The Streak

On the night of June 27th, 1998, I sat in a fifth-wheel trailer in Island Park, Idaho, scribbling in a black ten-dollar hard-bound journal from Deseret Book.  I'd finished my first year of school at the University of Utah after returning from Chicago, and had just arrived at the family place outside Yellowstone for the first time since before I'd left.

Twelve years later, I still haven't missed a daily entry.

As much money as I've spent on camera lenses, computer equipment, and retro Air Jordan's, there is nothing as valuable to me as the ten journals I've filled in the last dozen years.  It's cool to think that I could go back to any day from that period and tell you exactly what I was doing.  All too often in life we worry about the things we haven't done, but journals are a nice way to remember what we have enjoyed.

Here are a dozen examples from the last twelve years:

• Met George Lucas, Ray Bradbury, and Luke Skywalker.
• Taught English composition to firefighters in South Jordan.
• Got paid fifty bucks to be a bouncer at a Saltair young adult dance.
• Been a Best Man twice.
• Totaled a 1964 Mustang.
• Saw James Brown in concert.
• Saw Sammy Sosa hit a home run at Wrigley Field.
• Ate a raw Habanero pepper.
• Finally scored a goal in an official rec league soccer game (that wasn't for the other team).
• Won a fresh salsa competition and a chili cook-off.
• Sang lead for a real Chicago blues band at The Blue Chicago.
• Got mugged in The French Quarter.

Here are twelve things I'd like to accomplish in the next dozen years (assuming civilization is not wiped out by a zombie/robot apocalypse first):

• Watch a movie at either The Spud Drive-In outside Driggs, Idaho or The Sky-Vu Drive-In south of Monroe, Wisconsin.
• Become an uncle.
• Get a book published.
• Buy another Mustang.
• Visit the old Tatooine set from the original "Star Wars" shoot in Tunisia.
• Lose enough weight to fit the medium sized "Elvis meets Nixon" t-shirt gathering dust in my dresser.
• Sit courtside for a Jazz game...in the Finals! (Brother's gotta dream, right?)
• Have someone throw their underwear at me while playing drums onstage.
• Reach 100 "followers" on this dumb blog (this is a hint).
• Get Natalie Portman's phone number.
• Convince people to finally start referring to my friend Bill as "Dr. Thunder."
• Bench press 300 lbs.

11 Reasons I am NOT a Pimp-o-Matic Mega-Stud

After my previous post, one of my faithful readers suggested I might consider the flip-side of my Marryability argument.  I don't know, in the interest of humility or honesty or something.  Well, never let it be said I don't value the input of my readers.  Last time I gave you the reasons I am a catch.  Here are the reasons you might have to release:

1. I am not a homeowner.  When the zombie apocalypse hits, we will not be holed up in the basement with all of our food storage.  Chances are we will hit the highway Mad Max style, gunning down Z's at 80mph and fighting road battles for precious, precious gasoline.  Besides, after you've participated in enough Saturday morning Elder's Quorum moves, you realize the best kind of life is the kind that is portable.

2. I never eat at the table.  For some reason, I have to be watching something or reading something while I'm eating.  I'm not sure this explains why you can often find me eating shrimp cocktails on the couch downstairs at 1AM while watching downloaded episodes of "Fringe," but it's a start.

3. I refuse to use emoticons.  This one goes for dumb acronyms, too.  Six months ago a girl rejected me via text, and the last line of her message was seriously "Best of luck 2 U."  I felt like I was getting dumped by MC Hammer.  Yes, emoticons and hip acronyms may help the interpretation of your tone (IE, sarcasm), but honestly, if you're a decent writer, that shouldn't be a problem.

4. I hate country music.  Let me rephrase that: I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate country music.  This will not change.

5. I hate minivans and SUV's. I love to drive, and I'm hard pressed to think of two vehicles that negate that passion more, whether you're behind their wheels or just stuck behind them on a long road.  Yet these are the vehicles you need once your family passes a certain threshold.  I honestly think I'd rather drive a school bus.

6. I own a $500 Bean Bag. It sounds better if you know that it has a retail value of $1,100.  But not much.  And if you think that's bad, you should hear how much my camera lenses cost.

7. I am a nerd. Maybe the video game thing isn't a problem for me, but my inner geek was branded the minute I jumped in my car and set out for Comic-Con 2007.  Or the minute I approached George Lucas in a Chicago mall.  Or...well, pretty much since this happened.

8. I have a diminished vertical leap. All great athletes have to adapt their games late in their careers.  Karl Malone developed a jump shot.  Michael Jordan did underwear commercials with Kevin Bacon.  I used to be a short speedy guy who could catch you from behind on fast breaks.  Now I'm a short slightly more built guy who just pushes you out of the way.

9. I am physically incapable of tanning. This has made certain recreational pursuits like boating problematic.  I'm kind of like that assassin guy in DaVinci Code, only without the quiet moments of naked self-flagellation. 


