KAKler

Nobody Farts During Sex

2012-02-21T10:35:00.000-05:00

It's "How to Write Sex Scenes" week over on the Word Whores blog. Since I'm in the company of accomplished and (more importantly published) authors, I leave craft discussions to them.

Click over to see what sort of things authors deliberately omit from those graphic scenes.

And if you'd like to send a hilariously inappropriate card to a loved one, like the one at the right, head over to The Oatmeal.

Iiiiit's Groundhog Day!

2012-02-02T15:25:00.000-05:00

It's a classic. It's a gold-mine for great one-liners. It's also the reason I don't set my alarm clock to wake me to the radio...

Happy Groundhog's Day, folks!

Who's At The Door?

2012-01-28T13:33:00.000-05:00

I spent a ridiculous amount of time today playing with a new gizmo. Some might question my need of such a gizmo considering I'm a recluse. However, I do, on occasion, have visitors. These visitors ring the doorbell because they are far more civilized than the average door-banger.

~tink~

That was the sound my decades-old doorbell made. No longer! Santa was ever so kind enough to bring me ... an iChime. Nope, not an Apple product. This fairly unassuming gizmo allows me to add my own sounds to the doorbell.

This week: Homer Simpson saying, "Mmmm, Chocolate."

Next week, as I return to scribing the gory scenes of my WiP: Warf from STNG, "It is a good day to die."

There's a bit of Black Adder, Looney Tunes, and 2001: A Space Odyssey.

6 20-second sound clips ... ooooooh the decisions, the decisions!

Birth of a Water Dragon

2011-12-19T09:29:00.000-05:00

It takes three to five days for a water dragon to be born and nested. Like most births, it is not tidy. Here is the external nesting.

The water dragon's nest in process:

Water dragon foot holes.

Messy water dragon, such big feet you have!

My water dragon is of the five footed variety.

Demise of the Fire Dragon

2011-12-14T09:11:00.001-05:00

In the nippy days of early October, it was time to fire up the oil furnace -- or, as I affectionately call it, the fire dragon. The dragon did not wish to wake from its summer slumber. I called the dragon tenders, they dispatched the dragon-bugler. Alas, my fire dragon would only wake to the sound of a specific trumpet and it would take two weeks to fetch it from foreign lands.

Fortunately, Mother Nature wasn't so certain she wanted summer to be over. The temperatures remained mild. I was content to allow the dragon to slumber a bit longer.

At last, the noble dragon-bugler returned with the exotic bugle and proceeded to play to the fire dragon. The dragon snorted black soot, but it did not awaken. The bugler was perplexed. He conducted a thorough investigation of the dragon's neck and head. When was the last time I'd fed it, he asked. I'd topped off its tummy, well, just before I'd tried to wake it. He became more bemused. He needed to check the dragon's belly.

Oh, but this dragon had been one with the earth for sixty years. How ever would the dragon-bugler check its belly? It would be a minor surgery to the dragon's esophagus.

Sadly, the worst of news. The dragon had been mortally wounded. It's belly had been punctured numerous times.

The fire dragon was dead.

I reeled back in horror. This dragon had been a part of the family for longer than I'd been alive. What would I do? How should I perform its final rites? The dragon-bugler gave me all the sympathy in the world. He could bring me a new fire dragon, but the fire dragons had broken a covenant with the earth. They could no longer rest within it. A new dragon would have to be chained in the yard.

I knew very little about dragons, but I knew enough to know that dragons did not like to be visible to all and sundry. They preferred their peace and quiet, to age with grace in private.

No, for all the love the fire dragon had granted my family over the decades, I could not, would not, inflict humiliation upon its kith or kin. So I went in search of a new dragon, a dragon who would be welcomed by the earth, a dragon who would give me warmth while I gave it privacy.

For weeks I searched and searched, and lo, I found such a dragon. It offered me warmth in the winter and coolness in the summer. I asked how it could be possible for a dragon to keep me cool.

Water dragons are capable of many great things.

Weeks have passed while new covenants have been drafted and tithes paid. I anxiously await the arrival of the water dragon.

The dragon-tenders called. Tomorrow the water dragon comes.

Photo of fire dragon from: http://www.cruzine.com/2010/07/23/dragon-graphic-designs/

Photo of water dragon from: http://best-dragon.blogspot.com/2010/10/blue-fire-dragon.html

Word Whore Tuesday: When Your Parents Read Your Dirty Books

2011-12-13T12:58:00.000-05:00

This week's Word Whore blog topic is about "When Your Parents Read Your Sex Scenes."

Click over to see where I draw the line between supportive and TMI.

The Tri Pillow Is Back!

2011-12-01T18:36:00.000-05:00

I cannot tell you all how happy, happy, joy, joy, I am that the next generation Tri Pillow is out.

WTF am I muttering?

For those of you who grew up lacking the ultimate pillow-fight winning pillow in the 1980s, I present to you:


Behold: The Tri Pillow

This is not the sort of pillow you have in a bed that you share with someone...unless you like beating the crap out of your bed-buddy. Me? I'm good with that. Sadly, however, time is not kind to cotton and my beloved Tri Pillow eventually died.

~insert trumpeting trumpets~

Behold, what flashed across my screen today:

Glee and hee. I'm not sure about the ear hole, but hey, boomerang pillows FTW!

Word Whore Tuesday: Daydreams

2011-11-29T10:32:00.000-05:00

Yep, it's a Tuesday. This week's Word Whore topic is daydreams.

Oh yeah, I went there.

Trifling Shoe Decisions

2011-11-14T12:24:00.000-05:00

This post contains nothing of pertinence. It does not require ze leeetle grey cells to operate. It shouldn't be a blip in the vast wasteland of internet data.

However...

I can't decide if these shoes are hideous or fabulous. I'm torn between wanting to own them as my "everyday" shoe and wanting to own them for munitions during the zombie apocalypse.

Word Whore Tuesday: The Perfect Man

2011-11-08T10:12:00.000-05:00

This week's topic over on the Word Whore blog is "The Perfect Man."

Yes. Yes, laugh until your belly aches. While you're wiping tears from your cheeks, hop over and leave a one-liner description of the "Perfect Man." The more ridiculous, the better.

Word Whore Tuesday: Fairies

2011-10-18T15:00:00.000-04:00

Painting by John Willam Waterhouse

Whether you call them Fairies, the Fae, or the Children of Danu, they're the topic of the week over on the Word Whores blog.

Today, I'm giving a super condensed summary of who these guys are and why they're not all sparkles and gossamer wings.

Word Whore Tuesday: Sidekicks

2011-10-11T13:58:00.000-04:00

The weekly topic over on the Word Whore blog is Sidekicks.

Yesterday, fellow blogger Jeffe Kennedy & I tried to stir up a little trouble by debating whether the hero-sidekick dynamic is broken the moment those two have sex.

Today, I'm looking for those heroes who should have had a sidekick yet didn't.

Hop on over and tell me what you think.

Steve Jobs -- Which Legacy?

2011-10-06T10:19:00.001-04:00

Screenshot from Apple.com

Steve Jobs passed away yesterday, 10/5/2011, after a long battle with cancer.

Rest In Peace.

I'm appreciative of the technology he brought to the everyday-consumer and the amazing innovations he and his teams delivered to a market they helped create. Yes, my first exposure to a "personal computer" was dot-matrix programming on a Mac. Hellooo green dots on a black screen. It was genius to put Macs in every school to set a foundation of respect and desire for a brand. Yes, I rushed to acquire that newfangled thing called an iPod. No, I'm not a devotee. The only "iAnything" I own is that classic iPod.

I'm more impressed by the way he dealt with his cancer. Naturally, all I know is what's in the public domain. Well, that, and what my mother has gone through battling two different types of cancer -- first breast cancer then leukemia. I know Steve Jobs had neither of those. He suffered from pancreatic cancer. Yes, every cancer treatment is unique to the patient. What's not unique?

Chemotherapy

It ravages the body. The more aggressive the treatment, the more the side-effects become their own disease. Your body rebels against you. Your mind does too. Every gotten queasy and just "shook it off" "plowed through" "ignored it"? Cancer patients don't get to do that. All too often "queasy" leads to collapse. Steve Jobs couldn't hide the side-effect that made him emaciated. My mother couldn't hide the exact opposite. She could gain fifteen pounds in a day, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. That's sort of stuff one expects to see from a cancer patient. What very few understand is the a nasty little phenomenon that attacks the mind.

Chemo-Brain

At its worst, imagine a manic-depressive with dementia, paranoia, and vivid delusions. Before the leukemia, my mother was a volunteer-extraordinaire for both the Girl Scouts and the Red Cross. She trained the trainers on how to save lives. Once the leukemia compromised her immune system, the chemotherapy deprived her of a reliably functioning body. The biggest crushing blow came when her brain went on the fritz. Now, imagine a billion-dollar visionary at the helm of a tech company teetering on the edge of market boom or bust. Recall that Steve Jobs was diagnosed in 2002. He received a liver transplant in 2009. He stepped down from the helm of Apple -- for the final time -- August 24, 2011.

I don't know what went on behind the scenes at Apple. I do know the new technology with which he is credited would never have launched without a stellar team making it happen. The same can be said for those overseeing his health and well-being. My heart goes out to the people who shared the difficult times, the quiet moments, and the small everyday accomplishments healthy folk take for granted.

I'm lucky. My mother's cancers are in remission. The heinous chemical side-effects are working their way out of her system -- some faster than others. She's coping with the emotional wreckage -- most days.

For a man who zealously guarded his public image, I absolutely understand and appreciate why the public will never know the extent to which his illness affected his technology legacy. I rather imagine he'd like to be remembered for his successes and not his illnesses. So, with full respect for all he did for the public...

Dear Steve, thanks for the tech.

The Broken Madonna

2011-10-04T13:28:00.001-04:00

This week the Word Whores are discussing the "Madonna-Whore" complex.

Yep, I'm a child of the 80s, but this isn't the only Madonna I reference.

Click over to read about bullet-trains to hell.

You'll Go to Prison If You Don't Buy This -- WTF?

2011-08-12T15:43:00.000-04:00

I had problems with the federal government mandating individuals buy insurance when the initial "healthcare reform" bill passed. Today's news of an appeals court finding that provision unconstiutional made me very, very happy.

The White House's response to that act is (emphasis mine):

"The individual responsibility provision -- the main part of the law at issue in these cases -- is constitutional. Those who claim this provision exceeds Congress' power to regulate interstate commerce are incorrect. Individuals who choose to go without health insurance are making an economic decision that affects all of us -- when people without insurance obtain health care they cannot pay for, those with insurance and taxpayers are often left to pick up the tab."

Source: http://content.usatoday.com/communities/theoval/post/2011/08/obama-aide-health-care-ruling-wont-stand/1

So, let me get this straight, I choose not to buy something and the President wants that to be against the law.

~head explodes~

With that sort of logic, individuals who choose to not to spend their money on goods made in the USA are making an economic decision that affects all of us, so they should be put in jail too. That'll have a bigger impact on fixing the nation's debt problems more than putting someone in jail because they chose to buy groceries for the needs they have NOW versus a health problem they might have later.

No, this isn't the same as having car insurance or home insurance. In those instances I've chosen to buy a car or a house. In order for me to take the car into public, I have to have insurance in case I hurt someone. That insurance is as close as the public gets to having some recourse against my stupidity.

