Three blackbird eggs, in the nest in the wild rosebush. Ain’t they cute? 

I am dithering over a project. A project I will need to turn in eventually to my publisher. Yes, I have one. Stop snickering or giving me pitying looks at my delusions of being a real writer. Snort in your general direction, haters.

Okay. Sarcasm aside…!

Saint Lysette and Bloody Alice. It’s the third in my House trilogy. Alice in Oregonlandia is done, and in line to be seen by Kensington Gore’s editor/s.

Alice takes up about ten years after House On Clark Boulevard ended. The ‘tale’ moves to the world of Alice, Nancy’s daughter. Stuff happens. The end.

Yeah, I should write PR and press releases! For more money than the actual novelists ever get for their words, phrases and entire pages of words and phrases.

My mind went, hey, there’s a third book here. With everything neatly wrapped up, explained and then burned to the ground or somethin’. Cause. Trilogies. Every author should have some.

It’s like. That can of tuna on your shelf. Just in case.

I don’t like tuna so my can of tuna would have dust on it. But it would still be there in case I needed it for something. Maybe a sammich? I’d also have to have pickles, lemon, dill, onion powder, garlic…basically my tuna sammich would taste like anything but tuna. I like tuna melts.

I’m weird and contradictory. I realize that right now at this moment. Personal growth!


I know why I’m starting this last opus over and over. I HAVEN’T DECIDED WHAT THE ACTUAL STORY IS.

I knew, vaguely, that Alice would have to return to that old house and…and something would happen that would not be what was expected by any involved. Vague, sure. But. That was the general story in my head and it seemed to write itself for Alice in Oregonlandia. House on Clark Boulevard had the same feel to it but different. Is that crystal clear to everyone??

I just got into ‘that groove’ that hits when you write. Whether it’s novels or poems or short stories or plays or manifestos about why tuna is gross.

I’m not a fish person. I find the taste of fish gross and yucky. I’ll eat fish sticks but only if they taste more of the tarter sauce or whatever dipping sauce is available. I’ve never had lobster.

Living in the interior high desert [Southern Washington State, Eastern Oregon, Western Idaho] most of my life tends to keep me away from lobster binges. Can you buy lobster or find it where I live or have lived? Yes. Did the price of lobster tend to send me off to the lunch meat aisle to see what’s on sale? Yes. Do I think it’s cruel to boil those poor sea spiders alive?? Yes!! 

Miz Bridge waiting for me to entertain her. Because hey, you’re not writing, she says. Let’s go dig or chase something!

Story. I’ve dithered here in Saint Lysette. It’s changed POV’s. Many times. I now have Nancy, Alice and Lysette all telling the story. Whatever the story is. Which I’m not sure. It won’t coalesce, even a little, somewhere in my foggy writer brain. It does but it’s campy garbage!

Gol darn it!!

I might as well add some clowns and reptilian overlords!! Not that there’s anything wrong with reptilian overlords. There is something profoundly wrong with clowns. Yes, I have fear of clowns. Yes, I do. There’s a fancy word for that even. 

I think, therefore I am…sorry! I think I need to pick a path. Write to the end no matter the horrified faces I make as I write. 


Get a rough beast shaped up, that I can then go back through and despair over.

After all, I have scrapped entire drafts. Written better versions. Or worse versions. Dang it.

I must examine why I am dithering so. I blame tuna.

Oh if it were that damn easy!

What is the story. That’s what I need to crucify in place with big iron nails. Then watch it rise from the dead a couple times or something? Ugh. Must stop listening to atheist podcasts or atheists taking apart Christian movies made so badly they’re actually in the good column.

I’m also trying to get a screenplay done. A director from the Czech Republic found a short play of mine, made a short film out of it. Traces of Memory. It’s in actual post-production now, as I write this. It looks great. I’m pleased with it.

She also, Lucie, found my book of short stories, Oregon Gothic, and found a tale in there that she wished to turn into a feature-length. One based on…necrophilia. On a woman helping her boyfriend procure a freshly dead woman for sexual purposes.

Lucie wishes it more focused on their relationship. She has the general idea of where she wishes this to go and I am helping shape it out. It’s called Prince Charming so far.

I hope it doesn’t turn out to be another Serbian Tale. If you don’t know what that is or have never heard of it, great. Keep your ignorance. If you do know what that ‘movie’ is, then no, I don’t think Prince Charming is even in the same universe as that one. I’m being cheeky. I’m a cheeky little primate!

Humans are primates, after all, no matter what screaming manbeasts with Jesus tats and a pulpit say. 

I am working on making the rather repulsive pair sympathetic. Understandable.  Which gives the horror element an extra punch in the gut. Layers, y’all.

Must go force myself to work on…something. It’s almost my birthday. I might go to the hills for sustenance and soul feeding as I turn…gulp…fifty. And ponder on the smoking ruins of my life.

I blame it all on tuna.

The elderly cottonwood showing why it’s called ‘cottonwood’. The big seed pods burst open and look like what cotton does or something. I’ve never seen a cotton field outside of a movie. Or eaten a lobster. 



Downton Game of Witches

Tingles! Downtown Abbey about to politely delight and thrill us ere again. Dame Maggie Smith!

Part one!

