Spanning the sub-genres of monster, boogie man, vampire, slasher, and zombie—these are my ten-best horror films of the 2000's. (Actually, they are all monster films, aren't they?)
What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground? — The Tasmanian Devil
The Decade's Best Horror Films
Spanning the sub-genres of monster, boogie man, vampire, slasher, and zombie—these are my ten-best horror films of the 2000's. (Actually, they are all monster films, aren't they?)
What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground? — The Tasmanian Devil
The Decade's Best Animated Films
Covering the techniques stop-motion, rotoscoping, traditional, and CGI—these are my ten-best animated films of the 2000's. The film genres represented are: Fantasy, Superhero, SF, Documentary, Action/Adventure, Mystery, and Comedy.
We cartoon characters can have a wonderful life if we only take advantage of it. — Heckle (or Jeckle)
gameboard
1. Begin in the proximity of the birth square.
2. Move according to the pips on your die.
3. Avoid as many bad spaces as possible.
4. Stop when you land on a death spot.
— Pogo Possum
evaluate the artist by comparing this 2010 artwork to:
Zonk Won't Hike Frozen Ground
I gotta have a bird! I'm weak, but I don't care! I can't help it! After all, I am a pus-thy cat. — Sylvester the cat
Byzantine Bullshit
I slowed my pace from march to stroll about a half-block from the Washington Square train stop because the status board read Blue Line to Hillsboro 9 min. Downshifting from stroll to meander, I began listening to the-already-waiting’s conversations. I paused near three college-age girls.“...to fuck on Saturday and I’s like, ‘He is so fetch. Maybe I should, you know?’ But then, I dunno.”
I meandered on when I didn’t hear the obligatory reply: ‘Gretchen stop trying to make fetch happen it's not going to happen.’ I’m not bothered by cute people's colloquial use of fuck, or even their inane overuse of like—but mishandle fetch and I decline to participate...even as a skulking eavesdropper.
“...only that’s never sufficient is it? Always needs the next. The brightest. The mostest. You’ve heard of champagne taste but beer budget? Well, chauffeur taste and bus budget is how I...”
He could have been using the almost invisible Bluetooth, (and I’m not adverse to listening-in on one end of a wireless conversation; I sometimes get myself giggling imagining the other half) but this grimy guy didn’t have the posture or the requisite disconnect with the other members of the train stop to be loud-talking on a phone. I think he was preaching to himself about himself. I shuffled my feet along the sidewalk and—even though I had my sunglasses on—I became conscious of where my face was pointed and insured it remained away from him.
“...too early in the damn morning for that byzantine bullshit.”
Whoa, this could be a good one. Two tallish scruffs of indeterminable age—taking up waaay more space than their backpacks and hats-worn-askance should be able to fill—would, normally, never catch my ear. But byzantine bullshit? That’s a keeper.
I climbed the steps of the westbound Max-train behind them and stood in the isle near them.
“Tell me Scrait...do parasites like dat qualify for your program?”
“Naw. Dude’s a mosquito. No sense in swatting em when you can use repellant.”
“Mosquito hover round me...try to land (snap—I hear the sharp sound of a finger-click) I mash it, even if I am wearin Deet.”
“Deet? You wear you some Deet?” (This was spoken through a big smile.)
“Fuckyou....whatchou wear?” (Also, through a smile.)
“It’s an anology.”
“For reals? Here my dumb ass was thinkin it was a metaphor all dis time. Glad you here to set me scrait.”
Up to this point I’d thought scrait was the name of the one who used byzantine in a sentence. We all shuffled as seats emptied. Byzantine and Scrait ended up in a bench behind me as I took an isle seat next to a gray pantsuit with a gold duffle-purse too big for her body-frame.
“A metaphor is a type of analogy; a sub-set.” replied Byzantine.
Scrait said, “I was bein ironic....which is a type of sarcasm...a sub-set.”
The soft sound of clothing-against-clothing punctuated their snickers, and I imagined the exchange of elbow-nudges. I had hopes of gleaning more about Byzantine’s program, which (I assumed) Scrait had brought up after Grimy-bus-budget-guy asked one or both of them for money, but their conversation had travelled too far from the Washington Park train stop and I suspected I’d never hear more.
Just before I stood for my stop, Scrait asked, “So... what kinda insect qualifies?”After such a lengthy pause I was afraid I wouldn't hear Byzantine's answer before I got off—he said, with his face toward the window so his voice sounded much lower than it really was, “brown recluses and black widows.”
As I walked to my car, I wondered if he was still speaking metaphorically.