Mandating I buy health insurance is the same as making me pay for the "privilege" of being alive.

Tuesday: Whorish Executioner

2011-07-19T11:16:00.000-04:00

This week's topic over on the Word Whores blog is all about what happens when we don't write.

Click over now to find out the effect my keyboard-avoidance has on my loved ones.

Tuesday: Word Whores & Fictional Boyfriends

2011-07-12T09:32:00.000-04:00

Today, I'm letting you in on a little secret about how I passed grade school Lit over on the Word Whores Blog.

Oh, and the weekly topic is Book Boyfriends.

You'll have to click over to see how A + B = A logical answer

Whores & Time Travel

2011-07-05T10:16:00.000-04:00

Nope, not a documentary of how prostitution and murderer-for-hire are likely the two trades that exist in any time period.

It's Tuesday, which means it's my turn to blather over on the Word Whore Blog about this week's topic: Time Travel.

Tuesday: Word Whores Growing Up

2011-06-21T13:29:00.000-04:00

This week's Word Whore topic is the popular question, "What did you want to be when you grew up?"

I'm certain you can guess my answer before you click over.

Tuesday: Word Whore What'd Ya Say?

2011-06-14T14:10:00.000-04:00

Yep, it is Tuesday.

Yep, this week the Word Whores let me blog again.

Topic: Data Obscura

Riiiight.

Head on over and see what a sieve for a mind does to you...

Tuesday: The Chosen Word Whores

2011-06-07T12:31:00.000-04:00

http://carinapress.com

Normally on Tuesdays I'm over on the Word Whore blog adding my twist to the weekly topic; however, today, my fellow whores and I are being honored by Carina Press as one of the 19 author blogs chosen to celebrate their One Year Anniversary as Harlequin's digital publishing arm.

We are honored to host Ms. Aideen O’Leary-Chung who is the Director of Digital Commerce for Harlequin and Carina Press.

Tuesday: Word Whore Fetishes

2011-05-24T11:16:00.000-04:00

It's Fetish Week over on the Word Whores Blog.

Join me for a discussion on Spiritual Kink.

Word Whore Tuesday: Man Candy

2011-05-10T10:17:00.000-04:00

Dmitri Hvorostovsky

It's my weekly turning of tricks at the Word Whores Blog today.

Hop on over to learn about my auditory weakness.

Tuesday: Word Whores & Pets

2011-04-26T12:50:00.000-04:00

It's strange pets week over on the Word Whores blog.
Today, I'm blogging about my fart detector (and book pimp).

Accelerating Alt Energy Adoption: Local Government Mandates & New Home Construction

2011-04-23T11:42:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer: I make shit up for a living. This begins with a "what if" followed by a "why not." I am by no means savvy in the fields of politics, construction, environmental engineering, or most realms of reality. However, I am vastly interested in the answers to stray thoughts of "what nots" and "if whys."

Image from: http://www.envirogadget.com

Today's Question:

Why don't local governments mandate alternate/renewable energy sources be built in to every bit of new construction?

My curiosity is piqued by this post from Sci-Fi Author Tobias Bucknell: Solar Power has a Moore's Law? Political backscratching aside, is there a reason why new homes/offices aren't built to be self-sustaining/nearly self-sustaining with solar/wind/water/geo-thermal/whatever-resource-is-location-applicable?

Is it the input cost? Wouldn't economies of scale resolve that?
Is it the output cost? Would builders be unable to sell new construction at a profit? Couldn't ~~dreaded~~ temporary subsidies offset that?
Is it consumer desire/demand? Good marketing convinced an entire nation to pay for water. If the only new-construction home you can buy is one that will cost you less to heat/cool/power, doesn't that kind of make its own sales pitch?
Is it institutionalism? There's no doubt that the utility providers would take financial hits as consumer demand declined. The support industries would also suffer. Greed does wonders for innovation, as does demand for alt-energy supplies and maintenance.

As the weather warms, I think of the rolling blackouts for densely populated areas. I think of the doodad on my AC that automatically cuts out at energy-company-determined intervals to prevent the local power grid from overloading. I drive down my neighborhood streets and gawk at the new homes under construction. I can't help but wonder if every old house torn down to build something new was rebuilt to be at least 3/4 off-grid-capable, wouldn't that be better for consumers? Aren't governments the biggest consumers?

Yes, I completely understand why mandating retrofits will never fly, but natural churn could make a 50-year = 50% adoption plan feasible. Maybe?

Local governments, for the most part, deal with all the permits, inspections, and nitnoids of construction in their jurisdictions. By logic, local governments are in the position to make this change happen.

Educate me, why don't local governments mandate alternative-energy new construction?

Tuesday: Word Whore Day & Shoes

2011-04-19T11:11:00.000-04:00

This week the Word Whores are talking about shoes.

Find out what my purple Kangaroos have to do with pony shoes and public characters by clicking here.

Liquor? I Don't Even Like Her!

2011-03-15T11:04:00.000-04:00

It's Tuesday already. An evil green fairy brought along some friends and had their way with me.

Get the details over on the Word Whore Blog.

Titillating Tuesday: Sexual Euphemisms

2011-03-08T10:25:00.000-05:00

This week the Word Whores are discussing euphemisms for naughty bits and our readers are providing highly enlightening comments. ~cough~

I suggest starting with Erotica author Jeffe Kennedy's Sunday introduction about sweet pussies and hey-heys.

Urban Fantasy author Laura Bickle follows on Monday with Brit Bits.

Me? I'm quoting Marx and dancing through the gutters with the Girls in Every Port.

Tuesday: Word Whore Day

2011-03-01T10:24:00.000-05:00

It's Tuesday, so yep, I'm over on the Word Whore blog talking about Indulgences. I have for too many, but the time of year was kind enough to help me narrow it down to one.

Girl Scout Cookies

Click here to see what cookies have to do with labyrinths and international travel.

Tuesday: Word Whore First Kiss

2011-02-15T10:22:00.001-05:00

Today, I'm blogging about my first kiss over on the Word Whore blog.

And, yeah, no, it wasn't with Blair Underwood, but the blade does have something to do with it. Find out what by clicking here.

AOL -- The Zombie Cinderella

2011-02-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

It's fun to mock the once-mighty. Kick 'em while down. Keep their face in the muck. Let 'em up just enough to breathe, just long enough so they can hear your derision.

We lift our chins and twist our lips as righteous superiority rages through us.

Yesterday, the news that AOL is buying The Huffington Post hit Twitter and Facebook. The flagellation started instantly. Mockery abounded. Funerals for HuffPo are already being planned. NYC media leapt away from their city darling as though zombies are feasting on its brains.

It's a shame really.

I know, I know. Y2K gifted AOL with the Meningitis Touch rather than the Midas Touch. Believe me, I do know. I used to work for what was then known as America On-Line...then AOL Time Warner... then Time Warner. That means I was there for the boom, the bust, and the spanking. I firmly agree that the rise and fall of AOL is a spectacular case-study in how American ego can destroy a company, both domestically and globally.

However.

Recall this week's brouhaha with Bryant Gumble and Katie Couric asking "What is the Internet" from 1994? For the vast majority of US households, AOL answered that question. AOL was a major vehicle for turning something only geeks and GIs used into a utility on par with electricity and water. Yeah, yeah, I know. The glory days. It started off as Jennifer Connelly in Requiem for a Dream and languishes in Ellen Burstyn's character track, dreaming of winning the All-Media Game Show. Hindsight shines a trashy neon light on its downward slide. AOL's ingenuity and community made it the internet princess, but it got tumbled by the endless parade of CEOs and personal agendas.

by ~LaTaupinette

AOL was the sparkly pump in which every transient executive rammed their fat hairy foot.

AOL is trying for their Cinderella come-back. They've been the beloved child. Now they're Aschenputtel slaving under the cruel demands of the step-monsters. I'm rooting for them. Truly. More specifically I'm rooting for all mice and birds helping Cinderella survive her chores. The little guys you never see, but who roll out of bed in the morning wanting their products, their plans, their personal investments to be recognized and lauded.

Not derided by those who are only now attempting

what AOL did over a decade ago.

In my new little corner of the publishing world, a fairly well respected literary-agent-turned-business-development-wonk put out the call for a Biz Dev Minion. She mocked the applicants who had an "@aol.com" e-mail address. "If you want to be in a technology business, you can't apply with that attached to your e-mail address." She went on to say it's embarrassing. How any association with AOL spoke of how little the applicant actually knew about the internet.

I had to walk away.

AOL may be many things, but it is not now nor has it ever been a technology buffoon. Its pop-history legacy may be the mass-marketing inundation of installation CDs in a time of narrowband connectivity. It may have fallen out of technorati lurve because it became the very definition of mainstream by choosing to market to Mom and Dad instead of the webbies that gave it shape. It may have lost its community when it followed the capitalistic path of revenue over people.

It has never been bereft of technological innovation.

AOL's greatest flaw has long been its inability to properly market its vast offerings, mostly because it suffers an identity crisis. They want to be Apple, Google, Facebook, Amazon, and WSJ all rolled in to one. They want to be "A Media Conglomerate." Clearly the implosion of AOL Time Warner hasn't deterred them from this. Unfortunately, in the public eye, they need to pick one direction and go for it. Are they a technology company or a content company? If they can't make up their mind, they can't expect the public to do it for them.

Bad marketing does not equate to bad technology.

I respect the AOL legacy, the entirety of it. I'm not blind to the failures, but I know architects who designed systems to support millions of simultaneous users deserve props. I know developers and QA teams who invented what is now the ubiquitous Instant Message should be lauded in history. I know the privacy, safety, and government relation teams who navigated bringing a communications service to a communist country value dodging that bullet mere days before it was set to launch. I know marketing and ad teams who had to put a value on social interaction have the right to laugh their asses off at 2010's The Social Network.

Do I think the acquisition of Huffington is going to restore AOL to its glory? No, but I wish them all the best. Here's to hoping that Arianna Huffington comes with a magic wand, but I'll keep my glass slippers just in case there is a zombie attack.

Word Whore Tuesday

2011-02-01T09:10:00.000-05:00

Artist: Jim Caputo

It's Tuesday, so that means it's my day to troll the literary avenues over on the Word Whores blog.

This week's topic:

Writing Sex Scenes -- Easy or Hard?

Click here to find out what a She Bopping Harsy has to do with any of it.

Beastie Bonus Gifts and the Joys of Friendship

2011-01-03T15:04:00.000-05:00

I love my beastie. I usually like other people's beasties. Usually. Once in a while, a roving beastie leaves behind a bonus gift. It's not the gifting that bothers me overly much. Such generosity is but one part of the many joys of creature-companionship. The quandary comes in the case of informing the owner of said beastie of the glad tidings. Should the owner be one of my dear, dear friends, they would most certainly be informed by a coarse yet snickering comment.

"Hey, your dog took a shit in my living room."

The tricky bit comes when I too am a guest in the home, my beastie by my side. Having the misfortune of being the first one to discover the present, I must decide: Inform the other beastie owner of the clean-up on Aisle Three or do it myself? The answer revolves around figuring out if the size of the gift could reasonably have come from my beastie. If the answer is no, I'm more likely to inform the actual owner. If the answer is yes, well, that could spark a very entertaining game.

