I Rant Therefore I Rave

Sorry, Farrell, but you're no Douglas Quaid.

2011-05-01T04:38:00.000-05:00

I heard recently that the sci-fi classic (yes, I said 'classic') 'Total Recall' (1990), was going to get one of these 'reboots' or 're-imaginings' or whatever the current turn of phrase is. They've got Len Wiseman, the helmer of the 'Underwrold' franchise and husband to ultra fox Kate Beckinsale. So far, the only not-quite-solid confirmation is that Coin Farrell is to re-imagine the character originally crafted by the former governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Oh, Arnold, it sounds pretty much like it's spelled CALIFORNIA. I'm pretty sure you can gather how to say it right BY PRONOUNCING THE LETTERS CORRECTLY. And don't gimme any crap, Arnold. I can't ever be president either.

The rumor mill says Beckinsale is in talks to play one of the two key, female roles in 'Recall'. And while I'm all for Beckinsale in anything, except perhaps an Adam Sandler movie as his love interest. Seriously, dude, I know you're rich and famous and you got clout, but IT'S NOT BELIEVABLE. Anyhow, this talk about reboot got me thinking about the original and I remembered that I had picked up a $10 Blu-ray copy from Target a few months back. It was still wrapped and organized (by my wife) in alphabetical order in our movie library. So I excitedly grabbed it and announced to my wife that we were about to watch "a cinematic classic". Being a film buff, Denna was looking forward to it, but apprehensive since she knows my eclectic taste in films (from Cannibal Holocaust to Casablaca). And much to her dismay, I presented 'Total Recall'. I did my best to pitch it to her, but no dice. So, maybe I can pitch it to you. Let me give you a little background on the film.

Considered by many to be one of the most prolific and influential writers of the cyber-punk movement of the early to mid 80's, the film is based on the work of author Philip K. Dick. His subject matter, which has always been a topic I've come to explore in my own writing, tackles the struggle with duality. Dick's characters are intelligent and flawed and torn, but silently hopeful and always snarky. He paints with a dark palette, often causing things to come into glaring relief. And they aren't always things even we, as the viewer, can ignore about who we are.

Get Yeh Azz To Mahz.

Based on a short story called 'We can Remember It for You Wholesale', the movie deals with construction worker Douglas Quaid (Arnold Schwarzenegger), who toils at the job site, by day, but dreams of a life on Mars at night. His wife, Lori (Sharon Stone), can't understand why he dreams of being on Mars, when he's never been. And she quietly chuckles at hearing that each time Quaid visits Mars, in his dreams, he is side by side with a mysterious brunette (Rachel Ticotin). But each time he dreams of Mars, Quaid wakes up screaming and in a cold sweat.

After watching a commercial for an outfit named 'Rekall', a wholesale memory dealer- yes, as in "I remember when…" kind of memories -where you can go and get memories of a vacation you'd otherwise not be able to afford. He makes an appointment, shows up and buys an extra special package. He's not just gonna take vacation; he's gonna take an adventure.

The fast-talking memory salesman (Ray Baker) talks Quaid into a special perk: you don't go on vacation as yourself; you go as someone else. Among the assorted identities you can pick, the salesman pitches 'secret agent'. "You're a 007-type who's in deep cover in the Mars resistance. You'll fight your way through their ranks, quell the rebellion and get the girl." Its not word for word, granted, but you get the gist.

Excited about his "trip", Quaid sits in the chair waiting for the procedure. Several minutes later, the salesman is in the middle of a pitch when the attending technician calls screaming about a botched procedure, they come to find out that he's already had one. Before long, Quaid finds himself in an automated taxi, one of the film's great gimmicks ('Welcome to Johnny Cab'). He has no clue how he got there and the robot driver ain't much help either. Soon, he discovers that he's not who he thinks he is. In fact, he's actually a secret agent named Hauser and he's on a mission to liberate Mars. As with any work by Philip K. Dick, this is where you turn the story on its ear. And this is where what was real meets what was just a…memory. And by the end of the movie, you're not sure if Quaid was lobotomized or if he truly is the secret agent he thinks he is.

I could have gone on and revealed the entire plot, but even though I know this is a film that millions of people have seen on cable and bought at the discount rack at Wal-Mart, I'm gonna spare the few who have yet to enjoy this film. That's just my policy.

Anyhow, the movie has stood the test of time, considering it comes from a period in film that was mix of late 70's B-movie action mixed with a slasher film mixed with something out of a Troma movie (geek reference). A cleaner, more stylized grindhouse movie. And while many might dispute my next statement, I think its very true, for this film: 'Total Recall' is among modern science fiction's most important classic & cult films. While it solidified Schwarzenegger's status as action star, it also highlighted a period in sci-fi films where they weren't afraid to tell the story, even if they had to break a few eggs or kill a few hundred people. Sort of reminiscent of the films of the late 60's and early 70's.

I had to get rid of a bunch of discs a while back and sadly, my tin, special edition, so I was looking forward to taking this home and popping it in the BD player. The picture doesn't pop like I remember. Maybe it was a transfer issue. And the audio doesn't have much snap either. Its almost tinny sometimes. I expected way more from the ultimate movie format than what this disc delivered.

EXTRAS on BD

It was frustrating enough to play this movie on my plasma and not feel like it was the best possible transfer or remastering of this film. Then I discover that there's only one special feature on the disc. It's called 'Visions of Mars' and it has nothing to do with the movie. Rather, it gives you some history on our quest to understand and, someday, conquer Mars.

I'm really upset that they've decided to "update" this movie. I'm not particularly happy about their directing choice. Although, it would bring the ever hot Kate Beckinsale into the fold since she's married to Wiseman. And I'm not unhappy with the choice of Colin Farrell either. I like him. He can be over the top sometimes, he could pull off the Quaid/Hauser thing. And I'd loooooove to see what they're gonna do with Kuato. That's one of the best things about the original. Its the kitch in the action, the incredibly obvious animatronics (head to YouTube.com and look up 'Total Recall' clips, then find the one with the fake head) and the always unintelligible dialogue delivered by a younger, grittier Schwarzenegger. And I guess I shouldn't complain about the quality of the DVD since I only paid $10 for it, but I think this is a great movie and there should be a good, quality restoration available with a mine full of terrific features. Okay, Ah-nold. You're not governor of Ka-lee-four-knee-ah anymore. Why don't you see what you can do about this otherwise kon-zidah-diz-ah-divouuz (consider this a divorce).

-30-

Full Circle

2011-03-30T18:06:00.000-05:00

Oddly enough, Full Circle use to be the company name I'd given my fledgeling graphics business. That was many, many moons ago.

I won't tell you the Jack/Flores "Go Get Him" story cause, well, that story has gotten a lot of mileage. Jack? Yes. Jack Waldhelm. Jack was the advertising manager/production manager for the Del Mar College student publication, The Foghorn, which I was a member of for many, many, way too many years.

Jack was an old school newspaper man from way back. Manuel Flores, my journalism advisor, knew him from his days back at the Caller-Times, I think. Anyhow, without bogging you down with too much back story, Jack is responsible for the work I do today.

Jack use to measure things on the computer screen– with a ruler. First rule of pagination, don't trust anything you see on the screen. And never- NEVER -measure anything on the screen with a ruler! Jack ignored such rules. The man could measure off the screen with a ruler and get it right- EVERY TIME.

Jack gave me an education. He schooled me on design and digital pagination. He taught me to believe in myself. To be creative. To be bold. And in the process, he saved my life.

I knew, from everything that Jack taught me, that I'd be in this business for life. And after I was laid-off from the Express-News, I really thought my time in papers was done. But now, sitting in my chair as the Production Manager for the San Antonio Current, I realize just where I've been. And I also know where I need to go. I look at the two designers that work for me and I see myself. They're both young and hungry and they love the work.

Thanks, Jack. Thank you for everything.

-30-

Keys

2011-03-03T09:20:00.000-06:00

The previous blog posts, the ones about Sawyer, were the first in a very long time. I was once commended by a coworker in Arkansas about how diligent I was with my writing.
"Just a sentence." I said. "Just a couple of words. But do it everyday."
Well. Since uttering those fateful words, I have written very few sentences in even fewer days. These days, everything and anything can wedge itself between me and the keyboard. And I have a blog app on my phone, mind you.
Typing has been replaced by sleeping and laying about when I should be working on the edit to my last film and finishing the one that's been dodging me since late 2007.
Its like when I lose my keys. I feel lost and pissed off for losing them and then suddenly they re-appear (well, they were always there, I just finally saw them). After I find them, a feeling of satisfaction and security because you know all your shit is safe. That's how it feels to be back on the keyboard. And I'm happy.
I've been feeling the stirrings to come back and write, but I made it all to complicated. I made too many excuses. I turned my back on, well, me.
I wanted to sit down in Vegas and blog something, but I decided against it. Instead, I took photos. I guess I got thousands of words in, huh?
I've got scripts to complete, films to finish, edit and score.
I've got a lot to do. And some of it, I'll share with you.
Later.

-30-

@Unholyleek introduced me to this.

2011-02-24T22:37:00.001-06:00

While this says it's "the end of the world", but this is just the beginning.

Did You See The 'Apollo 18' Trailer?

2011-02-24T16:54:00.000-06:00

Holy crap. I was at work the other day and I happened upon a trailer for a movie called 'Apollo 18'. Its what 'Cloverfield' and 'Blair Witch' should have been. I was a little bit scared watching the trailer. Seriously. I mean, I'm not one to be grossed out or at all frightened of the horror movies around today, but this one kinda got me.
I don't tend to watch many horror movies these days just cause I know how bad they are. I reviewed Rob Zombie's 'Halloween' & H2. They were okay. Very viceral, but hardly scary. Same goes for 'Human Centepied' and any of the 'Saw' movies.
If you get a chance to check it out, its available at Apple trailers. Here's the link:
Apple Trailers: Apollo 18

-30-

Life

2011-02-23T09:30:00.000-06:00

Good morning.
Its been a rough few days. I don't see that changing for a few more weeks. It'll be a while before I can close my eyes and not see Sawyer meowing or standing someplace in the house. I won't confuse noises for him at night. And this pain that seems to well up at the most inopportune times will subside, eventually fading away.
But right now, I can't stop blaming myself for what happened. Denna has been steadfast: "Its not your fault. There's nothing we could have done. We didn't know." And I know this to be a 100% true fact. We didn't know. But when I'm crying and missing my kitty so viciously as I have missed him, I can't see that. All I want to do is apologize to him and tell him I love him and let him know that one day we'll be together again.
And in my pain, things around me have come into glaring relief.
My wife and my son and the rest of our pets are still needing me to be there for them. That's who I live for. For my clan. My wife, son, dogs, rabbit, my parents, my brother and my friends. I would give up my talents and dreams and wants in this life to be able to return Sawyer to us. But that's not how it works and he certainly wouldn't want me to change. He would want me like I am. Always.
So, I've told my wife: we dedicate ourselves and this year, to Sawyer. We will dedicate ourselves to living the life we are meant to live. No more laying about. No more waiting for things to happen to us. We're going to affect change in our lives and make them better.
I think about Sawyer almost every minute of my day since he's been gone. And when I start to fade back to that morning, to see him slipping away from us, I quickly change the image to him purring and being loving and being, well, Sawyer. And that's when I realize that we've got to stop doing what we have to do and start doing what we're meant to do.
"And I just can't keep living this way
So starting today I'm breaking outta these chains" - Eminem, 'Not Afraid'

Right now, the hardest things about being without Sawyer are the things that we so closely associate with him. All those little tasks that he would involve himself in or that we'd seek him our for. Like going into the kitchen. No matter where you were in the house, if you were going into the kitchen, you were sure to trip over him on the way. He'd RUN to get in front of you. Then he'd meow when you got to the kitchen. He knew that's where his bowl was. So he wanted food, but there was always food in his bowl. Anytime he heard a water faucet on, he'd RUN to find it and then meow till he got a taste.
Walking through the front door has been the hardest. Yesterday, after getting home, I walked into the bedroom and Denna was quietly making friendship bracelets for Thomas' Thursday craft fair. Her expression was sullen and she worked without looking at me. I asked her what was wrong and she said nothing. I asked again and again and again until she told me. And then, part of me wished I hadn't asked. She said, "When Thomas and I got home and walked through the front door, he said, 'Where's my pretty kitty...'" With that, she began to cry. And so did I. I cried for quite some time, walking myself from room to room trying to contain the tears and the pain. I wanted to just choke it down, like I know how to do, but there was no silencing it. The tears were gonna come whether I liked it or not. And frankly, after the last few hours of holding it all in, I was glad to feel the pain. Its been a pain, however, that strikes me to the core. My wails and tears feel like they're never going to end. And all I can say is, "I'm sorry" or "I love you".
But everyday the pain is a little less. And I remember more of the great times we had than any of the few bad times. I have so many pictures of him being a goofy, loony, one-eyed cat. Pictures of him with Denna. Pictures of him with Thomas and me. We have so many great memories. And I think back to when we lost our other kitten, the very young Marion. Marion never got to do or see the things Sawyer did. Sawyer even came with my brother-in-law, Tony, to pick us up at the airport when we got back from Vegas. For a four month old kitten, Sawyer got to see a lot of the world. He knew we loved him and he loved us right back.
So, for the rest of this year, the Cordero Clan has a plan: to live life as well as we can for those we've lost. For Bun Bun. For Marion. For our sweet boy, Sawyer. And most of all, for ourselves.

-30-

For Sawyer

2011-02-20T16:30:00.000-06:00

They told us he was born Sept. 12th. Course, we didn't know that until after we'd made the trek to the 24hr animal hospital to get him looked at. That's how Sawyer started his life with us.

Actually, he started his life with us with gunk on his eyes in a ratty, old box. He was little and dirty, but he was friendly and talkative.

Back to the animal hospital. When we left there with him, everything seemed like it was gonna be okay. Denna was a little hesitant to fully embrace Sawyer, especially after Marion's passing. When we got home, Sawyer had taken a turn for the worst. His mouth was open and he couldn't hold his head up. Thankfully, I called the vet we'd just seen and they told us to rush him over. 12 hours later, Sawyer was as good as new. In fact, he was better than new. He was walking, talking and playing.

Sawyer was one of the most original animals I'd ever owned. He loved giving kisses. He wasn't weened properly, so he would always suck the toes on his left, back foot. That's how you knew he was going to sleep. After suckling for about 20 minutes, he was usually out.

We were always fearful that something would happen to him. Especially with that one eye of his: kinda washed over, with a growth on one side that would flare up and spew puss from it. But once we'd hit him with the eye medicine, it would clear up and you could almost see his eye. Almost.

For the most part, Sawyer was a sweet, sweet boy. He had his times when he'd just be on a tear through the house. Bounding from the couch to the chairs, next to it, along the wall. At night, when I'd come out to get a glass of water, he'd hear the door open and jump to the chair closest to the entrance to the hallway. He'd poke his head around the corner and give me a crazy look before he'd leap from the chair and run into the kitchen where he'd wait for me and meow.

He meowed a lot. He meowed when you'd be in the kitchen washing dishes. He could have a full bowl of water and food and he'd still sit there and whine at you until you pretended to put more water or food in his bowl. Then he'd be happy. For a few minutes. Then back to the meowing. He always crossed your path when you'd walk through the house. Good goddamnit I hated that. I once picked him up with my foot as I took a step and I flung him across the linoleum and onto the runner in the kitchen.

And when we'd get home, he'd be perched on the edge of the couch to give you a kiss and to get some love from us as we all walked through the door. Denna taught him to give kisses and you could always tell when he was feeling particularly loving. When we did have to discipline him, he would come to me after and be loving and lick me and kiss me. Like he was apologizing for something. Now, I'm not trying to martyr the boy cause that cat was an asshole too. I have the scars to prove it.

He was particular on who he let pick him up. My brother, Mom and a close family friend all tried and he'd just get mad. He was very much a Cordero. His personality was very much like Denna's and very much my own with healthy, generous splashes of Sawyer. Even his name was unique: James Sawyer Ford Cordero. Although his tag only said "Sawyer C".

I won't lie to you. I've been crying all damn day long. Every time I stop to think of him and something goofy he did, I smile and it is soon followed by the quivering lip and promptly by a river of tears. In the car, I screamed for him not to die. I cried and screamed and Denna forced me to pull over and get my shit together. But I couldn't. My Mom was the one who woke up and found him having trouble.

Denna tells me not to feel responsible. And I know that there was nothing either one of us could have done to save him. But I think about if we could have gotten him to the vet in time and I feel like I didn't do all I could. I know that's wrong, but when the tears start, it just feels like I didn't protect my furry, loony little son. If only's have been examined all day long, but there's no use. None of it matters now. What matters is picking up the pieces and moving on with our lives. This time, though, we won't be filling that void both Sawyer and Marion left behind. And until we can all feel more sane and not so sad, I'm going to temporarily remove his pictures from all the places they reside. It's not cause I don't love him. I just cry every fucking time. Like now. I'm sitting in the living room typing and crying because the house is so quiet without him. No more coming home to find him waiting for us. No more meowing in the kitchen. That goofy bastard followed us into the bathroom when we showered he'd stand outside the shower, meowing to be let in. He'd get between the shower curtain and the liner and walk back and forth along the bathtub trying to figure out a way to lick you or drink the water. Sometimes we'd just grab him and put him in the shower with us, protecting him from the water stream. He'd drink some and then jump out, but stand outside again to meow.

He would have died had we not answered that Craigslist ad for the kitten. The two little dimwit's who found him didn't know how to take care of him. He would have died that same day. He crew up strong and funny and proud and loving. Sometimes we think about all the things that Marion never got to do and we are sad. And given how much time we had with Sawyer, he got to do a lot. He got to experience Thanksgiving and Christmas and to feel love from the entire family. Maybe he didn't get along with everyone, but he loved Denna, Thomas and I. We're going to tell Thomas that my parents adopted him because Denna's allergies were getting to bad for us to keep him.

