Jennifer Susannah Devore's Blog, page 15

'Tis the Season! Happy Halloween and Spooky Samhain to All!

When the moon glows full and the brisk wind howls strong,

The night for all spirits, faeries and fiends comes alive.

The party is set, the festivities draw near.

Witches, pirates, werewolves and beasts prepare themselves fierce,

For an o’ernight feast and fete, they’ve been awaiting all the year.

Spiced pumpkin lattes, caramel apples, black witchy shoes and stripey socks appear.

Cinnamon, nutmeg and spiders fill the creaks and corners

Of haunted houses and mansions, from Old Salem to the California shores.

Samhain, Hallowe’en, All Hallows’ Eve, Harvest Moon or Mischief Night.

Whatever you may call it, set your senses high.

For amidst the purple, the black, the red and the orange,

The goblins, ghouls, ghosties and gremlins are out and about and waiting for you!

 

Happy October, Everyone!

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The League of Steam Targets Hannah & Dr. Lucy: How Rude!

Kids,  I don’t get too much mail here at The Del. Being dead and all, who’s going to send Moi anything? With the exception of occasional postcards you good pips send me here at the Hotel del Coronado -keep ‘em coming, babies!- mail call is pretty quiet around The Del for yours truly.

Still, along with the odd postcard, and some of them are quite odd, especially those from Texas, I do get unexpected packages once in a blue moon. Today, I received a small, padded envelope with a CD in it. There was no note with it, no greeting, merely a crude marking on the CD itself which read, “Consider yourself warned”.

Jeepers creepers! The return address read only “League of S.T.E.A.M.“!

“Supernatural & Troublesome Ectoplasmic Apparition Management, indeed! How rude! I have a right mind to send them a very sternly written letter. However, I am even more of the mind that my online blathering has finally called too much attention to not only myself, but my dear friend Dr. Lucy. It seems to me, we’ve got some ghost hunting types here in the hotel and, what with Hallowe’en fast-approaching, my guess is these steampunk monster hunters are gearing up for Samhain Scandals! Well, they’ll never catch me! Ha ha!

This, btw, is what those real monsters sent me. Pay close attention after the 3:00-mark.

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Damn it, Lucy! I know how much you enjoyed playing with that new EOS Canon Rebel. Still, didn’t I tell you that if we were going to go play at Comic-Con, that we had to lie low? Especially in the SyFy Press Room? As dear old dad, Dr. Harvey, would say, “Oi vey, Lucy!”.

Fortunately, I shall be out of town for the Holidays: home to good ol’ Beantown and spooky Salem, Mass for some Hallowe’en haunting about the Hawthorne Hotel; and, Lucy shall visit her dear Dr. Devorkian up in Napa this All Hallows’ Eve. Let’s see the League of S.T.E.A.M. find us now! (Oh. Wait. Damn it, Hannah!) Well, at least now the League shall have to dispatch their tiresome, hyper-weaponed gnats to New England and Northern California, as well as wherever else their ne’er-do-well activities take them here in Southern California.

Shame on them, nettling and tweaking the likes of Lucy and Moi! Funny enough, now those half-portions in Ghost Adventurers and Ghost Hunters International don’t seem so bad.

Monster hunters take note! Perchance, you are not aware of she with whom you dare to dance! I swing a mean cocktail bag, kittens!

 

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Camping in Style, and Sugar Belle Gets Served

INT./EXT. RANGE ROVER/SEATTLE ROAD, VERY EARLY A.M.
Frasier DRIVING with Martin, Daphne, Niles and Eddie


FRASIER
Niles and I thought this would be quite the soulful replenishment. Sleeping under the stars, cooking on an open fire, communing with Mother Nature, eeking out an existence just as the Snohomish Indians must have done a hundred years ago.

MARTIN
Oh, yeah. I'm sure the chief and his warriors all piled into the Range Rover when the fish counts dropped and toddled over to the next inlet, grabbing some Peet's Coffee on the way.