I mashed some titles together. I feel so clever.

I actually have three different posts here, I decided. Instead of one mashed together mess, I know! I’ll do a three-parter! Woot woot!

Downton Abbey.

Game of Sighs.

A Discovery of Sugar Cookies.

Mash seems to be my fave word today! Also, if I wish to go off on a rage-rant that has nothing to do with anything…well. I won’t.

My despair over DC has reached coma-inducing levels. Which is what THEY want. They. Tiny “victories” constantly overshadowed by actual bad shit done out in the open.

I need a gallon of pudding. Ever had that pudding that’s canned? By the gallon? Yeah, that stuff.

Shall we briefly revisit our favorite Upstairs/Downstairs knockoff??

Just watched the Downton Abbey teaser-trailer.

Oh. Yes.

When-is-this-on?? Hold the sherry! This is an actual movie. It won’t be on Masterpiece? What the…? Oh polite eye roll and sniff of suppressed annoyance! Excuse to leave house, though…!

A ROYAL VISIT??!! What wine will they serve the queen?? Which queen is this?? Must remember to look up what queen that is. Will not remember. Sigh!

I am so there for Downton Abbey the Movie. I know. It’s a snobby exercise in snobbiness. Yep. Don’t care! 

Lady Mary with that really cute short haircut! Will she and Edith have their sisterly rows or have they declared a sort of sisterly armistice? Oh hey, is that the same actor who plays Vampire Dude in A Discovery of Sugar Cookies? Is Lady Mary’s second hubbie VAMPIRE DUDE? Mind. Blown. Blown. BOOM. Just checked and yes, it is. Matthew Goode. Wait. His name in real life is Matthew, too? Hold it together, brain.

Back to squee central. 

What is Thomas up to??!! Are Anna and Bates SUFFERING AWAY AS PER USUAL?

Mr. Carson walking up toward Downton Abbey!

I need a scone!

Rebirth Rebirth!


A still from the Red Turtle. The Red Turtle will not be mentioned once in the following blog. 

Instead of Rejoice Rejoice…

The [new] computer is now working. One of those refurbished deals. Man alive, it’s FAST. Whizz! Whoom! Oh hey I can play Candy Crush now. My priorities are catawampus a wee small bit. 

Lesson for writers: Send out lots of submissions. Instead of, like, three. Yep. Glad I could help! Volume. Volume is the key here. That way when you get rejected, it won’t seem so thousand percent everyone hates your work. Volume will spread that out a bit. That’s the theory, anyway. Wink!

ABPIP– always be positive in public

Notre Dam has burned. Something ancient, something grandly lovely, something fragile, has been destroyed. For now. It was being renovated. So perhaps something sparked. As it can do. Whomp whoosh, medieval wood ceiling might as well be made of gasoline cans. I did hear great efforts managed to save some of it. And I am glad of that. 

People claim terrorists did it. Like Glenn ‘Puppy Eater’ Beck.  Or that God is sending a message. [Most of the crazier religious sorts on Twitter.] With various interpretations as to what that message is. Others make jokes or shrug. I guess the football team can still play…seems to be some people’s confused take on the fire there in Paris. [As Notre Dame is a school and…yeah.] 

So am figuring out things and stuff on the new computer. It does read my thumb drive/s. That’s excellent well. Very leery of this newish machine. I trusted the old one, after all. Which was also refurbished. And worked for ten years. If not longer. 

Oh! Game of Thrones was on all week on free HBO. Which is good. As it was the week my elderly other machine decided to beep forlornly at me to bury it in the computer graveyard known as ‘stored in the closet somewhere’. Yes, I did see the new ep and I am literally a quivering, miserable happy mass of cells. Will Jon accept his birthright? Will Dani find out she’s likely preggers with her nephew’s kid? Will the Night King discover that Cersei is far far far colder than he is? Will Sansa and Tyrion get together for real?? [Heard people contemplating that one…] Arya and the Hound, a new buddies cop spinoff? Brienne and the big red-headed guy? Romance or…? [my absolute fave want them together couple ever on GOT. I am not alone in this one.] So, one zombie dragon took down the Wall? 

I was also watching Return of the King, as I had to find a new app to play DVD’s and the like so…and it was right there. Shh. Now. Where were the elves at? Mirkwood and Loth-whatever? [Did they all go get on the ships? All of them?] I mean, that group of elves showed up for the Battle of Helm’s Deep. The elves couldn’t send twenty or so to fight in the big ass giant battle in ROTK?? What about the dwarves? Gimli cannot be the only dwarf left and he was a fearsome, awesome fighter. So? Was there some plague that killed off the dwarves or they were busy or…did I miss that in the umpteen times I watched the LOTR movies? 

So!! I have two books for sale. House on Clark Boulevard and Oregon Gothic. They’re GREAT! I also have Aftermath now in editing. It’s about Boise and…ZOMBIES. But aware zombies that run the world. Yeah, now you’re hooked! You’ve always wanted to know about Boise! Ha ha ha! 


Girl Power Turned Up To Eleven

Lashana Lynch as Maria Rambeau and Brie Larson as Carol “Captain Marvel” Danvers

[[note– I promise this is cheerful. Fluff. Absolute fluffy kittens and unicorn dreams. ]]

I went to the movies yesterday afternoon. Guess what I saw? Not the cute dragon movie. Not the anti-romance romance comedy that I will probably really enjoy when it finally gets to TBS or TNT. The one with Rebel Wilson. That one.


