Colon fire ignites my crotch,

A turtle peeking undies blotch.

Taco night’s the prime culprit.

Must sphincter muzzle sound transmit,

Lest I filled my pant with s**t.

HOLD IT! HOLD IT!

My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I remember the first call. Laura had that shaky strength in her voice. The voice of someone who wants, so desperately, not to be the one to have to pass on the news about her cancer. How many times had she told this story? Her family, her child, her immediate friends and co-workers. Then she had to tell me, the friend that had fallen out of touch in the periphery that is everyday life.

“Hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but guess what?”

It was nothing like that. The conversation stayed mainly on the details of the caner, synovial sarcoma, where it was located, a golf ball sized lump in her right forearm, and the ify prognosis. There was confidence in getting rid of the initial tumor. Unfortunately the odds were it would come back, with a vengeance. More frightening was the chance that the surgery to remove the tumor, which would save her life, would render her right hand useless.

Laura was a brilliant artist. No matter how she struggled with her art, there was no confusion in her about what she was. To loose her hand would prove as slow and painful a death as the cancer which was working it’s way inside her.

I remember she told me it was the same caner Robert Urich had, and, at that time, he was still going strong. Being the small, small world the Earth is, I had, a few years earlier, seen him on a flight from LA to Houston. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, I was in LA, there was a very good chance one would run into a celebrity flying somewhere. She told me it was very likely he was on his way to MD Anderson Caner Center.

Well, there you go, had been the optimistic conclusion to our conversation. There were the promises of keeping in touch. We made sure we both knew we loved one another.

Either the chemo, or the radiation, or both, I’m not completely sure on the details of the treatment, did the trick, shrinking the tumor to a point where surgery was able to remove the growth. Laura recovered, with no loss of the use of her hand.

When her cancer came back, like Urich, Larua made the trip to Houston to get treatment. Her previous treatment had been in Louisiana where she was living. This was so incredibly fantastic to us both. We would be closer to one another. We would be able to visit more. We did on several occasions but, somewhere between her battling the cancer and not wanting to have to burden me with seeing her in the bad times, and my fear, the visits were few a far between.

With all of the social networking sites, we had no shortage of ways to communicate and/or keep in touch. Somehow we didn’t. I can only guess that her reasons were the same as with the limited face-to-face visits. For me, it was definitely my cowardice.

Then, this morning, I got an direct message from her sister on twitter. It simply read:

“Aeryk, this is Julie, Laura Courville Tyler’s sister … call me.”

No. No. The pit in my stomach opened up. This was it. I wanted to run away. No. I wasn’t going to call. It was 7:00 in the morning.

There was no running away. Not this time. Not now. I made the call.

It was just like the first call. It was so surreal because Julie sounds just like Laura. The strength in her voice despite the pain and anger and confusion. The conversation consisted of details, when she had passed, how her daughter and husband were, she had the chance to see her mother and make whatever amends they could. Julie was apologetic for having to be the one to give me the news, and start my day out on such a bad note.

I can’t lie about my day. I could have been much better. It’s no one’s fault though. That’s how it is when someone you care for dies. As sad as I am about learning that Laura passed, I am deeply comforted knowing that there was an art showing which she was a part of before she died. Having your art displayed for people to enjoy is every artist’s dream, regardless of the medium. In a wonderful every-dog-has-its-day ending, not only was she in the show, but she won best in show. An honor she deserved, but most importantly got to experience.

Laura, I know it’s too late to fill the void with anything. I know it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Things happened and what’s done is done. Yet, regardless of what’s possible or not, I have to say I will be eternally sorry, if for nothing else, missing your moment of glory. You were a very dear friend and I love you. As an artist you are an inspiration. As a human being, my hero. Since your diagnosis of caner we might not have been as close as we could have been, but you were never far from my thoughts. I will miss you so very much.

And, thank you for never making good on your threat of going public with that horrible picture of me as a child, running around in my orange coveralls, paying Star Wars, next door at Homer’s.

