“This is my art, and it is DANGEROUS!”


Here’s a little nudge of support for any frustrated creative souls feeling ravaged by ennui.  Look to artist and master of self-promotion Delia Deetz for a spark of inspiration, and EXPRESS YOURSELF!  After all, you have got to take the upper hand in all situations or people, whether they’re dead or alive, will walk all over you.

Take five minutes to engage in a small creative act that will nourish your spirit.  Tweet something about that new unauthorized “Saved By the Bell” Lifetime movie.  Goad a trusted coworker into taking a Harry Belafonte dance break.  Adorn your cubicle with personal touches that bring you comfort.


You don’t need to silence your voice or curtail your instincts to please others.  Breathe deeply and revel in the freedom of an existence unencumbered by criticism and self-awareness.  This is your art, and it is DANGEROUS.

Feeling better? OK, I believe you.


No, your glaucoma isn’t flaring up—this post is being presented in 3D in honor of Richard Brooker.


It’s a sad day at Camp Crystal Lake. Richard Brooker, who portrayed Jason in “Friday the 13th 3-D”, has passed away at the age of 58. 

Fan favorite Kane Hodder has become synonymous with Jason Voorhees, primarily owing to the fact that he’s the only actor to don the hockey mask more than once.  However, before Jason was a hulking zombie resurrected by a bolt of lightning, even before he’d developed a penchant for protective face gear, there was Richard Brooker. 

In 1982, the mercurial psychopath was still knee-deep in the process of self-discovery experimenting with a variety of wardrobe options and edged weapons before finally feeling comfortable in his own mottled skin.  Was he a tragic water-logged mongoloid biding his time at the bottom of Crystal Lake?  A hillbilly yokel foraging for scraps in a dingy pair of overalls?  Then along came Richard Brooker in Part 3, giving us Jason as we all know and love him. 

Unlike most of his sequel counterparts who stroll leisurely through the woods and can barely muster any enthusiasm for the task at hand, Brooker’s Jason flies into a frenzy at the first hint of Aqua Net on the summer breeze.   The unflagging determination with which he limp-run pursues Dana Kimmell while nursing a knee injury is particularly unnerving, as is our final glimpse of him grinning maniacally from an upstairs window; for me, the most haunting and effective image in the entire series.


Thank you, Richard Brooker.  Your turn as Jason is by far my personal favorite, you will be missed.


The Walking What-Now?

I’m going to make a startling confession: I do not watch “The Walking Dead”.  Despite staggering ratings and heaps of critical praise, I have failed to make a concerted effort to really give it a chance.  OK, fine.  Perhaps I have stubbornly refused to give it a chance because of those two factors.

On a few occasions I have attempted to watch the first episode and found myself mesmerized by one zombie in particular who bears an uncanny resemblance to a jacked up Kate Hudson.  Before I know it I’ve spent a good 15 minutes considering the highs and lows of Kate Hudson’s acting career, and when my attention finally returns to “The Walking Dead” I realize a) I’m going to have to rewind to make sure I didn’t miss any crucial developments B) I’d much rather be watching “Skeleton Key”.

I realize it’s ridiculous to dismiss one of the few quality genre shows currently airing, particularly when I seem to go out of my way to catch every episode of “Property Brothers”.  My new goal in life is to schedule regular binge viewing sessions of “The Walking Dead” so I can join the conversation when the new season begins airing in October.  The only thing I hate more than watching something just because everybody else does is feeling left out.  Thoughts?


Happy Birthday To Me

When I opened my front door this morning, a warm beam of sunlight caressed my face and the air was thick with the promise of new life.

Ah yes, springtime is upon us.  And boy is it terrible. 

It’s enough to make you want to bite the head off a chocolate bunny and retire to bed until the chill of autumn returns.  Instead I’ll be fleeing to Las Vegas to seek shelter at Eli Roth’s Goretorium; one of the nation’s precious few year-round haunted attractions.  I will also be taking in a Def Leppard show at the Hard Rock.  I know, don’t be jealous.

My weekend in Vegas constitutes a belated birthday celebration.  Let’s hope things turn out better for me than they did for this poor fellow.  Details upon my return.


This Time It’s War.

Tonight the ArcLight Theater in Hollywood is hosting a special presentation of “Aliens” in the Cineramadome.  In honor of this rare opportunity to catch the 1986 classic on the big screen, I’d like to invite you to take a moment to quiet your mind and join me in unearthing your inner Ripley.


I’m not going to lie to you, gentle reader—this has been a challenging week for me.  Let’s just say my vigilance faltered, and I allowed a dangerous parasite to slip past quarantine and take up residence aboard my spacecraft.  An ungodly beastie has been lurking around the dark corridors of my mind, one that I believed to have been effectively dispatched years ago.  Rather than initiating the self destruct sequence or hitting the salon for an ill-advised haircut, I have been making every effort to gas up my flamethrower and draw the monster out of hiding for a stand-up fight. 

Occasionally you may find that you have allowed yourself to drift into unconsciousness, denial, or 57 years of hypersleep.  Make no mistake; any foe which you have neglected to truly face will still be waiting when you return to a state of awareness.  Left unchecked its ranks will swell, and where before there was one you will now find dozens, all intent on rendering you helpless, invading your body, and destroying you from the inside-out.


Please be gentle with yourself.  It’s all too easy to accept blame and shoulder the full responsibility of the situation.  You did the best you could with the resources that were available to you at the time.  We are often forced to confront old patterns, fears, and insecurities—not as punishment, but rather as an opportunity to make different choices.  These are the real monsters, you see, and they do mostly come at night.     

This time things will be different.  This time you will be prepared.  This time it’s war. 

You are not being dragged into this against your will, and you have an arsenal at your disposal: the benefit of experience, friends and trained professionals, and the steely resolve to finish this once and for all.  Stand tall, and when fear makes a final attempt to wrap its slimy claws around your ankle blow it out of the goddamn airlock.   

Oh, go ahead and get that sensible new haircut.  It suits you.