Blog Archives

And Now, A Rant About Cupcakes

This is a cupcake.

I love me some cake. I mean, I love it like a fat kid loves redundancy. My whole life is littered with the cakes I’ve seen and tasted, from my grandmother’s Red Velvet cake (with vanilla frosting. Seriously, people, cream cheese frosting? Are we in Communist Russia? Am I to begin standing in line for beets next? Cream cheese frosting is ONLY acceptable on carrot cake. Nothing else. UPDATED: I let my rage get the best of me. Cream cheese frosting is delicious on pumpkin or other spiced-cake product. I stand corrected.) to the cherry cake pops my wonderful wife made a couple months ago. I fucking love cake, just to be clear. Love it.

This includes cupcakes. Ahhh, the sweet, glorious cupcake. It’s a mini-cake all its own, a piece of heaven made for one hand, allowing a cake lover like me to eat a cake without having to use a fork and plate. From EZ-Bake ovens to school bake sales to after-game treats to something to make a bunch of goddamn kids shut the fuck up for 5 minutes, the cupcake has a well-deserved legacy as a beloved American treasure. Like so much of our precious heritage, however, this glorious symbol of utter deliciousness is being denigrated and desecrated before our very eyes. If we don’t act soon, the cupcake as we know it will be gone, tossed carelessly in the compost heap of forgotten culinary treasures like so many crumb-lined paper wrappers.

For fuck sake, people, LIVES ARE AT STAKE. Possibly.

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So I Got Tagged With This Lucky Seven Thing And So Here Are “Seven” Lines From Waiting on the Dead

Pretty much on exactly the same day that I got picked for my incredibly prestigious award (I’m still waiting for my statuette. I get a statuette, right?), I also got hit with something else. No, not the bus that many people have waited years for, but something that’s actually pretty cool. I’ll let the awesome Candice Bundy explain:

The rules for this one are quite simple:

  1. Go to page 77 of your current ms.
  2. Go to line 7.
  3. Copy down the next 7 lines/sentences, and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
  4. Tag 7 other victims, …er, authors.

Also available in an attractive v-neck for the ladies!

In her post, she asked, as an offal lover, for a bit of Waiting on the Dead. Her request hit me at a pretty difficult time in my writing. In short, I hate it. I’m good with the blog posts, but halfway through the editing of The Storm of Northreach I just hit the wall. It’s not good enough. I’m not good enough to fix it. You know, the typical angsty writer bullshit that every one of us whiny little narcissists go through periodically. Well, fine, that THIS whiny little narcissist goes through from time to time. I’m trying to get through it, there are a couple of things that need to be addressed, and part of it has nothing to do with writing but involves the other production shit and WHINE WHINE WHINE I WANT A PONY.

I hope to be over that soon.

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Why I Hate On The Walking Dead So Much

I’ve been asked that question before by friends of mine. They know I love zombies and zombie movies. They know I write books about them. They watch the show and can’t understand why I have such a problem with it. I try to explain, and bits and pieces come out, and after I’ve been asked that question I lie awake at night pondering the answers to that very question. Why on Earth do I, a zombie lover, hate on the Walking Dead so much?

I think, for me, it all has to do with missed potential. This show could be great. It should be great. The zombies are awesome, the effects are great, they have, uh, actors, they have an incredibly popular comic as their source material; there is no reason why a story set in a zombie apocalypse that has good effects should make me so angry. But these writers have figured out a way.  I’m going to try to make this somewhat organized, to keep my thoughts in order. Maybe I’ll learn something from all this, What Not To Do In a Zombie Story. In no particular order, here are some of the things that I think make the show so much worse than it should be.

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Roger Goodell, Pink Slime, and How They are Related

First off, apologies for no reviews for the last 2 Walking Dead episodes. I am still in full Mass Effect, so I have watched exactly 1 television show since last Tuesday (Archer, of course. How you say, push the rope?) so I am behind. Avoiding spoilers for Walking Dead and Mass Effect 3 hasn’t been easy, and even averting my eyes hasn’t stopped me from seeing little bits and pieces I wish I hadn’t. So anyway, hopefully I’ll get those episodes down and digested and reviewed soon. I do know this: based off the little I’ve heard, those two reviews may be the most bile-filled spewing of hate of them all.

Back to the news.

You probably don’t care about what I’m about to talk about. It involves professional football bargaining agreements, salary cap discussions, the Washington Redskins, and the NFL commissioner Roger Goodell’s big ole swingin’ dick. There are other fun subjects after that, including fanboy gushing over Robert Griffin the Third as well as some scrumptious and delectable ponderings over ammonia-washed “beef” “trimmings” that get turned into goo and added to ground beef to make meat cheaper. It’s a fun-filled potpourri of goodness!

