Where Everybody Drinks Your Blood: True Blood Meets Cheers

Where Everybody Drinks Your Blood: True Blood Meets Cheers
From the deliciously geeky minds of Wil Wheaton and friends comes this charmingly ribald mash-up of True Blood with seminal 80′s sitcom Cheers. It’s one part time capsule, two parts “wow, there’s been a lot of smutty, smutty gore on True Blood.” Although I’m not caught up and have heard that the latest season has not only jumped over the shark but also started eating it, I’m reminded that the show might still have some gloriously trashy redeeming value after all.

From the deliciously geeky minds of Wil Wheaton and friends comes this charmingly ribald mash-up of True Bloodwith seminal 80’s sitcom Cheers. It’s one part time capsule, two parts “wow, there’s been a lot of smutty, smutty gore on True Blood.”  Although I’m not caught up and have heard that the latest season has not only jumped over the shark but also started eating it, I’m reminded that the show might still have some gloriously trashy redeeming value after all.

(via Pajiba)

Related Posts:

– Divorced, Beheaded and Died: The Six Sorry Wives of King Henry VIII

– Have Some Courtesy: Sympathy for the Slender Man

– I Feel Like I Shouldn’t Encourage This: Epic Horror Rap Battle

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Vampyre Fangs

I hate Xmas. [1]

I sincerely mean that.

I… hate… Hate… HATE… Xmas!

(Holly, Red Ribbon, Bells… a triple threat!)

The whole Xmas season which, btw, starts about 2 minutes after Halloween! [2]

I hate it. I despise it. I loathe it.

To be fair, not all aspects of Xmas are the subject of my undying hatred.

(Written in 15 minutes by Mel Torme on a hot summer day in Vegas)

For instance, while religious Xmas carols in general turn my stomach and make me want to attack carolers with an ice pick, I don’t mind most secular ‘winter wonderland’ songs, like… well… ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’ or ‘Sleigh Ride’. I like the sentimental ‘coming together’ songs like ‘White Christmas’, or ‘I’ll be Home for Christmas.’ I like Nat King Cole singing ‘The Christmas Song.’ I enjoy listening to Karen Carpenter singing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and…

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Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness: Vintage Thanksgiving Art

Thanks to my sweetie, Eva, for this yummy collection of vintage Thanksgiving Art. Have a great Turkey Day, everyone! 🙂


Darlings, today kicks off a holiday week here in the United States. While Halloween will always be my favorite, I do have a soft spot for all the events of autumn; celebrations of harvests and softly falling leaves, as we prepare for a dark and cozy period before the wheel turns once again to sun and summer.

In honor of this week’s fall festival, here is a whole collection of early 20th century Thanksgiving art from magazine covers and America’s Golden Age of Postcards. I am particularly partial to the lovely 1914 George Barbier Harper’s Bazar cover at right. Enjoy!

Related Posts:

– Silent Sundays: The Magic of Halloween (1912)

– “November Night”

– A Man, Tall and Thin, and Ghastly Pale: Bram Stoker’s Dracula

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The Hobbit – Movie Trailer!!

(The Hobbit – Coming in December, 2012)

To see the movie trailer, click here!


Why I Hate Almost Everyone (Part 2): Seasonally Affected Dippiness Syndrome

Maybe it’s my jovial good nature. Maybe I smile too much. Maybe I’ve mastered too well the ability to feign sincerity.

Some people, when they are with me, begin to wax poetic about the end of summer and the onset of autumn.

(Who knew something so beautiful could set off something so irritating?)

September is an absolute menace when it comes to otherwise decent and considerate people spouting off about how life is like a big harvest and ‘gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ and have I ever noticed how a cornfield in the fall is like an old person? Or how a harvested corn crop feels so lonely? Or how pumpkins in the field remind one of abandoned hopes and dreams?

(Regret and disillusion as portrayed by gourd-like squash)

Cease with the similes, already! Enough with the analogies!  Spare me the bucolic metaphors!

It’s enough to distract me from gloating that summer is almost gone.

I’m all for a bit of poetry here and there. I myself have been known repeatedly to inflict Haiku poetry on a dearly beloved former partner. Be that as it may, what I have NOT done is flit hither and thither tossing seasonal bon mots around like I was strewing roses from my hat.

I wish others would show equal restraint.

Those afflicted with Seasonally Affected Dippiness Syndrome (or as I prefer to call it, Fall-Autumn Theatrical Histrionics Extreme Annoyance Disorder) must seek immediate treatment and stay on their medication.

I’m giving you fair warning!

The Stalker Cachet

To some people, there’s a certain amount of cachet to the idea of having a stalker. Perhaps you yourself may have pondered what it would be like to have someone hopelessly smitten with you to the extent that they would send you little ‘anonymous’ notes and phone messages. Someone whose every waking thought was of you and who went to sleep secure in the knowledge that their dreams would be filled with images of you.

Allow me to dispel this cozy notion.

I had a Stalker for a few years. It’s no party, believe me. And this person was a someone I knew. I met the person’s mother before I even became friends and co-worker with the stalker-to-be for seven years at a large government agency.

It started out harmless enough. Whenever I went to the department where this person worked (in a different yet nearby city), they would always find out and come over to say Hi… and maybe we could go out to lunch today, ok? At first, I thought nothing of it. I even went to lunch once or twice. Then it became clear fairly soon afterwards that the stalker-to-be was taking things up a level.