(...) — The Pink Panther
Santa and Easter Bunny
Everybody was a baby once, Arthur. Oh, sure—maybe not today or even yesterday—but once. Babies, chum: tiny, dimpled, fleshy mirrors of our us-ness, that parents hurl into the future, like leathery footballs of hope. And you've got to get a good spiral on that baby or evil will make an interception. — The Tick
Sneaky Low-Down Persistent Ellipses
. Her most recent ploy, (I choose to imagine a woman whose every feature conjures the word pert) is to use some innocuous cliché followed by dot dot dot times five...with each dot a link to their site.Yesterday's post was blessed by: A bird in hand is worth two in the bush................
I chose, rather than resort to Captchas, to create. Thanks pertness!
There are three things in life that people like to stare at: a flowing stream, a crackling fire and a Zamboni clearing the ice. — Charlie Brown
Mixed Meta For Stewed Mackerel
In criminal investigation, sometimes you tackle the guy, sometimes you swing-and-miss, and—once-in-a-clue-loon—the guy takes a high dive (when it should've been obvious there's no diving in ice fishing). This was one of those times. I recall the strange details of this case as if they unfolded yesterday instead of over a decade ago. I feel slightly guilty (still) about the dreadful outcome. It also still makes me giggle a little bit.1: While badger hunting, we are gifted with a mackerel stew recipe.
I had three on-the-job-trainee interns: Hughie, Dewy, and Louie. I tasked Hughie with locating a suspect, Mr Ecks, who did not want to be found. After two days of flailing, Hughie said he didn't think it was possible to locate Mr Ecks's address without a warrant.
"We can't get a warrant without probable cause, Hughie. You have to find him first. Then we talk to him." I said.
"Everyone I called told me either they didn't have any information on him, or that I needed a warrant before they could give me his information. I'm no good at this." He said.
I looked over the agencies he'd contacted. The local cable provider was the least significant company on his list who said they needed a warrant. I said, "Call the cable company back. Ask for the same lady you spoke with the first time. Once you get her on the phone, explain everything to her. One hundred percent truth. Tell her what you know he did and why you know it; also tell her how this suspicion isn't enough for a judge to grant a warrant. Tell her all you need is his address. That this guy is going to get away with it if someone doesn't help us catch him. If she sticks to the warrant-bit, give her your name and number and ask her to call you if she changes her mind and thank her. Be overly nice to her. It can't hurt."An hour later he came back to my office. "She says if we go down there and show her a badge, she'll give us Mr Ecks's address."
"All that time on the phone! What the fuck Hughie? Are you goin steady with her yet?"
"Very funny. Actually, she and I kinda hit it off and she ... well, she had this complaint. Kind-of. Mostly, she wants it to be anonymous cause she's scared as greased hell that the info will point back at her. But if what she says is real, I think she just gave us a pretty big economic crime case."
As we drove downtown to show her my badge, Hughie explained how, before her divorce, Mrs Cable was the sole bookkeeper for her ex-husband's business. Mr Cable's company installed large overhead, hinged, and sliding garage doors. For the last four or five years Mr Cable met about every month or two with Mr Mackerel, who provided assistance in obtaining government contracts. Although Mrs Cable suspected Mr Cable paid his friend for the inside information, she never witnessed any actual graft.
2. I compile the stew ingredients.
To provide a smoke-screen, over a period of a few weeks I "conducted a review" of hundreds of various government contracts: plumbing, electrical, new construction, old construction-repair, siding, windows, roofing, and garage doors. I learned Mr Cable's company had been awarded 92.5% of all the garage door contracts on the military installation; 37 of 40 in the prior 4
½ years.One person was responsible for representing the government in these contracts: Mr Mackerel.
4
¾ years earlier, Mr Mackerel had been promoted to the contracting position.These contracts were required to be open to the lowest bidder. The bidding process was always conducted with sealed envelopes. Between two and five other contracting companies routinely bid. Mr Cable's bid was the lowest by $10 to $50 on all but three contracts.
3. I put the ingredients I found in a pot.
I called Mr Cable and asked him to come to my office. The day he came for his interview, I sent Dewey and Lewie to go pick-up Mr Mackerel from his office. I advised both Cable and Mackerel—separately—of their legal rights for the crimes of: Conspiracy to Commit Fraud, Graft, Theft of Government Funds in Excess of $100,000.00, False Official Statements, and Bribery.
Neither of them said anything incriminating. Both claimed they only knew each other professionally.
I did not interrogate either of them.
