50 CENT OFFERS CONTEST FOR SINGLE
MOMS

 

50 Cent will play Santa for single
mothers this holiday season as part
of “50’s Money For Moms” contest,
in conjunction with BET. Entrants
must explain in 200 words or less
why she deserves to win 1 of 3
grand prizes of $10,000 each from
50 Cent. Details available at
www.bet.com/Site/contests_50cent.

DARRIN HENSON TO HOST ‘BAYOU
CLASSIC’ EVENTS

Actor/choreographer, Darrin Henson
will host The State Farm Bayou
Classic Weekend Battle of the Bands
and Greek Show, featuring the
legendary music rivalry between
Southern University and Grambling
State University.

MEAN JOE GREENE FINALLY AWARDED FOR
COKE AD

Thirty years after his famous Coke
commercial premiered during the
1979 Super Bowl, Mean Joe Greene
has in his huge hands a CLIO award,
given annually for excellence in
advertising.

Hi everyone! I’m excited to report that I was notified by one of my publishers, The Wild Rose Press, that print copies of SKELETON BAYOU are now available from their website here. The book will be up at Amazon and other online sources in mid-December. Yay! I’ve already ordered my author copies. Can’t wait to hold that book–an emotional romantic suspense–in my hot little hands.

Blurb: Savannah Love is emotionally and physically battered, but is determined to survive after escaping the hellish imprisonment imposed on her by her psychotic cop-husband. After seven months in hiding, she resurfaces at Mossy Oak, her ramshackle family home on a Louisiana bayou, and attempts to restart her life. The empty house provides shelter, but isn’t the fortress she needs when her cruel ex comes calling.

Mack O’Malley, former cop turned handyman conflicted over a bad shoot on the job, comes to Savannah’s rescue when the psychopath draws them into a deadly game of cat and mouse. Fearful of Mack at first, she soon discovers that beneath his steely exterior lies a resolute defender with a heart hungry for love. Will their alliance save them, or will they fall victim to the Legend of Skeleton Bayou?

Hope you’ll check it out! I’m thrilled to finally have another book available. This one is dear to my heart. You can review all my titles on my website here.

La Splendeur des Camondo
De Constantinople à Paris (1806-1945)

Musée d’Art et d’Histoire du Judaïsme

Du 6 novembre 2009 au 7 mars 2010

Cette exposition, présentée dans le cadre de la Saison de la Turquie en France, retrace l’extraordinaire parcours de cinq générations de la famille Camondo de Constantinople à Paris, du XIX^e siècle naissant à 1945. Elle illustre une des facettes de l’aventure passionnante, en dépit de sa fin tragique, qu’a été le processus d’intégration des juifs en France. Les magnifiques collections, d’une valeur aujourd’hui inestimable, que la France a reçues des Camondo témoignent du goût et de la modernité de ces banquiers éclairés et cosmopolites.
Réalisée grâce aux prêts accordés par les institutions héritières des legs Camondo, l’exposition montrera des archives familiales du musée Nissim de Camondo, des peintures du musée d’Orsay (Boudin, Degas, Delacroix, Jongkind, Manet, Monet, Renoir et Sisley) ainsi que des œuvres d’art du musée Guimet (sculptures chinoises, estampes japonaises) et du musée du Louvre (mobilier, dessins du XVIII^e siècle).

Commissaire de l’exposition
Anne Hélène Hoog, assistée de Virginie Michel

Conseillers scientifiques
Nora Seni, directrice de l’Institut français d’études anatoliennes (Istanbul)
Sophie Le Tarnec, Conservation du musée Nissim de Camondo (Paris) – auteurs de l’ouvrage Les Camondo ou l’éclipse d’une fortune (Actes Sud, 1997)
Marc Bascou, conservateur général du Patrimoine chargé du département des Objets d’art au musée du Louvre
Hélène Bayou, conservatrice chargée du département Japon au musée Guimet (Paris)
Philippe Landau, historien, archiviste du Consistoire central israélite (Paris)
Sylvie Legrand- Rossi, conservatrice en chef au musée Nissim de Camondo (Paris)
Sylvie Patry, conservatrice au musée d’Orsay
Bertrand Rondot, conservateur aux musées du Château de Versailles et de Trianon

Frankenfish

There are several mainstays of schlock movies and one of my personal favourites (aside from zombies, and I mean proper shambling zombies not ones that sprint like Seabiscuit on coke- fuck you Snyder)  is the little subgenre of “fish eating people”. Some fish movies are obviously not schlock- Jaws being the shining example, but as a rule if a fish eats someone then chances are it’s low rent fun time. Notable titles include Deep Blue Sea, Red Water, Piranha (both of them) and so forth. I know people are going to argue about Deep Blue Sea, but come on- they’re genetically engineered thinking super-sharks, LL Cool J talks to a parrot, and Thomas Jane is a “shark wrangler”.

The better entries in the genre usually involve sharks. There is some fun to be had with Killer Whales (Orca) and there is always the gratuitous stupidity of things like Megalodon, but as a rule, if you want a good fish chomps cretin movie then a good place to start is with the shark. If you don’t use a shark, then it’s usually a better idea to use a scary type of fish such as piranha, or else you’re going to struggle to convince anyone that they should be scared of the sea monster. Oh, and it helps to set it on the fucking ocean, lakes as a rule do not cut it as you need a good reason for the targets actually being on the water. All of which rambling preamble brings me to Frankenfish.

Before I mention anything else, I have to note how incredibly hard they made it for themselves. To begin with, it is not a shark threat, and, as if that was not a big enough mistake, for some unearthly reason they decided to set it on the Bayou.

