FMyLife: I Have to Go Potty
Someone just recently introduced me to FMyLife.com, and I have to say it’s a fabulous way to burn time. Since I’m too fat and lazy to register for an account, here’s my FML contribution. There’s this cute-as-hell, totally-in-shape gal in my neighborhood who goes jogging every day with her dog. I go for walks every afternoon, so it’s inevitable that we’ve crossed paths several times before. Usually we just smile and say “hello” to each other, but the other day she actually stops to make smalltalk while she takes a breather. At last! My chance to get to know her a little better! Trouble is, I’d gotten a major urge to drop anchor five minutes earlier, and so was literally walking like some random Shaun of the Dead extra, legs squished together, spine bent in all the wrong places, hands stuffed in my pockets and grasping the edges of my underwear, sweat dribbling down my forehead, noxious gasses escaping my every orifice. My jogger angel jogs up to me, smiles prettily, asks me how I’m doing—and I just blast past her, mumbling, “I’m fine” out of the corner of my mouth. FML.
Besides shitting my pants in the presence of beautiful women, I’ve been quietly working on a new screenplay, this one about oatmeal. Pulsar Pictures is turning it into an independent film. You’ll never see another screenplay with as much fiber packed into a hundred pages. 
That’s about all I can say right now. Some old Colossal Theatre buds will be in it. More info. when I’m allowed to blab…
Posted: June 18, 2009 by jesse | Category: Journal | 4 Comments | Tags: fml, goddamnit, randomness, shit
What’s a Tesaurus?
There is some real good netlabel stuff out there (Elliptic and several of Tom Larson’s mixes come to mind), but the recent iD.EOLOGY release of Monokle’s Tesaurus is something extra special. Summed up by the album’s description:
Music can act as something like an emotional anchor. Listening to some old songs will conjure up past experiences, situations and moods and will transport the listener into that state of mind he was in back then.
Tesaurus is a great blend of electronic samples with guitar and piano. It’s minimalistic (I’m all about minimalism, you know), introspective without being overly analytical, nostalgic without all the extra remorse. Ever heard millennium-era Steven Gutheinz? Tesaurus is something like that. Minimalism with meaning. Good for adding color to old memories during a long train ride. I likie very much.
Posted: June 7, 2009 by jesse | Category: Journal | 2 Comments | Tags: cool, free, music, netlabel
Back When Game Cartridges Were Cool as Mullets
I was clearing out an abscess in my closet and found my old Game Boy, as well as a dozen game packs:
You’ll notice how much the Super Mario Land cartridge resembles a piece of spoiled fruit. That’s because I played the shiat out of it when I was a kid. I also dropped it in the toilet once or twice (who hasn’t?). Which begs the question: Why, in the middle of a bowel movement, would I need to switch games on the fly? Ah, well. It was my first Game Boy game, my first game period after several months of gamelessness (due to my mom’s previously destroying my NES with a hammer—true story). It was my initiation into the exciting world of monochrome, calculator-LCD-like portable gaming, and I was smitten. As primitive as it was, Super Mario Land was probably my favorite Mario game for the Game Boy.
Quite possibly the best overall game for the Game Boy was The Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening. Most ports or series installments on the Game Boy had less maneuverability than their NES counterparts, and were oftentimes visually inferior. Not so with Zelda, which utilized the Game Boy’s limited specs quite well. I was pleasantly surprised this afternoon when I tried the cart out and discovered all my saved games were still there.
There are other carts that I’m still fond of, like Castlevania II: Belmont’s Revenge and Ninja Boy…and that’s about it. Wizards & Warriors X: Fortress of Fear was a mere shadow of Ironsword. Speedy Gonzales’ soundtrack made me want to go to the dentist. Someone lent me Operation: C, and I didn’t like the controls as well as I did in Contra / Super C. But it wasn’t all crap during that gilded 1989-1990 period. TaleSpin was still on the air; Wesley Crusher was still aboard the Enterprise; Robocop hadn’t yet rusted through; the Ninja Turtles were still teenage. It was a good time to be a geekling.