Yes, that’s the obscure art house pic I suffered through. As those art house pics generally demand that you SUFFER to get to the end without throwing up, falling asleep or generally giving up ten minutes in during the first of many twenty minute monologs on how swift life is by a teen girl working retail as her mother does crack in the alley out back.

There were other people there. Sigh. I go to matinees because they’re [A] cheaper and [B] not attended by other people. Okay, whatever! Popcorn rustles, comments flying about me, soda pop being sucked loudly through hollow plastic tubes. The sounds of cinema! I arrive just before the previews start, so I don’t have to sit there pretending not to be making snide mind comments about everyone else there. As you do.

Previews. Avengers!! Tony Stark in outer space giving some sort of Hamlet-like speech. Captain America filling up with HOPE that some Hail Mary plan will work against a [guy, thing, god, dancer, evil bad farmer, etc?] who just took out half the known universe. What’s this…a new avenger might join in to CHANGE THE GAME? What???? Yeah, I’m so going to this it’s not even funny. I’m a weak-souled consumer drone mind-raped by Hollywood’s Satanic influences. You heard it here first.

LION KING. Now!! I’ve seen the cartoon version X number of times. Yet! I’ve got oddly wet eyes, so there must have been a drive-by onioning. Shouldn’t a live-action movie about animals use, um, actual animals who are not…Stop that, brain! The heart is sobbing right now! Shut up, brain! Disney, how dare you pile on the pathos!! How dare you!

There’s also a preview for a movie I’ve already seen soundly panned and ‘not wanted by anyone’– Dark Phoenix. Which is Sansa Stark getting all evil on Mr. Tumnus. There’s lots of screaming, explosions, people in extensive makeup with superhero hair looking truly magnificent. I wanted to see it. How evil does Sansa get?? Like, super-evil or just mildly evil where she kicks a puppy then goes to work for the ASPCA? I’m hooked! I also can’t wait until it’s on TNT in two or three years. Yay! Also, maybe the X-Men can call on Dani and her dragons to KICK DP’S bottom. Oh my, the crossover potential there. Game of Thrones meets X-Men. Somebody get on this one, stat!

Holy cow bells, that isn’t a still for Capt. Marvel! Sophie Tucker will play Jean Grey again.

I could just do a blog post about listening to people snack in the near-dark and my reaction to the various trailers.


Here we go:

Captain motherfucking Marvel.

That’s a Sam Jackson shout out.

Pretty much what you expect to happen, well, happens. Plot? There was an actual twist here that was pretty solid. I thought it went well. It was set up through memory loss flashes. Plus, any time you have a British guy in an American superhero movie…yeah.

Ooh, that was a sort of spoiler. Yikes!

But I had my suspicions. I don’t trust people who seem ‘nice’. They’re just not. In real life or superhero movies.

Carol, played by Brie Larson, was everything Girl Power needs. She’s fierce. She’s a fighter. She’s got hot hands…hands that light up and shoot lasers. Or fire. No, lasers.

She’s also a hothead who’s…wait for it…emotional. [I let out an actual WTF gasp at this.] Of course the Nice British Guy [Jude Law] hammers this one over and over and yet over again.

Our heroine also keeps having this memory of a female scientist [Annette Benning], being an Air Force pilot, having a life on earth. Vers, as she’s called now, lives on the Kree planet…here I just clocked out. More comic worlds I should know like the back of my hand??

God damn it, no thanks. I have enough crap crammed in my cranium at any given moment.

So we get Vers crashlanding through a Blockbuster after chasing the Bad Aliens, who are shapeshifters. Who can be ANYBODY, right down to their memories. Some of their memories…again, I checked out here, just rolling my eyes.

The movie took place in the Nineties. Ah.

Nostalgia, you tricksy blighter. Everybody laughed and sighed over the Blockbuster bit. The Blockbuster here in Ontario, Oregon went under overnight seemingly. In a day. It’s now a gym or get your taxes done here office front. 

CM goes on a Journey of Discovery with Sam Motherfuckin’ Jackson, which is Great Fun. We get to see her Kick Ass. A Lot. She was a one-woman Rambo aboard the Bad Aliens ship, after all. Well, she beat the crap out of large groups of extras. Those scenes where Our Hero or Heroine [Yay, girls can be heroes, too! Yay!] takes on legions and just GOES TO TOWN on their bottoms. Yep!

So, we get the Plot Twist. We get the Betrayals. We get the Moments of Doubt. We get the If You Need the Suit You’re Not a Hero moment that all Marvel movies seem to employ unblushingly. [I just watched one of the new Spiderman movies, where Tony Stark says this to Spiderboy.]

Now. All of that? I still enjoyed the ever-livin’ crap out of this movie. I was glad I left my house to go see it. I enjoyed the heck out of the trailers. I could totally get away from how my country seems hellbent on installing an actual dictatorship…Her Emails! Lock her up!! Build the wall! Fake news!