DAPHNE
What's that thing around your neck, Dr. Crane?

NILES
Oh, this? This, is a turkey whistle.

MARTIN
You mean a turkey call?

NILES
Really, Dad. How simple do you think I am? Why would I want to call a turkey to our campsite?
MARTIN
Support group?

NILES
This is to ward off any wild turkeys lurking near the site. I just blow this ...

Niles BLOWS into the turkey call, much to everyone's irritation.

NILES (continuing)
... and off they scamper. Apparently, they carry rabies and fleas.

MARTIN
Of course. How silly of me. Did the salesman at Bob's Camping World tell you that?

FRASIER
Yes, actually. He was rather helpful. He also warned us about a creature called a night crawler. He said if one bit us we must suck the blood from the wound, then drown the wound and the beast in a cheap merlot.

NILES
Got it right here.

Niles RAISES a bottle.

FRASIER
Well, Niles couldn't bring himself to buy a cheap merlot. But, it is an Arizona wine.

Niles and Frasier laugh heartily.



The above is an excerpt from a spec script I wrote years ago when Frasier was in production. I copied the above-content to make a point: even the prissiest of Pollys can camp! See, I was called out recently by my very dear, very beloved sister-in-law. We'll call her Sugar Belle. Whether or not she recalls, Sugar Belle called me out publicly at a recent, family get-together. She stated very matter-of-factly over a cocktail we call the Speed Freak (Grey Goose and Starbucks White Chocolate Doubleshot) that there was no way I could cut it, camping. Like, real camping and hiking. In fact, as the Speed Freaks multiplied, she challeneged me specifically to a hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I say, "Bring it on, Sugar Belle!" (Just not in triple digit-heat!) I do believe a wager is in order, though. You think about it. I'll wait.



See, I dig camping, hiking, sport and such. Tuolumne Meadows Yosemite is as familiar to me as is South Coast Plaza. Yours truly was even a geology major in college ... for like a second. I then learned I may have to spend a lot of time in grad school researching in the Mojave Desert. Ick. I loathe the sun and I loathe dirty hands. That was the end of that. I ended up studying PoliSci and French. Turned out there was a great market for that! Needless to say, despite the dirt -that's what Swiss hiking gloves are for- Sugar Belle called out the wrong Polly Prissy Pants!


True, I may prefer a National Park to just pitching a tent hither and thither; I like a clean lavvy, cheerful, Disney rangers and smooth, shaded, spacious sites. I like a secluded campsite, but I need it within screaming-distance of other campers in case of bears, serial killers, Bigfoot or hippies. I also prefer a gift shop nearby where I can buy a new piece of amber jewelry to commemorate the trip. I also do not prefer, but require, wine, Guinness, camembert and a baguette, my mini, camping espresso maker and my green, Speckleware demitasses. My camping togs might be old, holey, trashed Ralph Lauren pieces and vintage Boy Scouts shirts; my hiking shoes might be vintage Italian climbing boots. Still, that doesn't mean I can't scale the terrifyingly steep face of Mount Lambert (done that), live on Nature Valley granola bars (peanut butter flavor!) and Cup o' Noodles, take a cat bath or wash my hair utilizing the baby powder-and-braids method for a week.
Sugar Belle, it's time for a friendly wager. It's on, Princess Sami!

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The Lost Jenny Travelogues & "Le Petit Prince" of Edinburgh: You Write the Ending!

Scribbling and bibbling is not something I decided to "try my hand at" one day. I did not think to myself amidst a sunny sojourn along La Côte d'Azur, "Hey, Magnolia. You should take a stab at writing." It's just what I do. I imagine I was keeping a journal in utero, à la Stewie Griffin, until that blasted Man in White came and removed me from my quiet study.