10. I like who I am.  There's a prevalent idea out there that suggests every girl gets married with the intention of molding her husband into the man she wants him to be.  I have caught glimpses of this on different dates over the years, and it did not go over well.  I like who I am.  I like my Velvet Elvis paintings.  I know I have weaknesses, and I am working on them.  But let me repeat: I like who I am.


11. I am a stubborn, defiant, competitive SOB who follows his gut and doesn't like to be nagged.  In other words, I am a man.

A Greeting

Come on, guys...go check the first letter of each sentence in that last post.  Highly unoriginal, I know.  But you have to admit that I could no sooner quit writing than I could chew off my own leg.  (Chewing would be physically impossible.  I could, if necessary, saw off my leg if given the proper utensil.)  And I'm especially not going to quit writing because a couple of publishers shot me down.  Keep in mind, I've been dating since 1992.

The Wounded Mosquito is not going anywhere.

It's true that I've been painfully slack in posting lately, an error I hope to address soon.  Let's just say I've had a lot of stuff going on.  Since late January I've essentially been working one full-time day job and teaching two night classes, which means my free time has become a lot more infrequent and valuable.  Plus I'm still trying to decide whether to continue this blog as an extension of my old USU column (the original intent) vs. writing posts that are shorter and more frequent (the advice I get from anyone who knows anything about creating a blog with a successful following).

It would seem that, as per usual, I am struggling with a commitment issue.  Kind of puts a different spin on that 1992 stat.

On behalf of the zombies...

Today's post comes in response to a recent comment from loyal Wounded Mosquito reader Doug, aka "The Jeepcruzer," who writes in regard to my early May analysis of the 1989 remake of George Romero's "Night of the Living Dead":

"Eek - Night of the living dead? UR killing me man. Shawn of The Dead is the only zombie movie I've ever enjoyed. Extrapolate as you will."

Thanks for writing in, Doug. I always appreciate your input and challenging rhetoric, even though I still remain disappointed that you carry such a deep-rooted hatred for "ET." Perhaps we can find more of an intellectual harmony on the zombie front.

Let me first say that I am also a big fan of "Shaun of the Dead." Great movie, great satire. A spot-on jab at the inherent absurdity of not only zombie movies, but most horror movies in general. "Shaun" is definitely the "Airplane" of horror movies.

That being said, I think that non-satiric zombie movies still have a lot of value, at least in the case of the original "Night of the Living Dead," and "28 Days Later" as well. And I'm not talking about the subtle social commentary that underlies the mindless hordes of the undead, either. I'm talking about a pure moviemaking value.

When most people think of "Night of the Living Dead," they think of a brainless horror flick where stupid protagonists struggle to outrun comically slow antagonists. They also tend to pin it in the category of dumb slasher-flick horror like the "Friday the 13th" or "Halloween" movies, little more than a series of brutal slayings with really bad acting and even worse writing.

I submit that "Night of the Living Dead" may bear some of those campy stereotypical horror elements, but that it uses them to strategic effect, ultimately transcending them and locating itself in the category of intellectual horror alongside classics like "Psycho." The first thirty minutes of "Night of the Living Dead" has plenty of eye-rolling moments, most of which take place in the first sequence as one of the silver screen's all-time ditzy blondes fumbles her way out of the desperate clutches of a lanky fellow in a torn suit and a lot of eye makeup. But stick with it. The brilliance of Romero's initial zombie movie is that it starts campy and proceeds to get darker and darker until you're staring at the screen stunned, wondering what happened to the cheesy little movie you started with. It doesn't matter if you're watching it with a group of friends or on your own at 1AM in your parents' basement (which is the way I saw it the first time). "Night of the Living Dead" is a scary movie.

There are plenty of "gross" moments that no doubt helped pave the way for the over-the-top gore of future slasher films-the scene where the zombies raid the burning pickup truck after two victims make an unsuccessful getaway attempt is a doozy-but unlike its more explicit progeny, the gore of "Night of the Living Dead" is partially concealed by its grainy black-and-white film quality, which makes it extremely claustrophobic and much, much scarier.

Over 30 years down the road, "28 Days Later" upped the ante by asking a simple question: what if the zombies were fast? What came out of that answer was one of my all-time favorite horror movies. (Incidentally, many critics hate the third act and feel the film falls apart; I, on the contrary, think it's a fantastic ending that reinforces the whole "enemy is us" point.)

All of this is not meant to deny the fact that generally zombie movies are campy schlock-fests. Not at all. What I'm saying is that just like in most cases (see "Rocky" and "Jaws", for two perfect examples), the sequels have undermined the brilliance of the original. If you haven't seen the original, Doug, you must see it now. And if you have seen it, you must see it again. Because I'm right about this.

Just like I'm right about "E.T."