Family

My four children are wonderful blessings.  I treasure them and I wouldn't trade them for anything.  I adore them and each one is so incredibly unique.  They are my reason for being and everything worthwhile in my life can be tied directly to my love for my wife and my little ones.  Yes, I'm one of those people who truly believes that those who don't have a family to share their lives with are truly missing out, and every day I find a new reason to be thankful for all these wacky Waylands.

Having said that, there are certainly moments when the voice in my head sounds a lot like this:

"I can't believe they killed Charlton Heston."

Here there be SPOILERS.  You have been warned.

You may know by now that I dig disaster movies.  I don't know why.  It was originally just The Poseidon Adventure for the most part, and I was fairly lukewarm on the others.  Now, I'm really starting to appreciate all of them.  It's an absurd formula really, but it's pretty damn entertaining.   You take some serious starpower, pick a disaster, insert a love triangle, add some truly ferocious weather, toss in a heaping spoonful of medical problems of the most dramatic variety, and finish it off with a madman (maybe a bomber, that's the easy call), and stir.  Also: having George Kennedy in the mix helps.

Anyway, I just watched Earthquake yesterday while I was folding clothes.  Talk about a disaster, that's the laundry situation in a house with 4 chaps, one of whom is an infant.  So folding the clothes can be kinda like climbing a mountain in my house, and watching Earthquake during this woeful struggle seemed rather appropriate.

And now we get to the title of this blog, the comment I have made to my wife entirely too many times in the hours since.  I can't believe they killed Charlton Heston.  This is really bothering me, and the whole thing was entirely too foolish (yet enjoyable) for such dismay.  Seriously, I've looked over at Kristen at least five times since and said "I can't believe they killed Charlton Heston."  Kristen could care less.  She doesn't understand.  She has seen Planet of the Apes, and that's about as deep as her understanding of Charlton Heston runs.

Forget politics, Charlton Heston was cinematic royalty.  I consider myself a big fan, and he was the best thing about Earthquake.  Okay, maybe George Kennedy was the best thing about Earthquake, but hell, it's a disaster movie.  Facing off against George Kennedy in a disaster movie is madness.  Regardless, Heston was perfect, and the character was well-conceived.  His dilemmas were compelling and he weathered the storm/earthquake with true American grit.  A great actor in a great role, and damn it, they killed the son of a bitch at the end.

I can't believe they killed Charlton Heston.

Justified Keeps Getting Better and Better

Man, I love Justified.  For those of you who know me well, this is old news.  For those of you who don't, it's probably hard to grasp.  I'm not really a big TV guy unless it's football season, and then I'm mostly there for the NFL.  On average, I follow maybe 2 or 3 shows, and there have been numerous points in my life when I didn't follow any.  I love movies and I read like it's something I'm paid to do, but television has always been the red-headed stepchild of my entertainment family.

And then there's Justified.  I'm a big Elmore Leonard fan, I love Timothy Olyphant and Walton Goggins, and this show has thrilled me from the very start.  Picking my favorite season would be like trying to pick a favorite child.  In some way, shape, or form, each one is my favorite, and thus far the fifth season has been no different.

As we head toward next week's finale, I've never been more excited to see what comes next.  Justified has mastered the art of wrapping each season around one big story and telling a multitude of little stories along the way.  The way the characters and their relationships have evolved and the way the show has managed to add great talent to the mix each and every year is nothing short of remarkable.  I think the series is positively golden, and I can't recommend it enough.

Much of this is old news, I've praised the show frequently before on a number of platforms, and this isn't the first time I worked to spread the Harlan Gospel with my blog.  I just want to make sure everyone understands that this love story is really no different from my marriage to the most wonderful woman on the planet; I'm still head over heels in love, I'm still being surprised and thrilled every step of the way, and I'm always eager to tell someone about my joy. 

Justified, where the good guys aren't all good, the bad guys aren't all bad, the outcome is never predictable, and the dialogue is impeccable.  I firmly believe this is the best show ever, and I can't wait for next week's season finale.  Forgive me, however, if I'm trying really hard not to dwell on the fact that the next season will be the last season.

Weird Dreams - 8/24/2012 Edition

I'm a deranged horror author, so it should come as no surprise that I have lots of nightmares and weird dreams.  There's some strange stuff happening inside my cranium, and sometimes my nocturnal escapades are so bizarre that I feel the need to share them.

So, last night I dreamed that my good friend Dave Scearce (a swell guy and one of the best bassists around) took me to see a comedian perform at a stone amphitheater.  The comedian was a figment of my imagination and not an actual comedian, and I can't remember if he was any good or not.  Besides, it wasn't important to the dream.  Anyway, we were watching this guy perform and I got up to go to the bathroom.  Suddenly, I became weightless, and I began to float upward.  I reached a height of maybe forty or fifty feet, and then this zero gravity phase of my dream came to an abrupt halt.  I plummeted downward, terrified, and slammed into the cruel rock surface that the amphitheater was composed of.

This left me with a mangled arm that was bleeding freely and a deep gash in my head that was bleeding even worse than the mangled arm.  Making matters worse, I began vomiting up blood.  Lots of blood.  Dave was quick to lend a hand, and he rushed me to the hospital.  I told him not to call Kristen (my wife) until we saw a doctor because I was hoping that it wasn't that bad and I didn't want to scare her.  This while I continued to gush blood from my wounds and puke up lots and lots of blood repeatedly.

Once we got to the hospital, we had to wait a while, but finally the doctor hit the scene.  He looked like a normal enough guy, but I knew things had taken a turn for the worse when he introduced himself as Dr. Frankenstein.  My misgivings were confirmed when he pulled a gun on me and said, "My prescription: one round to the base of your skull to put you out of your misery."

At that point, I looked to Dave and acknowledged that it was time to call my wife. 

. . . . .

Anyone who wants to offer me some meaningful insight into that absurdity is welcome to do so.