Denna spoke to a friend of ours, Cheryl, and she has had similar luck with baby kittens. Cheryl had told Denna she had sworn off adopting babies because they have all died on her. I don't want to adopt a cat anymore. No one will ever compare to Sawyer.

I don't have a doubt this entire week will test my ability to keep my shit together when thoughts of Sawyer pop into my head. I'm struggling to not break into tears right now. Denna said something that made me both smile and cry: "You know, wherever he is now, he can see with both his little eyes." I know he's in a better place now. But it doesn't change the fact that I wish he was here now. With me. With us.

Sawyer, my baby boy, my sweet, sweet kitten. I miss you so much and I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I was your, daddy and that was my job. I won't blame myself cause you won't let me. But I still want to say that I'm sorry. And I hope that you'll wait for us to be together again someday.

We love you so much, Sawyer and we're so sad that you're gone. Good night, my sweet angel.

-30-

Loony, Oned-Eyed Cat watches TLC.

2011-01-25T21:55:00.001-06:00

This cat is so weird. The wife adds that he's also got a very similar personality to ours. Just strange.

When Graphic Design Attacks

2011-01-08T23:52:00.001-06:00

Look at this carefully. Can you see what's off?

Merry Christmas, Part 1

2010-12-23T19:47:00.001-06:00

The Wife said she remembered hearing me talk about these. I fucking love this woman.

Gettin' Outta Hand

2010-11-17T14:48:00.001-06:00

Xray of my right hand. I feel so exposed.

All the cat toys & he plays with a folding chair leg

2010-10-31T01:30:00.001-05:00

Pacers go home losers.

2010-10-27T22:21:00.001-05:00

Guess who's going to the game tonight?

2010-10-27T11:55:00.001-05:00

Cat-chin a ride

2010-10-20T21:01:00.001-05:00

Call us cat whisperers. We've adopted a young stray who we have yet to name.

She's back!

2010-10-16T19:49:00.001-05:00

Father-in-law helped me get my Infinity running! Now for tags & inspection.

Burger Boy

2010-10-14T09:20:00.001-05:00

Live this place. Quick & tasty.

Parking Lot on I-10

2010-10-14T09:10:00.001-05:00

I hate SA drivers.

2010-09-17T14:44:00.001-05:00

2010-09-15T23:15:00.001-05:00

My Lonely Little Blog

2010-06-11T02:40:00.001-05:00

I couldn't sleep so I figured I'd add something to my blog. I feel sleep coming now. I promise I'll be back with more and more frequently. Night!

-30-

WTF?!

2009-10-09T15:59:00.000-05:00

Evolution

2009-10-05T21:41:00.000-05:00

I remember the day that my little brother came over to my place just before he was to leave for New York state. This was back when we both still lived in Corpus Christi. He wasn't even 20 yet. My parents were still in shock and pissed that he had decided to go to college away from home. My Mom didn't agree with his decision, especially since he was going away with his girlfriend. My father understood, but he wasn't happy either.

He had decided to go to school for veterinary medicine. Dee always loved animals. Young and idealistic, he packed his bags and moved to Buffalo to study. His girlfriend had relatives there who could lend a hand, should the need arise. It would make them both feel less alone.

I knew why he was leaving. And I was glad that he was. Corpus Christi drains a person's will to leave. And before long, if you're not careful, you become part of the scenery. People seem content to stay there and see the same things everyday. Dee wanted to see as much as he could and there was no way he could do it from his bedroom at my parents' house.

I never told him that the day he left, I cried. I cried both tears of joy and sadness. My brother and I had never been apart for very long. In fact, my brother was as much one of "the guys" as all my other friends. I remember him wanting to hang around with me and Bob and Ariel and LeRoy, my closest friends from high school. We'd break his balls and often that courtesy was extended to his friends, Austen, Tim & Miguel. He grew up listening to the music I listened to and watched the movies I watched.

We didn't always get along given the age difference. Ten years between us kept him from going out with me and my friends. But he was always around when I had them over to my parents' house.

Dee was always a good kid. Smart. Crafty. Funny. Passionate. Kind. Slowly, the young, chubby kid who followed me around started to grow up. Little by little he turned the things I gave him into things of his own. He explored books and music and movies developing his own tastes and expanding his individuality.

One year, I used my income tax money to buy him a Super Nintendo. He used to play Street Fighter so often that he eventually could kick someone's ass with just one button. He used to torture a college buddy of mine, Mike, with that trick. Mike would come by to pick me up and head to the bar and Dee would purposely play SF when he'd show up. Mike couldn't resist playing. Dee would taunt him.

"Wanna play?" he'd ask Mike.

"Okay." Mike would reply picking up a controller.

"Pick a button." Dee would say holding up his controller.

"What?"

Dee would repeat it. "Pick a button."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm gonna kick your ass with just one button." Dee would giggle.

Mike was locked in. He couldn't play games worth a shit and the fact that this high school kid was teasing him just made him want to play more. And no matter what button Mike picked- kicking or punching -Dee would always kick his ass and send my into a huff and out the door.

One of the loves we both shared was our love for Apple computers. My Dad had gotten us an Apple IIc. It had a whopping 512k and a crappy little green screen. We owned that computer for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, we had to upgrade to the Mac Classic II. Then the iMac. In college, I used the LC and the Performa. An outfit in town called Computer Command Corporation was the only authorized service center and retail outlet. The original Apple Store. Dee made friends with Rene, one of the service techs who's brain I'd often pick. I knew Apple computers backwards and forwards. Dee wasn't far behind. He ended up working for Computer Command. That's where his love for Mac's began.

When he was in Buffalo, he had decided against veterinary medicine and wandered from career to career trying to find his niche. He always loved Apple, but there was no place for him to explore job opportunities. He worked for Pottery Barn, Toys R Us and Blockbuster successfully moving up corporate ladder at each place. And then he found out the new incarnation of the Mac retail shops, the Apple Store, was going to build a branch in Buffalo. His first attempt to get into the store was unsuccessful. But that didn't deter him. Eventually, he was able to get his foot in the door and he realized his ultimate dream. He was working for Apple Computers. I remember when he told me that he had been hired. He was ecstatic. He left most of the other jobs, save one, I think, and started on the road to his dream career.

Now, maybe this is where his idealism served him well. Anyone who knows the story of Apple knows that it was the idealistic dreams of Steve Jobs that made the company what it has become. His knowledge of the products and his devotion to the brand made him the perfect salesman. He was charismatic and handsome and well spoken and that didn't hurt him either.

He had already grown to know more than I EVER knew about Apples. And after I had left Fort Smith, AR, to take the job at Rumbo, he had begun to make plans to transfer himself to the new store that was opening here in San Antonio. Moving here would afford him the chance to start to make his charge towards bigger and better things. And it allowed him to be closer to me and to Mom & Dad.

Today, Dee is a Genius. In all senses of the word. He bleeds Apple. I dare ANYONE to love, honor and respect the silver fruit like he does. For Christ's sake, he's got Mac logos tattooed on his arms. A gift from me. He has traveled to the Mother Ship, the company headquarters in Cupertino, CA. He repairs machines with lightning speed and knows the layout of his store like no one's business.

But more importantly, my little brother has, well, ceased to be little. He is a giant among men. He still has the same fire for his job that he had when he was a chubby little kid punching the noisy keys of the IIc. His tastes in music and film have evolved. But the core of the boy who loved playing video games and basketball and grilling in the backyard haven't changed. It has only gotten better with age.

Its hard for me to be mad at him when I can't get him to answer my calls or text messages. I know what his life must be like because I was there once too. He hasn't quite found himself yet, not completely. In a few more years, things will be clearer to him because I know they were clear to me. So I write this now to tell my little brother how much I love him and that I'll always be here for him. I write this to tell him, if he doesn't already know or refuses to believe, that Dad is just as proud of him as he ever was of me. That Mom champions his every move, no matter how crazy it may seem.

Happy Birthday, kid. You got me in your corner now and always. I love you.

-30-

2009-09-22T14:21:00.001-05:00

This is Jack Waldhelm. He was one of my journalism mentors. A great man.

2009-09-18T23:48:00.000-05:00

Now, maybe it's just me, but these cotton swabs can't be that good.

2009-09-16T13:05:00.000-05:00

Won all 4 victories on King mode with the Romans on CivRev.

2009-09-16T13:04:00.001-05:00

Our resident 8-yr-old made this for me. Best bday card ever.

2009-09-14T00:39:00.000-05:00

Denna & I got this @waterloorecords in Austin during ACL 2008. Love it!

When a real leg humping dog just won't do.

2009-09-11T23:09:00.000-05:00

Tackled fixing our leaky shower. Fixed now. Works like new.

2009-09-06T22:14:00.000-05:00

Imprints

2009-09-03T22:18:00.004-05:00

It was hard to walk into the funeral home to see Joe, the war vet I met over a year ago. He looked so still. I haven't been to many funerals in my life. Some I've stayed away from and others I missed. Joe looked very peaceful. I'm sure I'm not the first to say this, but I almost waited for him to wake up and smile at everyone.

I must admit, for not having known him well, I felt so much grief. Which just goes to show you that anyone you meet can affect your life in ways you'll never thought of or fully understand. I knelt at his coffin and said a short prayer. His portrait from his Army days was displayed next to the coffin. He was a strapping guy.

There weren't many visitors to the viewing. The majority of them were friends and his only blood relative was his son, Michael. I guess at 93, most of your friends have gone before you. What was most important was that those people who loved him best were there to say goodbye.

Tomorrow is the burial. The last burial I went to was my uncle Raul. I had to travel back to my home town for that funeral. But before he died, I was able to speak to him over the phone. My Mom prompted me to call him and tell him that I'd be coming home and that we should plan a fishing trip. My uncle was very excited at the prospect of taking me fishing and said he'd have a fishing pole ready for me. I didn't get to take that rip as he died before I could come home.

In college, there was this advertising manager at my college paper, Jack. Jack was a big dude, over six feet tall. He had this commanding voice and a very direct demeanor that sometimes left you in shock. Like when I was training to design. I would fly that computer like Fats Waller flew his piano. Suddenly, Jack would scream, "Boy, slow down. You're gonna mess up." Jack would use one of those old, wooden rules with the metal guide on one side to measure things on the screen when at 100% magnitude. They tell you NEVER to do that because, like in side mirrors in cars, "Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear." You can't trust anything you see on the monitor, no matter how good or properly balanced it is. Jack would NEVER get a measurement wrong. He and I grew to become great friends. He even started to like some of the same music I did. Once, while playing an Eagles tape, he asked me to make him a copy of mine because he really liked it. Jack contracted cancer just before I left Del Mar College for Texas A&I in Kingsville. And one day, at school, a mutual friend came to tell me he had died. I found out later that Jack thought well of me. Often. His wife told me that on more than one occasion he spoke of this really great kid at the paper. We established a scholarship at Del Mar for Jack. And each time I was invited to introduce the scholarship, I cried. Every time. I never got to give Jack that tape.

Even though Joe was a new friend, the imprint of his life will have a place in mine.

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Numbers

2009-09-01T22:57:00.003-05:00

In about 15 days I'll turn 37. Distant seem the days when I would burn the candle at both ends. The bottom of a beer mug was all to familiar. I remember being 10 or 11 years old in Corpus. Going home from elementary with my cello on the bus. Then high school driving my Dad's 1981, lima bean green Buick Electra. That car was built like a tank.

I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I bring up age because of the passing of someone I only met almost a year ago. His name was Joe, a 93 year old man who's greatest passion, it seemed to me, was eating. The times I'd see him, he always had himself a two-piece & a biscuit. He talked about his meals very fondly. He was a kind man, I thought. We had a few conversations here and there at birthday parties or at his home. I should explain that Joe was the companion of a close friend. I would rather not say much more about her, but that. Moving on.

I didn't know Joe like I would have liked. But everyone always spoke and thought well of him. One afternoon, I was told something about Joe that just blew me away. Apparently, Joe was in WWII. Landed in Normandy. Without a weapon. When deployed to Omaha beach, his superiors informed him that he would not be given a weapon, but instead, he would collect it from the beachhead from any one of the dead soldiers that came before him. He was a radio operator and a Sergeant. And he went undercover in a German concentration camp that also held American prisoners. I'm actually in the process right now of trying to look him up on the Web.

You would never tell it from looking at him. You'd never know Joe was a war hero. And I say that not trying to be patronizing or with any hint of cynicism. He had two children; a boy & a girl. He'd been married before he met my friend. And I thought it was something that he learned to square dance so he could dance with my friend. There's a ton I don't know about him, but that I'm looking forward to finding out.

Joe was born in 1916. Monet painted 'Water Lilies' that year. Paris is bombed by the Germans in The Great War, World War I. The Chicago Cubs played their first game at was is now Wrigley Field (it was called Weeghman Park then). The Saturday Evening Post published its first Normal Rockwell cover. And President Woodrow Wilson sent some 12,000 U.S. troops to the Mexican border to chase down Pancho Villa. We should all be so lucky as to live 93 years. I'd trade any fame or fortune for that kind of time.

And this brings me back to 37. I think I was a little bit bitter a day ago when I Tweeted in anger. I was pissed because the Express-News had cut me and the subsequent loss of income has put me in a corner several times since. Hey, I'm still angry about that, but with Joe's passing, it kind of put things into perspective for me.

After a year in exile from my own home, I've returned. New furniture and fresh paint have turned the house around. And much like the house, Denna has turned my life around. And while I still don't have a job, I have my health. I have Denna & Thomas in my life and that makes me so happy. I'm making movies. I'm living my life the way I was supposed to. And even though I'll be 37, I'm doing pretty well.

Joe was lucky to live through Omaha beach to make it to the ripe old age of 93. I think he enjoyed his food so much because every day after the war was a gift. And in his senior years he learned to love life and everything it had to offer. Especially a two-piece and a biscuit.

-30-

2009-08-20T15:56:00.001-05:00

I'll be back with a new post soon stay tuned.

-30-

End of an Era

2009-03-12T12:02:00.009-05:00

I've been working in journalism since I was in college back in 1993. I started out as a reporter, but eventually found my niche in design. My mentors, Dr. Manuel Flores & Jack Waldhelm, brought me in from the rain one afternoon after they saw me walking across the campus looking dejected. I don't clearly remember what was going on in my life at that time, but I know Manuel & Jack both saved my life that day.

After that day, things weren't the same for me. The lost and angst-ridden high school graduate who couldn't decide what he wanted to do with his life finally found a purpose. I hadn't yet found myself, the person I wanted to be, but I had found out what that person- whoever he might be -wanted to do with his life. I wanted to design newspages. And I did. Well. I was part of a weekly college newspaper that one year decimated the major university dailies. Division I newspapers are now all daily papers, but back in my day, we were one of the few weeklies who could go head to head with any Texas university daily and win.

I was in heaven. I mean, there I was, doing what I loved and doing it well. I worked hard and partied harder. And with each passing day I grew to realize that all the art classes I'd ever taken, all the drawing and sketching, all the visually oriented things that struck my fancy all could be used in my chosen career. I even took side jobs and did them for free- that's how much I loved what I did back then.

My first job in design was working for an ad agency in Corpus Christi. I was an assistant production designer who worked mostly at night. The job was great, but our boss was a bit...intense. While I got to do lots of interesting things, the job came with a rather sharp and pointy thorn that eventually drove the creative director away and later me. I worked freelance during that time and got a few gigs doing posters and corporate ID. Eventually, I moved on to working for a Naval museum, the U.S.S. Lexington Museum on the Bay, for a couple of years. I also worked in ad composing at the Caller-Times for a few months, in tandem with the Lex job. I almost burned myself out doing that, but it was great money while I did it. Eventually I left the ad composing job, then later left the Lex for a job at a print shop. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but after a few months, they cut me loose.

I went on unemployment for a while, not knowing what I should do. My exit from the Caller-Times wasn't good and it prevented me from getting hired on there for some time. After taking some temp work and trying once again to get on with the Corpus paper, I decided that maybe what I needed to do was find a place to start new.

Eventually, I moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas, where I would land a copy editing/design job with a medium circulation paper. It was a great job and I made some of my closest friends while I was there.

After a year or so, thee paper in Fort Smith started to go through some managerial changes that would eventually land me in hot water. Maybe I was just too combative with the new regime, but after a few scrapes with the "design coordinator," I began to realize that my job might be in jeopardy. So I started to look for a new job and found it in the form of a Spanish-language paper that was about to launch in San Antonio, Texas. They offered me great money. Three days after I announced I was quitting, I was in San Antonio and on the job.

The first few months in that job were hard. Long hours and lots of work, but it was rewarding because it was a new publication. We were creating something from scratch and it was something revolutionary. Everyone who worked there agreed- it was a labor of love. But after the first year, the company lost its funding and I almost lost my job. It would be another tense year before a second round of layoffs would come and I would be given my release.

I was angry, mildly heartbroken, but anxious to find another newspaper job in the city. I applied at several places before making into the Express-News. It was just the break I had been looking for. I felt my skills were getting a little stale and I needed to get reinvigorated. It did the trick. For a while. But the young man who would do his job for free was long gone. Replaced by a cynical designer who didn't care about the art and only the money. There had been so many little things about the business that I hadn't anticipated. It sure didn't help my self-esteem any. I had started to shoot independent film, a long standing passion of mine, and was starting to come into my own. With three films under my belt, I felt good about myself again. And slowly, I realized that my time in newspapers would most likely be drawing to a close. I was plotting to get out. I wasn't sure how or when or how, but I wanted out.