The plot in fish films never really matters; as I’m watching it to see fish eat people. Ideally, I want to see the hungry beast throw them around a bit first before ripping great big chunks out of them, but I’ll accept it just popping out and taking a massive bite out whichever cardboard cut-out character was too dense to stay away from the water. If you’re interested, Frankenfish revolves around some giant genetically engineered Chinese mutant fish escaping and terrorising our heroes in the swamp. The fish have been transported from China by a complete asspickle that thinks they’ll be the ultimate hunt. The cast features a douchebag lawyer, comedy Cajun, voodoo woman, her hot daughter, a lesbian marine biologist, a cop and lots and lots of big fish. They all get stranded and terrorised by Frankenfish, most of them die, and eventually our heroes kill the fish and escape.

It sounds like good fishy fun, but it is not a good example of the genre. However, the problems with this film come because it is far too professional. I know this sounds a bit oxymoronic (minus the oxy), but you will have to take my word for it, because, bizarrely, there is a lot of quality in this film.

Firstly, the acting is passable; there is not a performance that lets the side down. They all do a solid, professional job on this. Even insane hunter douchebag doesn’t have anywhere near the required level of moustache-twirling twattishness. This is annoying, as I suspect the film would have been a lot more fun if it was cheesier.

Secondly, the effects are exceptional for schlock and put to shame a lot of the shite that actually gets major cinema time. Honestly, compare the CGI in this to, say, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and you’d struggle to tell which one cost hundreds of millions of dollars and which one was made for the change found down the back of the sofa. The fish are convincing. It’s odd. Fish eating people movies are usually better when you can tell the carnivore is plastic. I know that sounds daft, but, damn it, it’s just more fun when effects are incompetent.

It is also quite well constructed and thought out. I know that again sounds a bit strange, considering it’s about genetically engineered mutant fish, but it is. They clearly made an effort. The characters, to begin with, although mostly clichéd, aren’t totally one dimensional- the sexy biologist is a lesbian, for example, but she’s not in your face about it, rather she drops a hint that she may prefer a fish taco.

If the above is true, then why is it schlock? Well, the bad in this film far, far outweighs the good, so much of it is just fucking inept. The script is atrocious, despite the fact that some thought obviously went into it. There are good scripts, and scripts that are so bad they cause unintentional hilarity, but this one is just shite. For example, at one point sexy marine biologist has to stand around explaining to the rest of the bemused cast about this type of Chinese bastard fish that is such a greedy sod that if it’s in a lake it will eat everything, and therefore cannot be allowed outside of it’s natural environment else the whole world’s ecology collapses and we’re forced to lick moisture off toads to survive. This is dreadful on every conceivable level, and not fun dreadful either.

This is what comes when you try to be too bloody clever and do not use sharks.

Frankenfish himself is rubbish, despite being good CGI; he reminds me of a big catfish. I don’t know if you have seen a catfish, but if you have, you’ll have noticed that they aren’t remotely scary. Sharks exude menace by definition, piranhas are basically all teeth, squids are otherworldly and killer whales are similar to sharks in terms of menace. In comparison to these marine playground bullies, catfish are crap with nothing to distinguish them aside from their droopy Fu Manchu moustaches.

There’s also a load of annoying romantic subplot bollocks and an excruciatingly dull dinner party to endure. I’m not watching a film called Frankenfish because I think it’s some sort of Cajun Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. Alternatively, perhaps, fuckmonkeys, I’m watching a film called Frankenfish because I want to watch fish eat people. I don’t know why they believed that this would improve the film. Maybe the actors had a “weighty dramatic scene” clause in their contracts, but I just do not care. As if that isn’t irritating enough, the dialogue in this scene manages to be both dull and embarrassing, consisting as it does of the “I fancied you in high school” dreck that I hereby declare a cinematic apartheid on.

The big failing of it, though, and one that is hard to get past, is that it’s just not fun. It is wonderfully po-faced, but the serious tone and attempted gravitas just squeeze the life out of it. There were times when I just wanted to scream at the screen “who gives a fuck, screw your fucking relationship. He’s a fucking lawyer so obviously a fucking maggot. Where’s the fucking fish?”

Once the fish action does start in earnest, the film noticeably improves, but I still had the nagging sensation that they did not think they were making a fish film. The last time I had this feeling was with Ang Lee’s Hulk, where they did not seem to realise that they were making a film about a big green goon with anger issues and thought they were redoing Euripides.

Having said all that, there is plenty to recommend in this film, because there is plenty that isn’t just awesome but downright incredible. There is a well constructed, even if you’ve seen it before done better, sequence involving a ridiculously hazardous trip between two of the bayou houses. It’s tense, exciting stuff and as they’ve already killed a character I had as 100% certain survivor there is no guarantee that it will turn out well.

However, (immense spoiler this one), there is one standout scene that is so awesome that I am always going to use it as the gold standard for fish films. It combines comedy, a cheap scare, incredible stupidity, cracking effects, and random co-incidences in a medley of dumbhouse. The comedy Cajun, Ricardo, is pissed at Frankenfish, and being the stubborn son of the swamp that he is, is refusing to leave his houseboat. Frankenfish launches an attack on our erstwhile crew and Ricardo uses his native hunting skills to blow Frankenfish’s brains out with a shotgun. This in itself is awesome, but he isn’t done yet. Grabbing a big hunting knife, he squats down and sets about the dead fish all the while muttering some bollocks about “you think you are king of the swamp”. After a few seconds, he has cut the heart out, which he confidently begins barbecuing. By now I was crying with laughter but when he grabs the heart and takes a big chomp out of it before screaming “YOU THINK YOU ARE KING OF THE SWAMP, I EAT YOUR HEART. YOU ARE NOT KING OF THE SWAMP, I EAT YOUR HEART. WHO IS KING OF THE SWAMP?” I nearly ruptured something. To really put the cherry on top of this stupidity, another Frankenfish pops up behind him and, no way of putting this nicely, fucks him up good and proper. In the process of Frankenfish tearing Ricardo a new asshole, he accidentally knocks the barbecue over launching flaming propane gas cylinders across the bayou and setting every other house on fire. Genius.