(Random routine reminder: I don’t send spam from my Jessture.com e-mail address, nor from any of my other addresses. So, if you’ve supposedly received a message from me touting instant weight loss or miracle erections, know that it’s not genuine.)
Posted: June 2, 2009 by jesse | Category: Journal | 4 Comments | Tags: better than sex, classic, cool, game, games, geekdom, humor, know your roots, nintendo, randomness, retro
Books That Taste as Good as They Read
In lieu of shelling out nonexistent big bucks for billboard space, indie / DIY authors are turning to shopping bags, cookies, and cakes. The LL Book Review posted a blog on this over the weekend, and it syncs well with the whole “wear your domain name on your T-shirt” gimmick (which I had all my friends do back in the Gordey.net days).
A cute idea:
…they made a cookie for me which pictured the cover of my novel Misfit McCabe. Sondra mentioned to me that whenever they send their Wonderlicious book out for review or send out a press release, they send along a few cookies with the package to help sweeten the disposition of the recipients. It will definitely make your submission stand out from the crowd and give the recipient something to remember you by. One other idea that will help sales along, is to have a batch of photo cookies made to give away along with the purchase of a book for book signings.
Hey, give it a try and you may even charm one of those crusty old editors who adheres strictly to his 12-point-Courier-on-plain-white-bond submission guidelines.
Posted: June 1, 2009 by jesse | Category: Articles | 3 Comments | Tags: ad, diy, indie, publishing, small press, subtle promo
Fake It or Break It
An interesting comment on ABC’s new show, Make It or Break It:
Initially, I laughed at it too, as there’s not a shred of muscle on these girls that resembles an elite gymnast. And I even thought, considering all the thousands of wannabe-starlets in Hollywood, surely some of those actresses are athletic, and surely a small portion of them are small enough that they could plausibly be gymnasts, and surely all of them can act well enough to say these lines.
But then I remembered we’re talking about a TV teen drama, and not a show competing for Emmy awards. So what is most important to these producers? Accuracy, or viewership?
Easy answer, as the poster outlines in their comment. You can’t reach a teen-girl TV viewership without the boys, dating, and sex formula, and you can’t have a circa-2008 Shawn Johnson enacting that formula in the backseat of her boyfriend’s Mazda. Sex sells, and anything in prime time needs a little of it (either that or some violence). So, rather than cast a group of actual elite gymnasts who could bring a layer of credibility to Make It or Break It, the producers are using sexuality and assumed stereotypes regarding girls and sports. Kind of sad that they think the only way a show like this will survive is if it’s got some Bring It On or Stick It in the mix. But if it does, at the very least, it will mean career boosts for the actors and actresses involved, as well as publicity for a sport that is usually only noticed every four years.
I took a gamble when I wrote Heroes’ Day and decided to focus on social issues and exaggerated Olympic trends rather than making Monica old enough to flirt / blackmail her way to the top. I’d love to see Heroes’ Day as a movie, and I’d love to see it cast with a team of actual 13–14-year-olds because I know there’s an audience out there for a movie with strong female protagonists not relegated to relying on their boobs for attention. Not necessarily a Mighty Ducks thing, but something that doesn’t bombard you with shampoo and tampon commercials while you watch it. 
Posted: May 30, 2009 by jesse | Category: Journal | 4 Comments | Tags: goddamnit, gymnastics, oatmeal man, subtle promo, tv
I Call This “What I’ve Been Up To”
Sean has this crazy idea that there’s money in motion pictures. Subsequently, since the beginning of 2009, I’ve been writing screenplays / teleplays (in addition to my SuperMegaNet duties). Two are finished. One is serious, the other fun. The serious one, an adaptation of my novella “Node” / “The Path Between” (see The Reformed Citizen), resulted in a number of insightful new scenes, including a conversation between James and one of Raiden’s former prodigies:
AUTUMN
Don’t be ashamed.