I would be moved all over at the Express-News. I was doing the business section when I started, moved onto sports for a time and then to news. My final move would land me in the company's Latino-centric, weekly publication, which I had been hoping to work on someday. It came at the right time and helped put me in a better frame of mind career-wise. I started to feel good about the job again, about my skills, about my career. I began to think about ways of improving my skill set and began to really get myself into a proper mindset to be as effective as I could be. And while I had plotted to get out of the business, each day that I walked by the press I would once again be reminded how much I loved it. I think maybe I romanticized it all so much that when the bottom fell out again, so did my heart.

I arrived at work almost two weeks ago to find that a large chunk of the editorial team had been layed off. It was a slaughter. They said it was a 15% cut in the workforce. I think it was more than what they said. Regardless, I was called into talk to the design director and the deputy design director where I was informed that I had been given my release. The business had been in a state of flux for quite some time and with other papers all over the country either folding or slashing their staffs, ours was no different.

I won't lie. I cried in that office, in front of my boss and the deputy. I had taken a 50 caliber round to the chest and the round broke my heart into a thousand little pieces so jagged and tiny that I couldn't put it back together. I put my sunglasses on and walked to my car, fighting back tears which would eventually flow the minute I sat down and closed the door. At home, in my girlfriend's arms, I cried some more. From time to time now, my eyes well up with tears that I fight back or wipe away before anyone can notice. I'm not sad about losing my job. I've lost jobs before. I'm sad because a decision was made for me the day they let me go- I would leave the business. Forever.

Before I moved to Arkansas, I was made editor of the college paper that I had worked on, on and off, throughout the years. I was only editor for one semester before leaving, but I remember thinking back then, "This what I love. This is who I am." I love the newspaper business. In Fort Smith, we had to drive over to the press to check the edition for head busts or mistakes. The last line of defense. I remember that sometimes I would get there and it was still being printed. I remember standing at the doorway to the press room, watching the spool of newsprint fly through the rollers and get inked. I remember the smell of the ink and the paper. The way it was still damp when they handed you the copy fresh off the press. I remember the staff at RUMBO, the Spanish-language daily, hustling and working in that big newsroom at our downtown office. The phones were ringing and people typed furiously on their machines, cranking out stories. I remember, way back in my formative college years, how tensions would run high between reporters, photographers and editors and we would yell at each other and call ourselves names and be angry with one another. But by the end of the night, we would be at a bar, enjoying a beer and laughing about the entire day. I remember the feeling of looking at my work, on the printed page, and realizing that, for better or worse, this was my life. And I loved it.

I was hoping that my new place at the paper would allow me to revitalize my career goals. But I think in the back of my mind, my love for the business had started to fade. I had even told a few people that from time to time. Each time someone would say to me, "Don't give up on it." And for as much as I loved it, each day that a paper would close or some company layed off a bunch of people, I lost a little more love for the business.

So here I am now. Waiting for my last day. I am still heartbroken over having to go. Day by day, I was starting to see major improvements in my work and I was feeling good about my path. But now, I have to focus on using what I've learned in order to get myself into a new line or work.

I'm not scared or worried about the future. I know my future will be full of really great things. And much like the life I had before the newspaper business, I await the new challenges and new experiences with great anticipation. I saw a post about a major player in the design universe at Newsweek taking a buyout. And something he said has really suck with me:

"I defined myself by the job. Now, just gonna start looking for a new definition."

I realized, just now, that I will never stop loving this business. Never. I'm just gonna have to love my next gig with the same kind of passion.

Good luck to all my friends in the business. Good luck to all the reporters, photographers, copy editors, designers and illustrators out there who are still in the business. And to those of you who are young and idealistic and want to be in the business, just makes sure you love it.

-30-

New Year

2009-01-14T12:04:00.003-06:00

Well, here we are now in 2009. One more year until my 20th high school reunion, which I will most likely count myself out of. I have no desire to go back to that shit.

A new year means new movies to make, goals to achieve, books to read, concerts to see and movies to watch.

I don't usually set any kind of resolutions on New Year's, but this year I've just resolved to be a better person. A better man.

I'm in a great place in my life. My job is good. I feel complete, which is something that I hadn't felt in a long time. I think that the changes I made to my life had to be made. I lied to myself about where I was and about where my life was going. And in the process, I not only lost my direction in my family life, but in my personal life too. Over the course of the last few months, I've been able to really find myself and feel more secure about who I am, where I'm going and who I want by my side.

Its weird to be posting again after so long. I've wanted to come on here and spill my guts, but it just didn't feel right.

Work
I'm a 9 to 6 worker now. A daywalker. I have evenings free and weekends off. My work is now in a better place too. I've started to really retool my craft and find myself designing some really great pages. And it helps that I have an entire week to mull my stuff over. Reminds me of being at the ad agency years ago. Except without all the crying from our boss and the uncashable paychecks.

I also get to review DVDs and have a blog I share with a coworker. We both do it for free, working only to keep the movies we review. Actually, we review the extras- the special features. And we don't always get the ones we want, but most often, we get a good selection. Its hard work. Much harder than I had anticipated it would be. I guess I always took a critic's job for granted and now I do it so often that I feel better about my writing. I try to write with a tongue-in-cheek style that's funny and informative.

Home
I've gone down to visit with the family in Corpus Christi. I was there for Christmas with Denna. It was a good time. Got to see my dog, Domino. I miss that goofy, fat bastard. We were only there for a few days, part of which my brother was there for too.

My folks finally finished the kitchen they had started on all those years ago. New stove hood, new sinks and granite counter tops. They're in the market for a new fridge and dishwasher to complete the room.

Movies
I've kind of been out of the scene since last summer. I feel like I should be back with greater force, but right now things are tight monetarily. I've got to projects that I'm gonna need a little funding for, so I'll have to save and scrape what I can. Which will mean that I won't be able to shoot anytime soon.

Life
Denna and I are doing great. Better than great. Its not always easy. We have our rough patches from time to time, but we're learning to talk about things and to be as open and receptive to everything. Its sometimes difficult for the both of us to come clean about stuff, but in the end, we're better for it. I'm determined not to make the same mistakes I made before. She is too. Which is really lending itself for lots of good communication. We aren't perfect, nor do we wish to be. We just want to get it right.

There's a lot more to tell. And the year has just begun. I have lots of great feelings about this year. I think its going to be a great one.

Cheers and good tidings to all!

-30-

Its Beginning To Look A Lot Like....

2008-11-13T21:12:00.002-06:00

...a new Christmas album!!!

Hey. Well, its been since August since I posted, so says Blogger. So here I am again.

With Thanksgiving fast approaching, I began to realize that it won't be Christmas until I hit everyone with the NEW Christmas album.

Last year, I posted a link for everyone to download their own, but this year, I plan to send it out, via mail. Why via mail? Because it's kind of a special album for me this year. There have been lots of changes in my life and I thought I would take the album back to its roots, if it ever had any.

I haven't decided whether or not I will make this a double album yet, but I know that I want it to remain eclectic and fun. And I promise to make it playable for all ages. I think in the last few years I've added some tracks that have been, shall we say, strange.

So, if you want one, time for you to give up your address. If you know my email or have any way to get in touch with me, send me your physical address and you'll find a nice surprise come the first week of December.

I'll be back with more post very soon.

-30-

I Want To Believe

2008-08-07T20:59:00.005-05:00

I guess I've always had a vivid imagination. The kind that tends to run away with me when I give something a little too much room to get a good stride.

I'd left the subject of 9/11 behind me. I've watched all the movies, read all the materials and jumped to all the same conclusions. It all seemed so plausible. I mean, how can so many people make the same wrong conclusions, right?

But I left it all behind after I read a column in the New York Times that said we should let 9/11 go. That it was over. That we should mourn no more.

I think we were all New Yorkers that day. Maybe those New Yorkers who were there that day disagree, but it hurt the same way watching it on T.V. that it did standing in the shadows of those two big monuments to American freedom and ingenuity. It all hurt the same. I was angry for a long time. I cried a lot. I wanted to find answers. All I found were more questions.

Countless shows and articles and movies worked only to keep the fire lit in my belly about 9/11.

Sometimes, I really do believe what the 9/11 Commission report found. I believe it was a group of highly organized terrorist with a grudge to bear on America. I believe that because we grew too confident in our industrial and military might, we grew blind to the aggression that our American egos had stoked abroad. I believe that we're not as smart as we once thought we were and that we're not the only ones willing to do what it takes to make a point.

I want to believe.
I want to believe that our government didn't have anything to do with it.
I want to believe that we were attacked because we are arrogant, fat, unethical.
I want to believe.
But I can't. I can't wrap my head around those concepts.

What do I do? What do we all do?

-30-

Exile

2008-06-05T19:47:00.002-05:00

I've been away for a while now. Lots has happened. LOTS.

Stay tuned for more.

-30-

Hang Low

2008-03-17T19:46:00.004-05:00

I was just reading about how the Florida senate is in the midst of passing a law that would effectively prohibit teens in school from wearing their pants down around their crotch. For a second, I thought, "Hell yeah!" Then I back tracked.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I can't stand that shit. I absolutely hate it. Get a fucking belt! Or pants that fit. What's the point of constantly having to A) pull your pants up to your crotch or B) have to keep your hand on the front of your pants to keep them up?

I'm not saying that I'm the model of ultimate fashion. I dress like a fucking slob and I know it. And I'm sure lots of people see me, especially those who see me day in and day out, and say, "Christ, look at the fat guy. Doesn't he own anything other than Levi's or black t-shirts? Get a real wardrobe, you dumbass!" And I'm sure the kids who are wearing those baggy ass pants say the same thing I'd say to someone who said that to me. "Fuck off, I'll wear what I wanna wear."

I like to rant and rave. A lot. Probably more than I should. Especially about shit like this. I mean, it's not my life they're leading out there. Its their lives. And if they wanna walk around looking like morons, like me, they can do it till the cows come home. And as long as they choose to do it, I'll keep railing against them.

Sure, I can justify my fashion atrocities. I can justify them all day long. I tell people one thing all the time when they ask me about my black shirts and blue jeans. I tell them about how Albert Einstein had the exact same pair of clothes for each day of the week and told people that he did so because it was one less thing he had to think about each day. Then I found this:

I heard that Albert Einstein wore the exact same thing every day. Is that true?

Another story about Einstein that is highly exaggerated but has some basis in reality concerns his clothing. Many say that Einstein wore the same thing every day and had a closet full of the exact same suit, shirts, ties, and shoes. This isn't true, especially when Einstein's second wife, Elsa, was alive. Elsa took a firm hand when it came to her husband's appearance, and pictures of the two of them touring everything from Japan to the American Southwest show Einstein in beautiful silk vests, and dapper neckwear -- as well as in a kimono and an American Indian headdress. But after Elsa passed away and Einstein spent his last 20 years as a professor emeritus at Princeton, his clothing did become more, er, irregular. He openly disliked wearing a suit and while already legendary for often going sockless, now he wore sandals. Perhaps the most common pictures of Einstein from that time show him happily shuffling around his Princeton study wearing a big gray sweatshirt. Luckily for Einstein, his life coincided with the invention of the cotton sweatshirt -- for he was enamored of the soft warm comfortable garment.

So that shoots my rationale in the foot. Lops it right off, actually. I guess I do it because I'm lazy. I like black. I like Levi's. I'm a creature of fucking habit. I own slacks and nice shirts. I use to wear them often. Now, if I do, people wonder if I've just been to church or why I'm so "dressed up". Regardless, it's how I enjoy dressing. I've been in a funk for sometime. I think that's part of it too. There's a lot of things I could say to justify it. But at the end of the day, if this is what I want to do, that's what I'll do.

So back to the saggy pants. I could see, simply by watching a lot of these kids walk around with their underwear hanging out, that, while it seems like a cool fashion statement, it is just irrational. I mean, if your wallet is in your back pocket and your back pocket is down near your calves, what the fuck is that? And how are girls going to say, "Damn, look at him. I can see most of his underwear. That's hot?" But then I'm not their age anymore and I have absolutely no clue what girls that age think. I've even heard that they make pants with the underwear attached and set above the pants, so's to save the user the trouble of having to pull them down. Can you believe that?

I guess this rant boils down to one thing: there are things that the government can tell us we should do and the things they have no right to enforce. Personal freedoms. Our right of expression. Yeah, that's traveling on the razor's edge. I mean, we get into all kinds of messes when we take that stance. But in an age where our government is dawning the mask of "Big Brother" and we are constantly in jeopardy of losing our personal freedoms for the sake of some bureaucrat or some conservatives' ideal of what is good and right, what are we to do?

Leave the kids alone. Just like they left us alone. And how they left our parents alone. Once we start to cross that line, to infringe on a freedom as basic as what we're allowed to wear, the only place we have to go is to that place that, as Americans, we've railed against our whole lives.

-30-

C Is for Cookie

2008-02-14T12:54:00.003-06:00

Waiting on my pages today, I find myself on one of my favorite sites, Neatorama, and discover one of my favorite childhood characters, Cookie Monster. And he's being interviewed on NPR.

Cookie Monster "In Character" Make sure you watch the video interview!

I don't know what it is about that Muppet, but he still makes me laugh. I recall so many wonderful days laughing my ass off in front of the televsion when I was a kid. Something about him still manages to tickle my inner child. I loved being a kid.

If you ever watched Sesame Street, you know what I'm talking about. As I read the posting, this made me smile:

"It was later, on a Muppet game show, that the cookie-fixated creature we know emerged, Oz says. The winning contestant was offered the chance to choose a prize: a vacation, a new house, $10,000 cash, or a cookie. He chose the cookie — and the Cookie Monster was born.

"As opposed to many of us who need many things to try and make us happy, he only needs one thing, and that's a cookie," Oz says. "That is his one obsession, and he's insatiable."

Mmmm, cookie.

-30-

Face/Off

2008-01-03T12:45:00.000-06:00

No, this won't be a blog about John Woo's 1997 adventure flick starring John Travolta and Nick Cage.

It's going to be about the events of the last few days in 2007.

I was running late for work last Sunday. When I drove up to the office, I was looking for a parking space nearest the employee entrance. Figured it would save some time. I found a space across the street from the building, nearest the press. Its just a skip and a jump to the entrance. No money in the meters on Sundays! Woo Hoo!

Later that night I returned to find that some had smashed out my passenger's side window and RIPPED out the dashboard portion of my truck to relieve me of my car stereo.

The newspaper office, it seems, borders on a rough side of town. A side of town that is conveniently near an area where homeless people and naredowells typically tend to hang out. And as it happens, there's also a bit of a rough neighborhood on the other side of I-37, which also runs near our office. Given that information, we tend to experience a lot of break-ins year round.

I'd never been broken into. I've only heard it happen to dozens of people around the building. The circumstances steaming from the fact that we don't really have a single, monitored company lot. We're forced to park in these pay lots that are scattered all over the place. Only on weekends to do have the availability of parking in a single lot which is monitored by the company security officers. They do a good job and are always around to lend a hand, but their reach only extends so far.

I had parked next to a building, where at night, it gets a little dark. And I should have known better. I've been nervous about parking ANYWHERE other than the company lot on weekends, Hell, any day. But given that I was running late, I figured I'd keep the car close. Apparently, it wasn't close enough.

The thieves bashed out the passenger's side window, spilling glass all over the front seat and the foot well. They tried to use part of a Philips head screw driver (just the shaft, sans the handle) to unscrew the plate that covers the radio and also houses the air conditioner controls, the cigarette lighter and the air vents. When it proved to be too much work, they just jammed the screwdriver into the first available opening and RIPPED OUT the covering to access the stereo. Chunks of it remain, along with the screws they could have easily removed to access it. Having done that they CAREFULLY removed my stereo, making sure to keep all the necessary wires in tact.

I'm only speculating, mind you, since all I found upon inspection was the ripped out dash, the partial screw driver and the mounds of glass. Here's a photo of what I found.

The aftermath.

Our security personnel were as helpful as they could be given that it didn't happen on company property. They even took pictures for me so I could have for insurance purposes. The police showed up and took my report too. They told me I could call the CSI's to come and dust for finger prints, but that it would take about 2 hours or so for them to arrive. Probably shorthanded, I imagine. And really, what kind of manpower are they going to employ for a stolen car stereo?

I should mention one thing that's going to make me look like a fucking idiot. My car stereo was the kind that has one of those removable face plates that render the stereo useless when not attached. Did I remove it that night? No. Had I previously? Yes. Have I been eating paint chips and did they cause me to have a momentary lapse of reason for me to have left it on? Its possible. Of the hundred or so times that I've parked in different areas near the building, I always knew I was taking a risk by not removing it. And given the randomness of the act, I guess I also got a little complacent, thinking it might never happen to me. But it did.

I also knew that by not parking in the company lot, which is available to regular employees ONLY on weekends, I would be at greater risk of having something like this happen to me.

And being that this is I Rant Therefore I Rave, I shall now up the rant.

I shouldn't have to say it, but I'm pissed. Really pissed. For a couple of reasons.

For starters, I'm a little strapped for cash right now. So there's absolutely no way that I'm going to spend the over $200 it's going to take to have someone come out and replace it. More like over $300. I don't want to have to put the trash bag over the door and duct tape it. I'm just not going to. Not just because it's ghetto, but because I won't be able to see out of it and it's going to make that incessant flapping noise when I drive. So I'll just layer on the jackets, put on the gloves and go about my business. Until it rains. Christ.

What really gets my goat is the police presence down here is just a fucking joke. How so, do you ask? Well, let's try this. Several weeks back, I'm coming to work and I park at a meter. It was 10 minutes till 6 pm, the cut off for all meters downtown. After 6 pm, parking is free. My guess is that there are these roving bands of meter maids who have nothing better to do than to hand out citations for something as petty as 10 MINUTES. By the time I remembered that I hadn't put money in the meter, I returned to my car to find A CITATION had been neatly placed under my windshield wiper. Yet as soon as 6 pm rolls around, the police presence grinds to a nearly silent halt. I say nearly silent because if it weren't for the fact that we're about two blocks from the Alamo, we probably wouldn't see them at all. And they guard the Alamo like someone was going to run off with it.