This covers pretty much all the awesomeness apart from some gratuitous nudity, and death by airboat, but what I find truly staggering is that they went out of their way to leave it open for a sequel. What the fuck?

Overall, would I recommend this? I think so, but treat with caution. Remember, above all else, that it is a Sci-Fi channel effort and directed by the twat that made that turd Spawn. However, I cautiously recommend it for the above scene and the song that plays over the closing credits: dreadful hip-hop bilge by Hott Wheelz called “No one can hide” which must have been commissioned for the film, containing as it does the line “this thing’s a giant piranha/ another reason I won’t put one foot in the wata”. It’s dismal, very funny- and best enjoyed having watched the film. One of the most fitting closing themes I have heard in a long time, even if Frankenfish himself is not a giant piranha.

OK, so on occasion I like to check the search terms that have brought poor unsuspecting interweb users to Blue Dog Nights. And, on occasion, I like to share some of the more interesting and funny ones with my five regular readers (and possibly with a few folks out there in cyberland who have become hopefully lost and ended up here, thinking to themselves, how in the heck does this site have anything to do with what I’m looking for?)

So here’s just a select few examples from the past week, and, well, if you thought you’d be lucky enough to be spared my thoughts about each of these, well, you’d be wrong. Quick. Click away before you waste 5 perfectly good minutes of your life.

And yes, some of them are just too bizarre to share.

What if a gator approaches my kayak: An oldie, but a goodie. By far the most popular search string since the inception of this blog. An important question for sure. Too bad no one is going to get any definitive answers here. Just hope no one loses an appendage as a result.

Yankee Springs Recreation Area: Ah, home. It’s beautiful. You should definitely go there if you haven’t been there. And if you have, go back. You know it’s worth the trip.

Sampson State Park: Ah, another past home. It’s beautiful. You should definitely go there if you haven’t been there. And if you have, go back. You know it’s worth the trip. And be sure to stop at some wineries on your way.

What causes Louisiana coastal erosion: Well, there are seven basic causes….sorry, went in to lecture mode for a moment. Good question and everyone should learn more about Louisiana land loss and work to reverse it.

dianehuhn.worgpress.com: Close, but no cigar. Well, cigar I guess since it did get them here. Good thing computers are smarter than us interweb users.

Car jumping through a ring of fire: Whoa! I’d like to see that. We have an annual ring of fire in Yankee Springs, but sadly haven’t seen any cars jumping through it. That would be cool. Well, as long as no one gets hurt.

Human injuries: OK, then. Wonder if this was the same person searching for the car jumping through a ring of fire.

Alligator jumps over kayak: Ooh…I’d like to see that.  If anyone has footage of that, please post it on YouTube.

Do snakes jump in to kayaks: Gosh, I sure hope not.

Subliminal messages in land o lakes: As in butter? (Too much butter is bad for you. Say no to trans fat…brought to you be the makers of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. It’s an excellent source of Omega 3. Now available in a convenient spray. Buy I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter today. Actually, get in your car right this second and go to the grocery store buy some I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Actually, buy lots of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.)

Louisiana Swamp Dwellers: Oh yes, one of my favorite string of posts. What a great day! Thanks BW!

Gulf coast restoration cost: Um…a lot. But worth every penny.

Living in the swamp: Ooh, yes. I would like to do that some day.

Mean frog: Just say no to frog bullies.

Picture of new sign at Grand Isle: It’s very nice.

How is coastal erosion being addressed: Uh, well, not very well at this point. Reorg the Corp.

Down on the bayou Dave Matthews: Dave! Love Dave! Love Down on the Bayou! Dave, please come visit me and sing me a song. Do you remember me? Front row. Dublin? Remember when you were looking right at me?

Fun stuff to do in Picasa: Oh yes, definitely a lot of fun stuff to do in Picasa. And it’s so easy!

Coastal erosion and poverty: Yep, it sure doesn’t help. I co-wrote a commentary about this once. It got edited, but it still turned out kind of OK.

Blessing of the fleet 2009 Chauvin: Fun day! Pretty boats! Demand Louisiana shrimp! (Also another search string.)

LSU sweatshirt: Don’t own one and probably never will unless someone gives me one.

Barq’s Rootbeer: Yum! A tasty after training treat.

Water hyacinths on the bayou: Bad! Invasive species brought to south Louisiana by the Japanese delegation at the Cotton Exposition of 1884 held in New Orleans. Ornamental pond plants on Spring Break gone wild.

Bayou Cypress trees: Very pretty and valuable. Too bad most of them in south Louisiana are dead or dying.

Cypress trees and saltwater intrusion: Why most of the pretty and valuable trees are dead or dying.

Guy hit by car: What?

Intrusion resimler: What the what?

Training for Mardi Gras Half Marathon: What I should be doing instead of writing this post. Later gators!

Greetings mortals.

So Friday is coming, and the weekend looms. And I had a payday… so life is good.
And I just heard that my favourite restaurant now sells calamari. MMmmmmm. They say that good things come in threes, and Friday, weekend, Bayou Calamari… DAMN. Looking forward.

This week passed by in the usual ratios of work and sleep, writing and TV. As an added wrinkle, the wife and I decided to stream line our existence. To this end, we have combined our studies. This meant that I tried desperately to get her to move her desk into MY study. (I have the view) But she won the argument by proving that her study was the only one big enough to house the both of us. This was accomplished with a minimum of fuss. However, with a spare study opening up, we could move things out of our laundry come storage room. You can see where this is going…
Yeah. I moved a LOT. Beds, matresses… boxes and boxes and water bottles… you name it. But that is done, and the house looks great.