JAMES
Who’s ashamed?
AUTUMN
You are. I can feel it.
James doesn’t answer.
AUTUMn
You’re still new. Raiden likes you. You are what you are. Don’t hide from it. Enjoy it while it lasts.
JAMES
I’m not hiding from anything.
Autumn gives him a look.
JAMES
I’m…regretful about certain things.
AUTUMN
Your wife?
James looks at her.
AUTUMN
The woman in the picture gallery, right?
James nods, tears welling in his eyes.
AUTUMN
She was caught in the crossfire. It could’ve been much worse for her.
JAMES
How? How could it be worse? She can only create images of dreams, portraits of hopes, but she can’t live any of them. She can’t feel.
AUTUMN
It would be worse if she felt. Much worse. She’s blissfully unaware. I was young when I came here. Raiden never gave me a membrane. I feel everything. Always. Raiden loved me for it.
James slouches his shoulders, rubs his hands over his face. He looks tired.
JAMES
I shouldn’t want this anymore. I shouldn’t be surging with joy.
AUTUMN
But you are. My agony, your wife’s, that of White Hall’s millions…it’s your sole purpose.
On the other side of the coin is the adult comedy for which I was recently commissioned. The following scene takes place after a restaurant owner has discovered that his hunky bus boy and buxom waitress have been fornicating in the kitchen. Naughty dialogue ahead.
OTTMAR
I could have you fired. I could bring in the health inspector. I could call the eleven o’clock news.
He falls silent for a moment.
OTTMAR (CONT’D)
Or, we can come to a mutual understanding.
MICHAEL
I’m almost afraid to ask what you have in mind.
OTTMAR
Don’t be. You’ve been here a week, and I think it’s painfully obvious to both of us that you are no bus boy. A bodybuilder wearing a collared shirt, Tarzan lost in the city, Fabio before he couldn’t believe it wasn’t butter, but not a bus boy. LISA, the cunt she is, figured it out early on: you’re leagues better at fucking than you are at serving.
OTTMAR straightens, lets go of MICHAEL. He starts pacing in the cramped space, puffing away on his cigarette.
OTTMAR (CONT’D)
This bitch — KATHARINE, her name is — her father owns the building we’re in. The rest of the country is in a fucking recession and this cocksucker wants to milk his property values by clearing out anyone who isn’t rolling in banknotes. The jack-off wants me out of my lease and on my way. He’s been sending KATHARINE to find something, anything to use against me. Sloppy service, bloated prices, severed fingers in the salad. The bitch has a wandering eye, though. She spends most of her time asking if you’ll ever be put on the menu.
MICHAEL turns in his chair, faces OTTMAR.
MICHAEL
She does not.
OTTMAR
(snorting)
Your ignorance doesn’t surprise me. The way you’ve been shooting LISA the juice, all the blood in your brain has permanently migrated to your groin. But we can use that to our advantage. The little tart is asking for it bad, and you, my boy, are going to give it to her.
Ottmar’s what you’d call a “lovable jerkwad.”
I also took a few minutes (well, more than just a few) to re-do The Knack after finding out that the previous version had gone, quite unceremoniously, out of print. And just when I’d gotten used to having my own indie publishing team, too! Ah, well. As Marty Feldman once said, “Could be worse—could be raining.”
This new edition has turned out to my liking:
The candles are…symbolic.
I upgraded my home office PC to the new Ubuntu 9.04. The fonts look spectacular (you know I’m a font whore), the new default background is no longer reminiscent of a coffee stained mud patch, and OpenOffice 3 is nice, what with the comments feature and all. This at a cost: Brasero insists on burning DVDs at sub-1x speeds, and VLC performance is choppy / the VLC video window ignores integration settings. Both of these apps worked wonderfully on the same hardware using Ubuntu 8.10, but you know how it is in the computer world: You can’t take a step forward without taking half a step back. Or something like that. If you’re an Ubuntu user who’s figured out the DVD burning problem, hit me up. I’d like to join the 16x world again.