Whose-Turd-Is-It

This leads to really knowing the strength and nature of your friendships, both with the homeowner and the beastie owner. Good close friends will debate who fed their beastie which identifiable end-product: corn, Greenies, or underwear. Inevitably such sleuthing devolves from beastie diets into personal digestive discussions.

Scatological TMI at its most hilarious and vile.

Friends with whom a certain level of civility and decorum form the bedrock of the relationship would not be amused. Matter of fact, they might be disinclined to permit my beastie in their home ever again. They might even ban me from their now tainted abode. As a recluse, this punishment isn't that devastating for me. Nay, nay. It could be considered incentive. Unfortunately, I have a weakness for free booze and food.

No in-home shitting on command.

Concern stems from the other beastie owner. Are they the sort who believes their furry companion is some sort of special snowflake who would never defile someone's home. These are also the same sort of people who don't curb their beasties because they have discovered the one shit-less breed. It is these owners who will always, always be the sad recipient of the very loud, very public announcement.

"Damn, Ethel, did Fluffy just shit your tampon string on the ivory damask couch?"

However, if the other beastie owner is normal about beastie's bodily functions, then I can be a true friend and police the presents without alerting the media.

Just be wary of flaming paper bags.

Risks, Rewards and 500,000 Words

2010-11-15T11:24:00.000-05:00

I'm outlining a not-so-new fantasy today. It's not-so-new because I've four vastly different completed versions of this story, each at 125k -150k. Version One is the pantser story, written wholly on whim of "oh, that could be cool." It begins with the protag as a pre-teen and follows her through ten years of "higher education" in pursuit of a kind of hazy quest. That "hazy quest" led to Drastically Different Revision (DDR) 1. Why? Well, plot is something fairly relevant in most stories. DDR1 tried to retro-fit a plot and failed miserably. It was a bit like dancing a flame-throwing jig blindfolded with forty of your closest friends.

You're lucky if your ass-hairs are the only things getting singed.

Creating a clear plot led to DDR2, which was spectacular and riveting. You knew what she wanted, why she wanted it, why no one wanted her to have it, and what they were doing to stop it. Awesome, no? No. The plot was strong but the protag too strong. Sure she failed, but the consequences weren't proportional to the failure. They weren't even exaggerated. Level half the world and only get a slap on the wrist? Erm. No. That makes the book a Wall-Banger, the sort you fling across the room in a pique for wasting your time and emotional investment.

The only banging happening should be between the protag and her assorted lovers.

DDR 3 tried to change the inevitable disappointment, to make her transgressions less egregious and the consequences more heinous. It didn't work. The safety net of higher learning didn't allow her to risk enough or to be punished enough. It became a crutch, the Deus ex Machina of getting out of jail free.

And so, DDR 4 begins. To ensure I have a plot that supports the story, I'm starting with the 5,000 foot outline. Nothing too detailed, because I don't want to lose the fun of discovering the story as I write; however, knowing the Goals, Conflicts, Risks, and Rewards for each chapter should keep me on point. The world I knew will be tweaked, the politics more transparent. The individual quest will pushing the plot forward. Failures will result in tragedies. Success will be in perpetual conflict with the greater desire.

Hopefully, there will be no DDR 5.

November Freak and the American Dream

2010-11-12T08:33:00.001-05:00

It got up to 74 degrees yesterday, Veterans' Day. Sunshine with a slight breeze was a wonderful salute from Nature to the men and women of the US Armed Forces, past and present. Today, it's slated to get up to 72 degrees with more sunshine. All this might be normal if I lived in one of balmy places, but I don't. I live on the fringe of the midwest (which is really more like the agrarian east, but that's neither here nor there).

Sane people might frolic in this freakish November blessing from the weather gods. I, however, am reliving a classic 1984 Hollywood moment:

Here's to maintaining the "white picket fence" part of the American Dream...

Are You Pondering What I Am Pondering? Erm. No.

2010-11-08T11:27:00.001-05:00

It's a Monday, Monday, Monday. Due to the very useful feedback I received from three judges in the On The Far Side Writing Contest for one of my High Fantasy Romances (HFR), I gutted my first chapter and submitted it to another writing contest. Why bother? Because I know I suffer from a fatal flaw of giving too much detail upfront about this other world I've created. For the cost of a dutch-dinner, total strangers with a writing background are helping me get closer to my dream of being published. Why wouldn't I take advantage of the opportunity?

Popular Excuse: High Fantasy readers expect the opening chapters to be about constructing the World. Romance readers care less about the setting and more about the characters.

Fine, but I chose to blend these genres, so I have to find the sweet spot. That is my responsibility as the writer. *I* may need to know that there are hundreds of Higher Species in this world, that the environment is sentient, that certain types of magic mix with certain motivations to yield individuals, and that there are thirty hours in their days. How much of that do readers need to know? Apparently, not as much as I think they do.

Inescapable Reality: When all three judges flag the same issue, I know it's not them, it's me.

I am far from the first person to write a HFR. Big NYC houses have published some great examples. They are by no means as pervasive as historical, paranormal, or contemporary romances, but there is an audience for them. The smaller audience means that publishers are extremely picky about the HFRs they buy, which means my writing has to be stellar. Sure, it's a little daunting, but I'm up for the challenge.

Each time I'm tempted to expose a facet of the world I've built, I stop and quote one of my favorite cartoon curmudgeons:

Brain: Pinky, are you pondering what I am pondering?

The Issue of Character

2010-11-03T11:03:00.000-04:00

The morning after the National Screwing allows one to hobble into the loo to apply numbing paste and reflect on the issue of character. Protagonists and Antagonists exist beyond the pages (or e-reader screen). They cover the Web, TV, and our daily human-to-human interactions.

At what point did the characters we mock on "Reality TV" become the standard by which we want to be measured?

For the last 90 days, if you had a landline, you had political telemarketers. If you watched network television, you were blinded by political commercials. If you had a snail-mailbox, you were buried beneath direct marketing junk mail. If you had e-mail, you had political spam. If you had voicemail, a DVR, a shredder, and a delete button, you could escape the barrage with minimal damage to all but your hope for a nation of progress.

When did we stop demanding strength of character in our leadership and welcome obstreperous bullies into our lives?

If you didn't employ the items of self-defense, chances are you were introduced to politicians who out-evil any DC Comics villain. Take away the super-human ability to fling flaming asteroids at earth, and even Starro the Conqueror demonstrates more redeemable qualities than pugilistic politicians. From Horror to Sci-Fi, if a writer imbues a character with as little as three traits demonstrated by these verbal gladiators during election seasons, a reader would immediately identify that character as the villain. The tragedy is that these real-life Lex Luthors will represent you, your ethics, your morality, and, yes, your character to the nation and the world. Of minor consequence is their stance on issues that will will create guide-rails or barricades in your life. For a gladiator to win, they must decimate their opponent. If they behave that way during elections, imagine how they will behave in Congress. It is little wonder that pork-barreling accounts for 1/3 of most legislation and appropriations bills.

Exactly how does that void of personal character benefit our lives?

I'm not casting blame on the candidates alone. No. They are the face, the marionette directed by a hundred invisible hands. Were we, Joe and Jane Public, to treat our co-workers in a similar fashion, we would be part of the escalating number of unemployed. The United States is technically a republic, governed by law not popularity; however, We the People like to think we are a Representative Democracy. It is both disappointing and appalling to see the gladiators 41%* of us have elevated to commanders. [What happened to the 59% of Americans eligible to vote yet too ~~self-absorbed~~ busy to do so is a post for another day.]

Are the people working beneath the great white dome in D.C. representing

American caricatures or American character?

*Voter Stats: http://elections.gmu.edu/Turnout_2010G.html

Halloween Cartoons -- Animaniacs

2010-10-26T13:52:00.000-04:00

To all those Trekkies stretching out their lycra uniforms for Halloween, this parody is for you. Bonus points if you translate it into Klingon.

"We're Kling-ons; get it?"

"Dr. Spork, live long and perspire."

Halloween Classic Cartoon -- Hair Raising Hare

2010-10-25T09:24:00.001-04:00

One of my all time favorite episodes of Bugs Bunny is "Hair Raising Hare." Mind you, this isn't because of a deep love for Bugs. Nay, nay. The first time I saw this, when I was wee-lass, I distinctly recall being very, very angry at Bugs for being so mean to poor Gossamer. Yes, it is quite possibly because I bear a striking resemblance to the hairy red monster. ~slathers on anti-frizz goo~ It's more likely because Gossamer *tried* to be nice to Bugs and Bugs made him cry. Hey, I'm protective of my beasts like that. Anywhoo, without further ado, enjoy this little Halloween blast from the past!

That part at the end, where Gossamer screams, "PEOPLE," and runs away? It's like we share a mind...

So, GOOnar and LEEzard Lumber into a Bar...

2010-09-09T10:09:00.000-04:00

...what? You haven't heard of the exciting relationship between GOOnar and LEEzard?

Hie yourselves over to my critique partner's blog forthwith!

E-Textbooks, Full of Win

2010-08-25T12:36:00.000-04:00

I know, I know, I've extolled the glories of a tangible stack of paper gripped in my eager hands transporting me to alternate realities. I still stand by that. For the pure enjoyment of reading a novel, I love an acutal low-tech book.

Textbooks rarely fall under the categories of "novel" and "enjoyment."

The advent of e-books has extended to the textbook market. The "e-textbook" is Full of Win for the end consumer -- students. How financially beneficial this evolving technology is for the publishers, distributors, and institutions is yet to been seen. In the meantime, students of any age should be delighted with the availability of digital textbooks. Textbooks for a full-time collegiate typically cost more than room and board, and, depending on whether one is attending Budget College or Big Spender Uni, they can rival the cost of tuition.

Enter E-book Price Wars: Stage Left

Most of the blood shed in the E-book Price Wars (EPW) has been over works of fiction. Threaten a crime novelist with reducing the cover price of their $7.99 mass market paperback to $1.99, of which that novelist *might* see 12% of net revenue less 15% of that for agent commission, less 34% of that for Uncle Sam, and you'll be lucky if your final moments are spent dismembered in a bathtub of lye. Threaten the publisher of that novel with being dropped from a massive retail outlet unless they agree to price-fixing and nobody wins.

Not so much for authors of non-fiction textbooks.

Textbook creation, publication, and distribution is a vastly different beast from fiction. Publishers don't sell textbooks to individual consumers, they sell to institutions who then force the product on their captive audiences. Academic textbook authors are driven by different motivators than novelists. In many cases, getting published is a requirement for tenure. The focus is on reputation and prestige, which creates visibility for the author, which increases visibility for the institution, which draws students/investors who pay all their salaries. Textbook cover prices often start well over a $100. Yes, the publisher is still the joystick in the game; without their cooperation, nobody can move, much less win. However, the EPW is Full of Win for the end-consumer, the student.

Let's use Calculus of a Single Variable Edition 9 by Ron Larson and Bruce Edwards as our example.We'll use Barnes & Noble as our retailer. They operate 600+ U.S. campus bookstores, thus providing us with an accurate view of the Price-Point Advantage of E-Textbooks.

