This is only a test…

This is a test.

This is only a test.

For those of you who use firefox and blog, I am testing an extension called “ScribeFire”. 

I don’t remember installing it, but I noticed the icon today and clicked on it, and BAM! the bottom half of my explorer window became a little blog entry form.

So this here is the big test.  I’m not logged into my site, but I’m writing the blog regardless and I will submit it soon.

It looks like I can do about everything through here as I can by using the wordpress dashboard, but this may be a helluva lot more convenient.  The true test is going to see how it will handle pictures (which I’m obviously testing, too).

Here is a picture of my shadow when it was in San Diego:


Okay.  For those of you who plan on using this, and use lightbox, you will have to tweak your photo (and use the API upload option).

I’ll tool with it more and see what I can do.

I’m hoping to get a response…

Dear Ronald McDonald,

I often visit one of your fine eating establishments that is right down the street from me for your delicious sweet tea. I have to admit, I hadn’t been to McDonald’s in many years, but once you busted out that sweet tea of yours, I’ve gone on numerous occasions. Many times for the tea alone, but sometimes I grab myself a couple of hamburgers.

Now I know you have many people working under you that their entire job is to think up ideas to make visiting one of your fine eating establishments that much better for the consumer. And I bet you money you pay them well, too. But I’ve run into a certain problem consistently at the particular McDonald’s I frequent, and I have an idea, a thought if you will, on how it can be fixed.

Do you think that maybe, just maybe, it might be a good idea to hire someone who speaks English at the McDonald’s on Whitehall Road? I notice that you are an equal opportunity employer, and really that’s fantastic. But I’m thinking hiring a person who can comprehend, and speak, the English language to take a customer’s order might be a good idea.

For example, yesterday I went and placed an order at the counter. Here’s what I ordered:

2 hamburgers, no pickles
1 large fries
2 pies, one apple, one cherry
1 large sweet tea.

Here’s what I got the first time:

2 hamburgers
2 pies
1 cup

Do you see what’s missing? Yes, my french fries. Oddly enough, the order was even repeated back to me. Albeit broken English.

After getting my fries, I filled up my cup and headed out. Driving down the road, I ate my first hamburger. Good so far. Then I ate the second. To my surprise (no, not really, that’s sarcastic), there was a pickle. No big deal, I’m not allergic, I just don’t prefer them on my hamburger. It’s just a pain in the ass trying to drive and remove condiments you specifically didn’t ask for off of your hamburger.

After eating my fries, I reached in the bag for a cherry pie. As it goes, the first pie I grabbed was an apple pie. So I placed that to the side and grabbed the remaining pie. Another apple. Terrific.

So let’s see the score; of the six things I ordered, your people screwed up on four of them. Two apple pies instead of one apple, one cherry. One hamburger of the two had pickles. Originally no fries in the bag. Hell, if I hadn’t filled up my cup with sweet tea myself, that would have probably been screwed up, too. And, yes, I’ve gotten coke before when I ordered sweet tea at that same McDonald’s. I have no idea how that happened. So we’ll make it of the five things I ordered, four were wrong.

80% of my order was wrong. Way to go.

Now I’m just throwing this out here, just a little something you might want to think about: Do you think it might be possible that the failure rate might decline if the person taking the order spoke English? The optimist in me says yes, but I could be mistaken.

Yet, I think you should take it under some consideration and give it a go. Who knows, it just might cut down on your failure rate.


Stewie Redrum

Today I sent the link to this blog to Ronald. I’m hoping to get a response.

It doesn’t make you look good at all…

Dear Lucky McGee,

When I saw that you were on the guest list for March’s HorrorFind Weekend, I was quite pleased. I really enjoyed your movie, May, and I was looking forward to getting my DVD signed (especially since your lead, Angela Bettis, had already penned her name on the cover). In preparation, I also purchased your latest movie, The Woods. Admittedly, I didn’t have time to watch Woods, but I was sure after meeting you I would be even more eager to check it out.

Imagine my surprise and disbelief when I walked up to your table and saw that you were charging for your autograph. You weren’t just charging for autographed pictures — hell, that’s understandable — but you were also charging $15 for the items that I brought. Honestly, that’s more than a little bit ridiculous.

Yes, yes, I know Ken Foree was charging the same. As was Danielle Harris, Betsy Palmer, Doug Bradley and Adrienne Barbeau. But those people are horror icons (or in Harris’ case, also a little firecracker). You aren’t. Now I know that seems harsh, but two movies (albeit at least one really good one) and an episode of “Masters of Horror” in no way justifies you charging anything for an item I brought with me. Did you not already get any sort of check when I bought May and The Woods? The way I see it, I already paid for my autograph.