Posted: May 13, 2009 by jesse | Category: News | 7 Comments | Tags: excerpts, horror, humor, linux, movies, screenplays, scripts, subtle promo, teleplays, ubuntu, vampire novel
SuperMegaNet 2.7 – Schoolyard Logic
Someone’s getting creamed on the front lawn. The large swarm of teenagers chanting, “Fight! Fight!” makes this obvious as my mom and I pull up in front of Boca Linda High.
“Oh, my goodness,” Mom says, looking like she doesn’t want to let me out of the car. “Maybe we should drive around to the other side of the campus.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know, Theo…”
But I’m already grabbing my backpack and making my way out. I wave goodbye as I close the door, hope she won’t sit there with the car idling until I’m inside the building. I’m a high school freshman now. I’m entitled to see the blood and guts like everyone else—without my mommy’s supervision.
I walk along the sidewalk, heading towards class, sneaking glances over my shoulder until Mom finally pulls away. The instant she’s out of sight I change course, stepping from the concrete and onto the grass, into the melee. Everyone’s bleary-eyed, their hair still wet from their morning showers. I smell shampoo, deodorant, cologne, breath mints covering cigarette breath. I try to push my way through, but the mass of bodies won’t yield. The few boys or girls who acknowledge my presence do so in a way befitting someone’s pesky younger brother.
“Oh, my fucking God!” says a senior in front of me, to his pal. “Did you see that blond chick that just pulled up a couple of minutes ago?”
“Which one?” asks his friend.
“The one in the Prius. Dropped off her little brother.”
“Oh, her. Hells yeah I saw her. Must be a college cheerleader.”
“Had to be. Nice little titties, fit as fuck. I was just waiting for her to get out and show off that tight little booty.”
“You and me both.”
The boys exchange high-fives, then glance back at me. An “Oh, shit!” expression crosses both of their faces—they must not have realized I’ve been standing right behind them while they fawn over my mom.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn away from the senior jerks to find Ernie’s standing next to me. He’s wearing sunglasses.
“Yo,” he says.
I blink (out of my peripheral vision I can see the senior jerks sidling away). “What’s with the glasses?”
Ernie glowers at me. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just that it’s seven forty-five in the morning.” And you look like you’re trying to hide a night of binge drinking.
“So, what? Am I not cool enough to wear shades when it suits me? Is that privilege reserved for rockers and movie stars only?”
“No, I…” I trail off, lost for words.
Ernie sighs and shakes his head. He adjusts his backpack. “Sorry. Long night.”
“Oh.” Right. He’s an insomniac, too. He probably got five hours of sleep last night—though his midnight marathons are intentional. Mine aren’t. And even when I’ve had a bad night I don’t snap at people when they ask me why I’m wearing sunglasses in the morning.
No matter. Eva’s coming up to us now. She’s fresh-faced and energetic, wearing her usual warm-up suit and sneakers combo, her ponytail bouncing cheerfully with each step.
I catch myself beaming and waving dumbly. “Good morning.”
She nods casually at me, gestures at the crowd. “What’s going on?”
“Fight,” Ernie answers, trying unsuccessfully to jump up and down so he can see over everyone else. Each time he jumps, his grandpa sweater gets stuck in a roll of fat, and each time he tries to pick it out without looking obvious.
Eva rolls her eyes distastefully. “How mature.”
She walks away. I watch her go, disappointed. I shouldn’t have smiled so eagerly when I said hello. I should’ve opened with a joke or something. I should’ve shown my own initiative instead of just standing and gawking like everyone else—
I look at Ernie again. He’s stopped jumping, but is still out of breath from the exertion.
“I can’t see shit!” he breathes.
I think I hear someone getting punched.
I say, “I think I hear someone getting punched.”
“That’s it.” Ernie charges forward. “I’ve had enough of standing out here in the boondocks.”
