From Pintrist: KILMER: "I don't like you because you're dangerous." CRUISE: "Are you as turned on as I am?" DESPITE BEING A FILM BUFF, I rarely go to movies anymore. I mean, the last time I visited Aurora's Tinseltown theater, I actually had to call the manager to the concession counter because I thought that he *might* be concerned by the thick, venous, fuzzy, tarry, spider-like mold that was sloooooowly wrapping around his Coke machine like sleep-sack restraints, in clear view of his customers. (He wasn't.) I suppose that from his point of view, the place was dark anyway. There had been clearly no effort made to change all the ceilings' dead light bulbs for the last several years, and judging from the carpet - a panorama of 1990s teal, magenta, & mildew - the whole place emanated a sort'a dank, funky, dingy/dreary-darkness that one might find in an adult bookstore arcade, on a suburban lunch hour. Consequently, unless something really *cool* comes out (like Bohemian Rhapsody, Last Night in Soho, or a new Bond film - see the end of this segment), I typically steer clear of big Hollywood blockbusters, especially of the rah-rah-family-friendly-variety, as I...despise...children.
That being said, I finally called uncle and watched Top Gun Maverick.
Okay. First off, for it's target audience, the film was pretty slick. They did an excellent job rallying the troops, and I could tell immediately that big bucks had been spent on talent, production, Tom Cruise's press secretary, and 1980s power ballads. I'm glad they got "Danger Zone" out of the way quickly, though I am surprised they couldn't work in "Blaze of Glory" somehow, as the Scientologists assured us that we have enough thetons in our budget - or, at least since we gave them a different credit card. The movie was filled with cliches, and I smiled when Maverick literally threw the rulebook into the trash - CLATTER! The sweeping crane shots. The rousing bar scenes. That dude on the piano, pounding keys like Al Jolson's The Jazz Singer, singing "The Power of Love" or "Love Stinks" or "Love the One You're With, 80s mix" or something. Oh yes, the *stirring* patriotism - and a mission that the flyboys might not come back from. I especially liked "Bob," the doey-eyed everyman, particularly as his character included Jeffrey Dahmer's aviator glasses. The daughter was cool, too; she had a sorta' after-this-movie-is-over-can-we-please-just-stop-all-this-Gen-X-reminiscing-bullshit attitude about her. Kids rock when they mock the Kid Rock generation, and keep in mind that young-adult "kids" aren't the same as "children." I'm starting to *get* teenagers, even when they're angst-y. And angst is what this movie oozed, as this entertaining third-act gasp from Joel Goodson's era - most notably with that cute closing shot of Maverick's PF1 Mustang flying off into the sunset - foreshadowed the encroaching twilight on Cruise's impressive career. I hope he keeps making movies of course, as his Hollywood cred now allows him to take chances, should he choose. I'd really like to see a project with Cruise, Keanu, Keefer, Kevin Bacon - and maybe Julia Roberts. I want them to do a season of American Horror Story or something. Or, maybe a remake of 1978's The Betsy.
On a completely unrelated topic, I think with as much as John Hamm has grown as an actor, he might be a potential 007 - if he can pull off the accent. With his performance as Roy Tilmen in this season's Fargo - coupled with his outstanding work in Top Gun Maverick - this guy is someone to watch.
That being said, I finally called uncle and watched Top Gun Maverick.
Okay. First off, for it's target audience, the film was pretty slick. They did an excellent job rallying the troops, and I could tell immediately that big bucks had been spent on talent, production, Tom Cruise's press secretary, and 1980s power ballads. I'm glad they got "Danger Zone" out of the way quickly, though I am surprised they couldn't work in "Blaze of Glory" somehow, as the Scientologists assured us that we have enough thetons in our budget - or, at least since we gave them a different credit card. The movie was filled with cliches, and I smiled when Maverick literally threw the rulebook into the trash - CLATTER! The sweeping crane shots. The rousing bar scenes. That dude on the piano, pounding keys like Al Jolson's The Jazz Singer, singing "The Power of Love" or "Love Stinks" or "Love the One You're With, 80s mix" or something. Oh yes, the *stirring* patriotism - and a mission that the flyboys might not come back from. I especially liked "Bob," the doey-eyed everyman, particularly as his character included Jeffrey Dahmer's aviator glasses. The daughter was cool, too; she had a sorta' after-this-movie-is-over-can-we-please-just-stop-all-this-Gen-X-reminiscing-bullshit attitude about her. Kids rock when they mock the Kid Rock generation, and keep in mind that young-adult "kids" aren't the same as "children." I'm starting to *get* teenagers, even when they're angst-y. And angst is what this movie oozed, as this entertaining third-act gasp from Joel Goodson's era - most notably with that cute closing shot of Maverick's PF1 Mustang flying off into the sunset - foreshadowed the encroaching twilight on Cruise's impressive career. I hope he keeps making movies of course, as his Hollywood cred now allows him to take chances, should he choose. I'd really like to see a project with Cruise, Keanu, Keefer, Kevin Bacon - and maybe Julia Roberts. I want them to do a season of American Horror Story or something. Or, maybe a remake of 1978's The Betsy.
