Press and can also be purchased in hardcover, paperback, and e-book formats. You may listen to a sample at Audible.com or read an excerpt here at my website.

"I would recommend The Monarchs to anyone who enjoys their horror intelligently written, character driven, and bloody. Without giving too much away, I can say that The Monarchs has one of the most exciting endings to a novel that I’ve read in the last year. You really shouldn’t pass this one by." —TT Zuma,  Horrorworld

Sorry About the Paint

Well, that was amusing.

Ms. Kimberly and I headed out to Yadkin County to visit a couple of wineries this afternoon, and — surprise, surprise — I stopped to look for a handful of caches. At one of them, you had to go under a bridge to get to the trail through the woods, and we came upon the message you see at left. It was to chuckle. And what not. Never did find that cache, alas. It's probably still there, but the place was poison ivy central, so I may go back when it's not in full blossom.

Our first winery stop was Flint Hill Vineyards, near East Bend, NC. It's a scenic spot along a little country road through Yadkin County. Last time we went, there were people skeet shooting across the road, which made it a wee bit less than tranquil, but this time we had no such disruption. Though it was a bit warm, we enjoyed sitting on the expansive front porch — though there was an abundant amount of wildlife, namely bumbly bees, that just would not leave us alone. Flint Hill has several dry reds that I'm particularly fond of; the Chambourcin and Cabernet Sauvignon were the standouts, and they had a red-white blend (Syrah and Chardonnay) called Synergy that was pretty fascinating.

Next was Hanover Park, about 15 miles southwest of Flint Hill. Kimberly and I had been there once before and quite loved it. The winery is in a hundred-some-year-old farmhouse, not very large, but picturesque and very comfortable. Their best wine is unquestionably their blend called 1897 (the year the farmhouse was built), though it's understandably a bit pricey for a bottle. They have several other standout wines, including a Mourvedre, a Chambourcin, and house blend called Michael's Blend, after the owner. I quite enjoyed the glass of Mourvedre I had there, but I opted to bring home a bottle of Michael's Blend. The folks there are very friendly, and we quite enjoyed talking with the staff as well as several other guests. The front porch here can't be beat for sitting and enjoying a glass or two.

Be good.

Ol' Rodan and nice lady rocking at Hanover Park

North Carolina's state plant

A Completely Random Chicago Story

For about half of the 1980s, I lived in Chicago, and on the whole, I really loved it. The traffic could be hell and the winters were frigid, but it was rarely dull. Before getting married and moving to Des Plaines, a northwestern suburb, I shared an apartment with my friend Bill Gudmundson in Logan Square, on the near northwest side of the city, in an aging, three-flat building on Kedzie Avenue. One night — or I should say morning, as it was about 3:00 AM — I woke from a sound sleep to serious hollering from somewhere outside. I went to the window and saw, pretty far down Kedzie, a white dude in a tuxedo stomping up the road in the direction of my apartment. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, "You all eat shit! Every last one of you! You all eat shit! This would never have happened to me in Cleveland! You all eat shit!"

I didn't quite know what to make of this, and in my neighborhood, a lone Caucasian dude issuing insults at an insensitive volume might find his troubles compounded. So, after a bit, I yelled out the window, "Hey! Shut the hell up!"

"Hey, you eat shit!" came the response.

The dude kept walking and hollering, and after a while, he wandered out of sight and out of earshot. I went on back to bed.

I've always kind of hoped he made it back to Cleveland and that it proved to be a happier place. As for me, I ate no shit but gave folks aplenty.

Binding Time and the Blustery Book Festival

Cold, cloudy, and windy. Just the weather for an outdoor book festival in Martinsville, wot? One might not think so, but a decent-size crowd actually did show up at Binding Time Cafe & Books for the event — even better than proprietors John and Bonnie Hale anticipated, so I was informed. The festival ran from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM, with 20 authors, there or about, on hand to sell and sign books. I did quite well, I must say; I moved enough product so that my stock of available books is now running very low. Before any future events, I'm going to have to re-order some because I surely do not want to be shy of hellish scares for the unsuspecting.

My space beneath the sometimes perilously billowing tent was next to Dr. Stan Gravely, who grew up in Martinsville about the same time I did, though we didn't know each other well at the time. He was promoting his new book, This Is It!, which is something of a motivational guide to personal growth. I quite enjoyed the opportunity to get to know Stan a bit better, as we have a lot of shared background as well as ideas about living life (and the afterlife) in general. It was also cool that a few geocachers of my acquaintance stopped by, as did one of my most personally influential high school English teachers, Mrs. Linda Pulliam.