Head down, elbows braced ahead of him, he uses his bulk to open a path; I tag along in his wake. A couple of rude excuse-me’s and a wheezed, “Hey, that fat kid elbowed me in the balls!” later and we reach the inner circle. Two senior boys are thrashing around, bits of mud and grass (and a little blood, I think) staining their clothes. One is brutish, wearing a letterman jacket; the other is a tank top wearing pretty-boy. Both are musclebound.
Ernie and I watch in detached fascination as the pretty-boy is tenderized before our very eyes. Somewhere at the crowd’s perimeter, I can hear teachers and custodians shouting for everyone to disperse. None of us listen, though, and so the adults continue trying to out-yell the adolescents. They either don’t know or don’t care about the schoolyard code—they act as if we’re hindering the process when, in fact, we serve a crucial social function. We’re here to bear witness, to ensure completion, to demand blood before we’re locked away in our stuffy classrooms for the day.
The brute dodges a swing, retaliates with a well-placed punch in the pretty-boy’s face. Cartilage is cracked, teeth are dislodged; the boy’s hair is terminally ruffled. He goes down.
The crowd goes wild, not caring that there’s now a bleeding, whimpering teenage hulk laying on the lawn. In a moment we’re all going our separate ways. After all, the warning bell is about to ring.
“That pretty-boy had it coming,” Ernie says as we head towards the main building.
“How’s that?” I ask.
“Look at him. Tall, pretty, fit as fuck.”
I glance over my shoulder. The school nurse is trying to pick up the boy’s missing teeth with a napkin. In the background, one of the security guards is chasing after the brutish kid, who’s launched into a parkour escape routine. “Not so pretty anymore,” I say, facing forward again. “Why do you think he had it coming?”
Ernie removes his sunglasses and tucks them into his pocket (hall monitors like to cry wolf over things like that). “He gave off the impression that he can take care of himself. Did you see his bulging arms, his massive shoulders? They were screaming, ‘With guns like these, I dare you to try kicking my ass!’ Sooner or later someone was bound to accept the challenge.”
“So, you’re saying he likes to pick fights.”
“His guns like to pick fights. It has nothing to do with him.”
I try to wrap my brain around the concept. “Just because he’s built doesn’t mean people automatically pick fights with him.”
“Oh, it does.” Ernie stops in front of his locker. “Muscle studs get into fights for the same reason fat kids don’t.”
“What reason is that?”
“Fatness is a handicap. You’d never hit a handicapped kid, would you?”
“No, of course not.”
Ernie starts fiddling with his combination. “Why not?”
“It’d be fucked up. He’s handicapped.”
“Ere go, you wouldn’t hit a fat person. If I tell you I hate your shirt, you’d be like, ‘Lay off you fat fuck,’ and that would be the end of it. If I was tall and muscley it’d be bloody nose and black eye time.”
I say, “That’s stupid. Fat kids get into fights, too.”
“Look at Kevin Smith.” Ernie continues to fiddle with his combination. “He basically tells his fans to suck his dick whenever he does a Q&A. And they love him for it.”
“That’s because Kevin Smith is famous.”
“It’s because Kevin Smith is fat. And because he’s got glasses. He’s got a double handicap. He can be twice as obnoxious.”
I fold my arms. “Is that why you’re an obtuse loudmouth? Because you’re fat?”
“Yup.”
“I thought so.”
Ernie finally gets his locker open. There are bags of M&Ms and chocolate chip cookies stacked high. Ernie grabs one of each and stuffs them into his backpack. He closes his locker. “Look around you. Watch the jocks versus the fat kids in the coming weeks and months. Jan’s fucked. He’ll get a black eye before the year is out. Eva, she’s lucky. She’s a girl. Picking a fight with her would be fucked up—like pushing a baby into a well.”
“What about me?”
“You’re good because of the glasses thing.”
The warning bell rings. I start down the hall. Behind me, I can hear Ernie ripping open a bag of cookies.
It’s probably a good thing Eva left earlier.