I felt an odd Captain America type hope that a Hero Will Rise. And save us. From ourselves. So we don’t have to do it. Yeah. The Home of the Brave and the Land of the Free fully expect to be saved from themselves by some superhero unicorn sort that everybody can get behind…ha ha ha ha. Sob. Okay!

Oh my goodness, there’s the thing with the cat in Captain Marvel. Ha ha ha. There’s also the rather sweet shout out to Stan Lee in this movie. Ah!

To sum up this Not Really a Movie Review so much as a Sprawling Mess, I really liked Captain Marvel. It fired on most of its cylinders. She wasn’t the grim awfulness of a Gamora. She was more a combo of Starlord and Wonder Woman. While your head explodes for various reasons from that…ha ha ha. Done exploding yet? Okay!

She kicked ass. Lots of ass. In satisfying ways. Things Blow Up. In satisfying ways. There’s a pretty good dogfight battle with Best Friend of Cap Marv. I liked it, anyway.

And the quickie scene after some of the credits played…yeah. You sit there, along with a few others, waiting for it. Waiting for it. Ah! What??!! Holy crap, so going to Avengers! Satan, see you in a few weeks! 

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The cat named Goose from Captain Marvel

Film-ruining Pigslags!

from the Theux Blog. This seemed closest to me this week. Peering uneasily down a never-ending abyss of movie criticisms.


I stumbled, innocently enough, across MFA film students taking down current or past films. I do mean in excruciating detail. Zealots. You know them, you’ve been around those megafans that rabidly argue the merits of the spaceships of the Stars Wars franchise with those of the Star Trek franchise versus the spaceships of Battlestar Galactica.

Oh the dreaded zip ties! Do not get these for BDSM play.

Right down to fuel used, size of screws in the paneling and square footage in the place where the pilot sits. Cabin?

I’ve watched several hours of these. I was perusing Jeeves and Wooster, as you do, then noticed, hey, a take-down of Fifty Shades of Gray. Not a take-down, a defense. Sort of a defense, the title implied coyly. Yeah. I fell. Hard.

Hook in brain, I let that wily talkative fisherman reel me into the world of minute, bitter, movie-hating killjoys.

Now! I actually enjoyed the roughly three hour take apart, don’t even bother putting it back together video…um, essay? of Fifty Shades. All three movies. It was informative and enjoyable.

You’re supposed to hate this movie.

You’re supposed to notice how abusive Christian is BEFORE someone tells you how abusive that rich creepy Edward Cullen wannabe is.

I also, um, watched one where the critic gave a rather nice defense of Stephanie Meyer. Of literature written for teen girls in general. Meyer wrote the Twilight books. 

How we as a society hate teen girls and everything they do. So that very idealized and safe world of Twilight got MOCKED TO THE SEVENTH HEAVEN, of course. Meyer proved quite gracious and didn’t sue Erika James, who ripped off Twilight’s everything to ‘create’ Fifty Shades.

Which as everyone should know by now grew out of fanfic. Which James had scrubbed, supposedly, from the internet and fanfic sites. But as nothing ever dies on the internet, EVERYONE ALREADY KNOWS more or less that Christian Gray is Edward Cullen, except with whips and zip ties.

Now, I did see a severe dressing down of Fifty Shades, from yet another couple of filmies, who knew a lot more about the BDSM world than James does or ever bothered to find out. They’re hot take is the movies are garbage, it’s an abusive relationship, neither lead can act, neither lead seem to like each other on screen or off, and DON’T EVER BUY ZIP TIES for BDSM purposes.

As they tighten and you can’t get out of them easily if there’s trouble or if someone’s struggling. Zip ties can actually kill you at worst or break the skin, cause physical damage not wanted…so don’t use them. We see in the first movie where Christian is buying ‘supplies’ at the hardware store. One of the things he buys is…zip ties. Yep!


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from Indiewire

So I watched that threesome of critiques, then watched other suggestions, then went down an actual rabbit hole.  I clicked on why Captain America:Civil War sucks; suddenly all the heroes have new characters and are ignoring past setups and generally acting in unknown ways so there can be the civil war of the title.

Why Disney needs to stop ‘fixing’ their animated movies in the new live-action remakes coming out or already here. Hint, ahem, Beauty and the Beast, ahem, ahem. Fixing plot holes with even worse plot holes!

Why they were afraid Wonder Woman would be something something FEMINAZIS ON FULL PARADE ARGH. The two giggling cute bunny critics got the cold shits from a still of women on the set holding up signs that said Girl Power. Girl power. Girls with power. Save the world from girl power is the subtext of their reaction??

They were afraid it was gonna be the Feminist Manifesto that Burned Their Eyeballs and Castrated Them For Feminists to Turn Into Slaves of the New Feminist Order? Was that the subtext? The actual text from the two cuddle bunnies??

I watched a lot of these…yeah.

Henry Cavill as Superman and Ben Affleck as Batman in Batman V. Superman, Dawn of Just Man Candy Mostly

But what gets me is that I now, sort of, hate movies. Hate them!!!

I look at the movies I love, and hate them. I look at movies I already hate and despair bigly. Then, my own bitter snarliness breaks through.

I DON’T CARE IF THE SHOTS DON’T MATCH IN THE OPENING WITH SOMETHING IN THE MIDDLE. I like what I like, you fucking movie zombieshits!