Publisher List Price: $188.95
Buy Hardcover Now Online: $151.16 (20% Back To School Sale)
Rent Hardcover for 60 Days: $60
Rent E-book for 180 Days: $83

The temptation might be there to rent it for $60, ala a defunct DVD rental . It's completely understandable. In undergrad, you spend 2.5 years of a 4 year program (on average) enduring course work in topics you loathed in high school. Cracking open those expensive paper weights / tv stands / beer-pyramid bases occurs maybe twice during a full semester: once for mid-terms, once for finals. Study sheet in hand, you scan pages searching for keywords that will point out what passages you actually have to read. Hopelessness and regret well up in the back of your throat, along with last night's body shots. There are 700 pages of blah-blah-blah bouncing words off your unreceptive brain. That six-figure salary and corner office straight out of Senior year fades somewhere around 4:00a.m. You flop back in bed, book over your face, and pray that osmosis really does work.

E-textbooks might not be osmosis, but they make cramming easier.

Load that digital copy of Calculus on your laptop or iPad and *blam* you can search for keywords, highlight relevant passages, make notes in-line. Hit "print" and *poof* there's your crib sheet. ~~Print that with temporary tattoo ink and slap it on your forearm, voila, silent legible cheat sheet.~~

OMG, What if you need to keep those books?

For what? That huge post-graduate illusion of being instantly hired as Vice President of the Better Than You division? You will never, ever, reach for that book again. Should you luck out with the VP gig, you'll have minions for whom osmosis actually worked.

I held that pack-rat delusion of a post-graduation pop quiz by some Fortune 500 employer who would give me a huge salary and change-the-world power if I could answer the magical question whose answer lay in one of those pricey textbooks. Surprise! That never happens.

After seven years of Higher Education, I had quite the shelf-shattering collection of over priced painfully dull textbooks. A decade~~-or two-~~ish later, the textbooks I still own fit neatly on one unbowed non-reinforced shelf. How dare I? I have a B.A. in English Writing, some of those textbooks are actually fine works of fiction.

Fine.

I will admit to keeping one book from grad school. I never know when I'll need to debate the Hecksher-Ohlin Model in regressing Developed Nations and whether the Leontief Paradox can still be relevant in those economies...'cause I'm fun at parties like that.

Save a forest. Save your forehead.

E-Textbooks, FTW

Alas, Sir Hairy, I Loved You Well

2010-08-16T13:32:00.001-04:00

The starry night of August 8, 2000, was the big interview. My partner at the time and I were gut-fluttering nervous. Were we good enough? Was our home good enough? Were we ready for this kind of commitment? Would the PtB think we were ready? Was there any chance as twenty-somethings we were not going to screw this up?

Clank. Clank. Clank.

A brass door-knocker, far too large and too heavy for weathered wood, shook the front of my tiny townhouse. A young Samoyed scampered through the front door followed by a robust man from the rescue league. This judge of lifestyle and character dropped the leash and plopped into the cream leather chair-and-a-half dominating the living room. The wee guest of honor immediately took off for the postage-stamp kitchen. My partner raced after him. I stared agape at this little so-not-what-I-was-expecting are-you-sure-he's-a-Samoyed marvel.

I know Sams. My mother is a bit of a Samoyed fanatic. Both sets of grandparents had had them, my sister had one, and I had had one as a teen. Sams are built for snow and cold. Thick, plush, double coats of glimmering white keep the Samoyed dogs warm in the frozen tundra. The Samoyed nomads who bred them used them as herding dogs and breathing blankets.

This fella had lost more than his mittens, he'd lost the whole damn coat.

Sams are skosh vain with the temperament akin to a teenager. They are by no means stupid. You only need to show them a trick twice, after that, it's, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next?" They will gleefully romp through a bog, but they will sulk if not cleaned forthwith. They are proud of their dense coats, luxurious ruffs, and long fluffy tails. ~insert hair flip here~ Clearly, these coats keep the dog warm in winter, but blowing the undercoat creates an air pocket that allows them to keep cool in the heat. Any responsible Sam owner knows never, ever, shave a Sam.

Did I mention he was bald?

The lug from the league shrank exponentially in my esteem, until he rushed to explain this young dog had been so matted and his skin so raw from insect bites when they retrieved him that they had had no choice but to bring out the clippers. On the one hand, I was furious that someone would allow a dog, much less a Sam, to get to such a state.

On the other hand, he was awfully cute nekkid.

Typically, a rescue league rep pays a visit to your home with the potential adoptee, does an interview, takes a tour, and goes home with the wee-beastie to pass judgment on your worthiness as a pet owner. A very necessary part of the process that takes one to two weeks before you know if you've passed muster.

The man from the rescue league left.
Alone.

My partner and I were insta-parents.

Woohoo!

Oh, crap.

I didn't have a leash. Bowls. Bed. Food. It was late in the evening. The stores were all closed. Five seconds into being a parent and I had already FAILED!

My grand plan for "bringing home baby" had not involved immediate approval. After the initial inspection/introduction, the plan called for two weeks of nail biting followed by phoned-in approval. Then we'd schedule the pick-up. Then we'd acquire beastie necessities. Then, and only then, would we acquire said beastie.

Plans. I love them.

Plans, the first casualty.

Thank god my sister has a creepy sense of ESP. A bowl, a leash, and huge ziploc of dog food magically appeared from her car...along with her Samoyed. All hail the welcoming committee. My new child developed an immediate crush on my sister's Sam. His affections for us? Meh, not so much.

The next six months were spent gaining trust from a dog who had been horribly abused. The next ten years were rife with love, shedding, and devotion.

Two weeks ago, a mystery illness beset my now abundantly hairy beastie. It has been a rapid decline, leaving everyone who strove to aid him baffled.

Today, August 16, 2010, I made the heart-wrenching choice to end his suffering.

May he find joy in the next-life.

Bambi: Zombie Hairdresser.

2010-08-07T10:22:00.000-04:00

Earlier this week, Danica Avet posted a fun little tidbit about deer from a Crime Scene Imagination writing class.

Bambi likes to eat the hair of dead people.

My first thought was, "Funny, I never see it in the poo pellets they leave all over my yard."

My second thought was, "Well, now I'll know where to get my hair done during the Zombie Apocalypse."

'Cause, you know, having a good stylist after you've waltzed with the Reaper is important. The dead don't like split-ends. Just ask any self-respecting Vampire. Everyone knows a lycanthrope once made a snide comment about one of the un-dead having a bad hair day, which started the whole Vamps versus Weres wars.

Who woulda thunkit, Bambi could have saved countless predators if only he had moved to the city and open a salon instead of frolicking in the forest. Hell, PETA would have set up naked human blockades to keep him from the hunters. He could have been a millionaire with his own private park instead of some backwoods tick-hick.

Chew on that image for a while. I'm off to go talk to a doe about nibbling in some chunky layers.

Hey, Bumblebee, Do I Drive Like a Hussy?

2010-07-31T18:05:00.001-04:00

This week I sniffed asphalt for nine hours and earned a spectacular amoeba sunburn over my left thigh as I followed the sage advice to Go West. My journey took me briefly through the lovely construction sites of Pennsylvania; wherein, I acquired a bumblebee cow.

For those of you not acquainted with the speed-demon joys of driving long distance, cows follow bells. Bells are the risk-takers, the guys at the front of the herd setting the speed. Bells spring the speed-traps. They're easily ripped off by the simple wave of a police officer or the exit sign to a gas station. Cows can function without a bell, but the herd gets unruly, some trapped behind semis, others frightened into inexplicable braking.

There is a certain mindless comfort in the herd,

until a bumblebee cow thinks it is a powerful bull.

I drive a small car. Not being able to see around 2/3 of the traffic on the road is common. Not being able to see beyond the bright yellow pick-up truck in my rearview didn't mean much. If there was a cop somewhere behind the black racing stripes, fanged hood scoop and inky tinted windows, I'd never know. I was the bell. He was the cow. I had a herd to lead through the ~~three-lanes, no,-one-lane,-no,-two-lanes,-no,~~ half-lane of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.

The half lane widened into two full lanes. Bumblebee swerved to the right. Maybe he wanted to be the bell. I'm a switch. I was okay with sacrificing the lead as long as he kept the speed. He fell back to my blindspot, then sped up to my fore. Back. Forward. Back. Forward.

Friggin' aye.

I looked over at the idjit as the neon barrels and flashing lights warned of the right lane closure 1/4 mile ahead.

"Hey, baby. You're hot."

It was ninety-nine degrees. Damn skippy, I was a dripping glob of sweat. I was also downshifting for the mess ahead. Cow or bell, buddy, but he had to choose. I wasn't going to stand the herd on its nose just because a bumblebee in a wife-beater wanted to pay me a compliment. Don't me wrong, I'm of the age where compliments are very welcome, but timing is everything.

He dropped back and cut over, bullying his way back to #2 cow. The herd made it through the spray of road-scraping and the hellacious stink of fried rubber. The road widened to two lanes again. Again, the bumblebee played the rutting bull.

I glanced over and he held up his cell phone. His fingers flashed numbers. I shook my head and returned my attention to the road. 2 miles until the next collapse of lanes. 2 miles of rutting bull. I sped up. He kept pace. I slow down, he did too.

A semi-truck merged from the weigh station. The blaring horn spoke of its displeasure with bumblebee's games. Undaunted, the bumblebee buzzed closer to me as the monstrous flashing yellow arrow began to compress lanes. My turbo kicked in as visions of being the filling in a truck sandwich brought bile up my throat. Praise be, I edged him out as we entered the next stretch of forced single lane.

Was it the dog hair stuck to my lip gloss? The fifty clips in my wind-matted mane? The McDonald's Cherry Pie goo stuck to my cheek?

Perhaps it was the way I accelerated through a curve instead of braking.

A bold blue square heralding a rest stop popped up at the crest of the next hill. Bumblebee laid on his horn. Wild gesticulating appeared in my rearview. At that point, my beasts chose to stand and press their snarbbly noses against the trunk window. The honking ceased. Unfortunately, he failed to take his own suggestion and continued to break the rules of the herd until the highway divided. The bumblebee flew north, leading an ass-riding Mac truck towards Pittsburgh.

A glossy black cow darkened my rearview mirror. It kept its bell properly fitted for the next hundred miles.

Literary Speed Dating

2010-05-19T09:36:00.007-04:00

I have a speed dating session in two weeks. No, I'm not looking for a literal bedmate, but a literary one.

"Hi, my is KAK. I'm a compulsive liar who spends extraordinary amounts of time on the computer, gets off on putting men and women in extremely uncomfortable and frequently life-threatening positions, and am prone to epic irrational rantings of 100,000 words while staring off into space.

Care to inflict me on the world?"

I've done this before. Experience doesn't make it any easier. I'm spit-shining my ~~panicked blurting~~ presentation on the probable chance that I'll hear, "Sure, why don't you send me a partial." "Probable" because the person sitting on the other side of the table is unlikely to be evil incarnate, not because I'm irresistible. Face-to-face rejection is awkward for everyone. It's so much easier to send a form letter from five hundred miles away than to talk a wailing Banshee down from the chandelier.

It is possible the person on the other side of the table will have a score sheet on which a notation of "bat-nuts-crazy" is made beside my name as my left hand twitches and slobber dribbles an endless trail over my chin pushed out by my indecipherable grunting. More likely is that I'll timorously slide my business card across an overly starched commercial cloth where it will disappear into the stacks of other cards belonging to nervous, sweaty, stuttering suitors. At best, I can hope to walk away with permission to send a note.