Of course there were other people there, charging coin for their signature that may have been a little overpriced. I agree with that. I won’t name names, but I think we all know who’s autograph wasn’t worth what they were charging. But guess what — they are out of work actors who want to relive their past glory a little, and make some money in the process.

You’re what? Early thirties? And you have what? Three, maybe four movies under your belt? Plus you have another movie coming out, and from what I’ve read (and seen), you’re an up and coming force in the horror genre. So tell me, sir, why in God’s name did you feel the need to charge for an autograph? Please, please, please don’t say it’s your agent. Because if it’s your agent’s idea, I highly suggest you get a new one because they certainly aren’t looking out for your best interest. It doesn’t make you look good at all.

Or maybe you are desperate for money. I don’t know. No offense, but you have not yet qualified for icon status, so you can’t charge for that. You are certainly known (or you should be) for your work with May, but you aren’t at the level to charge for an autograph. I have little doubt you will be if your career progresses as I suspect it will, but not just yet.

At your next convention appearance, you might want to consider just charging for the things you are selling and not for the things you have already been paid for.


A Horror Fan

Okay, now that that little rant is out of the way, other than Lucky McGee pissing me off almost as much Anthony Michael Hall, I had a pretty good time at this past weekend’s dorkfest.

I met up with a bunch of friends, went to a great convention, picked up some goodies, got some autographs and talked with some pretty cool people.

My buddy Zig was nice enough to take some pics:

Judah Friedlander (Feast, American Splendor, “30 Rock”) Jack Ketchum (”The Girl Next Door”, “Red”, “The Lost”)

The first is Judah Friedlander and I. Thing about him is he wasn’t a guest, he was just checking out the joint. If it’s not Friedlander, he’s a great lookalike and a helluva nice guy.

The other pic is me and Jack Ketchum. He writes books. Read “The Girl Next Door.” I dare you.

All in all, another great time at this convention. I’m really looking forward to the one in August, because it’s looking to be a reunion of sorts with my friends from the board.

I don’t get it…

Okie dokey. Start here and work your way to this post. At one point I’m going to get to the point on why I started this whole thing, but it won’t be here, or the next post. Probably the one after that. The next post is going to be about HorrorFind.

We last left off with Nicki stating she was going to take Mr. Jingles with her when she moved out.

Well, Nicki found a nice new apartment (or condo or whateverthefuck) and she broke the news to me: they only allowed a maximum of two cats. She already had two. Throw Dumb Ass in the mix, and that’s three.

So, for the first time in his life, Dumb Ass was going to be exclusively taken care of by me. I didn’t have any beef with that, as he doesn’t annoy me like most cats. I took it in stride.

The first night Nicki was gone, I didn’t know exactly what to do as far as the cat was concerned, as he had pretty much slept in her room every night since she had moved in. So I just left my bedroom door open, in case he wanted to sleep in my bed. I honestly didn’t expect him to. You have to keep in mind I’ve never done anything with that cat except pet him on occasion and play with him using a laser pointer (and that was more for my amusement than his). I had just gotten settled and turned on the TV when BAM, he jumped up on the bed. He gave me a cursory glance, then started kneading the blanket with his front paws (although I’ve never seen a cat knead with back paws). Then, after a bit of that, he hopped up on my stomach and started kneading full force. I had to pause the TV because I couldn’t see it. Eventually, he stopped kneading, circled my chest/stomach a few times, then settled on my chest and went to sleep.

This has been his routine since Nicki moved out. Every night. It’s changed a little bit since the first night. For the first few days, he would sleep until I rolled over on my side, then he’d get up and lay down by the end of the bed. Now, though, he’ll get on my chest and hang out for a bit. But the moment I turn off the TV, he moseys on down to the end of the bed. I guess he figured out that I sleep on my side.

At first I was a little perplexed on what the deal was. He has never slept in the same bed as me (not counting when I was with the ex), much less on me. But then I thought about it, and figured I was just a substitute for Nicki. I felt used, dirty and cheap. I was sloppy seconds. Stupid cat.

Then, one day when I was talking to Nicki (most likely over email, since I hate talking on the phone), and Dumb Ass came up on conversation — meaning Nicki asked how he was doing.

“He’s doing fine, I guess. He’s eating. But he sleeps on me every night. It’s weird.”

“What do you mean he sleeps on you? You mean with you?”

“No,” I said. “He sleeps on me.”

“On you? He never slept on me!”

“What do you mean? He slept with you every night.”

“Yeah,” she said. “At the end of the bed. He never slept on me. What the fuck ever.”

I don’t get it. Stupid cat.