I told Mr Cable that I didn't need a confession because I had a source who'd already provided all the information I needed, and concluded with, "...on the basis of that information, a judge will undoubtedly find you guilty. And—from my experience with white-collar crimes of this nature—you can look forward to a huge fine, being banned from all government contracts for 3 to 5 years, and probably probation." I then told Dewy to take his mug-shots and fingerprints.
I told Mr Mackerel that I didn't need a confession because I had a source who'd already provided all the information I needed, and concluded with, "...on the basis of that information, a judge will undoubtedly find you guilty. And—from my experience with white-collar crimes of this nature—you can look forward to a huge fine, losing your job, being banned from all future government employment and pension, and probably probation." I then told Louie to take his mug-shots and fingerprints.
4. I turn on the heat and stir.
Hughie was sent to interview some government co-workers of Mr Mackerel: Mr Ahe, Miss Bee, Mr Cee and Mrs Dee.
Louie was sent to interview a handful of construction employees of Mr Cable: Mr Eff, Mr Gee, Mr Ache and Mr Eye.
Dewy was sent to interview other owners of garage door installation companies: Mr Jay, Mr Kay and Mr Elle.
They were given a small list of questions to ask, like: Did you ever see Mr Cable and Mr Mackerel together outside of a professional setting? Did either Cable or Mackerel ever confide their fraudulent activities to you or anyone you know? None of the interviewees provided any information.
I met with the Director of Contracting. I briefed him on the facts of the case and recommended that he remove Mackerel from all duties involving contracts. He concurred, immediately suspended Mackerel and turned him into a high-paid receptionist.
5. I put a lid on the pot.
Mrs Cable called me.
"You are going to get me killed!" She said, "My ex was just here and he is going ape-poop-crazy. He accused me of turning them in and told me that if he finds out I turned him in he would kill me an bury me in the woods where nobody would ever find me! You said they would never know it was me. But I told you they would suspect me and now look, I don't know..."
"Mrs Cable. MRS CABLE! Calm down. Caaaalmmm dooowwwnn."
"Okay, sorry."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him it wasn't me. That I had no reason to turn him in. I told him that we'd been divorced for over a year, so why would I turn him in now? Which did calm him a bit; but then he just got more worked up and he pointed outside at a dark sedan and said they were following him. Are you following him everywhere?"
"No. No, we don't have any reason to conduct surveillance on him. But I'm glad he's upset. That's a good thing. If he gets in touch with you again, just continue to deny, okay?"
6. The pot begins to boil.
"Hello, Mrs Cable?" I said, "Have you heard from your ex-husband since I spoke with you last week?"
"No."
"Good. I want you to call him and tell him you just got a phone call from the cops. That we asked to schedule an interview with you, but you told us that you couldn't until Saturday because of work. Then I need you to convince him that you are in a panic, that you don't know what to say or do. That you need his help. You need to convince him to come to your house on Saturday before noon and wait in the next room when we come to interview you at 1230. We'll act like it's the first time we've spoken; we'll ask all about your work as the company bookkeeper. . . you'll deny any knowledge. He'll overhear. Can you do it?"
7. I take the lid off the pot.
"How did everything go?" I asked Mrs Cable.
"Fantastic. He coached me on how to act and what to say. Then when your guys left he came out and I could see immediately that he no longer suspected me. He thought of me, more, as a co-conspirator at that point."
"So you don't feel in danger any more?"
"Nope. Not at all."
8. Mackerel stew is served.
"Special Agent Glines?"
"Speaking."
"This is Lieutenant Colombo from the Downtown Police Department. I've got a guy who confessed to shooting and killing your confidential informant in a case you're investigating where ... ummm, he ... they ... were doing some kind of contracting fraud?"
"Ahhh... umm, this is the first I've heard. I ... I'm ... sorry lieutenant—yes, I have an investigation of that nature. Who is the suspect? Can you tell me the name of the man who confessed to the shooting?"
"Yes, it's a Mister Mackerel. He says the guy he killed last night, around 2am, was your informant and I..."
"Is he sitting within earshot?"
"No. He's in another office."
"Well I can tell you he didn't murder my informant, because my informant is not a he. Obviously, Mackerel can't learn about this."
"Right."
"What was the name of the victim?" I asked.
"Ahhh....Mister Gee. He was a sub-contractor of his friend's, a Mr Cable. Mr Gee supposedly worked with them installing doors and, supposedly, knew all about their under-the-table stuff. Mackerel said he followed Gee to a Waffle House after a night of drinking and as Gee exited the restaurant Mackerel pointed a .22 caliber pistol at him, threatened him, and then shot him four times. Mr Gee was dead at the scene."
Leave us not jump to seclusions. — Popeye the Sailor
2009 Charted
4 minutes of Art (x 2)
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