"Hello Gorgeous, we met briefly at the speed dating thing in June. You mentioned you might want to get to know me better. Here's your chance. I'll try not to wait by the phone, thinking every ring is you offering a bright future filled with mayhem and pestilence.

The next move is up to you."

There will be scads of others hoping to accomplish the same thing. Some will excel at the art of ~~ass-kissing~~ social networking, others will scrabble back under their rocks. A small faction will head directly to the bar to wash away that horrible moment when they opened their mouths and, instead of a witty pitch flowing past their glossy lips, a loud hellacious belch reeking of stale milk and coffee spewed forth.

I will most likely be found in the latter group, gargling with brandy. Feel free to join me.

Hang Cool Teddy Bear -- OUT TODAY!

2010-05-11T12:56:00.000-04:00

Okay, so my countdown kinda fell apart at the end, but today is the day.

Hang Cool Teddy Bear is Out!!!

Meat Loaf's tenth studio album, Hang Cool Teddy Bear, is for sale today online and in stores. If you want to listen to it for free for one week only (5.11 - 5. 17) check out AOL Music: Full CD Listening Party.

Follow the story of a G.I. and the effects of love and war. Hang Cool includes contributions by Jon Bon Jovi, Brian May (of Queen), Steve Vai, and Hugh Laurie (yes, Dr. Greg House). Duet partners include the beloved Patti Russo and his daughter Pearl Aday.

Below is the first video from the album, proving at age 62, Meat still has a gift for the theatrics and a wicked sense of humor.

Go, buy the album now. There's a deluxe version with 12 classic songs including Bat, 2 Out of 3, and Anything for Love.

GO. BUY. Enjoy "LosAngeloser"

Day 8: Percolating Bats in Heaven and Hell

2010-05-07T15:18:00.002-04:00

In spite of the litigious, toxic, and tempestuous relationship with Steinman, Meat Loaf knew that his fans were waiting for a follow-up to Bat Out of Hell. Yes, he'd released four studio albums since then. Yes, he'd included a Steinman song here and there, but he knew from touring and from listening to his fans that while his independent efforts were good, they just weren't Bat-tastic.

He also knew Steinman required a lot of creative creation time.

When Steinman extended the figurative nutter branch and invited Meat over to his cave, they sang and played the old songs, rehashed the fonder memories, and tentatively agreed that maybe it was time to fully collaborate once again on Bat II.

Meat was between label deals at the time. Not unlike the first attempts to sell Bat I, he met with resistance from execs. Not unlike the first time, much of that resistance was due to Steinman. No business wanted the burden of legal time-bomb of a Meat and Steinman mash-up. Additionally, Steinman commanded quite a bit of money for his hits, because when he finally birthed a musical baby and sold it off to the right adoptive parent, it was pure money for everyone involved.

Two of the best artists for Steinman's dramatic songs were Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler, so in 1989, Columbia records released the greatest Steiman hits compilation album Heaven and Hell. It kept both artists in the spotlight while Steinman skulked into his dark lair to create his next evil masterpiece.

Meat Loaf knew, "Heaven Can Wait"

Day 9: Do You Want a Slurpee with Your Meat Loaf?

2010-05-05T11:00:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf released four studio albums in five years, each with a painful reminder of why rushing to market was a bad idea. Unfortunately, he had one more album left on his contract with Arista. It may have taken time and misery to learn some lessons, but he'd learned. With the help of Leslie's brother, in 1987, he delivered Live at Wembley, and wrapped up the final obligation.

He kept touring in support of Blind Before I Stop, still seeking to return to the packed theaters of Bat I, but while he was big in the UK, the US wasn't giving him the love. He played bars so small that the gear, let alone the band, couldn't fit on the stage. Heck, he'd even been booked into a 7-11. He wasn't too proud to turn down a gig, but he drew the line at performing next to the Slurpee Machine.

It just wasn't "Masculine."

Day 10: Blind Before I Stop

2010-05-03T10:29:00.002-04:00

September 1, 1986, Meat Loaf's fifth studio album, Blind Before I Stop hit the streets, disco beats and all. Some critics hailed this album as Meat finally embracing the "sound of the eighties."

Erm, riiiiiight.

Top of the Charts in the fall of 1986? "Stuck with You" by Huey Lewis & the News; "Dancing on the Ceiling" by Lionel Richie; "Friends and Lovers" by Gloria Loring & Carl Anderson; "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin; and "Walk This Way" by Run D.M.C.

Chalking another release up to lessons learned, Meat went on tour for his final album with Arista. Meanwhile, dreams of releasing that next great theater-rock epic taunted him. By now he'd been in the business for twenty years. He knew what his fans really wanted because it was the same damn thing he'd been after from the beginning. One thing was for certain, he wasn't going away.

They were going to have to come and lock him up.

'Cause this boy, Mama, just wanna rock.

Day 11: Meat and the Milli Vanilli Connection

2010-05-02T10:03:00.001-04:00

While Meat Loaf was repairing his marriage, he was not letting go of his slow return to the charts. This time he'd learned to find a producer who understood his approach to recording an album.

Enter Frank Ferian

The man behind Milli Vanilli

(Don't do it, don't picture Meat Loaf in Spandex doin' the dance.

Aww, you did, didn't you?)

Meat marched off to Germany to record Blind Before I Stop with Ferian and quickly learned he was one of the few artists working with Ferian who was both singer and performer.

You can imagine his reaction to the pretty face + fake voice = Grammy.

Still, Ferian seemed to fit Meat's needs and the album went down without any of the drama of his previous four. Meat packed up and went back to the States. He received the promo copy of Blind. Why had the order of his songs been changed? The order told a story. The story of the character whose life was captured in the album. The character Meat became when he performed said album. WHY had the order been changed?

Control Freak + Change = N.U.T.T.E.R.

~Insert Eye Twitch Here~

Wha? What was THAT? What was that HIDEOUS sound underpinning his tracks? What was...

OMFG. Ferian added DISCO beats?!?

~Insert Image of Meat as Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever here~

Frank Ferian was "Gettin' Away with Murder"...ing Rock and Roll

Day 12: Is Nothing Sacred Anymore?

2010-05-01T11:04:00.000-04:00

When it came to the important women in Meat Loaf's life, he did not win the Stand By Me award. His mother had been the voice of caring and reassurance that had been the stark contrast to his father. She had gotten sick while he was in high school and by the time he hit twenty, she was in a hospital, tented and sucking down oxygen through a tube. Although and because Meat adored her, he ran like hell from Texas to California. He couldn't cope with watching the cancer ravage her body. At one time, she had been as robust as her son, but when the disease held her, she was nothing more than a waif.

He Ran.

When his career splattered he met and married Leslie. She caught him when fell, trembled with him when he lost everything, and suffered as her mind joined his on the fritz. Meat recovered. He turned to his career. Recorded some albums, turned his anger outward, and slowly rebuilt his career with Leslie's help. But when Leslie fell to her lowest point and needed him most...

He Ran.

When he returned from the Bad Attitude Tour, he didn't go home to his wife and children. He holed up in NYC with random chick he'd met in Australia. He knew Leslie was falling apart and he was terrified he'd join her back at the bottom, back in the madness. Leslie threatened to divorce him.

He Ran. Home.

He fell on knees, admitted his stupidity and professed his undying love. At the end of his long-winded (undoubtedly theatrical) confession, he asked if he could come home. One word was all she said. Yes.

Is Nothing Sacred Anymore? Well, yes. Yes it was.

For the time being.

Day 13: Daltrey + Meat = Bad Attitude

2010-04-29T11:33:00.000-04:00

Sixteen years after Popcorn Blizzard backed up The Who, Meat Loaf invited Roger Daltrey to share the vocals on the title track of his next album, Bad Attitude. Daltrey, another singer and actor, played the father to Meat's recalcitrant son (2:45 mark in the track below). There is a live performance of the two of them doing this song...somewhere out there in the lost archives of great performances.

Bad Attitude released November 1, 1984, without much fanfare in the US.

Top of the Charts in the winter of 1984? Billy Ocean's "Caribbean Queen," Wham! and "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go," and Madonna's Like a Virgin. Maybe Meat needed some highlights, a message tee, and a pair of fingerless lace gloves.

Day 14: Meat at Abbey Road

2010-04-28T19:01:00.003-04:00

A year after Midnight at the Lost and Found released, Meat Loaf escaped from the relentless day-to-day torments by heading to England to record at the famous Abbey Road Studios. His search for a producer netted great talent, but not one that "got" Meat's theatrical approach to recording an album.

It's like a train wreck repeating itself...

Paul Jacobs and Sarah Durkee supplied most of the songs for his next endeavor; yet, in spite of their tempestuous relationship, Meat asked Steinman to contribute too.

Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug-a...

Steinman needed a few years to come up with new material for him, time that Meat didn't have. He accepted another legal and label slap up side the head when he recycled Steinman's "Surf's Up" and "Nowhere Fast."

CHOO-CHOO!

Meat was in a rush to put Midnight behind him and get something more in line with his vision out to his fans, but, clearly, he hadn't really learned the lessons from his last two albums.

One could say Meat Loaf was going "Nowhere Fast"

Day 15: Midnight at the Lost and Found

2010-04-27T09:06:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf was in the studio attempting to write his own songs and was fortunately rescued by Steve Buslowe. Still, Meat was in a funk about his life and his new album. He'd presented the next batch of songs to the PtB at Epic and they picked a few of his and handed him a few others and sent him off to record. His heart wasn't in it. The characters didn't appear. He didn't stick around to see what was in store for the final production, he was too worried about his new family.

His family was under constant attack by the public who had once embraced him...and not in a lovey fan-obsessed way. He, Leslie and their daughters moved out of NYC to a bedroom borough. It didn't take long for the media to release not only pictures of their house, but their address. Problems showed up at their door. Being flat broke and hounded didn't give them choice of running away. They stayed. They coped. Meat dealt with the stress through softball, he even coached Little League and encouraged girls to do the unthinkable and join the team.

May 1, 1983, Epic released Midnight at the Lost and Found sans Steinman and sans the Richard Corben art on the cover. There are those who would like to forget this album ever existed. That would be unfortunate. While the songs aren't the ten minute Steinman rock-sagas, there are some definite keepers. However, the album tanked commercially. Keep in mind 1983 was the year of "Every Breath You Take" by the Police, "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson, and "What a Feeling (Flashdance)" by Irene Cara...oh, and yes, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler and written by Steinman.

The title track pretty much proves that Meat could make it without Steinman.

It was all about the character of the song.

Day 16: The Wolf at Meat's Door

2010-04-26T09:48:00.000-04:00

It's the early 1980s and Meat Loaf was being eviscerated by anyone and everyone who had made an investment in his career. Fortunately, he still had a recording contract. One that required another album for Epic. Meat showed up with a selection of songs. The label PtB shook his head and strongly suggested that Meat write his own songs for the release.

Write? Write his own songs?

Erm.

Meat's crumbling ego had already accepted song writing wasn't his forte. His career as an actor and a singer was based on bringing the words and music he had been provided to life, imbuing them with sentiment and meaning. His job was to pull the audience into the experience, not to score the production. He admitted then (and still admits today) that he's not really a singer either; he's an actor who happens to sing. Getting a track "right" required multiple takes until he found the character, the persona who owned the song. Once he became the character, he understood the lyrics and knew if the music sounded "right." Like an editor with a manuscript, he had an instinct for what worked. He could ~~scream about~~ point out the flaws in arrangements, ~~demand~~ suggest transition changes, even tweak a lyric here or there.