That being said, if they guard that fucking landmark so freaking well, couldn't they send a little help our way to curb the constant rash of break-ins? And if they're going to be as tyrannical about parking meters, shouldn't that reflect itself in making sure that the people who PAY TAXES into law enforcement and city affairs get some justice when some idiots like the ones who have broken into our cars do so?

I'm not counting on ever seeing my stereo again and, frankly, on anyone ever being caught for that same crime. In fact, I'd be surprised if anything is done to curb the break-ins. Just this morning I saw another pile of broken glass in the pay parking lot I stashed the car in. There are piles of glass all over the place, in and around the areas by the office.

I think I have to take my case to a higher authority. Maybe the publisher of the paper or some city official. Someone has to do something.

-30-

A new year

2008-01-03T12:39:00.000-06:00

Well, here we are in 2008. Wow. 2008. Two more years and we'll be in Arthur C. Clarke's 2010: The Year We Make Contact, sans all the advanced technology and communication with an extra terrestrial intelligence.

Still, I think 2008 is going to be a great year. I can feel it in my bones. Now, don't get me wrong. Its going to be filled with plenty of challenges and, sometimes, strife. What makes a difference is how you deal with it all. I spent a lot of time last year not dealing with challenges in the right manner. I'm getting to old to continually dodge shit. I can be a kid at heart and an adult in mind, right?

I hope 2008 is ready for me.

-30-

Always the same load of crap...Always

2007-12-13T11:59:00.000-06:00

So I stopped at WalMart last night to pick up some cereal, milk and toilet paper. Its always a gamble going in after 11 pm. They never have enough lanes open and you end up standing in line for 20 or 30 minutes.

I didn't bother looking around to see if that was the case when I walked in. I just went and got my items and then made my way to the register. And of course, there would be three lanes open, all with gobs and gobs of people in them, each of them with a dozen or so items.

The lane where you can buy cigarettes is usually for people with 10 items or less, so I went over and stood in line.

Immediately, I noticed something. I noticed the half dozen or so workers huddled together in front of the Customer Service center, which is closed after 9 pm, I think. They just stood there, talking and pointing at shit. Enter: Exhibit A.

Standing around.

Now, you'll notice that there's a guy leaning on a shopping cart. This guy works there. A few minutes later, as the lines persist, that same group suddenly starts to move. I'm not sure if it was the fact that I was taking pictures or if they just decided to move so's not to attract too much attention. Regardless, they scattered like roaches when the lights come on.

Now I'd have just let it rest there, but then the morons did something dumber. The opened another register. But it wasn't for the customers. It was for the guy leaning on the cart. Apparently, he had some movies or video games he wanted to buy. They didn't even turn on the lane light so's not to attract too much attention. But I was still snapping way. Enter: Exhibit B.

Open lane and being watched.

By now, they clearly noticed I was taking pictures. If you look at the two women on the left, they're looking right at me. The register on the right, 14, is being used to ring up employees. No sooner did I snap the picture than one of the two women watching me walk over to register 14, say something to the cashier and then come over to the lane I was in and asked:

"Are you buying tabacco?" she asked.
"No." several of us reply.
"Then you can check out here." she said pointing to register 14.

Like I said, I have no idea if it was the fact that I was taking pictures or what, but come on! You have a line of people who have four items at best and we all gotta be standing around for 20 minutes to get our 4 items? Shit...

-30-

Holidays

2007-12-12T21:21:00.000-06:00

I don't know if it's the past experiences I've had with the holidays or if it's because my life is in flux right now that I'm feeling a little bitter towards the holidays.

I was listening to some Christmas music on the way to the office when I pulled up to a bearded, homeless man with a sign asking for money. "Anything helps." I felt bad for him. Normally, after looking at someone like that, I'd just look away and go about my business. But for a split second, I felt sorry that it was cold and that he was homeless.

I drive up to the house and look around my neighborhood to find that a lot of the houses have actually put up lights this year. I keep meaning to and wonder if its even worth doing now.

Its just such a weird time for me that this time of year is getting on my nerves again, like it did way back when.

I'm feeling a bit like Scrooge right now. I can't explain it. Just figured I'd write about it.

-30-

Foreign Trade

2007-12-03T13:38:00.000-06:00

When I lived in Fort Smith, Arkansas, one of my go-to food choices was always Chinese. There was a big Asian community and lots of different styles of Chinese food to pick from.

On several occasions, I noticed that there were an awful lot of Mexicans working in Chinese buffets all over town. I pointed this out to my friends and we'd laugh because sometimes you would find Asians working in Mexican restaurants, although not always in the kitchen.

I often thought, man, what a cultural exchange program they got going.

Then I saw this story on one of my favorite websites:

'Chinese' tequila worries Mexico

Chinese tequila? Holy crap.

-30-

So This Is Christmas, Part II

2007-11-27T16:14:00.000-06:00

After what I assumed would be an easier task, I finally found a web site that would allow me to store the Christmas album. Click here:

Some Christmas, Somewhere

If I get enough emails or people bug me enough, I might just post the set list on this blog.

I'm still working on the cover to the album, but I wanted to get the posting up as soon as I could.

I also plan to upload another Christmas compilation in a couple of days. I just need to go through all my downloaded music. This one will be a little more traditional.

If there are any problems downloading the file, please let me know and I will do my best to fix it.

Merry Christmas!

So This Is Christmas, Part 1

2007-11-25T23:23:00.000-06:00

Okay, for all of you who received the email about the new Christmas album... I'm sorry. I had a lot to do this weekend and then I had problems uploading it to the site I had originally picked out.

I'll be working on this tomorrow, so please check back soon. I promise it will be waiting.

Thanks.

-30-

Altered States

2007-11-10T02:41:00.001-06:00

So, I'm watching TV and one of those commercials from abovetheinfluence.com. This teenage girl walks into the kitchen to get something to eat when suddenly she hears someone call her name.

It turns out to be her dog, who then proceeds to sit on the counter and tell her that he doesn't like it when she smokes pot. "I miss my friend." he says.

What the fuck was she smoking that the fucking dog was talking? A talking dog. Get me some of that.

-30-

Open Letter to whoever had my cell number last

2007-10-23T00:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Kelly,

Why the fuck did you give out my number? Whether it was your number before means nothing to me. Especially now that I receive your phone calls.

“Kelly?” they ask.
“You have the wrong number.” I say.
“Is Kelly there?”

Kelly, are you just lazy? Or are all your friends a bunch of fucking morons? I mean, really. They call the number time and time again. Sometimes two times in a row and are still surprised by the result.

Are your friends stupid, Kelly?

I get calls from bill collectors. From friends. Well, I can only assume they are bill collectors or friends. I don’t stop to take a message, but maybe I should. Maybe I should start to take a message and start compiling a file on who the fuck you are. And then maybe I can find you, kick your ass and tell you to tell all your idiot friends to change the number they keep calling. It’s mine now, Kelly.

I know it’s hard to let go. But come on. I’ve received your calls now for nearly two years and your idiot acquaintances are still calling.

“Is Kelly there?”
“Kelly?”
“Hey, it’s me...uh, is this Kelly?”

GFY, Kelly. GFY.

-30-

Long Pause

2007-10-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

Man, I sure do wait long to post. I'm trying to get myself into a better habit of blogging. Not much sense in having a blog if I can't keep up with it.

As a writer, I try to get myself to write something everyday. Lately, it seems I haven't even touched a keyboard or a notebook. Before I ventured into blog land, I would write my posts as emails and send them out to a select few. Now that I have the potential for a bigger audience, albeit a faceless one, I don't do much. I'm slacking. I'm such a procrastinator. Sadly, it affects all part of my life.

A writer should write. Everyday. Anything he/she can. About anything. Anywhere.

I'll get my ass in gear.

-30-

Kanye West: I want some whine!!!!!!

2007-09-13T13:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, I promise that this will be the last post about Kanye West. I don't want to give this ignorant, worthless, piece of shit any more attention than he deserves, but apparently there was footage of his meltdown at the VMA's on Sunday.

And now, here, for your enjoyment, is the screaming and bitching of Baby West.

Enjoy...as much as you can enjoy an adult behaving like a fucking child.

-30-

Some cheese with your whine, Mr. West?

2007-09-11T18:27:00.000-05:00

Is it any surprise that people don't bother to buy music anymore?

Last Sunday's MTV Video Music Awards are proof positive that most awards in Hollywood mean shit and are worth probably less than a paper weight.

Of particular not is Mr. Kanye West. West, who was nominated in five categories, did not win a single award. This prompted West to throw a tantrum backstage.

"That's two years in a row, man ... give a black man a chance," he said as he left. "I'm trying hard man, I have the ... No. 1 record, man."

But his list of complaints had only begun.

He also ripped MTV a new one over the fact that he didn't get to perform his latest single, "Stronger," from his latest album, 'Graduation,' on the main stage. In an Associated Press story, he said:

He [West] said it was a blow to the ego when Justin Timberlake, who also hosted a suite party, ended up "on the big stage" to give the closing performance with Timbaland and Nelly Furtado. "Those are the big things, and you know what I do man, I really made the song 'Stronger,' you know, for stadiums," he said.

I want my MTV award!

West also whinned about how the VMA's treated the poor and bewildered Britney Spears. During an interview with Z100, an NYC radio station, West said, "They exploited Britney in helping to end her career. When Britney was opening, near the end, I felt so bad for her. I said: 'Man, it's a dirty game. This game will chew you up and spit you out.'"

Yes, poor Britney. She's gone batshit and that mean ole MTV took full advantage of her. That dumb will take any attention she can get. Hello? Wasn't this the same idiot who was photographed several times without panties AND saving her head bald? Nevermind the other dozen idiotic things she's done in the past.

Is a fucking MTV award more important to this clown than people listening to his record and liking it? Cause, if I'm not mistaken, I thought that's why people who can make music make it. This cements what I've always though: many actors and musicians don't work for the love, they work for the accolade. Its about the money, not the respect. Its about awards, not a love for your craft.

I'm sure that the fact that he had an album coming out yesterday didn't have anything to do with his little tantrum. I guess any publicity is good publicity. Isn't that what they say?

-30-

Would You Like TV With That?

2007-09-09T19:46:00.000-05:00

A week or so ago, Aaron and I went to meet Tonya for lunch near her job. We decided we'd go to one of our old standards, a Chinese buffet on Dezavala and Vance Jackson. I can't remember the name of it, despite the 20 or so visits we've made. Its next to the Fox & The Hound Pub & Grill. I'd remember the bar...

Anyhow, so we sit down to eat when I start to hear something. It's not like crowd ambiance. It sounds like a radio. But I can hear the overhead, Chinese music playing. It wasn't that. It was something else.

I turn around and behind us, to my left, there's a couple with a portable DVD player watching a show or a movie while they eat.

Who the fuck does that?

I'll admit, my wife and I both plop ourselves in front of the tube to eat most nights. It probably isn't a great thing to do, but we do it nevertheless. But who takes the idiot box with them, TO A RESTAURANT, and flips it on so they can watch a movie and eat?

Hey, if you're chowin' down on a plate of Buffalo wings at a sports bar while enjoying the Appalachian State/Michigan game, go for it. That's what sports bars are made for. If you're at Applebee's and you glance up to catch the Spurs playing the Cavs in the NBA Finals and you order a nice steak with a side of garlic mashed potatoes, by all means, enjoy. But if there's no TV at the restaurant you're in, are you gonna haul in your own? Do you lack that much self control that you can't wait to get home or to your hotel or your double wide to catch the latest episode of the Jeff Foxworthy show or Cops?

Git Er Done!

Should I mention that the guy who was watching TV was wearing a NASCAR T-shirt and Wolverine workboots. Yes, I'm saying he was a redneck.

I was aghast. Shocked. I've seen some silly shit in my day, but a fucking DVD player in a buffet? If you can't wait to see a prerecorded show which you own and must watch TV while you consume food with your loved ones, then....ugh. Its just mind blowing.

If you click on the photo, you'll be able to see that I've blurred their faces. Not because I'm afraid they will see the photo and want to sue, but because it won't matter that you know their faces. You'll know it's them if you see them at a restaurant by the color of their DVD player.

Maybe I'm not hip on the new trends, but I don't EVER recall seeing anyone at any restaurant which did not have a TV, with a portable one.

My faith in humanity once again falls.

-30-

A Really Good Bloggers

2007-09-09T17:16:00.000-05:00

So, the wife and I are driving home from getting some ice cream Saturday when we drive up to a stop light and I notice this van to our immediately right.

The van is white with a sticker on the back door and the side panel. The sticker has a fox in a tuxedo and the words, "Red Fox Cleaners".

I immediately do my bad and very limited imitation of Red Foxx and Tonya laughs. Then she notices the tag line underneath the name.

TONYA: 'A Really Good Cleaners'. Is that even right?
ME: It actually says that?
TONYA: Look at it.

So I look at the van and sure enough, that's what it says. I'm still not sure it's right. I probably is and it's just one of those things that while correct, still sounds strange.

I know, as a writer, I should have the sense to know if that's grammatically correct. I'm going to have to look it up. For now, here's the picture that I took of the van just before we turned down Bristlecone on the way home.

Lamont, ya big dummy, clean that up.

TONYA: You're gonna blog about this, aren't you?
ME: Oh, yeah.

Okay, wrong or right, how is that even a good tag for the company? What if GM just tagged themselves, "A Really Good Car"? Or Burger King just said, "A Really Good Burger"? People are going to think, "These guys are nutty." As we drove by, there were two obviously Mexican guys in the cab. As I looked at them, one of them raised his foot at dash-level and then the other one guy followed. They were comparing their shoes, I think. Just weird.

Well, I'm going to see if that tag is grammatically correct, but if you can tell me if this is right or not, please chime in. I'm so dumb.

-30-

Signs of Life

2007-09-07T19:56:00.000-05:00

I ain't dead or anything, just being lazy.

More ranting and raving to come, so please stay tuned.

-30-

Our Graduate

2007-06-12T11:37:00.000-05:00

I'm very late in posting these photos, but here's my son, Aaron at his graduation. He looked really sharp and he had a great time.

I've got a much longer post about it all, but for the moment, here's some shots of Aaron and one of me with Tonya.

Behind the curtain.
With his classmates.
Proud parents

-30-

Welcome To Planet Earth

2007-06-08T22:27:00.000-05:00

Paris Hilton dressed to the nines and went to the MTV Movie Awards, smiling and laughing, even after host Sarah Silverman ripped her a new one. She strutted her stuff on the red carpet and when it was all said and done, she arrived to serve her time in her black, strapless evening gown.

Later that morning, Paris went home. I'm sure you've all read about it. A law enforcement official who is said to be friendly to celebrities in plight, sprung her. According to IMDB.com: "Los Angeles Sheriff Lee Baca insists the decision was made on medical grounds, but critics believe she was granted preferential treatment."

It was argued by the sheriff and Paris' attorneys that she could easily complete the 26-day sentence in the comfort of her own home. Here's a bit from a story on People Magazine's website: "She was not released, she was reassigned," Los Angeles County Sheriff's Dept. spokesperson Steve Whitmore said at a press conference Thursday. In a statement released to TMZ.com by Hilton's lawyer, the heiress said Thursday: "I want to thank the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department and staff of the Century Regional Detention Center for treating me fairly and professionally.

She waltzed out of the MTV Movie Awards and into custody knowing she wouldn't serve a day in jail. But that dream was quickly dashed as Judge Michael T. Sauer ordered her back to court and promptly had her thrown right back in jail.

Back when she thought she was going to skate by at home, with her expensive toys, her cell phone and all her creature comforts, she said, "I am going to serve the remaining 40 days of my sentence (at home). I have learned a great deal from this ordeal and hope that others have learned from my mistakes."

I bet she has.

Listen, if any one of us violated our parole for a drunk driving arrest, the law would be on our ass and they'd have us up the fucking flag pole before we knew it. Not one of us would be allowed to serve our sentence at home unless we could prove we had some serious medical condition that would prevent us from doing 30 days in the county lock up.

I take some delight that this broad has to do time. And if you ask me, more of these wealthy, care-free socialites should be ordered to do the same. I doubt the heirs to large fortunes, such as Hilton, will ever know the real world. They don't live on the same planet as we do.

Paris, don't do the crime, if you can't pay off all the right people. Have fun in the can.

-30-

Updates

2007-06-07T08:59:00.000-05:00

Well, let's see here. A few things have happened since my last post.

Aaron, our oldest, graduated from high school. He attended graduation last Saturday. We thought it would be cool, even though he probably has no idea what the event means. I'm sure he got something out of it. He was excited and looked great in his cap and gown. Pictures to come.

I've started a new film, but you can read about that on the other blog, if you wish.

I feel good about most everything else. Except my job. I can't tell if I'm going through a blue period with work or if I'm losing my zest for it. I told Tonya about it the other day. I think maybe I'm getting impatient about the film stuff.

I have to have surgery next week. Ugh. Minor procedure; nothing complicated. The only thing I can say about that is that it will keep me home for about a week. Tonya suggested I use the time to catch up on all my writing. I think that's a good plan. I'm looking forward to the time off, but I know I won't be singing the same tune when the time comes. Pain meds, do your stuff.

My in-laws were suppose to come down this week, but my father-in-law had to see the doctor and he advised him not to travel. My wife was really looking forward to seeing her folks. I get to see mine pretty frequently. She hasn't seen her family since we moved down here. Not her Mom & Dad. She's visited her sister in Kansas, but that's not quite the same.

As for family, I've started to grow homesick again and it's been about four years since my last visit to Mexico. I think I'm due. It would be great to take Tonya and the boys to meet my family in SLP. I just don't think we could afford it right now.