It seems also that there is finally going to be a replacement for that co-teacher of mine that left the school. Finally. That in turn means that everyone can stop jumping about trying to work more than their own jobs. Always a good thing.

Seafood has been a large factor this week. We were introduced to a wonderful new restaurant called Shabu Shabu… which is a buffet hot pot restaurant. AWESOME. As much shrimp, squid, fish and stuff as you like, with a desert buffet, and a chocolate fountain. All for about NT$ 300.
Not a bad deal.

***************

So…music this week comes to you fresh from Facebook. Thanks Formoria for the links.

This is the Voca People. Enjoy.
And just because sometimes you find something awesome… here is the dude playing wineglasses.

So how have YOU been? Feeling down? Getting a little negative? Well… I have a few links for you that might take your mind off things. Remember, you are only as negative as you want to be. Smile, grit your teeth if you have to, and put a positive spin on things. And above all… get over yourself. Have fun… it is the only way to be sure of dying with a smile on your face.

And now… PEEKCHUZZ!! (More than 3 today. Enjoy)

A Spot of Dalmatian

Pacman. Redux.

Stupid Mother...

Fool-proof Family Planning

Eastern Idol

Yeti. Out.

However, the similarities END THERE.

You thought it was over, didn’t you?  You thought I’d forgotten.  Well, it isn’t and I didn’t, so HERE WE GO AGAIN.

We open with Lucas mulling over something Mariah said to him:

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as her strange words to him echoed in his head.  It must be terrible, to always look for the worst in the people around you.  He had the distinct feeling she’d been talking about his relationship with his sister. (48-9)

Finally someone SLIGHTLY insinuates that he might be a fucker.  Not that he’s paying it much mind.

But she didn’t really know Jenny.  She didn’t know the fear Lucas lived with every day—the fear that his sister would turn into another version of their mother and come to the same kind of tragic end. (49)

GIVE IT A REST, WILL YOU?  YOUR MOM’S A HOOR, WE GET IT ALREADY.

Anyway, after thinking about how Mariah’s wrong and Jenny really is a slutty slut slut who sluts a lot, Lucas arrives at the house of Jenny’s erstwhile boyfriend, Phil.  Phil’s apparently quite the charmer.

He was a party guy with no work ethic and a sense of privilege that Lucas had seen too often in men who came from money.  In fact, Lucas himself and four of his then closest friends might have come to the same end had they not made a pact in college to use their wealth to give back to the community. (49)

Why thank you, rich white men, for dedicating your lives to the little people!  Oh, but you know what else would have been nice?  I know we shouldn’t ask for anything, what with being beneath you and all, but in addition to lending us your money and your expertise, could you chill with the condescension and the misogyny and the god complex?  THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS.

Also, what do you want to be that one of Lucas’ former friends is the kidnapper?

Moving on.  Lucas spares a moment to think about his sister’s breakup:

Lucas hadn’t been sad to see the relationship between Ribideaux and Jenny end.  Jenny deserved better than a man like Ribideaux. (49)

Really?  But I thought she was a no-good HOOR and a potential kidnapper?  What is this guy, a puppy rapist?

And now we pause for my immaturity:

He rapped again, harder and longer this time (49)

That’s what she said.

Ahem.  Phil, the charmer, answers the door nearly nude.

[. . .] he wore only a pair of black silk boxers. (50)

Tool.

Lucas agrees, and begins with the baseless intimidation:

‘I’d like to come in.  Now, you can invite me inside and we can have a nice, friendly chat or I can come back in a little while with a search warrant and the chat won’t be quite so friendly.’ (50)

…on what grounds, exactly?  God, this has the legal realism of a soap opera trial.  Which Lucas seems to realize.

Without a search warrant, there was little else Lucas could do here, and no judge in his right mind would give Lucas a warrant to search these premises on Lucas’s hunch that Phil was hiding something (52)

Okay.  So it turns out that Phil’s moving out of his nice house because his daddy done sold it.  He seems cranky about having to move into an apartment, leading Lucas to observe that:

It was obvious that Phil Ribideaux’s life was in flux at the moment.   Could that have anything to do with Jenny and Billy’s disappearance? (53)

That’s right!  Screw you, dad!  You sold my house out from under me, so I…kidnapped an ex-girlfriend and some random kid!  THAT’LL SHOW YOU!

But of course, this all circles back around to Jenny being the kidnapper.  Because Lucas can’t seem to cut the poor girl any slack.

‘Jenny, if you’ve done something stupid, then please have the courage to undo it now,’ he murmured aloud.  He hated suspecting that his sister had somehow orchestrated this [. . .] (53)

Really?  Because he seems to positively revel in it.

Lucas goes back to Mariah’s house, where we get a giant info dump about the strained relationship between him and his friend Sawyer.  I’ll spare you that, but it leads into this:

Sawyer flashed him a smile that spoke of old bonds and years of friendship, and Lucas felt himself relax somewhat. (56)

Dude…mostly my smiles are just smiles, but whatever.  Back to ogling Mariah!

The casual clothing suited her, made her look less stern and more approachable and stirred a protective urge inside him that he hadn’t felt for a woman in a long time (57)

But I thought he was protective of his sister?  Wait, we’re admitting he’s an ass now?

Okay, that’s it.  Until next time, kids.