Write? Write his own songs?

Ack.

Given his history as a control freak, one might think he'd have been all over that suggestion. Nope. Not so much. There was a certain logic behind writing his own songs seeing as how his former songwriter was suing his ass, ensuring Epic wanted nothing to do with him, and handing out hits like "Making Love Out of Nothing at All" to Air Supply and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to Bonnie Tyler.

Meat went home and asked his wife what the hell he should do..

Leslie looked around the devastation caused by greed and, with a wee bit of anger, they wrote,

"The Wolf at Your Door."

Wolf At Your Door - Meat Loaf

Day 17: You're Goin' Down, Boy

2010-04-25T08:39:00.000-04:00

"You're goin' down, boy," raged one of Meat Loaf's handlers when the cash cow rebelled. Meat Loaf fired his management team. They countered with lawsuits, lawsuits, and more lawsuits. Oh, wait, did I mention lawsuits? Then there was the smear campaign. The one that played up all the nutter moments, the one that used the imaginations not permitted in the creation of movie scripts, one that caused his wife to be held at gun point by a sheriff.

Stars: Pay Attention to Your Money
It likes to wander into other people's pockets.

Anybody who could kick him while he was down, did, including his one-time best buddy and co-collaborator. Due to the nature of the American litigious society, it took time, years, all of the 1980s before his former handlers were done with him. They took everything, from the jacket he wore in Rocky Horror to his to house, pens, toys, everything. At one point the great Meat Loaf had to borrow money from his in-laws just to buy groceries.

Fortunately, he still had his wife, his stepdaughter, and new baby girl.

It's enough to make a man want to "Read 'Em and Weep"

Day 18: Dead Ringer

2010-04-24T09:22:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf was in debt. The cost of touring for Bat plus the cost of gifts and loans equaled more than he was earning, plus he was still getting pressure from the PtB. He had signed a contract.

He needed to regain his voice.

He's desperate. Enter "alternative healer" Warren Berrigian. A guy who looked like a cross between a kindly old man and a mad scientist explained to Meat that he had a psychological short circuit that needed to be overcome, blocks that were triggered on the self-destructive Bat Tour of 1978. So, he convinced Meat to lay on the floor and sing while Berrigian laid a sheepskin pad over the leg Meat had broken on tour and took a sander to the pad on Meat's leg.

~blink, blink~

I'm pretty sure that's not covered under most health insurance plans.

Crazy treatment for the nutter, but Meat claims it worked...well, that plus a loving wife and kicking his coke habit. Meat re-entered the studio, but his one-time collaborator simply handed him the songbook for Dead Ringer and went back to the disaster would would be Bad for Good. Meat had been self-destructive on Bat. This time around, it was his handlers that would lead him to disaster. Advances for tours magically disappeared after one performance. Merchandising investments vanished into off shore accounts that didn't have his name on them. Shoe boxes of money entered lavish offices styled with french antiques, then were never seen again. The movie, "Dead Ringer," in which Meat was yet again the star, was only shown once at the Toronto Film Festival, then the handlers had it re-edited into a Meat mockery.

One bright spot? Meat got to work with Cher on the music video for the title track.

Day 19: From Rock Star to Roadie

2010-04-23T08:44:00.000-04:00

After the Woodstock recording disaster, Meat, Leslie, and Pearl (Meat's very young stepdaughter) retreated to NYC. Meat couldn't handle the artifice of fame and coke wasn't helping. He only left his apartment to play baseball in the park, desperately seeking to reconnect with those who had known him before Bat became a phenomenon. He wanted to believe that he hadn't changed, that he was the same "huckleberry" from Texas, that he hadn't let all the adulations go to his head.

Reality is such a cackling bitch.

Eventually, he surfaced to take his new bride to hang with two of his friends who had remained constant through the upheaval and their wives - Billy Joel and John Belushi. One was a great influence. One, well, one had very tragic ending. When the challenge of "who can do the most coke" was issued and accepted, there wasn't much further to fall. Yes, yes, Meat Loaf won that sad challenge.

So, what does a multi-platinum recording artist do when he can't sing? He fell back to his other great talent. ACTING.

Bands Make It Rock. Roadies Make it Roll.

Roadie

The Story of a Boy and His Equipment

Meat had the lead as Travis, a MacGyver of roadies. The comedy was filled with cameos of music stars - Debby Harry (aka Blondie), Alice Cooper, Roy Orbinson, Hank Jr., etc. It was a farce, mockery, a comedy that could have done well. It opened the same day as the Blues Brothers. Kind of explains what happened there.

Day 20: Coke and Nutters, It's What's for Breakfast

2010-04-22T10:08:00.000-04:00

It's the classic rock story: Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll. Meat Loaf was newly married, upping his cocaine intake, and being demoted to mere vocalist on his next album. Every VH1 Behind the Music describes what happens when drugs take over a career. In Meat's case, a natural inclination toward violent outbursts mixed with an appetite suppressing stimulant created:

Nutters Out of Hell

The Megalomaniac Duo of Meat & Steinman was rapidly crumbling. The kicker came when Meat's voice crapped out. He couldn't hit a high note. He couldn't add vibrato.

The massive musical Meat couldn't sing.

That's one hell of an ego check.

For Christmas 1979, Steinman gave Meat the heave-ho. Steinman couldn't stand the thought that the songs over which he had slaved wouldn't be released just because Meat was a drug addict nutball who had no medical reason preventing him from singing. Steinman had a chance to prove that Meat was just the vocalist, that their fame and success were due to his songs, his genius. Hell, Steinman would show all those who'd snubbed him, all those who'd given Meat the recognition that Steinman deserved. Steinman decided *he* would provide the vocals for Bad for Good.

I'll let you decide who did it better.

Jim Steinman: "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through" from

Bad for Good

Meat Loaf: "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through" from

Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell

[Yes, that *is* Angelina Jolie in the video]

Day 21: In Twenty-One Days, Meat Will Own Your Heart

2010-04-21T10:28:00.000-04:00

Nutter Loaf dragged himself out of NYC and up to Woodstock in February 1979, to begin work on the follow-up to Bat I, Bad for Good. The label, being a business, wanted a "ditto" album and they wanted it yesterday. ~~Erhm, hello?~~ Bat I took five years to make. It was still in heavy rotation on the music circuit. Meat suspected he and Steinman were dancing that fine line of market over-saturation, and he was stridently opposed to putting out copy album. However, by the time he showed up in Woodstock, Steinman and Rundgren were already working on the new album. He voiced his concerns, pushed back on segues, melodies, and entire songs that were just ... wrong. His one-time co-conspirators in greatness made him feel relegated to "just the vocalist."

You do recall he's a wee-bit of a control freak, yes?

If ever there was a time to let the Meaty madness rage without interference, that would have been a good time.

Wuv, twue wuv, doesn't believe in convenience.

Meat needed a place to live during the Bad for Good debacle. Enter the beautiful beatnik single-mother who is the go-to gal for all the rock stars in residence at Woodstock. Leslie Edmonds cooked, cleaned, babysat, and pretty much did whatever grunt work would help her pay the bills, including showing the newcomers around so they could find a place to live. Eventually, she became an assistant studio manager. Yep, that still required a lot of grunt work.

Twenty-one days after they met, Meat married Leslie atop a snow-capped mountain with a doddering old priest who caught his robes on fire during the ceremony. Crepe arms raised, oblivious to the fire licking up his robes, the priest appeared very much like a fiery Bat Out of Hell. It's a good omen that will bond Meat and Leslie for twenty-odd years.

It takes longer than that for Meat Loaf to eventually release the song "Bad for Good" on

Bat Out of Hell III: The Monster is Loose.

Day 22: Cracked Loaf -- Nutters and Ego Don't Mix

2010-04-20T11:17:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf has something of a ...

temper.

If you read his autobiography, To Hell and Back, it's easy to trace the roots to his drunkard dad who actually tried to kill Meat with a knife. Meat owns up to be a hard-core item thrower during his fits of rage. Tantrums are usually borne of not getting one's way, and for a guy who held tight control over Bat I's creation (sharing control only with Steinman who is more neurotic than Meat), it doesn't require a stretch of imagination to see how sudden fame and success churned the violent nutter-butter. Bat I topped US and international charts within months. Everybody wanted a slice of the Loaf, regardless of time. Mornings and days were consumed by interviews and promos. Nights were all about performances and fans.

Lawzy, lawzy, duck and run. It's Meat Loaf-zilla!

~ROAR~

Early into Bat's rise, Steinman bailed on the promotions for the album. He loved the success, but not the dearth of recognition that started with his name as a footnote on the album cover, being ignored by fans and press, and then playing third wheel to Meat and Karla on the junkets. Keep in mind, Steinman always wanted the album to be "Jim Steinman presents Bat Out of Hell" just like the soundtrack for a musical. He left Meat to shoulder the stresses of fame alone, some have said in hopes that Meat would implode.

Ego is a wicked bitch when everyone's nutters.

Meat kept running at full tilt. The wild man on stage quickly lost his private times to decompress, to let go of the actor's alternate persona. The guy who threw himself into performances so completely that he fainted and had to be resuscitated multiple times during a show maintained that artificial energy day-in and night-out for a year.

The million sticky fingers of success pulled at Meat until he finally cracked--full on, top of the Empire State Building ready to jump--cracked. Friends talked him down. Soon after, the PtB pulled him off the road. He holed up for a month in a hotel room, never leaving until staff broke down the door. He had to grab hold of an elusive thread of sanity and start work on the next album.

Fans were like puppies that always followed him around.

Some were as faithful as a puppy.

Meat couldn't let them down. 'Cause he loved them, my oh my.

River Deep, Mountain High

Day 23: For Cryin' Out Loud, You Finally Love Meat

2010-04-19T10:54:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf and company have been on the Bat I tour for a few months when they're invited to play the CBS/EPIC convention. It's a BFD where all the execs and all artists on the labels are there. It's a chance to rub elbows. It's a chance for the small/newly released bands to succumb to fanboy/fangurl status.

Meat and Co are the last to play. "For Crying Out Loud" spills from the stage. Meat, as always, pours his heart into the nine minute song. His eyes are closed as pure emotion rips that final note from his lips.

Silence.

Not a cough. Not a clap. Not a screech of a moving chair.

Meat's positive the audience has run for the hills. That at some point during this heart-wrenching ballad the PtB once again failed to get it. They've bailed. Gone home to luxury homes. Established groups are rockin' out in their swank hotel rooms.

Finally, sick with another failure, he opens his eyes.

Everyone is there. Everyone is staring agog. One hoot. One holler. The audience of his peers and pockets erupts in applause. Not just any applause. The kind that whistles. The kind that drives people to chairs and table tops. The kind that rushes the stage when Meat and Co. kick off an encore.

For Cryin' Out Loud, they love Meat, they really love him.