A fairly random sampling of some of the other attending authors include James Wayland, who wrote Trailer Park Trash & Vampires; Mary Helen Hensley, daughter of the late Dick Hensley — Martinsville High School principal as well as head coach of the Martinsville Bulldogs football team back in my day — who debuted a book of her father's wisdom, titled The Pocket Coach; former Ferrum College professor Becky Mushko, author of Ferradiddledumday, an "Appalachian retelling of Rumplestiltskin," who once had Elizabeth Massie — my writing parter on Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark — and I give a presentation on writing to some of her classes; Guy Andrews (whose wife Becky works with Kimberly and I in Greensboro) with his book, Dare to Summit, a guide to tackling the entire Bible, which he likens to "climbing Mt. Everest"; and Kristin Paige-Madonia, an award-winning writer of Young Adult fiction, author of Fingerprints of You, her first novel.

There will be a fall book festival at Binding Time in October, which I hope to attend as well. Guess I'd better get those books in....

Mary Helen Hensley autographing a copy of The Pocket Coach, a book of "her father's wisdom,"
for which she gives him writing credit.

James Wayland, author of Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, with books and two of his ex-friends

It's a dog's life! The Martinsville-Henry County SPCA's info booth, complete with mascots

Award-winning Young Adult author Kristen Paige-Madonia (center), author of Fingerprints of You.
To her left is Ms. Kerry Tillery, my 7th grade US History teacher.

Putting on the charm! Dr. Stan Gravely, non-scary, and Dr. Damned Rodan, scary.

Birthdays Suck, Except They Don't

Mum in front of The Third Bay Restaurant in Martinsville, VA

Mein Gott, how can another birthday have come and gone? I hate, hate, hate the ever-accelerating passage of years because, as each one falls away, the already complex tapestry of life grows only more complicated and often sad, as too many people close to me depart this life or suffer the inevitable infirmities that come with advancing years. Make no mistake, I'm still pretty damn spry for a middle-aged curmudgeon-in-training, and I have far more to be thankful for than to bitch, moan, and complain about; needless to say, this fact has never stopped me from bitching, moaning, and complaining, and I'm sure it never will. (And I don't care what you say, I happen to like my semicolons, so push the hell off.)

But even a grumpy old fart like me knows a good thing when he sees one. I tell you this, I've got the girlfriend to end all girlfriends, a fine family of cats, a mom that came straight from heaven, a roof over my head, and, at least for now, a pretty clean bill of health. All things considered, it was a mighty pleasant birthday yesterday. Most years, I take the evil day off from work, but I reserved that for today so I might have a slightly longer weekend. Last night, Brugger presented me with some nice presents and treated me to dinner at Sushi Republic on Tate Street — which proved why it's won best sushi in Greensboro for several years running — and, today, I geocached my way up to Martinsville so Mum could spend some time attempting to set straight the ornery cuss she birthed all those many years ago. Just for spite, she treated me to dinner at The Third Bay Restaurant, a very small but superb establishment that, back in the darkness of my youth, was actually a Sunoco gas station. As far as dining goes, it's the best Martinsville has to offer, though their hours during the week are sadly very limited — they're open on Friday nights but not on Saturdays, which has often knocked us out of going there for dinner. The meals I've had there I have rightly enjoyed, and tonight's was no exception. Their wine list is anything but extensive, though they do have a few decent dry reds; I was rather taken with the Shiraz I tried. I probably should have gone for the grilled halibut, like Mum did, but I opted for the filet mignon, medium rare, which was absolutely el perfecto. Hey, it's my freaking birthday dinner, and I'll filet if I want to. For dessert, The Third Bay specializes in chess pie, and if you haven't had The Third Bay's chess pie, then your dessert experience is dazzlingly incomplete. I'd go there just for a single piece of that stuff (but preferably more).

Tomorrow is the Spring Book Festival at Binding Time Cafe & Bookstore, just up the way, so I'll be there selling and signing books... as long as there's some poor schmuck willing to have his merchandise devalued with an old grump's signature. If you're that kind of brave soul, please do come on around.

Well, much as I hate them, I hope I'll have a few more birthdays coming round to punch me in the face. It's better than a slap across the belly with a wet trout.

I reckon.

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