 

If I was prone to Glee-style melodrama, I would flip my curls and toss my chin, proclaiming loudly, "I have to breathe, don't I?! Well, dammit, Janet! I have to write!". Thank Jebus I am not thusly prone. Many of you know of this early proclivity, with the emergence of Book Bird, my very first, "published" tale, hardbound by the Parental Units when I was a wee thing, at the age of six. Before that, loads of notepad novellas, written on Garfield stationery and bound nicely with yarn or staples and sporting my very own cover art: "The Bear and the Bees", "The Cat and the Mouse" and, the already legendary, "Jennifer Will Be a Pink Fan Forever!". (Perchance, I shall share these someday.)

If I was a Tombstone gunslinger, I'd have a leather journal in one holster and my Waterman pen in the other. "Draw!" "I'd rather write, Pardner!"

 

Now, I am almost as famous for my proclivity to scribe as I am infamous for my laziness. There forever looms the certainty that I shall become very bored at a moment's notice and drop that which is my current endeavour. To that end, kudos to Moi for actually finishing and publishing four novels! In fact, I'm feeling very bored this very minute and just may pour a glass of wine and see what's in my Hulu queue. Cross your fingers for some "Real Housewives"! BRB!

I'm back. No "Real Housewives". Yet, there was some "Hotel Hell " (Chef Gordon Ramsay! Hubba-hubba!) and there's always time for a "30Rock" and "American Dad" break. Now, where was I? Oh, yes ... journals.

 

So, I start off big, with the honest intentions of filling each and every leaf of those gorgeous, blank books I take such pleasure in selecting, and oft decoupaging, themed just so. Some are for travel, some are for working on specific books and some are mere notepads, jotting down everything from Nordstrom wish lists to the Drake Equation.

Journals, especially travelogues, are very similar to the lush, Irish cable knit sweaters I used to knit as a young girl, only to "finish" them some two hours later, claiming, "Look, Daddy! It's a doll rug!" or, the painstakingly sewn, Ralph Lauren-pattern suit I once made in high school. I worked my bony fingers to bloody nubs all summer long: three months of tedious darts, French stitches, princess seams and hand-rolled silk edges, not to mention using bonkers-expensive wool and vintage buttons. Upon its near-completion, you guessed it, I grew bored. Oh, so bored. I ended up safety-pinning the entire hem and refused to iron the fold lines out of the whole thing. So many of my travel journals are beautiful tweed suits with safety-pin hems. Now, you get to fix the hems of a select few travelogues!

Don't fret, it's not your eyes. Only three people on the planet can actually read my handwriting.

How do you think my trips ended? What do you think happened? I'll post a series of these unfinished scribblings over the next few posts and you write the ending! There's even an entry written by a friend with whom I travelled to the U.K. and France one summer. Some of you may know of Miss Nancy: Gloomy, Funny Laguna Girl. Whilst she would essentially, quizzically break up with me years later -I suspect it was politically motivated- I have to give props; she was, probably still is, a damn funny and gifted storyteller. Not nearly as gifted as I, though. Heh heh heh. I wonder if she's still sporting her Goth-lite look?

Nance took over a section of my journal at lunch one day in Edinburgh. It's quite humourous and, in fact, whilst I did finish that particular journal, all the way to its end at LAX, she left her entry somewhat open-ended. Hey! You could finish her entry! Nance, if you're out there, you could finish it, too! Have a read and finish Nancy's Scottish saga! I'll just add one of my own next time. Voila!

 

Excerpt from Jennifer Susannah Devore's Travel Journal

8 June 1994, Noon (apparently)

Guest Writer, Nancy Owen Freeman

After a couple of hours in and about the grounds of Holyrood Palace, we headed up the Royal Mile, an historic mile-long street which connects Holyrood with Edinburgh Castle. Today, it is lined with antique shops and specialty boutiques and a certain French restaurant called La Cr êperie. I'll let Nancy write the ensuing entry.