Day 24: Bat on Tour: Two Out of Three Ain't Bad

2010-04-18T09:35:00.000-04:00

Bat Out of Hell is finally released, but token few have any faith in its potential. Meat Loaf and Steinman are holding auditions at the "Meat Loft" for the band that will tour with them. Ellen Foley, who laid the tracks on the album and helped convince people with pockets to sign Meat and Steinman doesn't join the line-up for the tour. Steinman is sold on Bat being a theatrical production. Meat knows it has to be rock and roll with a bit of theatrics. Either way, the woman who will perform the duets alongside Meat needs to be a great singer and a great actress...enter Karla DeVito (she of the tiny white leotard and leggings).

Epic decides that Bat's first live show will be opening for Cheap Trick in Chicago. Meat's not a fan of it. He's done the opening act thing back in the Stoney & Meatloaf days. He's gotten thrown off of tours for his antics as an opening act. Tough. It's the late 70s, gone are the "make love not war" mentalities among the audiences. Nope, they're all about rock and roll, and they're not afraid to shout it.

Meat walks out on the Cheap Trick stage and the audience is silent. Pin-drop silent. Some feeb in the front row yells, "Get off the stage you fat fuck." Meat's shaken, but beyond everything, he's a performer, and goddamnit they've got forty-five minutes to perform as the opening act. Third song into their set, even the guitar player is saying they should run for it while they can. Hell no. Meat won't go.

That miserable experience sticks with Meat for years.

A few days later, the Bat Tour makes it to Jersey. Jersey teens welcome Meat and company with open arms. Queuing in the afternoon for the show he'll put on that evening. He takes the Jersey stage and it's everything he dreamed. Some of the best Bat PR pictures of Meat the Sweatball are from the Jersey shows.

He couldn't win over the execs or Chicago, but Jersey gave him love.

Hell, Two Out of Three Ain't Bad...

Day 25: Three Card Meaty

2010-04-17T09:30:00.000-04:00

To say Meat Loaf "fudged" a few facts about Bat Out of Hell during its creation would be akin to calling him a "strapping young man." Meat & Steinman were tromping around NYC trying to get a record deal, performing live for various mukety-mucks and whosey-whats only to be tossed out on their rears.

Then came Todd Rundgren who fell on the floor laughing when exposed to the glory of Bat Beginnings. He was in love with audacity of it. Rundgren signed up to produce the album while Meat and Steinman finagled a contract with RCA (Card #1). In 1976, the threesome cut tracks with members of the E Street Band and Rundgren's band Utopia. Then Rundgren had to go on international tour to promote his own album. He departed with the words no artist likes to hear, "So where's the money?"

Enter Card #2. Random guy who owns a slew of truck stops makes an "investment" and buys out Meat's contract with RCA. (Hey, truckers need good rock and roll too). Tracks keep getting cut, progress continues until...well, where's the distribution avenue? You know, that pesky "label"?

They managed an audience with Warner Brothers (Card #3). The whole gang is there, Meat, Steinman, Ellen, a few backup singers. They're ripping up the performance, but instead of "sign here" they're told "get the eff out." Turns out Steinman, with his infinite ability to attract friends, had auditioned for the Warner execs on a previous project and had so offended them, that no way, no how were they ever going to get behind anything with Steinman's taint on it.

Go Steiny.

Push is coming to shove. They're running out of options. They've been tossed out by pretty much everyone.
But they have an album. Completed. Ready to ship.

Hiding up Meat's sleeve is the Queen of Hearts, Cleveland International Records, a sub of Epic, a label with one artist on its roster. CIR waffles, maybe Bat is right for them, maybe not. Three Card ~~Monte~~ Meaty begins to play. Keep your eye on the cards, ladies and gents. Where has she gone? Is she on the left? Is she on the right? Ho! There she is!

October 21, 1977, Bat Out of Hell is released to such glorious industry fan fare that the head of Epic Marketing ...

barfed in his hands.

Day 26: The Belushi Connection

2010-04-16T12:03:00.000-04:00

1975, Steinman wrote "You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth" and "Bat Out of Hell." Meat Loaf was so gung-ho about his partnership with Steinman that he vowed to stop doing musical theater and devote his time to getting a record deal.

Or not.

The National Lampoon Show was opening on Broadway and they needed an understudy for John Belushi.

Wait, you can see it can't you?

Wild and Crazy John Belushi the Comedic Actor

Wild and Crazy Meat Loaf the Musical Actor

Heck, yeah. I wish some genius somewhere had cast those two in the same film. Alas, no luck. They wouldn't be united (somewhat) on screen until March 25, 1978, when Belushi and Gilda Radner brought Meat Loaf on SNL to perform "All Rev'd Up and No Place to Go."

As it turned out, Belushi never missed a performance, so Meat was never needed; however, during Lampoon, Meat met Ellen Foley, his sometimes girlfriend and the original duet partner for "Paradise" [although it is her voice you hear on the original "Paradise" video, the girl appearing with Meat is not Ellen or Patti...it's Karla DeVito]. Ellen joined Meat and Steinman on the tour-de-force of auditions for record labels. There was no demo for Bat I, Meat firmly believed one had to experience the songs live to really get them...songs that lasted TEN minutes. TEN. Even by today's standards, those are some long-ass songs.Over and over they were rejected. Sometimes in horror sometimes in laughter, but never once as badly as the interview with Clive Davis...an interview Meat believed canceled because someone named Clive had called and told him it had be rescheduled.

Someone who was a spectacular mimic.

Someone name John Belushi.

Someone who'd taken the words right out of Clive's mouth.

Day 27: It's Paradise, Rocky

2010-04-15T10:43:00.000-04:00

Bat Out of Hell took a while to make -- not so much for Steinman to write most of the songs or for Meat Loaf to perform them. It was about the all too familiar artistic struggle with "I have this fantastic piece of genius, I just need a label/publisher/distributor so I can share it with the world...oh, yeah, and get paid for it." During the years, yes, years, of getting Bat I from concept to vinyl, Meat Loaf continued to work at various fascinating gigs, some of which I will share in future posts, but there's one more tale to tell before leaving the story of how Eddie changed Meat's life.

Meat Loaf has something of an obsession with music videos, specifically, of being in them and of using them as promotion vehicles for his music. Makes complete sense for a guy who is an actor and a singer, for a guy who makes more money ($287/wk) to be on the musical stage. Alas, he was a music video champion a decade before MTV. Back in the Motown days, he tried to convince the label to make these short TV promos of Stoney and him singing. Motown wasn't a fan of the idea, matter of fact, Motown initially tried to hide the fact they had two white artists on their label, so TV promos of a big sweaty white guy weren't gonna happen.

Rocky Horror Picture Show yet again delivered on this artist's sweet spot. Meat convinced Lou Adler to add "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" as a trailer to RHS. When the movie premiered in 1975 it tanked. When it hit the midnight showings, it gave birth to its cult following...a following that was introduced to Meat Loaf and Ellen Foley singing "Paradise" via movie trailers.

So, I gotta know right NOW, before we go any further, do you love Meat? Will you love Meat forever?

Day 28: Hot Patootie, Bless My Transvestite Soul

2010-04-14T10:06:00.000-04:00

When last we saw our hero, Meat Loaf, he was doing the wild and crazies up on musical stage...and he still is. Off-Broadway shows lead him down to Washington D.C. to work on a failed production of Rainbow. Fortunately, that gig ran out of money and sent him back to NYC just in time to answer the proverbial call--the one where a random voice said, "Hey, we're doing this science fiction musical call Rocky Horror Show and we want you to be in it."

Science Fiction Musical?!? He's all over it. Meat moves back west, gets cast in two parts as Eddie and Dr. Scott. After being stunned to fleeing from dress rehearsal when Tim Curry first appeared in fishnets and garters (imagine a big Texas boy shakin' his head, insisting he ain't gonna do no damn drag show), Meat eventually embraced the hilarity of it all, and even squeezed himself into a pair of stockings and platforms for the show, but RHS wasn't without a problem here or there for our hero.

In the musical version, they stuff Eddie in an ice box and Rocky is born atop it. One minor problem: All that Meaty lovin' doesn't do "stuffed in a box"...not without losing his mind. So vents, pipes, and plexiglass later, our delivery boy manages to keep it together for the scene. He does it well enough that when the time for the movie version to come into being rolls around, the Powers-That-Be keep Meat around for his first movie role.

Whatever happened to that Saturday night? Well, hot patootie, bless my soul, WE ALL love that rock and roll.

Day29: More Than You Deserve

2010-04-13T10:01:00.000-04:00

Meat Loaf & Stoney didn't last long on the Motown label, but the two good friends joined up with Jack Wade and hit the road opening for Rare Earth. Meat livened up the stage (and the pit) with his grandios antics...the kind of antics that are common place for punk bands these days, but back then, not so much. 300lbs of Meat ran through audiences, egged on call & response, and generally had a big sweaty blast.

When that gig ended, he got a call from the producers of Hair. They were putting on an "All-Star" version in NYC. A few disasters with the building structure and a hostile cast sent Meat on his way to Pittsburgh, then Toronto, then Buffalo productions of the musical that paid his bills. This strange circuitous path led him to one of the most important introductions of his life:

Enter Jim Steinman

Meat auditioned for the musical "More Than You Deserve." It's written by Steinman and Michael Weller.

"I sang 'I'd Love to be as Heavy as Jesus,' and Steinman was the only one in the room. ... Now that I know Steinman really well, I know why he was the only one in the room. He doesn't like anyone to invade his space." -- From To Hell and Back: an Autobiography

He played the part of the loon Rabbit, a solider who "helps" his buddies get "home" by blowing them to Timbuktu. Meat latched on to the insanity of the character, a character whose song would later be included on Meat's 1981 Dead Ringer album.

Day 30: Meat Loaf & Motown

2010-04-12T09:13:00.000-04:00

Everyone knows Meat Loaf does double duty as a singer and an actor. (If you didn't, stick with me during this countdown and you'll learn). It wasn't a case of "well, now that I'm a big name singer, let's see if I can cross-over to acting." Nope, he's done double duty from the get-go.

During the short years of the bands Meat Loaf Soul, Popcorn Blizzard, and the Floating Circus, Meat Loaf and his various bandmates had a stint of being the house band at the Grand Ballroom in Detroit (because paychecks are good things). Bands such as the Kinks and the Who were backed by Meat Loaf & Co.

Imagine: Meat Loaf and Roger Daltrey on the same stage. Both vocal powerhouses. Both backed by the song-writers who gave them the lyrics that changed their lives -- Jim Steinman on piano & Pete Townsend on Guitar-- introducing the supergroup:

Whose Meat
(aaahahah, I kill me.)

Meat Loaf has long admitted his heart belongs to acting. In hindsight, it can be no surprise that he left Detroit and returned to LA to make his next big splash in the musical Hair. It might be a little surprising that he returned to Detroit continue in Hair. What is the fascination this Texan has with Motor City? Nothing overly complicated. One friend/former bandmate had Detroit roots, roots that offered a paycheck. This time in Detroit, Meat and one of his co-performers snared the attention of a Motown producer. Though production was rumored to be run-of-the-music-mill, an album is still an album. And come on, who doesn't love a promotions department that thinks it's a great idea to use lines such as, "It takes two ears to handle this whopper," and "Plumps when they're cookin.'" (Psst, promo guy, put down the acid and back away slowly from the careers you are destroying.)

Watch out Carpenters, it's 1971 and here come Stoney & Meatloaf

(No, not a typo, Motown really released the album with his name as a compound word)

((Little Feat fans, yes, this is *that* Stoney ))

Day 31: Meat Loaf Popcorn Blizzard

2010-04-11T14:17:00.000-04:00

Hello. My name is "KAK" and I harbor fangurl lurv for Meat Loaf.