My brother moves to town next week, during my incapacitation. I'm sure he won't be thrilled to hear I won't be able to help him lug his furniture into his new pad. But then I'm sure he'll have his motley crew around to help him.

I can't think of anything else that needs updating, but I'm sure I've missed something. For now, I'm off.

-30-

Couldn't Have Said It Better

2007-05-24T16:39:00.000-05:00

Keith Olbermann delivers a great Special Comment.

Enjoy

-30-

Via: VideoSift

Fresh Meat For The Meat Grinder

2007-05-24T02:02:00.000-05:00

My youngest son has a big fascination with anything boxing related right now. The Ultimate Fighting Championship. Boxing. He and his friends even play this game called Ten Seconds, where they punch the crap out of each other for fun. I'm not entirely clear on the rules, but I do know it involves getting hit on the arm. I remember a similar game when I was in junior high. Sometimes, it escalated to a full on fight, as Terrance tells me it does when they play.

He has a friend who has boxing gloves and he tells me these stories about how they like to smack each other around and challenge other kids in the neighborhood. He says he even has a friend who trains for UFC type fights (although that story is not confirmed).

I've noticed he's attracted to the raw violence of it. The thrill of slugging it out with someone else. No technique or strategy; just throwing punches and seeing what hits. He often comments on why the boxers on TV just don't start swinging. I've tried to impress upon him how they call it "The Sweet Science" and how there's some strategy to it and a certain level of psychology. Its not just about how hard you hit, but where and how you can do the most damage- physically and mentally. He's asked me if I think he could become a boxer and I believe he can. Not the sport I'd like him to take up, but he'd do well at it.

Just the other day he told me that he'd done some boxing at school. Surprised, I asked how he got involved in that and he told me that the Army recruiters had come by and set up a ring. They divide them up into age and weight classes and award T-shirts and other prizes for the winners. He says that they also have contests on who can do the most calisthenics. When he was done telling me about it, I frowned and grit my teeth.

I asked him when this all took place. He said that they set up during lunch and that their gear is elaborate. Its not always the Army, he said. Sometimes its the Marines. From what I gathered, they use the ROTC group to find their way into the school. Anyone who wants to play their "games" can come in and participate, though. Not just ROTC kids.

The Marines send him a steady stream of propaganda. He never sees it as my wife and I have decided not to give it to him yet. He's having a tough enough time right now dealing with his school work and a part time job. He's recently expressed interest in continuing his love of cross country in college and then maybe joining the millitary. I like that he's talking more about going to college. No reason to derail that plan with millitary bullshit.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not against the military. I fully support the troops, but not the Iraqi war. Truman was right about the industrial, military complex. Sadly, it has grown beyond our control. And, talking to my youngest son, it's after everything it can get. Including our youth. Fresh meat for the meat grinder.

The military PR department is relentless. With so many of our boys being sent to Iraq and so many of them dying, they need to replenish the ranks. And what better way to do it than by appealing to a young man's sense of honor and duty. Of God and country. "Freedom isn't free" the stickers say. No, its not. I believe that it comes at a steep price. But I believe that the way we evaluate that price has changed.

It upsets me that the military is brainwashing our kids. They are not satisfied with the TV ads, the theatre ads and the magazine ads. Our schools are now becoming their fishing holes. A place to find the lost and misguided to give them "direction" and "purpose". They almost convinced Terrance to sign up early, to get a head start, before he even graduated from high school. Tonya and I squashed that idea before it took root.

There would be those that say, "Well, where are we suppose to get bodies to put in uniform?" "Who's gonna defend our country?" "Who will fight for freedom?" I hear ya. But lets put it into perspective. Lets stop to think who and what we're really servicing here. The United States has seen itself to be, for the lack of a better word, the "World Police." We rush into places were we find "unchecked aggression" and slap the natives around. And before we leave, we put up a base and tell em we're gonna watch over them. Its our job, I've heard it said.

So, we've crowned ourselves world watchdogs. That makes it okay to go into schools and spew this rhetoric on kids who are confused enough by their own feelings and thoughts that we have to push on them this crap about what their duty is? Its their duty to live their lives the best way possible. Its their duty to be the best individuals they can be. Not to strap on a helmet, ride a Hummer and leave their future smeared across some patch of sand somewhere on the other side of the world.

My son has expressed interest in the military. I can tell him that I'd rather he didn't, but ultimately, it's his choice. And I guess this is what I'm fighting for here. Choice. Because when you fill a child's mind with these obligations that don't belong to them, you take that choice away. To honor and protect his family, that's an obligation. As it is my obligation to honor and protect him. Its his obligation to find out what he wants out of his life and his obligation to chase that dream down. If it's the military, so be it, but he has to be given the room to make that choice on his own. Not guilted or tricked into making it. My parents gave me that choice and I want my son to have the same choice.

So many kids at his age have no direction or ambition. Their parents don't hold much sway in their lives and, for the most part, don't even care. They turn over their responsibilities to teachers, the television. At his age, I was just as confused, if not more so, by the miriad of choices and decisions I had to make about myself and about my life.

The military could be good for Terrance. Structure. Disipline. Order. As an adult, I wish, sometimes, that I had gone military, at least for a few years. But looking back on it, I'm glad I didn't. But that was my path to walk.

President Bush and his cronies would have us believe that we're chasing down terrorists. But we all know that story. He would tell you that its our duty to be in Iraq and to fight this war. This is not a war. Not like WWII was a war. We are not fighting Nazis. bin Laden isn't Hitler. Shit, he isn't even an Iraqi. This romanticized view of honor, God and country are out the door. This is a "war" of ideologies. The people we're fighting against- or for, depending on your point of view -are steeped in violence. This was has more to do with oil than with blood. And I'm expected to accept, nay, offer my son up to the alter of sacrifice because it's his duty? What happens if I don't believe in the cause?

I'm really angry about this. I'm pissed off that the Army or Marines or whatever branch of the fucking military are coming into the schools and cherry picking these kids for military service. And don't tell me they don't look for the most confused or easily led. Because that's half their enlistment base. The ones who don't feel like they have a future and buy into a dream that's later nothing more than a nightmare.

Am I wrong for wanting more than a rifle in my son's hand? Am I wrong for hoping that he'll find himself and his future in college instead of on patrol in some desert on the other side of the world? But I guess, ultimately, it will be his choice. I hope I can give him enough information to make the best one.

Until then, keep your minions out of the schools, Bush. I think you've done enough.

-30-

"Good Morning, Mongrels!!"

2007-05-24T00:19:00.000-05:00

No, I wasn't calling anyone a mongrel. I was just watching Donnie Darko earlier. I had forgotten that great scene where Patrick Swayze goes to do a seminar at the high school and greets everyone with a big, robust, "Good morning, Mongrels!!!" The Mongrel, as it happens, is the school mascot. I laughed out loud at the theatre when I saw it.

Anyhow, the entire purpose of this post was not to ramble on about some damn line in a movie. I have another blog for that.

My eyes happened to wander to the index of the blog and I noticed that I had started in May of 2005. And crazy enough, my first blog was on May 23, 2005. It's been two years. Wow.

So, the Arrogant Bastard gargoyle greets you, beer in hand, hoping that if you read this with any regularity, you'll be around for a couple more years. I know I will!

Salud, dinero y amor!!

-30-

This Rules!

2007-05-23T17:25:00.001-05:00

I got my name in lights with notcelebrity.co.uk

Last Five, May 20, 2007

2007-05-20T01:06:00.000-05:00

My iPod helps me put together ideas for scripts. I sometimes want to take an approach, like say, Steven Soderbergh in "Out of Sight" or "The Limey", or to try and blend them into the background like say, Martin Scorsese in "Mean Streets" or "Goodfellas".

But I think most songs fit into some soundtrack. About anyone. In any place. Here's some inspiration for today.

5. Like A Star - Corinne Bailey Rae
4. ...Dust - Elvis Costello
3. Bad Girl - The Detroit Cobras
2. The Drinking Song - Moxy Früvous
1. Desire - U2

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Mother

2007-05-13T20:10:00.000-05:00

When I made more frequent trips to Mexico to visit my family, I remember my grandmother telling me about what my mom was like when I was little. About how I could cough and she would freak out and rush me to the doctor. My grandmother says that out of all her children, mom's maternal instincts where the sharpest.

But that's just one of the things that makes my mother the greatest.

She is, for example, an accomplished seamstress. For a long time, I remember her making all sorts of clothes. She made me two costumes, from scratch, for two parties. The Batman costume was awesome. It was tailored after the Adam West incarnation of Batman. The cowl was incredible. Tailored to my fat, round little head. With the tiny ears and the drawn in eye brows.

The Superman suit she made me years later- I posted a picture of it several weeks back -was also a sight to behold. The "S" was perfect. The cape was awesome. And I even had a pair of red boots to go with the whole outfit.

I have her to thank for taking me to the movies all those times back home in San Luis Potosi. When we lived in Nuevo Laredo, it was just she and I. We were waiting to get our permanent resident status so we could join my dad. Even then she managed to get me to the movies.

My mom was an accomplished runner for many years. She's got a bunch of trophies to prove it.

She has given me encouragement and believed in everything I did. No matter how hair-brained the scheme of mine was, she would find a way to help me make it happen.

My mom came from a big, traditional Mexican family. She is one of four women in a family of nine. My grandmother, another incredible woman, raised her nine kids alone after my grandfather died. The majority of my mother's siblings are teachers. My mom became a cosmetologist. There are pictures of my mom doing people's hair when I was still residing in her belly. Throughout the years, my mother has built a steady and loyal customer base. She's worked in several salons, but her dream has always been to work for herself. And she has. She has many of my drawings hung up in her one chair salon.

She baked me cakes for my birthdays and mended my clothes when I ripped them. Traditional staples of a mindful mother. And though it all, no matter how bad things got, I never saw her falter. I never saw her fail at anything. Everything that woman set her mind to do, she did.

I can't imagine what my life would have been like without my mom. Without her love, her devotion and her endless support. She's never asked for more than our love and a phone call from time to time.

So I dedicate this blog to my mother. Without whom I would not be here today. Obviously.

I've included a picture of my mom with my grandmother at my grandma's house in Mexico.

I love you mom!!!

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Just Breathe

2007-05-03T11:34:00.000-05:00

I've been in a weird place for the last few years. My confidence levels have been erratic, at best, and I honestly haven't felt much like my old, confident self.

Making movies helps in that respect. Its a world where I feel I have the most control. Despite scheduling conflicts, weather woes or technical difficulties, I still feel the most in control.

For those that know me, I can be quite...animated, when I'm fired up. My wife call it "dramatic". I think its me being a Mexican.

But at work, its different. At least at my current job. I've been quiet. Very quiet. The quietest I've ever been. Office politics are a strange beast and in my new work environment, they don't lend themselves well to some of my thinking. I have a big mouth and its likely to get me in trouble.

There are people here who speak their mind. To a point. They'll say what needs to be said and be bold. To a point. I think most have the same feeling about it that I do. You can't be too vocal or someone will get their feelings hurt.

Wait, I work in a newspaper. I'm a journalist. Journalists get their feelings hurt? What the fuck is that about? When did this fucking business start getting a bruised ego?

I've held my tongue a lot since I've started to work at my current job. I've held back a lot. Its tested my level of patience and of will. I don't think anyone is ready to hear what I really have to say. So I'm trying to figure out a way to do it without pissing too many people off. Or hurting feelings. Ugh.

The prevailing ethic around my job is to complain about you indirectly. Or complain about you to anyone else but you. If there's anything that just pisses me right the fuck off is that. If you have a fucking problem with me, just tell me. How does that help me? And wouldn't you rather hear it from the source. My supervisor for the section I work for two days a week informed me that several people have been "concerned" about how I handle the pages I design. Who? Who the fuck are these people and why didn't they express their concerns to me?

Biting tongue. I'm biting my tongue. I need to find a constructive, nice way to handle this. My response, right now, is to growl and bite. That's my warning.

Patience really is a virtue.

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Last Five

2007-04-22T23:24:00.000-05:00

Here's my last five for April 22, 2007

1. Knucklehead - Grover Washington
2. Ride The Lightning - Metallica
3. Intergalactic - Beastie Boys
4. Not For You - Pearl Jam
5. Firestarter - Jimmy Eat World

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Misfit

2007-04-22T17:04:00.000-05:00

When I first started junior high- thinking about how long ago that was -I tried to be a loner. I didn't hang out with anyone or tried out for anything. I was content to find my way through it all on my own. But along the way, I made a few very close friends, I found that I wanted to write and started acting. It was all a far cry from what I had originally intended.

I wasn't a popular kid, high school or junior high. I think I was known or at least recognized. High school for me was generally good, but I was quite lost, even after it was over. Still, I wasn't a loner. Never at one point did I figure that there were forces around me conspiring to make me look bad or to harm me. I was a bit of a non-conformist, yes, but I knew I had friends.

I wasn't the kind of guy girls just swooned after. I had a girlfriend in junior high how I broke up with after we reached high school. I had a couple of girlfriends after her. My senior year being the defining moment for me. And despite how bad with the women I was, I never thought that they were evil or that I would never find love.

So I get to looking at the media coverage about Virginia Tech and I can't identify...
Alright, let me be perfectly clear on one point before I continue. My heart goes out to the families of the 33 people who were needlessly gunned down last Monday. That being said, I'd like to continue.

There was so much coverage and now there's nothing but speculation. I don't want to see it anymore. I don't want them to analyse it anymore. People are grieving and 33 people are dead. Let the subject rest. But it got me thinking about people who have cross my life line that may have once felt like Seung-Hui Cho, the gunman who left his mark on the lives of those who were left to pick up the wreckage at Virginia Tech. Of course, I can't really say, with any degree of accuracy, who they were and when they came into and out of my life.

At some point in our lives, we are all misfits. Misunderstood by society, our families or friends... the world. Then there are those we just shut out. The ones we don't include. The ones we laugh at. The fat kid in gym class, I heard someone talking about around the office the other day. The one who gets picked last, if at all.

When I was in college, there was this skinny kid with glasses who liked to draw cartoons. He always came around the office right around the time that articles and ads were due. Tuesday or Wednesday, I think were those days. He wore a ball cap and had glasses and was rail-thin. A real scrawny kid. He would come into the den of wolves that was our newsroom and proceed to try and talk to one or all of us. None of us ever really gave him the time of day. With each visit he would leave us with a cartoon strip he drew, asking if we could run it in the paper. Someone would always take his cartoon and tell him we would look at it and see if we had room to run it.

After he'd leave, we would all take turns looking at the cartoon and reading it. The humor never came across, at least not to us. There were about four panels and the recurring characters were crudely drawn and badly outlined. There was no color and they were sometimes delivered on a piece of college-ruled paper. I can't, for the life of me, remember his name. But he was somewhat forgettable.

He delivered his cartoon to us each week. Sometimes he'd miss a week and we'd see him again the next. And each week we'd give him the same line. I felt bad sometimes, taking his cartoon, shoving it under a pile of papers and sometimes forgetting all about it. Then I'd find it there days later and we'd all cringe at the absurdities he'd drawn or question the humor or just shake our heads in confusion.

I always wondered why he never just came to work on the paper. The staff could be a bunch of real ball breakers, but at the end of the day, they were all great people to be around.

I can't remember why it was I wasn't there when he finally decided to chip in and help out one night to put the paper together. My advisor told me later that the night he helped out, he had an epileptic seizure and hit his head on a table on the way to the floor. No one was sure how to stabilize him, but they were able to get a pencil in his mouth to keep him from swallowing his tongue. We never saw him again. Probably didn't want to show back up there, afraid we would make fun of him or maybe just embarrassed. I can understand both those feelings.

It was weeks and weeks later that we were cleaning up the office as we did each semester when I found a notebook on a table near the darkroom. It was the scrawny kid's notebook. And it had some cartoons. The same cartoons he'd been submitting for publication week after week. Each of them made little sense and were never really funny. I flipped through the pages of the notebook when suddenly I found a letter he'd written. It was addressed to the staff of our paper. And it was darker than anything I thought he was capable of. He was angry. Very angry. Angry we never published his cartoons. That we never spoke to him or befriended him. That we were mean and that one day he would be a famous cartoonist despite our attempts to keep his work out of our paper. It was a one page letter. We all read it. I think I kept it for a while. I don't know what became of it and what ever became of him.

Sometimes it can feel like no one in the world understands you, much less, likes you. I'm not a stranger to those feelings. But there's a fine line that a person must cross to decide to arm themselves and take the lives of people who never caused him any harm. I think that's what happened at Virginia Tech. 32 people suffered the rage of a man who could not come to grips with his anger towards the world and ultimately, towards himself. Because if there's no love of self, there's no love for anything. Those people paid the price for his lack of faith in humanity. For his lack of love. For his lack of self.

Analysts can break it down anyway they want. They can read between the lines of his videos and letters and interpret his photos however they see fit. It won't change what's happened. And why let the loved ones left behind relive the day on continuous loop for the sake of ratings? Don't claim to inform me. Don't claim to protect me. Let the victim's families, friends and loved ones grieve. Please.

"Let us not live in timidity and ignorance. And in dying, we can say, we were dedicated to the most noble cause of all: the liberation of the human mind and spirit, beginning always with our own." - Maya Angelou.

I don't know why I felt compelled to tell the story of that shy kid from college. Maybe because I felt guilty. I don't know that he would have ever been pushed to that point. But then it doesn't take much for some people. And no matter how safe schools make thing sometimes, it won't change how one person decides to deal with the pressures of life. There is no predictability factor there.

To the families and friends of those who were lost at Virginia Tech: I hope the pain subsides one day.

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I Believe I Can Fly

2007-04-11T13:10:00.000-05:00

Recently, Christopher Reeve's costume from "Superman: The Movie" sold at auction for $115,000. If I was single, I would have sold my house to buy it. And, not that it would fit me, but I'd wear it at least once.