(Nancy's entry)

We wandered in not exactly famished, but definitely prowling for a brie and a little mineral water. I plopped down at a corner table relatively quickly, Jennifer however wandered aimlessly turning this way and that trying to summon a hostess with her umbrella. She still had trouble grasping the self-seating theory observed in most English & Scottish restaurants. After a pleasant barmaid emerged and confirmed that we could sit wherever we wanted, Jennifer joined me.

Moments later, after the barmaid had simply removed the large chalkboards with the day's menu from their hangers outside, and leaned them up against the table opposite us for selection, a rather tall shadow fell over the table.

I looked up from the menus and was greeted by what I can only describe as a 6'2" adult "Petit Prince" from the children's novel by Antoine St. Exupery. He had a tastefully sculpted, blond afro, blue eyes and strangely appealing spaces between his teeth. All this sat atop a tall, thin frame, which flowed about the pub with puma-like grace. He was in short, a most delectable Frog.

"Hallo", he began, in an arousing baritone that in no way resembled his prepubescent, fictional twin's soprano squeak. "Bonjour," Jennifer replied. "Ah, bonjour," he returned with a little raise of his eyebrows, a gesture made purely to torment me in my geographically imposed celibacy. He and Jennifer chatted back and forth in French, she finally ordering for both of us since I had slipped into a fuzzy stupor. A surging tide of suppressed hormones was mercilessly tossing me about in the sexual vacuum I had become accustomed to living in over the past 2 years. The disorientation had left my vision blurry and my palms itchy. I was as articulate as a kiwi fruit.

He slinked away and in the somewhat lengthy time it took for him to bring our appetizers, I regained tentative control over my motor functions and told Jennifer how much he resembled an adult "Little Prince". Her eyes bulged in agreement and she threatened to tell him what I'd said when he returned. Just then he flowed back to the table laden with plates of assorted cheese and a basket of French bread.

- Pardon the interruption. I would just like to let whoever is reading this journal know that Mrs. Jennifer Susannah Noelani MacPherson Girstle [sic] Devore is a pathological cleptomaniac [sic]. A conclusion I have come to after just moments ago witnessing her philch a "First Class" head rest cover from the train seat. The second one she has snatched on our trip.-

Back to our story. After he placed our food on the table, Jen proceeded to tell him, in French, about how I thought he looked like "Le Petit Prince, all adult". He giggled and said in his thick Frog accent, "Oh no, he was naive ... " after taking a few steps away from the table he tossed an insidious little grin over his shoulder and finished with, "I am not." At which point I became a complete puddle and Jen had to squeegee me out the door.

 

What happens next? Where did Le Petit Prince go after his shift? Where is he now? Where is Nancy? Is Le Crêperie still writing menus on chalkboards? (Keep your amendments clean, folks. I may be part-Edwardian upstart, but I am also part-Victorian dowager.)

Write your ending here!

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How Black Adder and the French Will Save The English Tongue

Reading a bit, hither and thither I’ve come across a widespread vexation amidst contemporary writing. Bloggers, authors, writers of all sorts appear to have come to the conclusion that the more vile and odious of curse words peppering their oeuvres, the more smashing, dashing and edgy said-oeuvres will be. My own pally, Jennifer Susannah Devore, chose to season her latest novel with dashes and pinches of the scandalous. To be sure, Miss Jenny’s The Darlings of Orange County does this with rapier-like whips, flicks, snaps and stings using a fair sampling of modern slang, evoking sexual, sensual and downright nasty scribblings. She even looked to her time-tested and dogeared, paperback copy of Francis Grose’s 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Still, it’s a far cry from her shy and largely Victorian instincts. Of course, and you didn’t hear it from me, chickadees, she’s also selling the lusty Darlings hand over fist in comparison to her family-friendly Savannah of Williamsburg.

To sum up the problem, this need for tingling titillation, allow Moi to quote Muppet Treasure Island:

 

 

Rizzo:     What’s wrong?