Title: Bayou (LT)
Author: Jeremy Love
Artist: Jeremy Love
Series?: First volume of Bayou, yes.
Basic Reason for Beginning: Well, Chris and Nymeth both reviewed it and that stuck in my mind when I spotted it at the comic store, waiting for my turn. It looked slim and inviting, so… I picked it up. (I thought it was still September, I swear!)
Basic Reason for Finishing: Uff.. I don’t know. It’s oddly compelling?
Blurb: When Lily Westmoreland vanishes into the Bayou and Lee’s father gets accused of the disappearance, Lee sets out into the strange, god and monsters filled land of the Bayou to rescue her white playmate and to save her father’s life.
Book Rereadability: I dunno…
Author Rereadability: I dunno…
Recommendation: *flail* I don’t kno-how! Go read Chris and Nymeth’s reviews linked below.

Pages: 160
ISBN: 1401223826
Challenges: None.

Thoughts, Burbles, Etc

You know what? Yesterday (i.e. October 1st – I’m scheduling posts rather than drowning you all at once), I managed to read three books almost back to back and none of them managed to do aught for me. My reaction to this book may have nothing to do with the book and everything with me. (The same goes for Firethorn and Mijeong.) I don’t know.

But, yes, this joins the ranks of “Books I’m glad I read, but don’t want to keep and will probably never return to”. (Sorry, Chris and Nymeth!) It’s a good story, don’t get me wrong here. It’s a solid, curious thing. It’s very murky-coloured which suits the mood and my idea of the location perfectly. It deals with touchy issues, but without ever preaching. Leastwise that was my reaction.

(I admit, I cheated and looked at other people’s reviews here because I just don’t know what to say about this thing.)

I know I didn’t find it particularly scary – although that may not be entirely accurate. (I woke up from a dream where I’d killed by grandmother and my brother – only not unless I did because my brother killed my grandmother only not and he managed to get himself drowned with his bike and it was a weird confusion dream, all right? And, you know, Lily getting eaten is about the only thing I can think of that might have sparked something as bizarre as that dream.) So maybe my subconscious has a different idea. (For me, I think the scariest thing was the racism. Of course you can’t write a novel about the 1930s Southern America without stumbling across it, so I’m not complaining it’s there or anything, but… Racism is pretty scary. Okay, the book is scary, I just didn’t consciously feel a lot of it.)

Now that we’ve got that sorted… I have to say that, while I honestly don’t know if I’ll be continuing with the story (don’t expect a neat ending or not throwing a tantrum because the story just ends), I do feel that it’s a good story. The artwork is spot-on. Atmospheric, gorgeous and, somehow, completely believable. (You know, in ways the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland never quite managed to pull off.) Bayou – one of the characters – is a sweetheart and may well have made the whole novel for me. It’s dark and gritty and yet somehow suffused with a child-like fearlessness, innocence and hope. Maybe that’s why the scary didn’t register.

‘course if you’re still looking for that perfect R.I.P graphic novel… Might I suggest giving this a thought? It might be just up your alley. (And possibly, given a little time/stern talking to by Chris and Nymeth, this’ll move onto my ‘keeper shelf’ instead. ^-~)

And go read the reviews linked below. They have much better reviews than this brabble of… non-sense!

Other Reviews

Jenny’s Books
A Striped Armchair (also reviews several other graphic novels)
Stuff as Dreams Are Made on (also reviews volume 1 of Bone)
Things mean a lot

Jackson Square à la Nouvelle-Orléans : cathédrale Saint-Louis

Pour lire la suite : VISITER LA NOUVELLE-ORLEANS

Hey everyone,

Every once in a while, I have a story so fantastic that it just needs to be told. It has been over 4 years since New Orleans took a direct hit from Hurricane Katrina. It has also been over 4 years since I told my story of my time in New Orleans when Katrina moved in on the city.

I was living in New Orleans, by myself, with no friends to talk to, turn to, or hitch a ride out of the city when we got word Katrina was moving in. Katrina at this time was gaining strength and was jumping from a category 3 to a category 5 almost overnight.

Realizing I had to leave the city, and guessing that there would be no real public transit out, I had to do something. I packed a few of my belongings into a backpack, and a small duffel I had, and started doing what all New Orleanians who wanted out of the city could do…Walk out!

Unfortunately, this plan took me down many empty streets, and past many vacant houses, and eventually took me out of the city into what I liked to refer to as the “Swamp Parishes”. It turns out, I didnt know the way out of the city very well, and I went the wrong way, just to the outskirts of a major metropolis and into a major bayou that was to be inundated with water soon to come.

The people I met, were friendly enough though. They all had been born and raised in the area, and had lived through many a hurricanes, but none as large as this since Camilla back in the late 1960’s.

I found my way to a bar, and walked inside. I met the bartender, who was very nice and while he was packing up the bar and closing down, we made conversation. I told him I had walked out of the city, the wrong way, and was seeking some form of transportation out of the area. He couldnt offer me a ride, but asked if I had shelter to hunker down the storm whilst it passed. I did not, and asked if he could offer me that. He said I would be able to spend the night in the bar, at least while the storm passed, and the owner was out of town. He, the bartender, would be staying too.

After helping him board up the windows, and all but one door, I had another drink, and told him I wanted to watch the storm come. He said he would leave the door unlocked, but the moment there seemed to be hard winds, he would bolt it up and not open it again till the storm passed.

I agreed, and left my belongings in the bar, and proceeded to walk down the overcast bayou road toward some people carrying bags. The people walked up to me, and immediately asked where I was going. I told them I wanted to watch the storm move in since I wasnt able to get out of the area. One of them pulled out a gun on me, and demanded all my cash, mobile phone, and my jacket. I started to run away, and they chased me toward the bar. I ran into the bar, and the bartender pulled out a shotgun, and pointed it at them. The people who were trying to attack me, ran off, and the bartender closed and locked the door and turned to me and asked if I was alright.