All it needs is a few more metal plates, a little black spray paint, and a flame-thrower and the Mad Max, post-apocalyptic world will be realized. It’s Twenty-Ten people. Welcome to the future.

Kung Fu From Beyond the Grave

Tagline: “This is a deadly ghost. In life he was a poor bum. Now he’s a worst ghost.”

Year: 1982          Runtime: 89 min

Director: Lee Chiu

Writer: None (it must have wrote itself)

Starring: Billy Chong, Lieh Lo, Sai Aan Dai

What to Expect: Kung Fu. Magic. Zombies. Count Dracula.

What You Need to Know (there be spoilers here):

Oriental zombies have very little in common with their Occidental counterparts. Oriental Zombies hop. They wear WAY too much theatrical make up. They can talk, communicate, follow orders and directions, as well as other feats of language mastery. They can be stopped by magic bookmarks (i.e. a slip of paper with magic words rightly placed on their foreheads). Finally, they are compelled to follow a ringing bell.

Actually, this movie has very little in common with anything as we have come to know it. Magicians aren’t old guys with ZZ Top beards and child molester robes. On the contrary, they are bad-ass and know Kung Fu. Ghost are not intangible ectoplasmic entities, they have physical form, and should one interrupt a person practicing their Kung Fu, they get their asses handed to them just like any other chump. And if you think vampires are hot, young things that spew sexual intensity, guess again. Count Dracula is a British chap, who for a few burned dollars, can be summoned to aid in the magician’s fight against whatever (more in Sixth Point of AWE-some).

They story is pretty straight forward Kung Fu revenge stuff. Chun Sing’s father was murdered. Now that Chun is of age, he must avenge his father.

Oh, yeah. One last thing, that’s not actually the tagline. I couldn’t find one. That is a line from the film. It was so awesome I substituted it for the tagline.

What [Kung Fu from Beyond the Grave (Yin Ji)] Delivers:

5 Mesmerizing Menances (out of 5) ‘cos It’s Bad Ass is Why!

First Point of AWE-some: Brand X actors. The first I call Edward James Almost. Everyone has a twin, and this guy is the Chinese Edward James Olmos. His dermatologist prescribed a double barrel blast of salt-rock to complete the illusion. The second, Black Magician (Sai Aan Dai), I call Chen Carrey because he looked like the Oriental love spawn of and Jim Carrey and The Rock.

It is believed the reason his eyebrow is always up in a inquisitive arch is ‘cos the muscles that control that part of his face died in the stroke that gave him his magic powers. I personally think he does it to look cool.

Second Point of AWE-some: The Score. Despite what Whale Wars preaches, Orientals don’t all hate whales. If they did, this movie’s soundtrack wouldn’t have been supplied by mating whales. Unfortunately, most of the subtleness of the music was lost because it was well beyond the range of my Occidental ears.

What I could hear was terrible.

Third Point of AWE-some: Walls in the Orient. This is just a general point of AWE-someness as far as Kung Fu movies are concerned. Why did they even bother building walls? I mean, everyone in The Orient knows Kung Fu and anyone who knows Kung Fu can easily jump over walls. This rule applies to most things, i.e. horses, zombies and women.
God bless their little yellow hearts, their perseverance is inspiring.

Forth Point of AWE-some: Kung Fu Magic. No matter how charged up, nor how bad ass, all Kung Fu Magic has 8-bit sound effects. 8-bit sound effects are, of course, the digital equivalent of dropping pots and pans.

Which brings up another aspect of Kung Fu Magic: with it, one can turn a human heart into cherry pie filling. Directions: extract hearts from chest as normal (see note), place in pot on alter, apply Kung Fu Magic™ and viola, cherry pie filling. A quite delicious between meal snack, or salve of invincibility.

Ah, So: One must use pure hearts, harvested from the bodies of two lovers who have both just reached orgasm, simultaneously.