Gonzo:   It just feels so weird.

Rizzo:     That Mr. Arrow’s dead?

Gonzo:   Yeah, that … and my pants are filled with starfish.

Rizzo:     You and your hobbies!

Exactly. You and your hobbies!

 

 

Anyhoo, one of my standard, online stops is the blog of a feisty Celt from Phoenix named Natalie Wright, author of the YA Celtic fantasy Emily’s House. A recent musing of hers got me thinking: Help Me Clean Up My Potty Mouth. “I’m on a quest to build a library of non-swearword urban slang. It’s time to get creative,” she opines. Well, toots, let me say that curse words and swears may change from generation to generation and era to era; but, they’re all still curse words. However, the beauty of time and nostalgia grants that what was once scandalous and verboten, may later be pithy and distinguishing. Tired of mundane and prosaic cursing? Need some nifty razzes for that sap at the next staff meeting or the rude jellybean next door? Get a gander of some of our kicky gum flaps from the 1920s and 1930s.

Now, if the Twenties were roaring with smooth n’ snazzy wordsmithing, nobody but nobody beats the Elizabethans where the almighty spoken smackdown is concerned. If you’re a history geek and a bit of a Renaissance Faire regular, the Shakespearean mudslinging may be old hat to you. For those not so well-acquainted, you’d do well to expand your insult-vocabulary. You think calling someone a motherf%$*&@ is scurrilous? “F*%# you, B%$@#!” is an affront? Zowie! How about, “May your meat pie fester and boil, you dankish, full-gorged shoe-sniffer!”? Try slinging that the next time some virtual slug disrespects your mad, hacking skills. Maybe, “Your mother’s void is a dribbling, bat-baited maggot-pie!”?

Sure, they’ll laugh at you; but that’s all they’ll be able to do. How does one combat barbs like, “Your visage not only stopped a thousand ships, but the Royal Navy has requested the Queen declare your beslubbering death-hole their safe harbor.”? No one beats Shakespearean-age wit and if I know the geek-soul, you pips could care less when piked at the business-end of a good laugh; it’s de rigueur. True victory comes from leaving your opponent devoid of all ammunition when the pith flies. Not sure how to cull this new lingo? You learned Klingon, didn’t you? Same way. I know a fair bucketful of Faire-folk whom taught themselves, at least the very basics, of Elizabethan-era English: including my Miss Jenny. Explains loads why she had very few friends in college, spent most weekends either at home, at a museum, at Disneyland or at Faire. Her weeknights? Practicing her thees, thys and thous, you mammering, milk-livered moldwarps.

 

Not interested in that much work? Help yourself to the Elizabethan Aspersion Grid below. Simply pick a bit from columns one, two and three and, voila! …  you’re an ignominious, mewling vituperant. Go ahead, try it on someone the next time you feel the need to swear. It’s oft been said that overuse of curse words signifies a lack of vocabulary. Well, not where the Elizabethans were concerned. It was a finely honed art form, a battle of wits that lasted throughout, morphing along the way of course, the 17th and 18th Centuries.

Amongst the menu des plaisirs, (what the French call BCBG: Bon Chic Bon Genre, or what you call The Beautiful People) at the court of Versailles, if you couldn’t keep pace with the flinging of zingers … well, c’est domage and, peut-être, pack your valise and find yourself a new château. Lord knows where the art of the barbed-tongue dropped off so precipitously.

Whilst you’re crafting your new lexicon of libel, drift on over to Miss Natalie’s cheeky blog and give her a hand, or the finger; give her some ideas for thoughtful slang. Panty hamster is always a winner, as are tart monkey and foot-licker. Need a bit more inspiration? Two emphatic suggestions: Black Adder and Ridicule.

Black Adder (BBC 1485-1917): Seasons 2 & 3 notably and available for instant viewing on Netflix. Rowan Atkinson proffers a healthy dose of supercilious slights from the ale-soused fringes of Queen Elizabeth’s court (S2) to the luxe n’ lazy chambers of King George III’s court (S3) and his beetle-headed son the Prince Regent, played brilliantly by Hugh Laurie.