Posted: May 3, 2009 by theo | Category: Fiction, SuperMegaNet | 4 Comments | Tags: blogfic, ernie, fight, lawn, morning, supermeganet, theo, webfic
Young Adult Rules
I’m always somewhat nervous whenever I put a young(ish) character into a questionable situation involving nudity, sex, violence, or all three simultaneously. This quote from The Rejecter made me breathe a sigh of relief:
Really, anything goes in YA these days. Basically, don’t write smut that has no plot, or PWP as we say in fanfic. (Porn Without Plot or Porn Without Point) And don’t be excruciatingly descriptive unless you’re being raped and it’s an autobiography. Then sit back and wait for the awards to roll in.
There’s a plot to Kyna and Aaron’s (see The Knack) running around naked that night he gets the Fever, right? I thought so…even though that book earned a “What is this crap?” comment from one reader (who has since done a complete about-turn regarding the novel, thankfully). Another reader asked why Ernest Goodale swears so much. Simple: because it makes him cool. Some of that coolness invariably bleeds into the plot. It works in The Goonies. The plot is so-so, but add a group of fowl-mouthed kids (and a deformed family member) and you have instant gold. Preteen kids cussing equals entertainment in my book.
FYI, I need to feck off for a while, so if I don’t post again for another week, it’s because I’m, well, busy fecking off.
Posted: April 16, 2009 by jesse | Category: Journal | 2 Comments | Tags: outlook
Authonomy.com Touts Slush 2.0
I mentioned in my last blog post that the slush pile, that common bane amongst authors near and far, has been gradually moving online. HarperCollins is the latest big time publisher to cash in on the “social editing” trend with Authonomy.com:
The publishing world is changing. One thing’s for sure: whether you’re a reader, writer, agent or publisher, this is an exciting time for books. In our corner of HarperCollins we’ve been given a chance to do something a little different.
The premise is simple: HarperCollins sells ad space, users edit, and a few highly-ranked authors get contracts. Not so different from other social editing sites, but certainly in step with current online business models. In any case, it’s one more place for authors to drop their trousers and waggle their goods in front of the masses. Waggling is good. 
Posted: April 4, 2009 by jesse | Category: News | 2 Comments | Tags: books, diy, print media, publishing
MagCloud Counts on Homebrewed Magazines
Several POD services offer magazine trim sizes (in addition to standard book sizes), but Hewlett-Packard hopes to create its own niche with their latest foray into the DIY world: MagCloud. I only know this because The New Podler posted a piece of commentary on a related The New York Times article. The part that stuck in my head:
We live in a moment in time when anyone can write whatever they want and get it out there. Yet so very few of these efforts are actually worth spending the time with. Most self-published efforts not only have nothing to say, they say whatever they want to convey badly.
Good point. POD volume has the potential to grossly outweigh traditional print volume, if it hasn’t already. Most of that will probably suck (as it does now). The simple truth: the self-publishing movement has transferred the slush pile from the editor’s office to the Internet. The reader (and not the editor) is now saddled with the task of sifting through the slush to find the gems. That’s not a flame or a subtle insult. It’s the difference between intriguing cover art, proper punctuation / margins / text justification—and a $20 perfect-bound rough draft set in Comic Sans. You can find the former, but only after wading through dozens of the latter. And at a premium. DIY books are more expensive than traditional print books, and way too many DIY authors are hesitant to offer quality previews of their work. In other words, you don’t know what you get until it arrives in the mail. As an author, I’m totally biased in favor of my own work, and the stigma surrounding the self-publishing world just kills me. However, as an ex-editor, I know that most stories and books are “meh,” and only a precious few are “wow!” As an editor, I’m shaking my head and going, “MagCloud. Great. One more outlet for the masses to spew out their thoughts almost as soon as they think them.”
Still, I want it to work. I want MagCloud to succeed so that I can jump onboard with my own little magazine down the line and get me some of that POD pie. We all want that, don’t we?
Posted: March 31, 2009 by jesse | Category: News | No Comments | Tags: diy, outlook, pod, print media, publishing