Unharmed, mostly shaken, I started to cry, and collapsed on the floor. I had never been in a hurricane before. I couldnt call my family as the mobile phones didnt work anymore. The wind howled outside, and the rain grew heavier. The bartender, Nick was his name, moved closer to me, and wrapped a blanket around the both of us. He wasnt trying to get friendly, just trying to keep us warm, as there was no fire, no electricity by this point, and no other way to keep warm other than both of us to huddle together under the few blankets he had.

I remember both of us talking a bit, growing tired, and laying down next to each other, resting our heads on my duffel bag. You never realize how close a stranger can be to you, when you have no one else in a disaster. You also never realize that sharing a moment is just a cherished thing that two people can share, regardless of being gay, straight, or whatever. I think at that point, having no one else, being in the middle of the swamps, with a major hurricane that likely could have killed us, made us just cling to each other. Neither of us wanted to be alone, and neither of us wanted to die…and if we did, we had each other. It was more comforting that way I guess. We both slept through the storm.

The next morning we both woke up to some of the boards ripped off windows, some broken glass, and a little water by the door. Nick and I had lived through one of the biggest storms in history, and still at this point, only had each other. We both cleaned up as much as we could, packed our things that we had unpacked for the night, and both walked down the muddy swamp road, toward the city. We stayed with each other until we arrived at the edge of town. It had been a long walk, and there was no clean facilities, no running water, no electricity, and no one to turn to. Seemed we were like o many others, forgotten in New Orleans.

Eventually, we lost each other somehow. I guess there was a fork in the road into town. I went one way, Nick his way. I kept on trucking on my own feet until I was able to get help, and make my way again. I did go back to the bar to thank Nick for saving my life, giving me a place to stay, and walking with me back to the city. He was no longer working there, and no one there had a forwarding address or number for him. I never saw him again.

Sometimes I wish I could find him, so I could thank him for all he did. Without him Id have surely died in the storm, drowned, or just given up and wondered off into the wilderness. I still wonder if he has helped anyone else during their time of need, but I guess Ill never know. Wherever he is, I wish him well.

I never returned to New Orleans after that. I still have nightmares that he wasnt there with a gun. I still have nightmares that we died in the night. Most of all, I still have nightmares that something happened to him…

It’s weird that I obsess over this one person, but when your life is saved by someone, you are forever in debt to them. Its time to pay my debt.

That was my time with Hurricane Katrina, and my experience living through it.

Some day during the past week marked the one year anniversary of my arrival in Chauvin, LA. I can’t actually recall the specific date. According to my first blog post after arriving here, I said that I had arrived 11 days earlier. If the post on September 28th was correct, then I guess I arrived on the 17th since 28 minus 11 is 17. But since WordPress goes by Greenwich Mean Time for upload times, I might have actually made that post on the 27th, which would mean that I arrived on the 16th because 27 minus 11 is 16. But, then again, I stated that I only thought that I had arrived 11 days earlier.

You’d think I would have written this momentous occassion down somewhere. Oh wait, I did. I was keeping a journal of all the crazy things I experienced, like the giant pig running down the middle of the debris strewn highway straight at my car and almost hitting a downed telephone pole to avoid it. And seeing and smelling the dead pig in the bayou that didn’t survive the flood waters. And seeing televisions in trees. And the old Bayou People talking in Cajun French about the crazy Yankee girl unloading semi trucks of supplies. And shoveling seven inches of mud out of flooded homes.  And being scared that the alligator that people saw a few days earlier in the field behind where I was staying in a borrowed RV from Idaho or Texas or someplace would eat my dog. And driving across a road collapsing in the water in order to help tarp roofs and gut out homes damaged by wind and high water. And eating fried alligator for the first time and deciding that it was really, really good and hoping that maybe it was the gator that people saw in the field behind where I was staying in a borrowed RV from Idaho or Texas or someplace. And hundreds of other amazing, tragic, humorous, crazy things. But long story short, my laptop got completely wiped out about three weeks in to this adventure and I lost everything. Yes, I do know that I should have backed everything up, but I barely had time to sleep in those first few weeks following the devastation of Hurricanes Gustav and Ike, let alone back up my computer.

So let’s just say I marked my first anniversary on the bayou somewhere between September 15th and September 18th. But I guess I can’t really say that I “marked” it if I don’t actually know when it was. Anyway, I thought I would spend some time sharing the wisdom I have gained during this past year (give or take a few days). But unfortunately, my brain is completely fried after helping with three Bayou Bash fundraising parties in two days for the local kids and I need to hit the shower so I can help out with two more today. So for now, let’s just say that I am probably the most blessed person I know to have had the opportunity to meet the most amazing people I have met and experience the most amazing experiences I have experienced. Wouldn’t have traded one minute for anything in the world . And here’s hoping for another amazing year, minus shoveling mud and tarping roofs and gutting homes and crying with people who no longer have homes.

I’ve had the opportunity to photograph some unbelievably beautiful and amazing things during the past year, but this is my favorite. Most people probably wouldn’t give this photograph a second glance. Technically, it’s not a particularly great picture. The lighting isn’t too good. It’s not framed well. One of the subjects has her eyes closed. But to me, this photo is priceless. And every time I look at it, tears of joy and sadness stream down my face.

Fanart Pra web comic mais foda depois de Supertron que tem na ZudaComix!

Ouvindo::Pennywise-God Save The US and A

This dream is a masterclass in me.

The first thing that I remember is being at lunch in a fancy restaurant, ordering French pastries with Charlotte from Sex and the City.  We were discussing relationships and sex, and about whether I was a failure for not having gotten married yet.  Charlotte was as lovely and reassuring as she is on the tv programme, and I remember as I took bites out of my French cake (strawberry – which I normally don’t like), she told me that I was young and that there was plenty of time to fall in love.  We sprayed each other with the new Prada fragrance, L’eau Ambrée, and it was delicious.