On a completely unrelated topic, I think with as much as John Hamm has grown as an actor, he might be a potential 007 - if he can pull off the accent. With his performance as Roy Tilmen in this season's Fargo - coupled with his outstanding work in Top Gun Maverick - this guy is someone to watch.
"...his calavera face..." Moving on to other matters, the snow spun in eddies outside my living room window last night. The room was lit softly, with my collection of Tiffany-style lighting intermixing with flickering battery-powered candles, and I still have my Christmas tree up - as I wanted the experience of colorful holiday lights within my home, when the first real winter storm finally came in January. As usual, my Bose Wave Radio was set on WLS, low volume. The haunting melody of Eric Carmen's "Make Me Lose Control" echoed quietly in the darkness, and the TV - muted - was showing one of my favorite Remington Steeles. (That's my current background "default" btw, once I'm familiar with the daily FoxNews story cycle.) I had closed my eyes for a few moments, lost in my head as I planned tomorrow's query letters. I then felt Dane carefully climbing on top of me, his movements, like a contortionist, were both cautious & strategic, as he gently lowered himself onto my torso. When I opened my eyes, his calavera face - illuminated within the candles' shaky glow - came up to me from below, a sexy skeleton-man. I took him in my arms, ran my fingers along the ribs on his back, and the two of us spoke in whispers. Dane, literally, FELL into my life several months ago, and we each seem to satisfy a temporary need of the other. It's amazing how the universe gives us just what we need at exactly the time we need it, and, like "Gloves" in my Twitter/X feed (the stray I took in last year who's newly-birthed kittens destroyed my leather computer chair), both Rudy & I seem to lean on the other as we're each in a state of mental house-cleaning, while we enter the next phase of life. It's exhilarating, really. Dane's youthful energy feeds my twentysomething persona, and I'm careful to mentor him, rather than using him - as I've often done to those in the past. Chuckling. I have a standing invitation for him to join me at Touche, and when I first broached the subject, I was honest: "Dude - physically, you're like my fuckin' wet dream. I'll look like a badass if I walk into the bar with arm candy. BUT - I want to shave your head first." I already have a jacket he can wear - the vintage, beat-to-hell biker's coat I acquired from the former owner of Phoenix's Bum Steer leather bar - and, as luck would have it, my last boy forgot his Garrison. <eg>
The Hansanlu Lovers There's a passage from Chapter Eleven that I quote on my homepage: "Releasing his grip on Frankie's biker's jacket, the young man carefully stepped around to face him. The leathermen stood chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose-Muir to skullcap - a shark & prey in profile. They froze intertwined in the whirling white snow, a black leather grotesque as everlastingly damaged as the Hansanlu Lovers. Tears threatened to surface in Frankie's galvanized eyes, but he refused - flat out refused - to show any emotion at all." Paul, the intelligent, predatorial, and delightfully-soulless friend mentioned in my last blog, was the first to point out that despite my book's dark subject matter, When People Go Away is actually really *romantic,* at least as far as its setting is concerned. Ah, yes - the romance of the clubroom! A few months back, I brought Amanda - an autistic friend with the social skills of Helen Keller - along with me to Touche, one fine Saturday evening. Like I plan to do with Dane, I went through my gear and picked out something for her to wear. I ended up putting her into a Tom of Finland T-shirt & bar vest, and we both popped a gummy as we set out for the club. Amanda is...unusual. She has two PhDs, a YouTube channel about makeup, and, like me, she treats her Dyson vacuum as a member of the family. She's a literal Mensa genius, she's aware of the current paradigm shift, and with my multiple personalities, when the two of us are together, parents often gather their children. I couldn't WAIT to pour a few beers down her throat, let the cannabis hit her bloodstream, then set her loose in the clubroom - and enjoy as hilarity ensued. I just told her not to "gawk," to tip the bartender well, and to wash her hands if she touched...anything. 😬
Speaking of washing my hands of things, Dane has been deep-cleaning my spare bedroom in anticipation of Radar's return. I had to kick my last renter out. His boss was kind enough to introduce herself this past December, as she knocked on my door at eleven in the evening - and demanded he surrender his store keys. The stench of urine hit my face like oven heat when he finally opened his door (after I had pounded for five minutes), and, sadly, I found another recovering roommate who had relapsed in a big way. I was empathetic, but firm. Especially when I noticed the flies buzzing around forgotten food containers, and the empty gallon-sized bottles of Skol laying sideways on what was left of my carpet. As I don't like to live alone, I've had roommates for 30 years. Like Recon hookups, I've got screening renters down to a science, and also like Recon hookups, I have no problem cutting someone loose if our arrangement unexpectedly goes sideways.