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My Thoughts on The Walking Dead, Season 2 Episode 1

I don’t know if I’ll do this for every episode of the AMC series, but I had enough thoughts about the first episode that I figured I’d babble on about them. At least I think I have enough thoughts. It’s really early and I’m tired so maybe I just have one thought bouncing in my head and it’s I LIKE CHEESE and this post will end up moldering in the Drafts area for a few months before it gets thrown out like a 7-year-old box of baking soda that hangs out in the fridge for some nebulous reason like “fighting odor” when I’m not really sure what odors there are to combat in a refrigerator but ANYWAY.

So, Walking Dead is back. I watched it last night. As a writer who spends an inordinate amount of time writing zombie stories, most people assume that I love reading about zombies and watching zombie movies and going to zombie dress-up events and all that stuff. I’ve got a secret. I actually don’t. Yes, I love every George Romero zombie film there is, even the ones no one else does. I love the Resident Evil movies, but that is also due to the Milla Jojovich factor, the actress that I have a free pass for from my wife for when we meet (right, honey? Honey? It was a joke! Honey? /grumble /makes couch into bed). I love Max Brooks’ zombie novels (and cringe when I think what Brad Pitt is going to do to World War Z. Just when I started to respect him as an actor and whatnot.). And honestly? That’s about it. There’s a couple throwaways like Planet of the Dead that I enjoy as well, but there is an awful lot that I don’t really care for in the slightest.

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5 Things About LARPs and Hurricanes and Assorted Other Stuff

1. I played in a LARP two weekends ago. It was a different kind of game than ones I’d done in the past. The game is set in post-apocalyptic America where most of the population is either dead or Infected – like the “zombies” in 28 Days Later, fast and angry – and you are trying to get by and survive along with a group of other would-be survivors. It took place on a campground that had a replica ship, castle, and fort on the land, all of which were incorporated into the game as actual locations to explore and fight in. Combat was simulated using Airsoft weapons from pistols to shotguns to assault rifles along with “boffer” weapons – essentially replica weapons made with PVC and foam padding so it doesn’t hurt when you accidentally closeline someone.

I had a fucking blast.

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Holy Shit, Do I Need a Vacation

Hidey ho. For the past few days, I’ve been contemplating new blog posts. My last one, though, is a hard one to follow. I’ve struggled with writing some pointless angry rant about flip-flops or some other equally stupid shit when the last thing I wrote here was a heartfelt and painful goodbye to a friend I wasn’t ready to lose just yet. It just didn’t feel right to me. I’m sure if Carl was here, he’d insist that I write some stupid piece of shit drivel because that’s what I do, and he wouldn’t want me to change.

So I’m trying. It’ll be drivel, no doubt, and useless, but it’ll be something, at least. Read the rest of this entry

Here’s a Whiny Personal Post You Don’t Care About, But It’s My Blog So Deal With It

From last Wednesday (June 29th) to the 4th of July, I was on vacation. The purpose of that was mostly for a wedding on Saturday, one in which I was both the best man and also the officiant (which means I performed the ceremony – I’m a minister don’tchaknow). It also included my birthday and a BBQ blowout party for friends on Sunday. That’s why there were no posts here, why I wasn’t on Twitter or Facebook much, and why I didn’t read my personal email.

My birthday was good – low-key, the way I like it. Marking my progress to old age isn’t something I revel in, and I absolutely hate getting presents from anyone who isn’t my wife so low-key works for me. My wife is the greatest person in the world, and not only because she buys me books and toys for my birthday. That last part helps, though.

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Too Long, Didn’t Read

One of those Rules of Blogging that I never bother to follow is about post length. Supposedly, blog posts are supposed to be 400-600 words in length (that’s a total guess. I hate research. There’s this dude in my brain who looks like me and works like me, and when I wonder shit like “hey, what’s the ‘rule’ about post length again? How long?” the little Me looks up from the game he was playing or book he was reading or whatever he does when I don’t ask him shit and shrugs, takes a random guess at something someone in Memory once heard about, and goes back to what he’s doing. I should give him a raise. He’s my kinda guy.). The reason? People don’t have time to read anything longer than that. Anything after word 601 is just a blur of text that makes people feel all swoony. So unless they can see the end of the post from there, it’s too much. They have to stop reading RIGHT THEN. Some of those people are kind enough to warn the poor, misguided blogger that they’ve become a health menace, and so they take the time from their incredibly fast-paced, meaningful lives to comment on the post. Some will say Too Long, Didn’t Read – but that takes too much time to write. So instead, it’s become TL/DR.

And no, this isn’t a joke.

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A Friday Rant: Angsty Vampires

First off, sorry it’s been so long since I rapped at ya (thanks, Jim Anchower) but, well, shit happens. This week, it happened for me a lot. Back to the show. Oh, and serious profanity ahead.

It’s ubiquitous now. It’s as ingrained in our culture as breathlessly reporting on the antics of a bunch of skanks and meatheads. It’s everywhere we go, everywhere we turn.

Angsty fucking vampires.

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