Fifth Point of AWE-some: Communicating with the Dead. Like I wrote earlier, there is little in this movie that we Occidentals recognize. This is yet another example. The process involves burning incense, or when translated into American English, signaling in morse code. Quite literally, as Chun is burning incense to communicate with his dead father, they dub-titled morse code sounds.

Flips and movements might not need whoosh sound effects, but at least it accentuates the Kung Fu Kool. But burning incense needing a sound effect? Morse code? Really?

My hangup aside, the dead, though nestled comfortably in their coffins, will hear the scented signals. If the signal is too weak the dead have amplifying antenna that boost the signals, bamboo sticks. They just push the coffin lids open a bit and wiggle them around.

Ah, So: In The Orient, bamboo works better than aluminum foil.

Sixth Point of AWE-some: Count Dracula. Suppose you need some help from the dead, but you don’t want hordes of mindless zombies. What do you do if you want something more, something that packs more of a punch? You fan out $20 in one dollar bills (you could spend more, but why?) and light them on fire. As you do this, call for Count Dracula to come to your aid.

Literary Re-enactment:

Outside – Courtyard – Night

You
(igniting 20 singles)
“Count Dracula, come to my Aaaaaaaaiiid!”

Count Dracula flies in, stage left.

Count Dracula
“Here I aaaaaaammmm!”

Count it!

Seventh Point of AWE-some: Flaming Meatball Attack. I know it sounds like hyperbole, ‘cos it is, but I flipped a big-ole-boner when I saw the Kung Fu Flaming Meatball Attack. It’s like Ryu’s hadōken (the ah-WOO-jit attack), except it’s a meatball.

Mmmmmm, meatball.

Eighth Point of AWE-some: Yellow Snatch Smoke. A fart is not only funny, it is the ultimate combo breaker. Yet, the best defense, better than Kung Fu, better than Kung Fu Magic™, even better than summoning the undead, is Yellow Snatch Smoke.

Ah, So: Yellow Snatch Smoke, also known as Kung Fu Punani Poo-gas, is yellow and thick, like a carbureted engine burning oil.

While Chun is hunting for his father’s remains, a deadly ghost decides to get fresh by looking down the “whiny” girl’s pants. Up to that point she’d been nothing but a nuisance, suddenly she has a AWE-some super power. She uses it to spray Yellow Snatch Smoke™ on the offending zombie.

That zombie… he didn’t make it.

Parting Quickshots of AWE-some:

1. What’s longer than the final fight in a Kung Fu movie? Dracula vs. Zombies, in a Kung Fu movie.
2. Chan Carrey gets off to rubbing hot incense on his bare chest. It makes his magic more stronger.
3. If you’re in Orient, and you drink unmarked bottles of formaldehyde and play the number game over coffins, the dead will come back to life.
4. Chun tries to find his father among all the undead. He remembers that his father has 6 fingers. He looks at a couple, finds one that clearly only has five fingers, and calls out, “There you are. I found him!”
5. Even maids have a special Kung Fu attack, Hot Hand-Towel Toss. They toss their hot hand towels on your face and, well… it’s quite nice. (Equivalent to Superman Cellophane S attack from Superman 2: The Wrath of Khan)
6. At the end, Chon Carrey has a final stand fight with three heroes. Of course, he gets his shit crushed, it’s three on one for Christ’s sake. Just before Chin Carrey dies, he gets the last word when he coughs, “Three against one, it would be pretty amazing if I’d have lived.”

The Last Word: This movie is so AWE-some it made me want to touch my friend’s pee-pee, and I’m not gay or nothing. Or maybe I am. Regardless, anything that makes me want to give a Has-Been Handjob™ to the guy sitting next to me on the bus, is the stuff

The Occident Was Founded On

What I Didn’t in 2009:

1. Get down to 180 lbs.
2. Complete 10 pull-ups
3. Complete a 5K Fun Run
4. Pay off debts
5. Have balance of $500 in checking, $1000 in savings
6. Get my bronco back on the road

At the star of the new year it seems proper to go over my goals for last year. Anything I didn’t accomplish comes to a decision, do I drop it or do I keep working on it? With the exception of the bronco, all of these are things I need to get done, and so, I suppose they have become my new year’s resolutions.