-30-

Last Five, April 10, 2007

2007-04-11T12:35:00.000-05:00

iPods rule. Here's the Last Five for today.

1. Too Tough To Die - The Ramones
2. Run - Snow Patrol
3. It's Yours - Wu-Tang Clan
4. Stone Free - Eric Clapaton
5. Finish What Ya Started - Van Halen

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A New Look

2007-04-10T01:09:00.000-05:00

I thought it would be good to give the blog a new look. I dig it.

More to come.

-30-

Easter Means Chocolate Idols

2007-04-08T19:22:00.001-05:00

Let me begin by pointing out what many of people who are close to me know about me. I am hardly a religious person. Spiritual, yes. Religious, no.

When people ask what faith I belong to, I usually reply, "Catholic by default."

That being said, when people ask me, "What are you doing for Easter?" I'm usually stumped by the question. My parents never took me to Easter egg hunts. We never really went to services that Sunday. Sometimes my mother would drag me along to an early, Spanish mass at Christ The King. I remember those days because there was a priest from South Africa, Father Bernie, who would sometimes do that service. His accent didn't always lend itself to the Spanish language.

Anyhow, back to the rant, already in progress.

My son, Terrance, and I had gone to see the absolutly awful "Hills Have Eyes 2" when he suggested we go to the Dollar Store and roam around a bit before we had to go home. Like most stores, Dollar Store had their massive collection of Easter paraphanailia. From plastic eggs to chocolate bunnies. But as we made our way through the holiday isles, I saw something that caught my eye.

They were made of chocolate, the praying hands. You know the ones I mean. You sometimes get the little prayer card with them at church or you see them adorning the rear window of some God-fearing person's Chevy Tahoe or Ford Explorer. Or maybe even tatood on some part of the body. Two hands, presumably of Jesus, I think. Outstretched, held together with a little bit of the sleeves showing.

Why not a chocolate Jesus? Or a chocolate crucifix? Christ on a chocolate chip cookie? Oreos with holy filling? Purified, bottled, holy water you can drink while working out? Come on, chocolate praying hands? Gimme a fucking break.

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A Thousand Hits

2007-02-20T14:24:00.000-06:00

I just noticed that there have been over a thousand hits on my blog.

I can only hope that it's being enjoyed.

Hit on, brave cyber readers, hit on!

And thanks.

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The Older I Get

2007-02-15T18:28:00.000-06:00

Earlier today, I was at McDonald's getting some fries when I took a minute to prefold my parking money.

You know how those things are. If you don't pay for a monthly pass, you gotta slide your money into those coin-width slots on that metallic parking lot piggy bank. I'm OCD on some things. I always check the number on my space at least three times before I go to the appropriate slot on the bingo board. And to be sure the attendant or the security guard knows I paid, I leave the little, flat push bar thing that helps you shove your money all the way in stuck in the slot of my space.

Anyhow, back to McDonald's. I waited at the counter for them to bring up a new batch of fries. I carefully folded my money into a half. Then I folded that half. And then I folded the 3rd half. As I did this, an older guy- white beard, white hair, wearing a hat -laughed.

OLD GUY: You're as nit-picky as me.

He laughed again and I stopped folding my dollar bill.

ME: I wonder what that says about me.
OLD GUY: Nothing. You're just a young nit-picky.

For a few months, nay, years, I've been feeling the persistence of time. Each year just affirms what I've been trying to avoid. The long shadows are setting in and one day, in 10 or 15 years, I'll be avoiding all those things I've often found myself running headlong into.

Take booze for example. Fred, my long standing drinking buddy, and I have noticed that a six pack doesn't sit as well with us as it use to. We've always been the kind to pace ourselves. Speed drinking is for rookies and people who enjoy the taste of puke. And while I never condone mixing, I often like to sneak a martini or a tequila shot with a bunch of beer. A couple of girls at a bar in Arkansas I use to drink at tried go gig me one night with two Irish car bombs, a cement mixer, some shot that tasted like branches off a Christmas tree and some cinnamon schnapps. I'd already had a few shots of tequila and I was drinking beer the whole time. I woke up that morning feeling like a million bucks. And that was just a few years ago.

Not now. I mix and I pay the next morning.

I find myself telling Terrance, my youngest, things like "When I was your age..." What the Hell is that? I'm turning into my Dad. I see those kids with the baggy pants or the emo haircuts and I'm suddenly Abe Vigoda: "You crazy kids need to keep it down over there! Young whipper snappers." I've started dispensing that mumbling criticism of things I can't understand. "I don't know where they get that mumble mumble mumble mumble..." All I need is a cane to shake defiantly in the air when I'm being a crotchety bastard.

The irony of it is that I still like some of the music that's coming out these days. I don't care for the fashion; I've never been that kind of guy. The stuff I wear now is the stuff I wore as a younger guy. I like some TV shows they spin these days and I'm into some of the films they produce.

And I'm not old. I'm fucking 35. I'm still old enough to know, but young enough to ignore and claim total ignorance. Or maybe I'm not and I have to face that facts that if I don't start to act like a real grown up, I may continue to feel this way.

What's worse is when I think about that last statement, does that mean that I've become one of those guys I hate that refuses to get with his responsibilities and thinks that if you're not a rebel by 18 you've got no heart, but if you've not sold out to the man by 30 you've got no brains?

I always thought of myself as a child, in some respects. A child in the way that I always want to learn and invent and explore and create. A child, at heart, they say. But what's that line from 1 Corinthians 13:11...

"When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things."

My body is getting older. I am a married man with to teenage sons. I have a mortgage. I have bills. I have a job. I am not a child. I know this. But sometimes I feel like that's a sensibility that has always kept me thinking from a fresher stand point. But I think it's also a sensibility that spurs selfishness.

I looked at that old man today and I felt insulted. I'm not old. I'm not old. But in the morning, when my knees make that popping sound as I climb out of bed and I've got a hangover from the EIGHT BEERS that I had the night before, I have to wonder.

I stare at the toys on my desk. The pictures of my wife and my kids. I wonder, what's in store for me next?

-30-

Correct Me If I'm Wrong...

2007-02-04T21:26:00.000-06:00

It was a sinus infection, not a chest infection, that ended up preventing Aaron's surgery. A chest infection would have been more serious. Tonya alerted me that I put down the wrong kind of infection on my last entry. Just wanted to clarify it for everyone.

-30-

Disappointed

2007-02-04T12:06:00.000-06:00

We got up early Friday morning and made our way to Santa Rosa Hospital for Aaron's long awaited surgery.

Shriner's Hospital has turned us down some time back. They didn't have the critical care staff needed to care for Aaron after the surgery. Long story short, we were very disappointed. Tonya is still mad at the doctors there. They just didn't listen to her.

We got to Santa Rosa early and waited almost an hour before we were called. Before long they had Aaron in a gown and were walking us up to meet with the surgeon and the anesthesiologist.

They were prepping him for the IV when the anesthesiologist stopped the nurse.

They were all worried that with Aaron's most recent chest infection, it would open the door to a possible infection to the hardware that would be installed into his leg. It wasn't anything we'd thought of at all.

Tonya was upset. Nearly at the brink of tears. We had been fighting to get this surgery going for some time now. We spend a year getting ready for it with Shriner's just for them to turn us down the day of surgery. Tonya did her best and kept her composure. In the end, she understood the reasons, but couldn't help but still be disappointed. I was just as upset, but also understood the reasons for the delay.

In the end, they rescheduled for the beginning of March. Days before Aaron's 18th birthday.

Oh, that's something else we didn't see. The last time that the surgery was rescheduled, Aaron was relieved. He never really showed signs of being disappointed. He spoke about it sometimes, but never really revealed any feelings other than looking forward to getting it over with. This time, he was mad. He spent the morning being worried and when we told him we were going home, he was confused. On the ride back to the house, we watched him sit in the backseat with a scowl on his face. Tonya began talking to him and it became obvious that he wasn't scared. He was pissed off. He's had to endure so much hype about the surgery only for it to be stopped twice. I'm not sure how he'll take it once it comes time to try again in a month.

The doctors suggested we finish his antibiotic treatment and get Aaron rechecked and cleared by the surgeon before his scheduled date.

Thanks to all of you who sent us positive thoughts and for all who donated your time and money to Aaron.

-30-

Uninvited

2006-11-15T13:42:00.000-06:00

The wife and I decided to take the boys to Fire Mountain Grill the other day. It was the day of Terrance's 5K, which he did fantastic in, btw.

The boys were off getting their plates refilled while Tonya and I were eating our meals. Off to my left was a waitress busily placing wrapped silverware on empty tables. She was talking to another waitress. The exchange went something like this.

WAITRESS 1: The exterminator was hear, so I don't think we're gonna have a problem.
WAITRESS 2: Oh, the exterminator was here?
WAITRESS 1: Yeah and I ain't seen any all day. But they're still around, I think.

Okay, what the fuck? Whatever it was the exterminator didn't get can't be fucking good. Especially in a restaurant.

Look it's no secret, I'm not real fond of buffets. Not with all the ones I went to in Arkansas. Watching those inbred, hillbillies ingest large portions of mashed potatoes while smoking their Doral Lights. Ugh.

But I go to them. Most times, the food ain't bad. In fact, more often than not, it's pretty good. And the price is fair too.

That, however, doesn't always apply to Fire Mountain. This place has been a thorn in my side for some time.

As we sat there and continued to eat despitethe "exterminator" fiasco. A woman behind us made some comment about roaches. My wife and I both looked up at each other.

Me: Did I just hear what I think I heard?
Tonya: Yes.
Me: You hear it too?
Tonya: Yes, I did.
Me: Damn it, it wasn't just me.

We're not going back to that place for a long, long time.

-30-

The Last Five: Nov. 2, 2006 4:41pm

2006-11-02T16:52:00.000-06:00

I'm going to start something here. If I'm near a computer and I've got the stereo, iTunes or iPod going, I'm going to list the last five things I listened to at any given point in time. Here's the first offering:

1. Lord Raise Me Up - Matisyahu (Live at Stubb's)
2. Sweet Child of Mine - Guns n Roses (Appetite for Destruction)
3. Poor Fractured Atlas - Elvis Costello & The Attractions (All This Useless Beauty)
4. Not Listening - Papa Roach (Getting Away With Murder)
5. Heaven - Simply Red (Picture Book)

What are you listening to?

-30-

The Differences Between Us

2006-10-22T17:24:00.000-05:00

Last night, my wife and I were watching television when a commercial came on. It was for a children's toy that was part chalk board, part speak and say. A neat contraption. I muttered to Tonya that they never had anything like that when I was a kid.

After that commercial ended, another quickly rolled through.

Wife: That was cool.
Me: That's what I said.
Wife: What are you talking about?
Me: What do you mean?
Wife: I don't think we're talking about the same thing.

Rather than continue with the conversation verbatim, let me break it down. The basics about men and women can be easily explained like this.

When I watch a commercial, I watch the commercial for what it advertises or what it says. When my wife watches a commercial and the spokes woman is wearing a particular kind of dress or a blouse, that's what my wife is watching.

I can't think of how many times we're watching the same thing and I comment on what's ON the screen and she's commenting about what's IN the screen.

I wonder what that says about our differences.

-30-

9/11

2006-09-11T09:35:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that I tend to lean towards a sort of cynicism that would directly indicate I hate people in general, sometimes that's just not the case. A lot of times, I have such hope and love for people. The soul of an idealist still lingers somewhere inside my brain.

That day in September five years ago might have had something to do with that feeling coming up in me again. The way we all came together as Americans, as New Yorkers, to pick ourselves up and to heal our wounds. There are some wounds that will never heal.

I just wanted to post a message, for myself, for anyone who will listen, in hopes that we all start to heal a little bit more.

Their plan failed. We're not running from them; we're running at them.

Peace, love & understanding....

-30-

Meeting Bruce Campbell

2006-09-09T01:39:00.000-05:00

I've got a bunch of heroes. Martin Scorsese. John Frankenheimer. Shane Black. But there are heroes that don't always resonate with the public. Like Bruce Campbell. He is "Ash" from the "Evil Dead" trilogy.

Recently, my brother text messaged me with great excitement. Most text messages are generally ambiguous, but when it comes to my brother, I can tell. Especially when it comes to something like meeting Bruce Campbell.

So, my brother texts me and tells me, "I'm going to meet Bruce Campbell." I'm in Texas; he's in Buffalo. I'm just as excited as he is.

A few days later, he calls me and tells me all about the book signing and his long conversation with Bruce. I say long because my kid brother, my blood, got me three different books, all autographed by Bruce. And during this time of signing, he had a very cool conversation with him.

I'm not gonna go into the whole thing here, but I will say this. During the conversation, Bruce shared something with him which he prefaced with, "Here's some trivia.."

Apparently, Bruce was persuaded to write his first book, "If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor" by the "PC Guy" from the current Apple advertisements. The "PC Guy" is named John Hodgman and according to Bruce, was the reason for his first novel. Hodgman is a published author (Areas of My Expertise) and a contributor to both the New York Times Magazine and the Daily Show w/John Stewart. How's that for interesting. My brother also mentioned that he worked for Apple. Bruce followed that up with a comment about how he knew all these movie makers, since he was in the "business", and he was the only "idiot" still using a PC.

From the entire conversation, Bruce Campbell sounded just like I'd always hoped he'd be like. What's more, this was his first book signing tour and he still managed to take pictures and sign things that weren't his book. He is and will continue to be one of my heroes and inspirations.

-30-

Plush Toy Holocaust

2006-09-06T12:15:00.000-05:00

I take the freeway to work most days. Unless there's lots of time to kill and then I take the scenic route.

Most of the ride to downtown is relatively uneventful. But yesterday's ride was cute, yet gruesome.

As I finalize my approach into downtown, I ease over to the lane that leads to my exit. As I did that, I found there were dozens of plush toy carcasses all along the shoulder of the freeway. Dozens of 'em. Well, some of them were just parts of bears or monkeys or clowns. Others lay face down in pools of rain water. They were spread out over 30 or 40 feet.

I'm going to get a picture of it tomorrow. It's too odd to fully describe and too strange not to have a picture of it.

There's an orphanage somewhere with a bunch of crying kids.

-30-

Suri Cruise: Tom's Pride & Joy

2006-09-01T01:25:00.000-05:00

Suri Cruise is a very special child. This picture obtained by very special, confidential sources is obvious proof. How dare anyone say Cruise was lying about having a child? Just look at this face. How could anyone make something like this up? Obviously, everyone else is lying.

At least, that's what the baby's casting agents tell everyone. Casting for Cruise's Baby must be taking forever.

I look at this photo and I'm afraid. Very afraid.

-30-

This blog is...

2006-08-16T14:19:00.000-05:00

Classified. Or about classifieds. I love 'em. Not the vehicle ones or the homes for sale or the job ones, but the ones that post things for sale. And the pets.

The paper here has a classification called, 'bargain basement'. I love to browse that every day. I don't know what it is about that. I mean, lots of times, I don't have a need for 'Bucket Seats for Pinto of Bobcat,' but I like to read about them. I don't have a need for 'Reptile Habitat clean and secure w/lamp, new heat pad, 20 gal long,' but it's neat that it's out there.

I don't know what it is about the 'bargain basement'. Someone owned these things and love them for a time and has now decided to part with them. Or maybe they didn't love them. Maybe they didn't even want them. Who knows.

I could use a 'Coke 2 door glass cooler,' but I can't afford it.

-30-

Wonders of the world

2006-08-10T13:44:00.000-05:00

Examining some of the many features of my new toy, er, I mean, cellphone, I decided to see if it came with any games. I was then reminded of my wife's dismay:

Tonya: Man, this sucks.
Me: What?
Tonya: This doesn't have very good sounds. It doesn't even have any games.

Despite the fact that our original's phone's shelf life was about six minutes, it was still a good phone. Color screen, backlit numbers and relatively decent volume. Our new phones are fucking cool.

They've got a speakerphone, a camera, they came with a headset and car charger AND it's a flip phone. I've always wanted a flip phone. The only thing with these phones is that the service providers want you to buy ringtones and wallpapers and games. So they don't put anything cool on them as default.

The first day we got ourselves one ringtone to help personalize it. The phones also came with these fancy, mock-leather cases that you can clip to your pocket or belt. She put her's on her phone to help differentiate it from mine.

For the next few days we were taking pictures and sending them and trying new text messages and sound and all sorts of stuff.

Anyhow, back to my original rant. I decided to browse through the games available for purchase. I just wanted to see what kind of stuff this phone could do.

They had the obligatory games, like Tetris, but then they had stuff like Tiger Woods PGA Golf, The Sims 2, 2006 FIFA World Cup and even a Family Guy game. On a cellphone.

Anyhow, I browsed around until I ran into one that caught my eye. Call of Duty 2. Now, I played Call of Duty on the PlayStation 2. It was freakin' hard. There's all kind of period weaponry, different ways to attack and a very accurate story line. All in all, it was a great game that I'm sure took a long time to create, let alone play. Here's what the cellphone game boasts:

"Application Description:
Experience the true intensity and tension of war in the most realistic World War II game ever seen on a cellphone."

On a cellphone. Ugh.

-30-

You play the hand you're dealt

2006-08-08T13:59:00.000-05:00

I didn't bring my lunch to work yesterday, so I took a walk to the Rivercenter mall and their expansive food court.

A burger just didn't sound very appealing, but I didn't have much money. I had relegated myself to getting a Hunger Buster from Dairy Queen, when suddenly I spotted a Schlotzsky's sandwich shop. I looked through the menu and counted all the money in my pocket. I'd be able to squeeze out a sandwich and a drink.

So, I ordered my food and when I got my drink, it had this scratch and win thingy stuck to the side of the glass. I pulled it off and stuck it in my pocket. I didn't figure I'd win anything anyway.