Every movie they–this is all the film critic film school original Star Wars fanatics youtubers I happened to click on–reviewed seemed made by amateur dead Labradors. They name dropped more than a starlet at a Hollywood party. [Obvious joke that set up an expectation yet fell flat in delivery.]

Obscure film critics, obscure camera operators, blah. Yes, I can appreciate a well made, perfectly written, perfectly shot film…[oh wait, there isn’t one of those yet.] but god damn it, I love the cheesy bad movies that just want to entertain ya. Not socially redeem you or teach you anything besides explosions taste better with a giant tub of corn and a diet Coke to suck down.

Every movie seems to be that.

Every. Last. One. It’s just a cynical cash grab these days, unlike the good ole days…oh boy. 

Even high falutin’ Oscar Bait. Yeah, I went there…Yeah. A Star is Born. Explosion of emotions! Manipulations galore! Wheee. Ugh. 

I actually did appreciate one of these film school sharks who made an effort to explore topics like the various King Kongs, Marxism [there are several versions of Marxism, but they all seem to hate jazz…] and Santa Claus. There’s research there, actual trying to connect the dots, interesting tidbits. I do love trivia and bad movies interspersed with better movies. Or movies that try really hard. Rabbit hole, rabbit hole. 

Then I switch over to two ratty sorts giggling and cooing back and forth as they fart out why they hate Justice League. Like, it sucks, you know. You’re cute, no you’re cute, you’re cute, no you’re cute…

It wasn’t that bad, they actually had some real points but…ugh. I noticed all their reviews were along this line. [The same couple that advised against zip ties, by the by] She giggles, acts cutesy. [Oh. My. God. Stop, just stop.] He talked over her incessantly. I mean…yeah.

You know how that goes because that happens all the time. Mansplaining. There’s a woman talking? No, there’s not, because I, he-man and Wookie expert, iz talkin! She even does the patient wait to speak again bit. It was. Yeah. 

He hates feminists and all that, she does, too. She agrees so fast with him I thought I missed it. Nope. Uh huh. I noticed that. I noticed that a lot, because it was a recurring theme in his reviews. She was just there to bolster him or play the zany backup. I noticed that, too. She cuddled various merchandise, acted the ditz while he was SERIOUS FILM CRITIC. I should probably stop noticing such super-obvious shit in a pair of canoodly film critics, eh?

Okay, before I go off into that rabbit hole…

I need to stop watching these. I don’t get anything done, and there’s SO MANY OF THESE. What did so and so say about Black Panther?? What’s their hot take on Jurassic World?? Why is Rei [Rey?] a de-evolution of the Star Wars heroine?? Has the Stars Wars franchise been Disneyfied??

The answer seems to be a resounding fuck yes fuckfuckfuck.

Maybe I should switch to indy art films. Expecting anything from your basic blockbuster…

Ah. There it is. I don’t expect anything from whatever blockbuster or event film I go see at the actual movie theater. I don’t expect anything but some pretty man candy and things that blow up.

I went to Wonder Woman to watch her KICK SOME ASS. That was pretty much the start and end of my feminist agenda there. 

Occasionally I might even attend a quiet, prestige-like film, like BlackkKlansman. I might sneak off to Into the Woods.

I might go see Dumbo, this spring, all by myself, because I was sobbing just watching the trailers. [Baby elephants are sad! I grew up on this one. Baby elephants are sad!]

I know the work already that goes into film making. I have actually been on sets, seen what has to happen for a tiny short film. Feature length films, with lots of moving parts, balls gets dropped and then some at times. I’m oddly forgiving of this! I know if you get careless, it looks shitty. Duh.

I know that big films are ruthlessly made and marketed for the money these days. Art has gone bye bye! It’s obvious and yet…man candy and explosions. MAN CANDY AND EXPLOSIONS AND ASS-WHUPPIN’S YA’LL. I expect NOTHING from movies these days. Sad, isn’t it?

Maybe if we as a society demanded more of our readily accessible art, we’d have a better society. Maybe if we stopped giving our money to BIG EXPLOSION MAN CANDY IV, MAN CANDY’S CHRISTMAS BANG BANG then they [Hollywood!] might start making THE GOOD STUFF again.

Like: MAN CANDY’S GREAT BIG REALIZATION THAT HE NEVER TOLD HIS DAD HE LOVED HIM. I’d so watch that! That doesn’t sound like it has those nasty parasites called feminists anywhere near it!

Will I stop clicking on former film school sorts jawing about why the spaceships in the original Stars Wars are superior to the current spaceships of the Disney knockoffs?? Ha ha, no. I’m a creature of compulsion.

I’ll type out a bitter ranty rant then go right back to watching why J.K. Rowling is ruining her own creations film-wise. She’s the new George Lucas! It all swings round to Stars Wars. Every. Single. Time. 

Those film-ruining pigslags. 

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Artsy shot of a rando stream in Eastern Oregon. I know the composition is all wrong but the intent was there. It almost succeeds in a Georgia O’Keefe meets Thomas Kinkade subgenre of post-post-modernist flair. 


Ocean Stud

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Yours truly, or me, myself and I, decided back in 2018, when it was yet December, to go see Aquaman. Or Ocean Stud, the Wet Sexy Adventures of Khal Drogo.