I left the restaurant and Charlotte, and met up with Rob (the Romanian) and we went back to my place (I had a very white apartment) where we sat on the bed and were talking and flirting for ages.  (I am wearing my Opium Pour Homme today as I type this as a result) At one point I was so tempted to kiss him, but I couldn’t do it because he had/has a boyfriend and that would not really be ethical.  I reached out and stroked his face, and he nuzzled into it while saying “You know that I can’t do that”.  The tension mounted and I kept my hand against his cheek, but eventually the moment passed and I had to go.

The next thing I know, I was walking along the edge of a bayou (!!!) and I came to a big wooden Colonial-style house with lots of people crowded around on the veranda.  I mingled with the crowd, looking for Rob and it transpired that his family owned the house.  There was a raft on the river of the bayou, ready to “set sail”, and I tried to get Rob to go on it with me and we could go down the river together.  However, once I sat on the raft I discovered that his sister was going to use the raft with me, and she was a prostitute.  She got on the raft, along with a couple of other guys, and Rob disappeared and we started to drift upstream, towards the big white gates of the city.  The gates opened, and after some forgettable conversation, I got off the raft and left Rob’s sister and her guys to it.  I walked along the street and went back to my apartment.  The whole city looked as if it had been whitewashed, and it was ominously pristine and futuristic.

I went into my apartment block, and suddenly a siren sounded and the dean from St. Anne’s College at Oxford University, Martin Jackson, came thundering down the stairs and informed me that we were on ‘high alert’.  He told me to follow him up the stairs to a safe part of the building, and I had no choice but to do so.  He led me to an isolated part of the apartment block on the top floor, where all of the doors were sliding and gleaming white, with no handles or anything – they seemed to open and close of their own accord, as if they could see us coming.

Once I arrived on the top floor, I found out that the country / world was on ‘high alert’, because the Chinese had massive guns that they were using to shoot down all the other countries.  (Dreams are not logical.)  Although we were trying to fight back with our own guns, our guns were not as big and therefore we were almost certain to lose, and the world was due to descend into warfare and possibly the end of the world.  So that was why it was important to take refuge now, before it was too late.  In the top floor of the apartment building, there was a hallway leading off to three rooms.  I chose to enter the room on the left, which was furnished largely in red velvet with chairs set up for an audience.  At the front of the room was a massive flat-screen television, and it appeared that we were supposed to be watching something.  I have no idea what was supposed to happen in the other two rooms, but I had the impression that it was something more sinister and that I had chosen well.

Little by little, the room began to fill up with people, including my friend Hannah, and also a girl from school called Hannah Drake.  Hannah found me and we were relieved that we were both safe.  Meanwhile, the screen began to show Street Fighter games for different gaming platforms (including the Playstation and the Sega Saturn; it was some weird hybrid of Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat).  Akuma from Street Fighter actually entered the room and sat himself down, all fiery red hair and glowing eyes, and finally the film began to start.  It was very abstract and didn’t explain much.  At one point, me and Hannah looked at each other and started giggling because it made no sense, but one of the old women seated behind us hushed us and told us to pay attention to the film as it was important.  I remember lots of cityscapes and white gleaming buildings, and that was it!

Anyone willing to psychoanalyse?  Sigmund Freud?

My tribulations are just never-ending, y’all.  A few days ago, some folks got a good look at Oliver and were all, “We don’t mean to offend you, but your cat is…he’s really big.”

Guys, my cat is mother-fucking FAT.  You can say it, because it’s true.  I swear it will not hurt my feelings, or his.  He’s fat.  He is so fat that I had to buy a box of environmentally-friendly baby-wipes for his very own butt BECAUSE HE CAN’T CLEAN IT HIMSELF.  He is so fat that when I carry him upstairs, I wheeze a little.  Trust me, that DOES NOT HAPPEN with Original Flavor Cat, who is a more conventionally-sized feline.  He is so fat that every time I come home, I check his mouth to make sure the other cat’s tail isn’t hanging out of it because we keep him on pretty strict rations and I’m afraid he’s going to EAT HER.

He’s a fat cat, okay?  And yes, his weight does bother me because A.) I’m not very fond of wiping a cat’s anus every few days, thanks; and B.) He’s so big that it’s endangering his health, and as a pet-owner, I am not okay with that.  But it doesn’t shame me.  I don’t wake up every morning and go, “Oh, holy hell, what am I going to do about my 16 pound cat!  It’s so EMBARASSING!” 

Have we really gotten to a point as a culture where we are so hung about body size that my cat’s weight is supposedly shameful?  Seriously.  HE’S A CAT.  You’re allowed to comment on his weight—it’s not going to hurt anyone’s feelings.  As long as you let him sit on your lap and hold his chin while he purrs (he likes that a lot for some reason, the freakbar), you’re good.

My other tribulation is a lot more straightforward in the sense that SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL ME THE NIGHT BEFORE LAST.  I was making a perfectly legal lane change on my scooter when suddenly the car that had been going a sane and normal pace behind me flew past me in the same lane with mere inches to spare.

I laid on the horn and cursed the driver out, but I freely admit:  I felt all teary and shaky until I had a chance to sit down and take some deep breaths because THAT IS WHAT A BRUSH WITH DEATH DOES TO A LADY.

Seriously, driver of that car:  I know it wasn’t my fault, because you then proceeded to dart in and out of traffic, speeding zealously and changing lanes constantly in an attempt to get wherever you were going as quickly as possible.  And then we ended up side-by-side at the same light.  Because you are a goddamn fucking moron, and there is just no getting ahead on a packed road with many stoplights. 