I made the long trek back to the paper, my nearly bald head baking in the hot sun. There were puddles of tourists all over the streets. You can tell the out-of-towners by the sun beaten squint and way their mouths hang open in a sort of "I just had a lobotomy" kinda way.

Anyhow, I got back to work and sat down to eat. Toward the end of my meal, I remembered the scratch-off thingy in my pocket and grabbed a coin.

The game is like a hand of poker. You rub out the top layer to reveal your hand, then the dealer's and then you can see what prize you win. I like to do it all in that order.

So I scratch off my hand. I had to look at it closely because the letters are so small, but I had four queens. Four queens. That has to be a good thing. Then I scratched off the dealer's hand. A full house; 3's over Jacks.

I had to think for a moment whether four queens beat a full house, but I was reassured by a coworker that they did.

At that point, I was fully satisfied I'd won big. I mean, four of a kind is a hard hand to get on one deal. Let alone on some randomized scratch-off game. So I scratched out the prize and what did I find:

"75 cents off your next pizza purchase."

Never has a four of a kind felt like a losing hand.

-30-

When It Rains...

2006-07-30T22:05:00.000-05:00

Tonya and I loaded up our two boys and hit the open road for Houston a few days ago. Our trip had several levels.

On one level, we were on our way to admit Aaron, our oldest, for surgery at the Shriner's Hospital. The Shriners' organization perform medical procedures free of charge to qualifying families. Tonya has taken Aaron there since he was a wee little knipper. Most recently, we took him there for a procedure to remove some metal hardware from his hip. The following surgery would then correct the alignment of his left leg (which turns inward due to his cerebral palsy). To make a long story short, he was scheduled for surgery on the 27th.

Part two of our trip consisted of taking Terrance, our youngest, to the airport for his summer visit to Arkansas. It also marked a first for Terrance- his first plane ride -a fact that we were reminded of for several weeks, nearly every two to three hours.

Tonya quit her job in preparations for the three weeks she and Aaron would stay for rest and rehabilitation. During that time, I had prepared to work overtime and edit my film. Terrance would arrive in the middle of the month just in time for school.

Our plans had been firmly set in stone.

Part I: Pressure
Tonya has been dreading this surgery for Aaron. The procedure is scheduled to take 3 hours and is wrought with a bit of peril for Aaron. Since he has the use of only one lung (and not a complete lung at that) anything that requires anesthesia is dangerous. He must be kept under constant supervision by physicians who understand his condition and the pitfalls that it creates. It seems unless there's a "Doctor" in front of your name, most physicians won't really listen to anything you have to say regarding the condition of YOUR OWN CHILD. Nevermind the fact that she's gone to school for respiratory therapy. Nevermind that she's made it a point to ask the questions and understand the answers to all of the things that happen to Aaron. Her statements in regards to his condition have been met with some hostility and have fallen on deaf ears. Needless to say, there's been a lot of pressure building in our home.

Terrance is like any normal teenager. Filled with angst. Plagued with deafness. And afflicted with an attention span of a squirrel on speed. But when his mind locks in on something he really wants, he ain't afraid to let you hear about it. I don't know how many questions I've answered about air travel. And how many times I've heard how great his grandma's cooking is and how he listens to her better than us because she's nicer. While I've had her cooking and agree that it is very good, I don't think she'd be anywhere near as nice if she had to live with our son. His grandmother, Donna, went above and beyond and bought Terrance a ticket on Southwest, to and from. She didn't want to have me driving to Houston and then to Sherman to meet her and her husband, BJ. That was an awesome thing to do.

With Tonya having quit her job, our concerns were raised further with my job. As a temporary employee, I wasn't sure if I had any sick days or if any of the days I had to be absent for Aaron's surgery were covered. This would put a strain on us, financially, if the days weren't paid. We didn't really think of that until the time crept up on us to travel to Houston.

At the end, there's my film. I actually did what I set out to do: I finished on time and on schedule. Well, almost. I fucked up the internal mailbox scene twice. And I'd forgotten to record Luis' narration for THE ENTIRE FUCKING FILM. I had to find a way to get done what I had to do before I left. Luis would be gone before I returned and if that happened, the film would be incomplete. I also promised Tonya that I wouldn't talk about the film while we were en route and in Houston. That would be a tall order.

Did I mention that our cell phones were cut off a day before we left for Houston? I didn't mention that, did I? Yes. They were cut off. Tonya and I share a plan with my mother and father on T-Mobile. Apparently, a month or so ago, someone in Dallas opened an account with all of my father's information and then ran up a huge bill. My father has since been in a struggle to obtain information from T-Mobile, who has essentially washed their hands of the entire episode and the incredibly rude collection agency, which has also been less than forthcoming with information on this bogus account.

PART II: On The Road Again
Tonya figured it would be a great idea if we left early Wednesday morning, the 26th. This was good for several reasons. Most importantly, the heat is incredibly bad for Aaron. Secondarily, it would keep all of us cooler to drive in the dark. We also planned to stop for breakfast just before Houston at this place the Shriners' drivers take Tonya and Aaron each time they go to Houston. We left a little later than we planned, 3am, but we were on the road and making good time. Until the rain started. We tried to keep the windows down a little, since the windshield was getting foggy from all the body heat and breathing. Fortunately, the rain wasn't hard and it wasn't constant. Unfortunately, neither was my energy level. I was twice as tired after our breakfast stop and was becoming quite irritable. My condition and the weather, didn't improve much when we finally made it to Houston. Traffic on I-10 West was crawling. There were six or so wrecks on all the highways and byways leading into Houston. I had just enough juice to get us to the hospital.

Upon admittance, Aaron has to go through a few tests (blood, urine, etc) before he can be green lit for surgery. Just as these tests were to begin, the anesthesiologist came and the discussion about Aaron's pulmonary condition began. Tonya tried to explain to them what they would later find out, but there was no doing. They postponed the surgery and scheduled Aaron with a pulmonologist for exams. Knowing we don't currently have insurance, they footed the bill for all of that. And for a hotel for two nights. And for a few meals.

Tonya was angry and rightfully so. Still, we let them do their song and dance, trying to figure our between ourselves how we'd handle the next surgery date. With my job not being secure, we agreed she'd have to come up with Aaron, alone. That's a prospect I didn't want her to have to contend with, but Terrance would also be returning about the same time and his school would then begin.

Somewhere along the way, Tonya strained a muscle on her back. She hobbled around, from place to place in real pain. I had to buy her some back pain meds to help her sleep, but the concrete block beds at the La Quinta didn't help it at all. She was horribly unhappy. It was a chore for her to even get in and out of the car.

We waited for Friday to come so that we could put Terrance on his flight and make our way home.

Part III: People Suck
The ride back would be a trying one. After sending Terrance on his way, we had to make the journey back home. So far, we'd adjusted for all the changes and all the things that had gone wrong. We knew it would be hot and we knew it would be trying as Hell for Aaron. We made our way out of town, hitting a bit of traffic, but feeling confident that once we left Houston our troubles were over.

We stopped a few times and took restroom breaks and got cold water and snacks. After a couple of 20oz Lipton Green Tea's, I had to stop a few more times than I cared to. It was a stop in Weimar, Texas, that broke the camel's back for this trip.

I had to stop and go to the bathroom. Tonya figured it would be good for all of us to do so and get something else to drink. We pulled into a small, non-descript Shell station. After we did our business, we noticed that the store boasted a lot of Pick 5 and scratch-off winners. Tonya thought maybe we'd try our luck and get a scratch off ticket. We won nothing. On the way out, I grabbed another ticket and another tea and got in the car. I took off my Docs and wore my flip flops for the rest of the ride home. After getting in the car and starting towards the highway, we began to hear a very distinctive sound. I knew the sound very well.

Tonya: What's that noise?
Me: A flat. That sounds like a flat.
Tonya: I think you're right.

When we pulled over, I got out to inspect the tire. What I found was nothing more than the most infuriating thing in the world.

If you have children reading over your shoulder, you should have them go to their rooms at this point.

I looked down to see the rear, driver's side tire flat. I thought maybe I'd picked up nail or a piece of glass, but those assumptions quickly left me as I noticed the SIX PUNCTURE MARKS that went around the tire. Six. Some lousy, piece of shit, mother fucking, son of a bitch slashed my tire. Some sorry fuck neck took the time to punch large holes into my tire, not once, not twice, but SIX FUCKING TIMES. And for what? What good would that kind of vandalism do? It's not like spray painting a wall or setting a building on fire or stealing money. All those things might be considered a statement. No, this sorry fuckhead decided that his statement for the day would be to slash MY FUCKING TIRE. His act of rebelliousness would be to ruin an otherwise good tire. To ruin someone else's property. For what? FOR WHAT?!?!?

I was coming undone. And the situation felt as though it got worse. I really didn't, but at that point, a fly could have pushed me over the edge. As I tried to change the tire, the heavy traffic flew by and shook me and the car. Tonya played lookout while I started the process. Some people would move over to the far lane. Other people would try, but traffic would prevent them from doing so. Still others didn't give a shit and would just ride that line and zoom past me and my wife. No one bothered to stop nor did the police or highway patrol pay us a visit. All these things further reinforced what I've always felt about the majority of people: they are no good.

After some struggle with the tire, I managed to get the donut on and we drove into the next gas station to make sure it was properly inflated. We then spent the next couple of hours driving around 50MPH all the way home.

Epilogue: Be It Ever So Humble
Tonya and I were never so glad to see our house. Not to mention our bed. I saw a couple of other people with tire troubles, but there was just no way for me to stop and help them. I thought about it. In the back of my mind, I'd hope that someone had thought about me as they drove by, knowing that might bring some solace to my plight.

We were so happy to be home after such a trying few days. Now we await for Shriner's to let us know if and when Aaron will have his surgery. We've got bills to pay and things we need to do and it just seems like they've asked us to place everything on hold. While I know their service is so valuable to us and that they do such a noble thing by offering it free of charge, I feel like it comes with a few strings. Strings that we must deal with and smile.

In the end, all that's important is that Aaron have the best quality of life possible. With the surgery or without.

And despite how bad the trip was, I was with my wife and my kids. I can't ask for a better gift than that.

-30-

Ronald McDonald Must Die

2006-07-21T18:17:00.000-05:00

We had day 6 of shooting on my film, "A Matter of Time", today and we went right down to the wire. I had hardly any time to get myself ready for work or to grab something to eat.

I took my son, Terrance, to the store to pick up some pizzas for he and his brother. While there, I figured I'd grab a coupe of those little, double cheeseburgers that McDonalds has on their Dollar Menu.

First, let me just say that I've seen Super Size Me. And I've sort of, kind of, felt the after effects of too much Mickey-D's. Lately, I've been using these little burgers as a substitute for a real meal. They're cheap, they have two paties of what appears to be meat and they can be eaten on the go.

I left my son at the Wal Mart near the house with money to pay for the pizzas, stopped and got those greasy little burgers and made my way. I always get two with no pickles and no onions. They always compensate by adding far too much ketchup. Not to mention that they're greasy as all Hell. They'd slide right out of your hand if it wasn't for the McWrapper. And the fact that the processed McCheese is stuck to the McWrapper.

As I got in my truck and drove away, the smell from the burgers started to make me sick. I mean, I became physically ill. I felt like I might toss my cookies right there in the truck. Just typing this out I have to drink some water and resist the urge to hurl.

But I need to eat something, I thought. My wife gets after me when I don't eat and I get those hunger headaches. I unwrapped a burger, rearranged the McWrapper so I could eat the greasy morsel and took a big bite. I took three before I had to put the thing away. I was going to get on the freeway. I didn't want this to be what the cops told my wife:

Police: Ma'am. I have bad news.
Tonya: (shaken) What's wrong?
Police: Your husband was involved in a collision on the 410. He's dead.
Tonya: (Crying) NO!!!
Police: Ma'am it gets worse.
Tonya: (still crying) How could this be worse?!?!?!?
Police: When we were able to peel him from the steering wheel, he had two McDonalds' 99 cent hamburgers squished against his face. I think it was suicide.

I could feel my arteries hardening as I chewed. In fact, I could feel the grease running through my veins.

When I arrived at the company parking lot and got out of my truck, I figured I needed to finish what I started. I took the bitten burger out, fired it down with great remorse and uttered to myself, "This is the last double cheeseburger I'm going to have." As I passed an alley, I saw a bum sitting the warm shade of a building. I called out to him.

Me: Hey, bub, you want this?
Bum: What is it?

Now, this immediately drew my ire, so I thought, 'Oh, you really deserve this now.'

Me: Food.
The bum thought about it. Bum: Okay.

He just sat there. And since this directly conflicts with how I feel about some homeless people, I launched it at him. It fell near him and he reached out and took it.

Bum: Thanks.

When I got to my desk, I quickly chugged down the remainder of my "sparkling water beverage" which was "mandarin orange" flavored in hopes of washing out what remained of the grease bomb.

If we kill Roland McDonald, could anyone really prosecute us?

-30-

The Big Picture

2006-07-03T13:13:00.000-05:00

I lifted this straight from IMBD.com. I think it's from Reuters Wire Service.

Poll Shows Moviegoers Are Big DVD Buyers
A poll of moviegoers indicates that 83 percent of those who see ten or more movies per year in theaters also "frequently" or "sometimes" buy the DVD of many of the same movies, the New York Times reported today (Monday). The study, conducted by Nielsen Entertainment, concluded that seeing movies in the theater and at home "are not mutually exclusive occurrences" and appears to boost arguments by theater owners that they would be harmed significantly if movies were released in theaters and on DVD simultaneously. Thirty-six percent said they would skip the multiplex if that were to occur.

Hey, I have an idea! STOP CHARGING TO FUCKING MUCH FOR POPCORN AND DRINKS AND MAYBE PEOPLE WON'T WANT TO STAY HOME AND WATCH A FUCKING MOVIE!

What the fuck? These theatre owners are getting their panties in a bunch because if people are given an option of dropping $20-$25 on a brand spankin' new movie or dropping $80 for the same movie they only get to see once and then have to buy all the marked up concession stand crap, people will most likely take the $20-route. Does that logic fail to register?

Listen, I'll be the first to say, I love the movies. I loved them when I was a kid and they were $1.25 for a brand new release. I even loved them when they were $3.75. And loved them when they went up to $6. But at $8 a pop, I have to shell out nearly $40 to take my family to the movies. Then there's the food. A bucket of popcorn is almost $5. Drinks start at $3.25. And there's the overpriced candy. Let's do some math:

Aaron: soda ($3.25/sm), candy ($4/split with Terrance)
Terrance: soda ($3.25/sm)
Tonya: soda ($4/lg)
Me: soda ($4/lg)
Family: popcorn ($4/w/refills)

With tickets and tax added, I'll drop nearly $60 on a night at the movies. SIXTY FUCKING DOLLARS. I'm not saying my family isn't worth the expense. I love them. If I could afford to drop that much at a time, I would do it with a big fat grin. But the key here is AFFORD TO DO IT.

While nothing compares with the feeling of watching something like "Superman Returns" on the big screen, if the prices continue to go up and I'm given the option to buy the movie (which I most likely will anyway), I'll grab the DVD and run.

I know why I go to the movies. It's not the same reason most people go. I go because I'm a film buff. There's nothing that compares quite like watching "Army of Darkness" or "Apocalypse Now" on the big screen. Or some sweeping epic. A western. "Die Hard" was awesome on the big screen. I should know. I saw it 12 times. 8 of those times I paid full price ($3.75).

And you can't always wait for the print to head to Cinemark's Dollar Theatres. There's nothing worse than sitting in those crappy seats, your shoes stick to the floor and the print is worn and wonky. Not to mention the fact that people who go to the Dollar Movies go and pretend that it's THEIR LIVING ROOM. They kick their feet up on the seats, talk on their cell phones and cut up with their friends. Just shitty.

With the advent of better special effects, bigger budgets and two-studio pictures, I've seen the prices of tickets rise by 50 cents every couple of years. And the concessions go up three fold. Before long, you'll have to take out a loan to go to the movies.

It's all a game of numbers. Is Tom Hanks worth $20 mil a film? No, I don't believe so. If less money changes his desire to act better, then he needs to find a different career. Because last I remember, he said that he loved acting because "he got to pretend to be different people." He never said he loved getting bags full of money. Everything a studio does, from working their people till all ends of the night to paying an actor, AN ACTOR, millions of dollars translates to higher ticket prices.

When I was a kid, my Dad would take the family to the movies pretty often. I doubt that they go to the movies at all now. But back then, we were guaranteed to see a new release movie, $1.25 for the late show, then we'd go have pizza. It was only at the movies that I got to have some pop. Dad discouraged soda at home. I'd get my own and a bag of popcorn. I remember the feeling of the theatres then. I got excited when the lights went down and the trailers started. To this day, I hate being late the movies because I love the trailers so.

I'll never stop loving movies. Never. But if I'm given a choice as to where I want to enjoy the movie, I'll pick at home with my wife and my kids any day. Theatres don't have a pause button.

-30-

"You Will Believe A Man Can Fly"

2006-06-28T08:38:00.000-05:00

Everything comes full circle.

I busted my ass jumping off the side of my house with a towel wrapped around my neck pretending to be Superman when I was a kid. My mother made me the ABSOLUTE COOLEST COSTUME EVER. I dare anyone to beat my mother's costume. She hand made me a Superman costume. From scratch. She even bought me these crazy boots that she later hot glued or adhered red fabric to so that I'd have real boots. My mom fucking ROCKS. She had done it once before when I wanted to be Batman, but that's fodder for another post.

Last night, after nearly 20 years, Superman finally returns to the big screen in Brian Singer's aptly name "Superman Returns."

I've written about this before, but maybe not on the blog. I remember the first Superman poster like it was yesterday. The blue and red streaks shooting through the clouds. And the tag line, "You will believe a man can fly." Say what you will about that movie, but look at the powerhouse cast you had. Marlon Brando playing Superman's father. The great Gene Hackman as Superman's enemy. The then unknown Chris Reeve as Superman. Directed by Richard Donner. Story and script by Mario Puzo. I left there believing I was Superman. The feeling hasn't yet subsided.