Aquaman seems rather a tame title for two plus hours of seething ocean sizzle! You do not go see such a movie for the intellectual puzzles of our times played out by superb actors at the top of their game, after all. You go because things are going to blow up, chiseled sorts in ultra-tight suits bending over a lot and things blow up a lot.

Jason Momoa as Ocean Stud, AKA Aquaman/Arthur Curry. So many inappropriate jokes about moistness could be made here. I won’t, don’t worry!

Yes, it was good. I liked it. That’s out of the way.

Good? Was it Wonder Woman good? Casablanca good?? Uh, no. It was good, though.

I rather enjoyed how it incorporated that annoying need to EXPLAIN WHY OCEAN STUD IS OCEAN STUD instead of, oh, showing us things blowing up from the get go and fistfights and fights while mounted on sharks…with some flashbacking. The always lovely Willem Defoe in a bit part. The secret trainer of Ocean Studling and adviser to Princeling Orm, Environmental Poster Child. A straddler, a part that calls for actual subtly. A bit of it. Okay, Orm must have ignored with all his might his adviser was a double agent, hello.

Oh look, things blowing up! Whee!

We don’t have to watch that first hour with eye-rolling indifference to how Aquaman embraced his inner squid. [Like, um, Superman, ahem, in Man of Steel Penis…er, Man of Steel.] We do get shown, in tiny snips, how Arthur learned to fight, blah blah blah. [We get to hear what happened to mom!]

I don’t care. I just wanna see him fight stuff underwater and kick ass and look all determination and alpha seawolf. [Would a seawolf be a shark or a killer whale? Mmm.]

I don’t know who did this but BWHA HA HA HA. I found this after I ticked the Khal Drogo box, thanks.

Nicole Kidman as mommy seawolf queen person. Enjoyable! She’s, what, eighty years old and still looks great in a silver-spangly catsuit. She also channels her inner Bruce Lee, which is fantastically fabulous. 

And!!  A great big bravo to making the redheaded whatever princess warrior girlfriend love interest a fighter as well. Hallelujah and shut the door! Thank you!

I almost wondered why they didn’t just eschew asking ole Artie to become King High Lord Khal Emporer of the Oceans and just have princess ginger lady [as played by Amber Heard] go off looking for the Magic Weapon That’s In Nearly Every Superhero Movie Ever Made. [Not that I am complaining and I am not.]

She, however, is rather a Gamora type here. The Humorless Lady Fighter. It seems women can be girlfriends, background extras, or Humorless Female Fighters who look great and buff but have the grim personalities of Medieval monks during flagellation binges. Pfft! She did thaw out a bit, but still.

Does that make Arthur a sort of Starlord-like character? A bit, yes. Wise-cracking, lovable rogue, a bit of a doesn’t take any of this seriously blah blah. Blah.

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Patrick Wilson as Orm. Here I am to save the day! Not! Fishmom Nicole has some buff sons!

Ah, the evil but understandable brother to our lovable Ocean Stud. Orm? Worm? Blond Serious Underwater Crackpot? Power-mad Loki Copycat? [Yeah, I went there.]

Tom Hiddleston as Loki. Here I am to save the day! Not! Compare and contrast now. There will be a test.

Orm is the half-brother to Our Hero so he has to be the heavy here. We also get yet another villain, Black Manta, who very understandably wants to turn Ocean Stud into fish sticks. As Ocean Stud had a Spiderman moment with Black Manta and his Pirate Dad. Where Ocean Stud could have prevented a chain of events!

Oh. My. Tartar sauce. Really??

Did no one else just roll their eyes at that very early moment in the six hour film? It felt a big long, I’m saying. I’m saying it outright.

We could have cut the Black Manta stuff to about five minutes. We already have younger half-bro sending baddies after Ocean Stud and Humorless Wench, after all. Set pieces get destroyed and then some!

Also, why didn’t Aquaman call on his Justice League buddies for help if his half-bro meant to destroy everything on land? Isn’t that, um, kinda what Steppenpuppy tried to do?

Are Batman and Wonder Woman and Superman just having some beers, watching all this go down? Going— eh, he’s got this. You buying, Bruce?

But! I had actual sympathy for Orm’s rant/whispered rants about what humans do to the oceans. That footage of beaches covered with garbage…that makes you go, why wouldn’t Aquaman get behind that one? His element is the sea. The ocean. Water. Humans pollute that bigly. Maybe he could have helped little brother.

Yeah, let’s clean up the planet then fight for dominance, hey ho, let’s go.

So yeah, Aquaman unfolds exactly as you think it will. The story holds no surprises but I oddly did not care. I knew exactly what would happen and I was happy as a clam about it.

My favorite part was the giant octopus playing the drums. It was such a Little Mermaid meets Spongebob delight.


My other fave part was Ocean Stud emerging in that golden armor, because hey, what’s not to like about that? I didn’t go, twice, to this one, for the acting. Or the exquisite storytelling! This was wham, bam, action, sharks, octopus drummer, bro fight, the end.