But even if there had been a way to get ahead, wouldn’t it have been spoiled by that whole accidentally killing me thing?  I think that committing vehicular homicide in front of many, many witnesses would slow you down much more than say, OBEYING THE RULES OF THE ROAD.   Jackass.

But once again, nothing in my personal life can compare to what’s going on in Boinking in the Bayou.  Trufax.

So Lucas and Mariah are still hanging out, uselessly and fruitlessly waiting for Jenny to walk in with the kid, a smile, and a hearty, “JUST KIDDING!”  But in the meantime, Lucas thinks Mariah is totes hot.

Even though exhaustion showed in the shadows beneath her eyes and her forehead was lined with worry, somehow she looked lovely.  He’d never really noticed before how pretty she was. (40)

Okay, seriously?  It’s supposedly three in the morning at this point.  If I stay up until three in the morning, my hair gets greasy, my forehead goes shiny, and my makeup melts off.  And that’s on nights when my eight-year-old son HASN’T been kidnapped.  I cry foul!

But, you know, Mariah’s not a mere mortal like me.  Check it:

She sighed and swept a hand through her cascade of chestnut curls. (40)

Dude, has this author ever BEEN to the South?  People do not have “curly” hair in Louisiana.  They have “giant, frizzy” hair in Louisiana.  It’s called 100 percent humidity, and it is tragic.  But you know, since the woman can still look gorgeous in the wee hours of the morning while her son’s missing, I guess rules of logic, physics, and GOD don’t really apply to her.

But whatever, Lucas is still hating on his sister.

If Jenny were responsible for this, then he would have to do his duty and arrest her for kidnapping. (41)

HOLY SHIT WHY DO YOU HATE THAT POOR GIRL SO MUCH?

Meanwhile, poor Jenny has finally woken up, and the head trauma has apparently done horrible things to her language skills:

Where am I?  The question screamed through her head, making it pound with more nauseating intensity (41-2)

That is…quite the sentence right there.

But anyway, I’m glad to finally get the measure of this paragon of vice, this denmother of sin, this slutty slut slut who sluts a lot.  What was she doing when she was grabbed?  Exposing young Billy to HOMOSEXUAL PORNOGRAPHY, no doubt!

She and Billy had been sitting on the sofa watching cartoons. (42)

THAT HOOR!  I mean, wait…god, her brother is such a jackass.  But we knew that.

Moving on.   Billy continues to be the most generic child victim ever written!

‘Somebody took us, Jenny, and I’ll bet my mom doesn’t know where I am.’ The wheeze in Billy’s voice wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. (43)

“Oh, no, Timmy’s down the well!”  This kid is so annoying already.  But Jenny, who is a good soul despite the fact that she’s a HOOR, tries to comfort him.

‘Even if your mom doesn’t know where we are, my brother will help her find us.  You know Lucas is the sheriff.  He’s very smart and he’ll find us in no time.’ She hoped he believed her.  She certainly wanted to believe her own words. (43-44)

So doubt and mistrust run in the family!  Not that I blame her.  Lucas is totally an asshole.

But at least her doubt has some very logical roots:

As she thought of all the miles of waterways, the hundreds of miles of tangled, dangerous swampland that surrounded Conja Creek, a new despair griped her, and she prayed that her brother would be able to find them before it was too late. (44)

Dude, she CLEARLY got all the brains in the family.

Speaking of her stupid-ass brother…

Lucas pulled into his driveway at six the next morning.  His intention was to take a fast shower, then go talk to Phillip Ribideaux to see if the young man had any clue as to where Jenny and Billy might be. (45)

What, he thinks she might have staged a kidnapping for this guy but he waited ALL NIGHT to call him?  Now that’s some great detective work right there!

But whatever, who cares about Jenny and Billy?  Now it’s time for some TRAGIC MANPAIN backstory:

Lucas’s father had been sixty when he married his young bride, Elizabeth. (45)

Oh, so it was a love match, then!

Lucas didn’t have many father-son memories.  His father had spent most of his time either in his office at home or in bed with a heart condition that eventually killed him.  Although Lucas would always believe it had been his mother’s demands and histrionics that had killed his old man. (46)

“Old man” being the operative phrase here, dude.  So let’s get this straight:  your dad was probably in his seventies by the time he died and he had a heart condition, but it was your HOOR MOTHER who killed him?  Riiiiiight.  With a command of logic like that, you should break this case wide open in no time!

But not without the help of your trusty maidservant housekeeper, Marquette!

Marquette’s tiny face wreathed into something that looked like a prune. (46)

I assume they mean “wrinkled”?  I don’t even know anymore, guys.  I’m a critic, not a psychic.

In addition to being compared unfavorably to dehydrated fruit, Marquette also gets to talk about Mariah in painfully-rendered dialect!

That don’t surprise me.  That’s one strong woman.  You can see it in her eyes.  She’s got that cold gator stare.  Besides, she’d have to be a strong woman to put up with that boob we elected mayor of this fine city (47)

…what do you want to bet that Marquette is supposed to be black?

Now that Marquette’s served her purpose (whatever that might be), Lucas is back to brooding about the stupid-ass message the kidnapper left:

There had been something familiar…not about the voice, which had obviously been disguised, but in the inflection, in the cadence of the words spoken.  A kidnapper, or a friend of his sister’s working with her to orchestrate drama? (47)

OH MY GOD WILL YOU GIVE YOUR SISTER A BREAK ALREADY?  JESUS CHRIST, YOU MOUTHBREATHING LOSER.

Okay, that’s enough.  I’ve got more, but I can’t bear to type it, guys.  I CANNOT BEAR IT.  Until next week, y’all.