I'll be honest with you. I'm scared. And I'm not even an uber geek when it comes to Superman. I never really kept up with the comic books. But when it came to my favorite superhero, hands down, it was always Superman. He died and came back, for Christ's sake!

I've got a bunch of Superman action figures. I try to look for new ones all the time to add to my collection. I try to buy two at a time, so I can take one out of the packaging.

I have yet to purchase the original Superman poster, though. I've been looking around for a print that's close to the original date and that I can afford. Although a reprint would be just as good.

I said at the beginning that everything comes full circle. Superman represents a lot of things to me. He's not just my favorite superhero. Not just one of the first movies that I really remember making an impact in my life. He's a major reason in my wanting to write and direct films. Miles Davis talks about the fire that drove his life. It was in St. Louis and the year was 1944. He'd heard that Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, among others, were going to be playing a small club around the way. He loved listening to Diz and would often play along with records and memorize solos.
He grabbed his horn and went to the venue. While he was there, a man approached him and asked him if he had his union card. He told the man he did and the man told him they needed another horn; their trumpet player had gotten sick. Miles said that at that time, he had been just chewing on everything that Dizzy ever did. He didn't recognize the man who asked him to join the band until they got up on stage and Diz began to play. He then realized who that man was.
He went on, about the Jazz heavy hitters on that stage that night. He said Bird (Charlie Parker) just mesmerized the group. He said they all took turns playing solos, one after another. He said that night he played the best music that he's ever played in his life. Ever. Everything he did after that, he said, was just an attempt to recapture that moment in '44. He chased those notes till the day he died.

I think that you could interpret that several ways. What I chose to read from it is something positive. This torch I carry for film was sparked when I saw a guy in blue and red tights fly across the screen. It wasn't the man, the myth or the legend that got me. It was what he represented: everyone has some super power inside. So we don't have x-ray vision or super strength. Maybe our gifts are intelligence, wisdom or talent. I know that's what make my wife super. She's understanding, sexy, loving and supportive.

I don't know when my gift was planted, but I know what helped it grow. And some 20 years after it sparked my dream, I'm finally going to do what it's asked me to do for more than 10 years. On July 7th, I begin shooting what will be my new film, "A Matter of Time." Even the title seems fitting. This project will test everything I've learned. There have been lots of starts and stops in this journey. Lots of pitfalls. This time, there's only blue sky.

"They are a good people Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. It is for this reason above all, their capacity for good, that I've sent them you, my only son."

You will believe a man can fly.

-30-

How Ironic

2006-06-22T14:49:00.000-05:00

As I was leaving work a day or so ago, I cut through the loading docks adjacent to the Express-News press. The area I mention is sandwiched between the main offices and the press area.

Walking through there shaves a minute or two from my walk to the truck on most days.

Anyhow, as I was making my way out of the dock area, I happened to glance down to find the classifieds from the paper I got canned from, Rumbo. A truck had just left the docks and ran over it. Greasy, black tire treads were stamped across the tabloid pages.

How fortunate that I should be there to see that. Irony at it's finest.

-30-

Brother Ben

2006-06-08T00:04:00.000-05:00

My first couple of weeks in Arkansas were pretty shitty. I had removed myself from everything and everyone that mattered to me. It was a tough new beginning.

I kept to myself for a long time. I mean, there was a lot of tension from the locals. Not a lot of Mexicans in Arkansas when I first arrived. I was a drug dealer as far as they were concerned. Slowly, I started mixing more with my coworkers. I got invited to lunch and started exploring the city more on my own.

One Sunday night, the page reader came over to drop a page off at my desk. I can't remember how the subject of the Sopranos came up exactly, but we got to talking about the show. I told him that I'd watched from the beginning. He told me he and some of his friends got together to watch the show after work. Armed with the invitation to his apartment, I went home and grabbed a six pack of beer then headed over to his place to watch the latest episode. That was how I became friends with Ben.

I remember he was surprised that I brought beer. He was even more surprised when I didn't take the untouched beer home. Ben found a lot about me strange, I think.

Over the course of the next few years, Ben and I became close friends. I've met a few people in my life; none of them like Ben. During all the time we spent together, Ben never judged me about anything. He was always there to listen and offer advice. He's a great drinking buddy and a smart motherfucker too. Just an all around great guy. We found out we shared similar tastes in music and film. Not to mention the fact that we both enjoyed good conversation and a good cigar. Top that all off with our love of The Ramones and it sealed the deal.

I'd like to think that we both learned a lot about life from each other. Even though we've only been friends for a short time, I feel like we've been friends forever. I know that there were times where maybe I wasn't the best roommate, but he was forgiving.

Then there was the camera. The man bankrolled my miniDV camera. What can you say about a friend who helps you buy something like that? Shit, even if he hadn't, I've got lots to say about him.

There were times when my world was collapsing around me. He was there to knock a bit of it off my back and help me up. I tried to do the same for him whenever I could.

See, Ben wasn't just my friend. He was my brother.

We roomed together with another one of my best friends, Lyon, at a 5,000 square foot Victorian home dubbed "The Five Points". It was the ultimate bachelor pad. Three movie geeks, two TV rooms and a generous helping of beer. We hosted some great parties and had some great benders together.

We had our weekly drinking night, Thursdays, at a local pub. He and I, Stewart, Jeff Arnold and Lyon. That was our fortress of solitude. Those were good times.

And we took some road trips too. He and I saw Graceland together. We took a tour of the Gibson guitar factory in Memphis. We saw Dylan in Oklahoma City. And we even traveled to Dallas to visit a couple of arthouse theatres and catch movies we normally wouldn't be able to see.

It was his birthday yesterday. Sadly, it's another one I've missed. He's married now. He use to think it wouldn't happen; my wife would always tell him otherwise.

Ben, I wish I could give you more than just these few words. I wish Tonya and I could meet you and Jenny at the bar and share a pizza, a few drinks and a lots of laughs.

But for now, I'll just wish you many happy returns, a long life and lots of love.

Salud, dinero y amor, my brother. I love you.

-30-

Thanks Al Gore!

2006-06-07T23:43:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to send Al Gore props for inventing the internet. He's brought me hours upon hours of fun.

I want to get to my first find quickly because it will be old and stale by the time I'm done. I must have been living under a rock not to know about this. I can't remember just how I came upon it, but it's quickly becoming my new mantra. What the Hell am I talking about?

Snakes On A Plane

This has become some kind of internet phenomenon. It's spawned all kinds of websites and attention.

Click Here

What's more, I found a great blog from a screenwriter named Josh Friedman. You need to read his Snakes blog. I've become a big fan of his blog.

Snakes On A Motherfucking Plane

Finally, there's a radio show that my brother, Ben, introduced me to.

The Treatment

Elvis Mitchell, formerly a film critic for the New York Times, hosts this show where he interviews actors, producers and directors. The talks are always lively and there's always something cool that you may or may not have known about the machinery that is Hollywood.

There's a lot I could say about these sites. But only one thing could truly sum it all up.

Snakes on a plane. Yeah. Snakes on a plane.

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The Cordero Brothers

2006-05-29T23:24:00.000-05:00

My brother, Dorian, flew into Corpus Christi to be best man in the wedding of one of his best friends. A week before the wedding, he came to SA and we did our drinking & catching up thing.

As we always do, we smoked a bunch of cigarettes, did a couple of Irish car bombs and sucked down a lot of beer.

After the drinking came the obligatory trip to Whataburger. My wife got up at 6 a.m. and found us asleep on the couch, TV on and Whataburger remains on the coffee table in front of us.

Here's the evidence.

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Swing Batter...Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy....

2006-05-29T23:02:00.000-05:00

One of the perks of working for the Express-News is that they give us tickets to see the local minor league baseball team, the San Antonio Missions.

I have yet to take Terrance to a major league ball game, but I've taken him twice to see the Missions. He really likes it. We buy a bag of sunflower seeds and both get into the game.

The seats are really good; right behind home plate. We even get VIP parking. Although this last time it proved to be the cause of a near heart attack. We walked out of the third base exit and couldn't find the car. We thought it had gotten stolen. I stopped and talked to a bike cop and found out we'd walked out of the wrong exit. The VIP lot was at the first base exit. Whew.

I never caught anything at a ball game before last Saturday. They were hurling "burritos" from the commentator's box late in the game. I couldn't figure out why they would launch food from a high window into the crowd like that, but as I caught one of these things, it turned out to be a "stress burrito". You know the stress, squeeze stuff: foam rubber. A local Neo-Mexican food place called Chipotle glued a sticker to the bottom for promotion. Turn in the foam burrito at one of their restaurants and get a real burrito. I've eaten there. Good stuff.

Anyhow, here's some pictures from the game.

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And We're Back...

2006-05-25T12:24:00.000-05:00

It's been a bit of a roller coaster ride these last few weeks. Being dropped like a hot potato by the company who claimed that I was a superstar. RUMBO is not heading down the tubes. All the loyalties have started to go out the window. The one of the founders is heading back to California and will 'remain in some capacity.' That's code for, 'I'm getting out before this thing comes crashing down.'

I'm with the Express-News now. I'd hoped to have been here long before, but I had to take my chances with Rumbo. I'm not upset about the firing. I'm not upset that all our work was diced and chopped and spit back out as some border town rag. I'm upset that we were lied to, from the beginning, and then left to hang from the flagpole until the bitter, fucking end. I gave them my loyalty and my blood; they gave me my walking papers. They tried to run with the big dogs and we paid the price.

To make matters worse, we were lied to in another respect. We were told that the company would do everything possible to set us up with another job. Do you know what that was? It was a shitty letter of recommendation. Shitty. Apparently, my hook into a new job was how "enjoyable he is to have in the newsroom." They never did a damn thing to find me another job. Had I waited for them to do so, I would have starved, lost my house and gone bankrupt. I had to find my own job and I didn't need the shitty letter of recommendation to do it.

Needless to say, my layoff has affect us in many ways. It has set us back in all respects. Tonya's brother was married this weekend and we had planned on trekking up to Arkansas for the wedding, but since I didn't have a job and she couldn't take time off because she was brining in the income, we couldn't go. We've had to tighten the belts in all ways and we've paid the price. My parents, thankfully, came to the rescue and helped us with a few bills and groceries because Tonya's check and my unemployment were just not enough.

Rumbo has now spent 1.5 million in a new advertising campaign to promote the recently reorganized product. They are rehiring designers at nearly $10,000 less. The VP of editorial, one of the founders, has stepped down and will be "promoting Rumbo's interests from California.' He's going to help expand the empire. In the meantime, people are leaving the company like rats off a sinking ship. I'm sure they will inspire a lot of confidence in their advertisers, not to mention their staff.

Shedding the hair was a rebirth for me. The Express-News is a new beginning for me. It's been tough learning all new methods and workflows, but I feel good. I'm doing business and have done several covers already. I know that as my knowledge base grows, I'll get better. I feel a little bit anxious; I want to know it all now so I can rock the house. But as my mentor, David, says, "Trust your instincts and take it one step at a time."

The family is good, healthy and together. We're lacking the wants, but we got the needs. And that's the important part.

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Just A Little Off The Top

2006-04-01T09:20:00.000-06:00

Well, yesterday marked a wild day in my life. Not only did I let someone other than my mother cut my hair- before you freak out, my mother has been a cosmotologist for the last 35 years -but I shaved my head. Well, almost. There's about a quarter inch of hair left.

It feels good. My head feels lighter and I don't wake up with all this hair all over my face. No more hair ties. No more having to spend 15 minutes washing my freakin' hair. Low maintenance. My best friend, Ben, takes the same approach. I wish I would have done it sooner.

Anyhow, I just wanted to share the news and throw in pictures of the event.

Yes, I took pictures.

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For My Peeps!

2006-02-18T10:31:00.000-06:00

I don't know what the Hell this Muppet song is called, but my wife got me this for Valentine's Day.

Enjoy!

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He's in the jailhouse now...

2006-02-07T14:13:00.000-06:00

Well, it's a dark day for Terrance. Shit, it's equally dark for me.

Fudge, the slightly skewed Lab mix we got Terrance, bit a kid next door. The child in question, about 10 or 11 years old, got pinched in the back. It was a bite, just not a puncture bite. Fudge's teeth raked across the kid's skin. He drew blood.

The mother was frantic, but when Tonya and I went over to talk to them and see the boy, she started to calm down. Tonya and I didn't have any problem with her anger. She was justified. And we cooperated as much as we could, even in so much as reporting it before the kid made it to the doctor to be looked at.

Of course, the kid's mom said that she'd have to file a report. I knew what might happen then. Fudge would have to be quarantined for about ten days. Sure enough, they served us papers yesterday stating just that.

This morning, Terrance was heading out to catch the bus to school. I had Fudge on the leash, having just taken him out for a potty break.

"You're not gonna wish your dog well. You're not gonna see him for ten days." I said.
Terrance hesitantly approached him and began to pet him.
"I was just heading out, to catch my bus. I might miss it." he said
"Oh, okay." I replied.
I began to lead Fudge back to the crate.
"He doesn't have rabies, right?" Terrance asked with great uncertainty.
"Don't worry," I replied, "he's gonna be fine."
I heard nothing else but the sound of the door closing and him telling both Aaron and I that he loved us.

Before heading off to work, I took Fudge on the ride to the big house. As soon as we stepped off the truck, he began to bark and growl.

He barked at a woman who was coming into the shelter offices. When we were inside, there were three control officers taking a break. One of the three, the second woman, eyeballed Fudge as he barked and growled.

"He ain't happy." she muttered.

One of the other guards, the male, helped me get the paperwork to the cashier all the while Fudge was asserting himself to the officers. The woman he barked at outside, stepped out from a door and began to talk to me. Well, at me.

"He doesn't have to do that. He can be taught not to do that when strangers are near." she said forcefully, increasing her volume to surpass Fudge's barking.

She then instructed me to give Fudge a tap in the ass, with the side of my shoe, each time he barked at someone. After which, I should reward him. Each time he began to growl, she would bark at me.

"Do it now! Do it now!" she'd say forcefully.

So, I did it. It worked. Each time he barked less and less until, finally, he didn't bark at all.

"He's a nice dog, it's a shame he isn't well trained. But it's not too late."
With that, the grey haired stranger was gone.

"Sir, can I tell you something." the male animal control officer said. "If an animal control officer sees you kicking a dog like that, he ain't gonna be too happy."
"I was just thinking that very same thing. They tell us not to hit a dog and she's telling me the exact opposite."

The control officers were very helpful. They told me about muzzles and ways to help stop Fudge from being aggressive. It made the fact that I had to leave him there easier.

We walked to the back of the facility, which didn't smell too great. The officer led me into the kennel and signed some papers, then had me follow him to find Fudge an empty dog run. After finding it, he let me stay with him for a minute or two before he came back with a bowl of water.

The entire time, Fudge was hesitant to approach the water or even get near the cage. And when I got up to leave, he knew it. He began to yelp and bark.

They did tell us we could come and visit. We can even bring treats. But we can't have physical contact. A vet will check on him, daily, for signs of rabies. Of course, he won't show any; he's got his shots. But afterwards, when we pick him up, he'll have to get neutered.

I've never had something like this happen before. I can't say I'm not upset, cause I am. He'll be released on Valentine's Day. Hope the big house don't change him.

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Degenerates

2006-02-02T11:23:00.000-06:00

Nothing is sacred.
Not dead bodies. Or live ones.
Now, it seems, drug dealers in Colombia are using innocent little puppies to bring their garbage into the U.S.

Heroin In Puppies

Sick fucking people.

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We Pay Our Debt Sometimes

2006-01-26T11:56:00.000-06:00

I was up one night watching Fuse, back when it was called MuchMusic, on the day that Layne Staley was found dead of a drug overdose. If you didn't know, Staley was the front man for Alice In Chains. Chains was one of four bands (Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Kurt Cobain's Nirvana) to bring the Seattle grunge sound to the mainstream. Just about every music & entertainment channel had run some kind of retrospective about Staley that day.

I was never fortunate enough to see Alice In Chains perform live. I'd always heard that they were one of the best live, rock bands of their era. There were times when I heard Staley sing and thought his voice was just so haunting. Even though I didn't know it at the time, his voice carried with it a great deal of pain. I'm still doing some research on him, to know him better even though he's been gone a while. He died at 34, a tortured soul, an "angry angel." The only time I had ever had a chance to see them was on the Metallica tour that would precede their release of the Black Album. The bill was Alice In Chains, Suicidal Tendencies, Candlebox and headliners, Metallica. Chains had dropped out of the bill before they made it to South Park Meadows in Austin, Texas. They had stopped touring completely, it was said. Reports of Staley's drug use were widely known and most of the people I knew all agreed that the band was done due to it.

But that night, MuchMusic aired a special on Staley that burned itself into my mind. They spoke to several of his bandmates, including Jerry Cantrell, who was shown to break down from interview to interview. It was the evolution of a guy who didn't know what to do for his friend. At first, he was oblivious, almost happy. But by the end, he was stuttering and fearful, maybe even guilt stricken. Fact is, no one knew what to do about Staley. Friends and critics alike all have said that it wasn't something that just came up, they knew it was happening. One music industry insider said, "He's never gonna get off that(heroin) junk." He struggled hard to get clean, from what I read, but it never came together.

I sat there, watching them air clips from their MTV Unplugged special. You could tell from the way his body slumped and the suddenly vacant stare that Staley wasn't well. Inside or out. The voice, even more haunting that before, came through clean and clear. I could see, in the face of Staley, that he wasn't holding on very tight. Another talented soul with a great gift was sent home.

If you've never seen Alice In Chains' performance on Unplugged, you should find yourself a copy.

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