PART II or Huh Oh, Here’s Where We Veer–

Ah, let me write a bit about why I attended this one twice. I’m not a Jason Momoa fanatic, in case you were starting to tremble a bit, then prepare to write me off as some desperately lonely thousand year old spinster lady with dungeon master BDSM fantasies playing in a moist reel in her head…Mm. No.

No, I agreed to go because a friend of mine had just lost her mother around Christmas. [I wrote about that.] She wanted to see this and I said, sure, I’ll go see it again. End of story.

Well, not really.

So, as you might not know, I am an entirely anxious kitty cat around fellow humans anymore. I cannot stand them near me! I crave being alone far more than having to make awkward chit chat about the weather or giant walls. I’ve been told what an awful ugly sort of person I am over and over, over the years, as well.

Fine. I give up. You all win.

I have been isolating myself for years now. [As if the few readers of this pathetic little blog didn’t know that! Pfft!]

I am also not fighting at all the giant fog bank of chronic depression that lurks constantly somewhere about me. [Can’t afford meds or a doctor.] I have giant ups and downs, and often can’t control or want to control myself around others that just…yeah. Okay.

So, I’ve made it clear I have no interest in ‘doing something’ with anyone. She persists. I’ve written about this, then erased it or scrapped it. I need to deal with it, yes. Yes, I do. 

So I went to the movie, because, hey, her mom died. I knew it would be uncomfortable, I knew I’d be anxious and short. As the day approached to go, I could feel how tense I was getting. To go to a movie. With another person. The night before I woke very early. I felt like I was heading off for a battle. Being sent to the front. This person had other people going…I about flipped out. I about went, nope, not going, have fun. Seen it!

That’s where I am these days.

I was uncomfortable and trying not to freak out the entire time. I tried to be patient with myself and this person. I made it known, no, I didn’t wish to ‘hang out’ the rest of that afternoon spending money I do not have.  I don’t wish to make awkward small talk over food I could not afford to order. I didn’t say any of that, just  sent a nebulous ‘Maybe’ to any plans after the movie.

So, that teaches me that until I am heavily medicated or dead– not to go anywhere with people.  Unless I have my own vehicle so I can run away ASAP if I can feel myself wanting to start screaming or punching people to make them stay out of my personal space bubble. I’m sure it was not pleasant for her, either. I can’t hide how revolted I am on outings with others. Or how uncomfortable. Or how out of place. I’m a fish out of water. I just wish to sit in my own cloudy bowl of filth and that green stuff you get if you don’t clean the bowl regularly.


Which brings me back to Ocean Stud, Lord of the Thighmasters.

You should go see it. It’s a lot of fun. Momoa hams it up. The redhead has some great fights. The dad to Aquaman is great, we can see why Arthur grew up to be the way he is. A lot of that was being around his dad. [A nice shout out to great fathers who raise a kid on their own. To single parents in general who do a great job.]

Tuemura Morrison as Pops Curry. Momoa, of course, as Arthur Curry

Also, I think Patrick Wilson did a great job here as well. Not Tom Hiddleston level, not yet, but I think with some tinkering for Ocean Stud II, Attack Whales Unite, he could give Momoa an actual bit of competition in Highwayman and Duke’s Daughter fanfic attempts.

Or the Merman and the Hallmark Business Gal mashup.

Holy crab cakes, my next project just presented itself! Yay!

Where was I? Orm! Wilson!

That actual tortured villain that we love and want to cheer for. The bad boy who can wear a tight catsuit armor costume as well as his big brother…After all, you can’t have a super-villain looking like something out of a Jeeves and Wooster episode. Or can you??


The superhero movies all seem to blend together into one big

Ocean Avengers Starlord Extravaganza Justice League, Part Twenty–Homecoming Wonder of the Spider Panther Elves.

You can mix and match other titles and sequels to your heart’s content on your own blog time, darlings.

Laurie Strode’s Brother

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from Business Insider. Jamie Lee Curtis reprising her iconic role for Halloween.

I went to a movie yesterday. It’s the well-received latest entry into the Halloween franchise. Michael Myers, or Laurie Strode’s brother, escapes while being transported to some hellhole mental facility. Mayhem ensues. Laurie Strode on the warpath. Boom!

No spoilers from me, I promise.

A lovely day, yesterday. A touch cloudy but no rain, not really any wind. Sun. I went to the first showing. There was about two or so other folks there.

I arrived during previews. Saw the one for Glass, the sequel to Unbreakable or the third in the trilogy. Unbreakable, Split and now, Glass. Bruce Willis, James MacAvoy, Samuel Motherfucking Jackson. Um, yes. Yes, please. I don’t care what the story is. Or if there’s a story. Oh and Sarah Paulson. I’m hooked. I’m charmed. I’m big eyes and wanna see that.

Some preview for a movie that already came and went like a wet dog fart on a rainy day. Blarg.


Halloween starts up. Two earnest British podcasters seek to interview Laurie Strode’s brother, who remarkably, doesn’t talk. So he’s rather an odd choice for a podcast. Ahem. They’re into examining old crimes or something, for fresh angles. Whatever.

When does the rampaging start??

There’s some good stuff happening right off the bat. The new Loomis is an earnest sort, who cautions caution with Myers. He’s not, however, in the Loomis mold. As in Myers should have been quietly killed eons ago.