Next lunch with stalker-to-be, I brought along another co-worker friend as a kind of wingman and also as an unbiased fresh pair of eyes. Maybe I was imagining things. She confirmed my suspicions. Her recommendation was that I cut off all association with the person except whatever incidental contact was absolutely necessary in the course of employment. She recommended the “cruel to be kind” approach with the emphasis on cruel. “This idiot isn’t going to take any hints, you know. You are going to have to be blunt!”

I just couldn’t do it. It would be like kicking a puppy. I thought that maybe if I played it right, stalker-to-be would eventually get the drift and move on to someone else.

It was shortly after this that stalker-to-be was promoted to full Stalker. I would get phone calls at my desk. There would be messages on my voice mail and emails in my Inbox. Luckily for me, our respective departments weren’t in the same cities but I would have to come to stalker’s department about every four or six weeks. My visits to the out-of-town department became more tense as I tried to avoid the Stalker. The co-workers in stalker’s department were very aware of the developments and would sometimes tip me off as to stalker’s whereabouts. I tried as much as possible to keep my visits quick in-and-out affairs. If Stalker suggested lunch, I would say that I was just popping in and had to get back to my office.

The phone message and email campaign intensified throughout the months. Thank goodness, Mark Zuckerberg hadn’t created Facebook yet! Stalker stopped hinting a few months before and would come out and say that we should date and become a couple and that Stalker would be ‘good for me’ and things to that effect. Eventually, I attempted to make my trips to Stalker’s office building as clandestine as I could. No matter how I tried to keep things secret, Stalker was able to ferret me out.  The department where I usually went to was on the seventh floor of Stalker’s building; Stalker’s office was on the twenty-second floor. One day, within fifteen minutes of my arrival, there was Stalker standing at the cubicle I was using. I sat there, smile frozen to my face for about ten minutes, nodding, not even hearing what Stalker was saying. I was about to come up with some lame excuse as to why I had to leave the very place that was the reason for me coming to town when one of the managers came up and said to me, “Excuse me for interrupting but when you’re done can I please see you in my office. We need to discuss something.” Stalker smiled and left and I followed the manager to her office. I closed her door, fell on my knees, thanking her for saving me. “I just couldn’t take it anymore!” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk. “It was awful watching you just sit there, eyes wide like some frightened deer!”

“How do you do it?” I asked her. “You’re a gorgeous woman! How do you put up with this kind of stuff? I’ve never had it happen to me!”

She repeated the advice my co-worker and former wingman gave. “Be cruel. Be brutal. Stomp on that heart!” The manager explained that Stalker was banking on my misplaced sense of kindness and decency to continue stalking me. My failure to be hard not only did nothing to stop the activity but also gave Stalker a kind of permission. Silence is acquiescence. That kind of thing. Stalker could say, “If it was really all that bad… I would have been told to stop long ago and I wasn’t!”

Within about six months of the manager’s intervention, the Board restructured me out of a job and I returned to practicing law. Eventually, Stalker stopped calling my home phone number and leaving messages on my voicemail. I haven’t heard from Stalker since.

That was about seven years ago.

It wasn’t until I wrote this piece that I realized how close to the surface all those feelings still are. That sense of feeling trapped by my own misplaced sense of politeness and decency. Trapped on one side by feeling like a coward for not standing up for myself and trapped on the other side by the knowledge that I would feel guilty if I hurt someone’s feelings.

I still have lunch every other month or so with my old wingman. In seven years, Stalker’s name hasn’t come up. I think she and I both prefer it that way.

Battle Los Angeles

The other day, I picked up the DVD of Battle Los Angeles.

I thought it was going to be about a space alien invasion, like Independence Day. I found out fairly early into the movie that it was actually about a U.S. Marine unit stationed near Los Angeles at the time of a global space alien invasion.

In other words, it’s a war movie with space aliens as the ‘invading army’.

I don’t normally watch war movies. I generally find them stupid and icky. There have been exceptions. Platoon, Apocalypse Now, GloryDie Brücke (The Bridge) [1]… to name some off the top of my head. This one, however, kinda got me hooked.

It’s not that it’s a fantastic movie. It’s probably not. But for some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The way the Marines (and one woman [Air Force]) try to fight and ‘win’ their little piece of the battle had me mesmerized. I couldn’t imagine myself in that situation. I’d probably hide under a desk, frozen with fear, screaming my head off.

I’ve never been in a war. I’ve never had my town occupied by another country’s army. My parents and grandparents went through it. They had to watch, powerless and defenceless, as Nazis took over their village. They had to hide in the fields and bushes while Allied bombers were blasting the hell out of everything, while the German army was pulling out and blasting the hell out of everything, and while partisans, fascists, socialists, communists and Lord knows who else were fighting each other and blasting the hell out of everything.

And then I thought of the girls I know who have boyfriends fighting in Afghanistan. What must they be going through? How do they function day-to-day? Going to bed every night, waking up every morning, not knowing if their boys are OK, if they’re hurt… if they’re dead. And what about the moms?? Those are their babies out there. Their toddlers. Their kindergarten graduates. Their first graders with the goofy smiles and the front tooth missing in school pictures.

War is stupid and icky. And yeah, I know… you gotta do it sometimes. That’s just the way it goes.  But it is so much stupider and ickier for the people who have to fight.

What’s the old saying? Nothing is impossible for the person who doesn’t actually have to go out and do it himself.

These Marines and that one Air Force woman went out and did it. Because it is what they signed up for. It is what their country demanded of them and what they demanded of themselves.

Battle Los Angeles made me want to kick Dick Cheney in the nuts.



[1] AMAZING movie. Saw it when I was a little kid. FANTASTIC!!