One, Two and Three are all health related. They may not be realistic (I’m not sure I can get down to 180 lbs that quickly), but ‘cos my health really took a back seat last year, and my less than perfect medical history, I feel this should be the major focus this year.

Four and Five are my finances. After Ike, things have been incredibly crazy. The economic down turn has made things that much more stressful. I’m almost back in the black. Once there, I can start putting money away again.

Six was sad for me. This was the second of my “cool” cars that I had to get rid of. So, although I’m not moving the bronco forward, I’m substituting getting a vehicle in it’s place. I’m ready to have a car again.

Any ideas, suggestions, or if you’d like to join me, drop me a line.

What I Did in 2009:

1. Starting curating the Friday night movie at Domy.
2. Moved into the house on Wharton.
3. I got a job as a freelance writer.
4. I wrote a novel.

This list seems so incredibly short, and it is. It’s not the length of the list which is significant. What is significant is knowing what went into accomplishing each.

Number 1: years spent hosting movie nights at my house, every week whether or not anyone showed. Now I have a movie night which won the Houston Press Best of 2009 Award for Movie Series.

Number 2: Ike fucked us proper, just like it’s namesake fucked Tina. Living with in-laws. Moving multiple times, but having to return, tail between my legs. Now I’m sitting in my studio, which is all but the way I want it (needs some better lighting).

Number 3: My whole life making up stories. Majoring in English in college. The years of watching movies and scribbling notes into reviews. Now I get to go to movies, before they come out proper, cutting straight to the front of the line. Alternatively I get sent a DVD to watch, which I can keep. I write what I think about it. I get paid. There’s a dollar bill waiting to be framed. It’s the first dollar I’ve made as a writer.

Number 4: November was spend under the gun, especially the last two weeks, writing 50,000 words. I started with a deliberate blank slate, no ideas, no pre-writing, nothing. On my bookshelf is my proof copy of Obsessed with Self: The Story of Gen(ERIC) X.

Looking at it like that, I had quite the busy year.

to be continued…

This is what my “best friends” gave me for Xhristmas, a gigantic bruise on the top of my foot.

Who the fuck gets bruises on the top of their feet? Old people, ‘cos that’s what they do. That and take their I’m-so-damn-old-I’m-gonna-damn-die pills.

Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrsssssseeee!

I wish I could say something cool about getting, … the guitar there. Talk about how it’s made from SUH-weet ass Majong wood, which really resonates at the low end. How it’s an authentic Epiphone Special II copy.

But no. I’m takin’ pitchures of my in-grownin’ nail-havin’ feets, and postin’ the pitchures on the interwebs. My reflection there sums it all up for me. FML

Addendum: The Editorial Staff would like to apologize for all the [NOT] clever bullshit.

What is it that’s got me all in a fuss? It starts with the retard flag she painted on her sign.

What the fuck is that shit?

Old Glory doesn’t have an “A”, the number “5″ and a backwards “R” in blue and white in the top left corner. What piece of shit country is she representing? The only thing this flag is good for is wrapping up Treacherous Tranny Granny’s face before you beat her ass to death with a sock full of bolts.

Note: I’m, contraction of “I am”, is spelled I-apostrophe-m. I suppose that’s expecting too much from the standard protester, and this old whore is way below the curve.

But wait, there’s more!

What’s really twisted up my scrotal hairs is the 4 flags on the top of the sign, the one on her shirt,  the one on her hat (and, I would bet, the many, many more around her house) she has to use as a guide.

And, just to be a Bratty Bitch™, her shants should have been blue, to make her a Red, White & Blue palindrome.

Kozy works for A Action News, Ch. 111 (The Chiggerknob).

Kozy is the bad kind of Canadian. He smokes, and is French.