We only see Myers from the back, or slightly from the side. We never see the face. Which is highly effective. We see this boogie man has aged. Now. Is he a real man or something else? As anyone who’s sat through all the Halloween movies knows…he’s been stabbed, shot, stabbed and shot, blah blah, and always gets up again. Like an Energizer bunny playing Jesus. A really awful version of Jesus. Ahem!


Yet, he gets captured, somehow, alive,. placed back into some mental hospital to await escaping for yet another round of hide the big knife in the stupid teens.

Seriously, if you start taking apart the Halloween movies, you won’t enjoy them. That’s pretty much true of any movie lately. They seem to run on people not doing that, ever.

Don’t look too closely at the structure! Okay, I won’t!


I enjoyed this outing.

My first glimpse of Jamie Lee Curtis in her most famous role…tears. She had lost everything, she lives holed up in the woods, behind lock and key and bars and video surveillance. She’s paranoid, twitchy, grim, overly prepared. She’s waiting. She’s in that closet from the very first movie that started all this madness– waiting with a coat hanger twisted into a weapon. Except this time she’s got America’s choice for any problem– a gun. Lots of guns. A cache of guns. We see her practicing. She’s rigged her house as well, for defense and offense. The state took her daughter away. Laurie has a granddaughter.

Oooh, it’s going to be the Strode women against their own brother, uncle and great-uncle. It’s family versus family.

When I realized this, tears. Tears.

You see, yesterday. In America. A bunch of bombs were sent to various high-ranking Democrats, news agencies blamed for all the fake news, and George Soros, who’s allegedly behind everything to do with protesting or immigrants or…yeah. Almost thirty seconds after this was reported, conspiracy theory/ies. The Democrats sent these bombs to themselves to drum up voters to vote for them.

Sympathy bombs.

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None of the bombs went off, after all. They were, however, live actual bombs.

Now, I read where the IRA, in the seventies, were also inept and clumsy at sending out bombs at first. Then they got super-good at it. They improved. So.

I’m watching a traumatized older woman taking on the thing that traumatized her. It digs into some primal areas.

I watched a woman testify before the entire country about abuses done to her, then watched as that same woman got turned into a demon. Who now can’t go home because of credible death threats.

I watch as Nuremberg-like rallies demand an end to America as we know it, and embrace a one-party system with the boot on the neck of anyone who doesn’t agree with them on everything.

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from Politico. 

I watch as the basic framework of my country get torn down, turned into kindling, then get a match set to that kindling. Whooosh.

I watch as minority groups get targeted. The latest is transgender people

I feel helpless and powerless. All the damn time. Anxious and angry and ready to embrace not only a vote them out mentality, but a I want to hurt them mentality.

See those that are humiliating and hurting others so gleefully right now be hurt and humiliated themselves. In public. So I can applaud and cheer.

I want so and so led off in handcuffs to the nearest federal prison. I want them led off naked. I want to see them whipped and chained and naked and trembling and afraid.

But hey, back to the movie!

It’s a deeply satisfying movie. It hits all the horror movie boxes quote well.

Menacing villain figure. You can’t get more iconic than Michael Myers. When he puts on that mask, you give a sigh of happiness. There it is! Ah!

We care about the people that are in harm’s way. There’s a great scene between the granddaughter’s friend and the kid she’s babysitting. It’s warm, honest, funny and sweet.

We get to know the sheriff, who was Laurie Strode’s babysitting charge on that infamous night. Now grown up and facing the same monster on the same holiday night.

We experience the skepticism and then utter terrifying belief of the two podcasters as they have their moment with Myers. It’s a doozy.

And then there’s Our Heroine, the equally iconic Laurie motherfucking Strode.

She’s mad, mean, focused and ready for business.

Hot damn!

She’s not shouting masculine-ish belligerent slogans into the air this fucking time. Oh no. She’s waiting to act.

The time for chest-pounding antics is over. She’s loaded for bear. A boogie man bear.

Yes, I enjoyed the hell out of this movie. There were hints and outright LOOK AT THIS RIGHT HERE moments that hearkened back to the original. I didn’t roll my eyes at the dialogue. Much. There were clunkers, sure, but not that many that I remember.

There was actually not that much gore. Some but far less than other lesser made movies that skipped the scares in favor of showing gallons of faked blood.

This movie centered on two players who thirsted to face each other. And it worked. Oh did it work for this watcher.

So, my country might be on the brink of an actual second civil war but at least the Halloween movie got most of it right. That’s something. I’m glad I went. I’m a Jamie Lee Curtis fan from way back. I haven’t been to a horror movie at an actual theatre since…can’t remember when. I want to see Star is Born, yet I went to Halloween.

Which evoked the oddest emotional responses of actual tears.

Maybe I’m mourning for my country while watching an older woman take on the actual boogie man. Taking on her own brother. With her own daughter and granddaughter at her side.

Maybe I got a bit wet-eyed over watching an actual family feud taking place before my eyes. Fought with weapons, screams, blood and fire.

I really do hope this is the last Halloween movie. That this is end of it. That everyone now gets to rest. In peace.

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from Movieweb. Granddaughter Allyson–Andi Matichak. Matriarch Laurie Strode–Jamie Lee Curtis. Daughter Karen–Judy Greer