The Gig, the Fire and the Butterflies

Welcome to October. It’s a good month for anyone working in the horror industry because it means old scary flicks will see a boost in rentals and purchases and tv time. It also promises much candy for anyone willing to yank a trick or treating pumpkin from the hands of a frightened ten-year-old.

Mel and I took part in “Corpse Bride” but quickly lost interest and ended up at Starbucks. It happens. Not often but it happens. Perhaps the movie is great and we just weren’t in the mood. Perhaps the movie was dull and we had better things to do.

Elliot, a local Librarian, Allen, a teacher slash literary agent, Mel and myself took the walking tour of the neighborhood and ended up at the ocean.
I’m told I’m a water person due to my affiliation with the guild of Scorpio but I’ve never given it much thought. However, now that I find water a nearly daily part of my life I’m digging it.

I am not, however, a bird poop person but it seems oceans and birds go hand in hand. For every heads there is a tails I suppose. As the High Council of Positive Mental Attitude I’m trying to be more negative…for purposes of balance.

I am a fan of good food, atmosphere and large quantities of booze. Not necessarily in that order.
Well, perhaps “large quantities” isn’t the term I’m looking for. I can recall many years ago spending several hours in the bathroom of a strip club hurling constantly into the nastiest toilet on the planet. I think I’d still be there had my buddies not taken me away.
So let’s go with the idea of High Qualities of booze.

I’m also a fan of fascinating women. Obviously one in particular.

She scored a “Passionate Lover” on this very scientific measuring system. I, of course, scored two phases higher with “Uncontrollable” which just goes to show you how accurate this clearly NASA designed equipment is.

So currently I’m spending my time split between two worlds. The World of Los Angeles and the World of Anywhere Else. I could, of course, buy an overly priced home in the greater Los Angeles area and settle down like everyone else but I’ve never been one to follow the most popular path. Besides, if everything goes as planned (and my evil schemes come to fruition) the city of the Angels will be at the bottom of the ocean by 2012.
But currently I drive back and forth.

Which, of course, allows me the pleasure of waking up and looking out my kitchen window to see the Los Angeles/Ventura County fires burning their way towards my High Def TV, Alienware computer and expensive art work. Perfect.

You basically got two choices, you can run or you can keep your fingers crossed and try to get your work done. I crossed fingers and tried to get work done. I knew I was in the wrong headspace. I knew I should have postponed…but I didn’t. And in the process gave one of the dullest pitches of my life…which they loved and will be partnering with me for even more pitches. Which just goes to show you, “It don’t freaking matter.”
After hearing our neighborhood on the evacuation list we started gathering our junk and filling the Explorer…only to later learn that there are two forms of evac.
Voluntary and Mandatory. We were still at Voluntary and fortunately for us the Fire Boys and Girls stopped the flames at Westlake Blvd and we were able to stay. Much luckier than the Loreys who ended up on the mandatory list which had them startled awake at 4 AM by loud speakers telling them to run.
We, however, stayed.

But why would ya want to? I like “Lord of the Rings” as much if not more than the next guy, but who wants Mordor in their back yard?
So, we reloaded the Explorer and pointed the grill North.

So let’s talk about Butterflies.

Now my understanding is that they are born on the Peninsula we call our second home and from there they fly North to Alaska. Now we’re two hours south of San Fransisco. I gotta think I run faster than your standard Butterfly (considering wind speed and solar flares, of course) but it would still be one heck of a trek.

But, to each his own. So these Butterflies, they fly their little butts all the way to Alaska where they hang out, do some ice hockey and make fun of the Canadian tourists.

At some point they get cold. We are talking Alaska after all. This is a place where spit freezes before it hits the ground and if you spit hard enough you can put out a fella’s eye. So, anyway, they get cold and they say to one another, “You cold? I’m freaking cold. Let’s go back now.”

So they start their long flight back to the small peninsula that I like to call my second home.

Many don’t make the trip due to 70 mph windshields and the great feathered descendants of dinosaurs hungry for a colorful snack.

But eventually they find their way back home, to the tiny peninsula I like to call my second home, and it is here that they throw down and get all dirty girl so they that the little baby butterflies will be born and the whole process can start all over again.

And in celebration of this great journey the wee humans living on the peninsula I like to call my second home throw a big parade.

Thus any day now the little Butterflies should be arriving. I’m told the numbers always vary. Some years will find only a few making the final trip other years produce thousands.
And, of course, killing a butterfly in these parts is a hangin’ offense.

After the parade the tourists stand around looking dull and wondering if that’s it while the locals fall in behind the parade and make their way up to the school where baked tatters and…

…nachos are to be had in abundance.

And if one desires you can buy and wear assorted butterfly wings or paint your head.
Oh. And on the work front. I got a new gig. I’ll be writing the feature film version of a survival horror video game but I should wait for the story to hit the trades before I go into any details.