May 11, 2010 his latest studio album drops (it's already released in the UK, lucky bastards). You can read the story of the album (no, not how it came to being, but as in there's a hero and a plot kind of story) by clicking on the album pic.

For the next 31 days, I'm going to drag you, my faithful few, back through time to enjoy the undeniable powerhouse of Meat Loaf's soaring vocals. I dare you to not get a chill.

In the Beginning, there was Popcorn Blizzard, circa 1967. Tell me that doesn't make you wanna stop by Dairy Queen on the way to the movie theater.

What About the Vessels?

2010-03-22T18:18:00.000-04:00

So, here's a question about the recent Health Care Reform ~~disaster~~ bill. There was much hullabaloo about the role government funding would play in abortions. On the other end of the spectrum was a dearth of concern for pregnancy coverage.

But, KAK, pregnancies are covered under regular health insurance.

Nope, they're not, not for those of us who are individually insured. It is an option that costs significantly more, upwards of $100/month more. Prior to the Pre-Existing Condition expiration in 2014, if I don't have pregnancy coverage before I am pregnant, all well-mother/well-fetus exams and treatments will not be covered by my insurance company. Whether I'll be able to get coverage in 2014 if I am surprised by a pregnancy remains to be known.

Remember, kiddies, only abstinence is 100% effective.

Well, that and chat room masturbation.

Okay, I understand, my government views my body as a community vessel -- that's a hotbed of contention for another forum -- in the meantime, could we, as a nation, stop for just a moment and consider the point beyond conception yet before arrival?

Could we, you know, care about the vessel?

There Will Be Smoke Coming from Your Mouth

2010-03-18T14:30:00.000-04:00

"There will be smoke coming from your mouth. I thought I should warn you." This from my dentist while I'm playing tonsil hockey with a mouth condom.

Bill Cosby screaming, "Fi-ber, Fiii-ber," floated through my mind, but I couldn't begin the mimic since half of my face was numb, the weight of drill held my jaw down, and the aforementioned condom tested my gag reflex.

Today was Root Canal Day.

Lawzy, lawzy, let the festivities begin!

Many well meaning souls offered advice and sympathy, all to such a point that fear forced the use of clinical strength deodorant. You do not want your dentist fainting from fetid stench. It is a gross understatement to say I have a low threshold for pain. I have no threshold. I faint from a splinter in my thumb. Yet the past four years have been an exercise in oral tortures that would make the Marquis de Sade quite proud.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided that puberty wasn't enough fun the first time around. I revisited it in my thirties. Yeehaaaaw. I started with braces, full gunmetal-gleaming goo-snagging after-dinner-treating top and bottom braces. Halfway through my exquisite pretties, my orthodontist and an oral surgeon decided that cracking my face with a croquet mallet would be the ultimate solution to stop me from gnawing on my food like a wildebeast (they're hopeful the snarling will abate in three to five years).

If you've never worn a bra for your cheeks,
you're missing a high point in lingerie.

I have survived spacers, monthly ratcheting, a Terminator rebuild, metal-from-cement bracket removal, and the requisite clean up of laser gum trimming, polishing, and whitening.

Nothing is more excruciating than teeth whitening.

Nothing.

My dentist is fully aware of my issues with pain and needles. She ensured I was reduced to the state of a drooling Bullmastiff before firing up the drill and vacuum. While I may have left her office dragging one foot behind me, slobbering, and mumbling, "yeth, mather. yeth, mather," I did not leave in discomfort.

Truth be known, being attacked by Captain Hook during routine cleanings is far worse than a root canal.

All hail numbing goo.

Silhouettes on the Shades

2010-03-15T13:15:00.000-04:00

Remember that doo-wop classic, Silhouettes on the Shades? It would have been helpful had it leapt to mind when my sixty-year old aluminum blinds went crashing to the hardwood floor. For wee bit over a year, lovely ivory canvas curtains - lined, naturally - have prevented me from being arrested as an exhibitionist.

Or so I thought.

Recently, civic duty provided the misfortune of having to begin my day before dawn. This required lights to be turned on so that I did not trip over ~~and be killed by~~ my bairy heasts who had scattered about the room over the course of hard night. Walking said beasts during horrific pre-dawn revealed that those lovely curtains merely diffused images. They did not deign to go so far as to obscure the color of certain items in the room...a ground floor room.

Random honking at strange hours now explained.

If you will excuse me, I have new blinds to hang. doh

No Cushings

2010-03-12T12:34:00.000-05:00

My morning started off in the best way imaginable...Nope, that way. We all know morning breath bumps that down to a three or four on the Top 5 Ways to Wake Up list.

This morning, the phone rang and the voice at the other end said, "Really great news, KAK. Warty Beast does not have Cushings Disease." Yippee. No, really. Yippee. 'Cause treatment boils down to beastie chemo. I'll go to great lengths for my bairy heasts. I give them the same considerations as I give a human in my care. The catch?

I'm all about quality of life superseding quantity of life.

Not every cure is worth the the hell of salvation. How many cures actually restore the sick to comparable health? Not as many as one would like to think. Somewhere along the winding path of medical advancements we, the populace, lost sight of existing not equaling living. There is no universal scale by which that equality can be measured. It has to be an individual decision. That decision is one we are terrified someone else will make for us, so we muddle onward, laboring under misguided notions of longevity and deserved distrust.

If there is sentience and opportunity after death, one can guess where I'll be found.

Man Made Tawdry Imps

2010-03-05T18:41:00.000-05:00

Just when I fear the tawdry imps scampering about my mind have taken an extended vacay, I stumble across the genius that is a Dolce & Gabbana ad exec.

Whole new meanings to Man Made.

Thank you mystery ad campaign person. Thank you.

Safe Sex in the Senate

2010-02-15T09:32:00.000-05:00

We need one of these in the good 'ol USA. A party with enough representation in Congress to make the Right recall that they are supposed to be a party of law and the Left cling to the impulses of the majority. I'm thinkin' twenty-seven in the House and nine in the senate. Oh, and let's have a Sex-er on the Supreme Court too, that'll take care of certain redundant cases from wasting tax payer time and money.

Gay Marriage? Abortion? Sex Ed? Healthcare? Bring it on. The US Sex Party will tell the Man to keep his laws off your body and out of your bedroom. Oh, those feelings of distrust, envy, and deviance...get over them. Sex-ers are going to legalize prostitution and tax the hell out of it. They'll start with converting the southeast quadrant of the District into a model of success. Investors are already lining up. That $12.5 Billion debt? Psht.

Can you imagine Congressional backroom negotiations? Can you picture the verbose botoxed denizens of the Hill drumming their fingers, giggling, insinuating cooperation if there's a Sex-er staffer available to consult?

Better still, imagine the sudden uptick in grassroots political participation. After all, nothing ties our collective panties in a shibari knot faster than issues of sex.

Take a look at the Aussie's site:

http://www.sexparty.org.au

Look at their policies. Check out the very last bullet. I dare you not to laugh.

I told you Sex-ers would take care of the deficit.

Whadda Ya Mean You Haven't Heard of Nathan Gunn?

2010-01-23T22:27:00.000-05:00

I recently suffered a bout of apoplexy when one of my fellows admitted an ignorance about the glorious hotness of baritone opera singer Nathan Gunn. I know, opera isn't the first venue that leaps to mind for locating the epitomes of drool-inducing trimm-dich-fit; however, opera does something the rest of the entertainment industry doesn't: takes hot men with deep voices and presents them to you shirtless (occasionally pant-less, and once in a while nekkid) then has them sing flowing words in exotic languages that often include rolling "Rs." If you haven't felt the effects of a bass/baritone letting that wicked consonant play over his tongue, you are sadly missing out on a great natural pleasure.

Anywhoo, back to Nathan. Most bass and baritone rolls are relegated to the categories of "evil king" or "demon," but this man embraces comedic rolls too. The Met's 2006 performance of Mozart's Magic Flute (in english) as Papagano in kelly-green tights anyone? No? Watch this, then report back.

Opera made you run away? Come back, come back, come back. He also took a spin as Lancelot in the NY Phil's production of Camelot. What? Camelot is a musical not opera, silly rock-jock.

He also has released two albums of Americana classics. I'm partial to his heart wrenching rendition of "And So It Goes" on "Just Before Sunrise," but you get a taste of his humor in choosing "Slugging a Vampire" for inclusion on "American Anthem."

What really makes me like Nathan, like him enough to dedicate a post to him? He's a happily married dad. He does recitals with his wife, takes his five kids (five? five? omg) on tour, and still manages to be self-effacing yet eloquent in interviews. What opera singer would be on the Colbert Show?

Did I mention the voice? Yeah, go buy his albums over on Amazon.

Fine, the pecs are great too.

Smoking Everywhere

2009-09-25T10:57:00.000-04:00

This drizzly Friday, I fumbled to my mailbox and waited while the huge horkin' ad that covers half of my e-mail rendered.

I had to look twice.

"Smoking Everywhere" blared at me. A hot chick with a cigarette in hand was telling me to "Try it out Free."

No, no, I'm not a frothing anti-smoker sort. Hell, half of my social network likely remembers me with a cancer stick hanging from my bottom lip. Those were good times and I met great people with my dirty smelly habit. Eventually, the whole "breathing not wheezing" thing penetrated my mind and I quit some years ago. I tell you this so you understand my shock does not involve revulsion for the act of smoking or the product of cigarettes.

I am perplexed to see a big frakkin' ad banner promoting any kind of cigarette on the most frequented page of a PG-13 Web service -- the e-mail in-box. Yeah, yeah, I know about targeted advertising. Yeah, yeah, I know "they" can separate me from a 12 year old and serve me relevant ads based on that "we know who you are and where you go but we're not tracking your data, no really" technology.

It's a cigarette ad.

Yes, I can read. It's an electric cigarette ad. Tobacco legislation doesn't apply here. The ad isn't promoting smoking, its promoting faux-smoking. ::blink:: ::blink:: If that's the case, why isn't the Advertising Sales team selling that placement to near-beer companies or sexual-health companies? Matter of fact why isn't AdOps spinning the ads in that order? O'Doul's, KY, and smokeless smokes. Go ahead, toss in the lucite and latex clothing stores. I know there are fuckbuddy.com sites in the queue too, so crank it up and show me the party your "data" says I should I like.

Yeesh.

To top if off, the smoking ad was followed by a health-insurance ad.

Not Too Smart -- SPAM Subject Line

2009-06-24T13:17:00.000-04:00

For shits and giggles, I occasionally check the subject lines in my Spam folder. Today was such a day. Perhaps it was because my favorite skirt was a bit snug this morning, but this jumped out at me:

"I gained 3 inches and you can too."

No. No, I don't want to gain three inches. I am part of the feminine population who trends toward acquiring too much mass. An additional three inches anywhere on my person would require me to commence jiggle tests--those horrifying reviews of cheery chins, bat wings, banana folds, thunder thighs, and muffin tops. I am peeved enough by the slow encroachment of an inch-ish. I simply don't have time or sanity to cope with three inches.

So, MonsterWood@imadumbfuck.com, I slap you with #spamfail and banish you from my mailbox forthwith.