Speaking of washing my hands of things, Dane has been deep-cleaning my spare bedroom in anticipation of Radar's return. I had to kick my last renter out. His boss was kind enough to introduce herself this past December, as she knocked on my door at eleven in the evening - and demanded he surrender his store keys. The stench of urine hit my face like oven heat when he finally opened his door (after I had pounded for five minutes), and, sadly, I found another recovering roommate who had relapsed in a big way. I was empathetic, but firm. Especially when I noticed the flies buzzing around forgotten food containers, and the empty gallon-sized bottles of Skol laying sideways on what was left of my carpet. As I don't like to live alone, I've had roommates for 30 years. Like Recon hookups, I've got screening renters down to a science, and also like Recon hookups, I have no problem cutting someone loose if our arrangement unexpectedly goes sideways.
"It was a VERY dark and stormy night..." Going back to Risky Business Ventures, with my ass cleanly wiped with my former 800+ credit score (kidding - I have no ass), I spend every Tues-thru-Thurs sending queries to Literary Agents - and I seem to have that down to a science too. I really AM having fun with the process. Agents are inundated with hundreds of unsolicited queries every day, and finding a way to get their attention is something of a game - and after three books, I think I finally understand it. I'm approaching crafting queries in the same way I write stories. When I work, I have two computers - and both have their browsers open for on-the-fly, real-time research. I'm always Googling stuff, looking up histories, double-checking source material, listening to YouTube videos, and running all my social media simultaneously. A query is a book's "resume," a one-page pitch that needs to stand out from all the others. Like resumes, queries tend to follow a format - and it's up to the writer to decide if it is done. Inexperienced authors seem to follow the format precisely, but when you're one of three hundred other queries that day, you're likely to get lost within the inbox of "The Next Da Vinci Code!"'s. And it's for that reason, my own query is intentionally different.
I have a standard query "body" that I use for all solicitations; it has a strong opening paragraph, striking industry bullet points, and a third/closing paragraph that changes with the agent; I "personalize" my queries, which requires an online deep-dive. When I find an agent who might be receptive, I scrutinize their social media - including personal websites, Facebook, Twitter/X, and Goodreads (for those agents who are authors, themselves) - and I try to find something really personal, some little detail that the agent disclosed, especially if it's unintentional. I look at an agent's posts & pictures, watching for common themes. Sure, it's tempting to pick something mentioned in their "wish list," but seriously...how fun is that? I intentionally choose the unexpected, a subtle theme or pattern in the way an agent presents their lives. Once I decide on a "theme," I find a way to tie it to my project, and I typically take a good, solid hour to personalize my message - in hopes the agent bites. It's a frustrating process if you choose to look at it that way, but I enjoy the challenge of creativity on the fly. At the very least, it's got me writing something every day, and that's a good thing as it leaves no time for depression.
I have a standard query "body" that I use for all solicitations; it has a strong opening paragraph, striking industry bullet points, and a third/closing paragraph that changes with the agent; I "personalize" my queries, which requires an online deep-dive. When I find an agent who might be receptive, I scrutinize their social media - including personal websites, Facebook, Twitter/X, and Goodreads (for those agents who are authors, themselves) - and I try to find something really personal, some little detail that the agent disclosed, especially if it's unintentional. I look at an agent's posts & pictures, watching for common themes. Sure, it's tempting to pick something mentioned in their "wish list," but seriously...how fun is that? I intentionally choose the unexpected, a subtle theme or pattern in the way an agent presents their lives. Once I decide on a "theme," I find a way to tie it to my project, and I typically take a good, solid hour to personalize my message - in hopes the agent bites. It's a frustrating process if you choose to look at it that way, but I enjoy the challenge of creativity on the fly. At the very least, it's got me writing something every day, and that's a good thing as it leaves no time for depression.
Actually, since this tweet was sent, I've shortened it to a ONE WORD whimsical statement... Chuckling. In additional to formal queries, I've also tried throwing a few things against the wall.
To close this blog entry, here's a Tweet that I also sent to John Waters, just for shits & giggles. Look to your left <<<
I mean, seriously. If you were an agent, and you've just spent an hour mucking the day's query inbox (well, your *intern* did, actually), how could you NOT, out of sheer & total curiosity, just type "Yes!" to see what the fuck I'm talking about? In the risky business of writing, I know that I certainly would...
- Sir Dave
To close this blog entry, here's a Tweet that I also sent to John Waters, just for shits & giggles. Look to your left <<<
I mean, seriously. If you were an agent, and you've just spent an hour mucking the day's query inbox (well, your *intern* did, actually), how could you NOT, out of sheer & total curiosity, just type "Yes!" to see what the fuck I'm talking about? In the risky business of writing, I know that I certainly would...
- Sir Dave