Ridicule (Leconte/Legrand/Waterhouse 1996): one of the finest French films ever produced is a gorgeous yet swampy look at how those with the keenest wit may earn the patronage of the king. All the glam of Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette but dirtied up a bit and melded with the grime and arduous social mobility of AMC’s Hell on Wheels.

Now, no offense implied, I seriously doubt you have what it takes to come up with a better class of vile tongue-wagging than my pally, Jenny. She’s had years of practice; she’s been a word nerd since the age of three and a history dork since elementary school. (Ever see the snap of her 5th grade pilgrim costume? The one she wore for the last day before Thanksgiving break? Poor thing.) Then again, our vivacious and Victorian Dr. Lucy may not have given her input at Miss Natalie’s post just yet. Sure, our Lucy’s prim and proper, mostly. When need be, though? Jim-i-niy! When I say nobody’s got a mouth like the Elizabethans … I mean, nobody but Dr. Lucy. Zwounds!

By the by, I came across this UrbanDictionary definition of Zwounds!, a common exclamation at Faire:

“Archaic expression of shock or suprise [sic]. Derives from “God’s wounds”. As with similar archaisms, “Zwounds” is used in jocular contexts by tedious nerds with intellectual pretentions [sic].”

My nerd-response? Sirrah, you spelled “surprise” and “pretensions” incorrectly. You pig-faced, belly-bloated hedge-pig. Also ... duh!

Abyssinia, hedge-pigs!

Column 1

Column 2

Column 3

Artless

Base-court

Apple-john

Bawdy

Bat-fowling

Baggage

Beslubbering

Beef-witted

Barnacle

Bootless

Beetle-headed

Bladder

Churlish

Boil-brained

Boar-pig

Cockered

Clapper-clawed

Bugbear

Clouted

Clay-brained

Bum-bailey

Craven

Common-kissing

Canker-blossom

Currish

Crook-pated

Clack-dish

Dankish

Dismal-dreaming

Clot-pole

Dissembling

Dizzy-eyed

Coxcomb

Droning

Dog-hearted

Codpiece

Errant

Dread-bolted

Death-token

Fawning

Earth-vexing

Dewberry

Fobbing

Elf-skinned

Flap-dragon

Froward

Fat-kidneyed

Flax-wench

Frothy

Fen-sucked

Flirt-gill

Gleeking

Flap-mouthed

Foot-licker

Goatish

Fly-bitten

Fustilarian

Gorbellied

Folly-fallen

Giglet

Impertinent

Fool-born

Gudgeon

Infectious

Full-gorged

Haggard

Jarring

Guts-griping

Harpy

Loggerheaded

Half-faced

Hedge-pig

Lumpish

Hasty-witted

Horn-beast

Mammering

Hedge-born

Huggermugger

Mangled

Hell-hated

Jolt-head

Mewling

Idle-headed

Lewdster

Paunchy

Ill-breeding

Lout

Pribbling

Ill-nurtured

Maggot-pie

Puking

Knotty-pated

Malt-worm

Puny

Milk-livered

Mammet

Quailing

Motley-minded

Measle

Rank

Onion-eyed

Minnow

Reeky

Plume-plucked

Miscreant

Roguish

Pottle-deep

Mold-warp

Ruttish

Pox-marked

Mumble-news

Saucy

Reeling-ripe

Nut-hook

Spleeny

Rough-hewn

Pigeon-egg

Spongy

Rude-growing

Pignut

Surly

Rump-fed

Puttock

Tottering

Shard-borne

Pumpion

Unmuzzled

Sheep-biting

Rats-bane

Vain

Spur-galled

Scut

Venomed

Swag-bellied

Skains-mate

Villainous

Tardy-gaited

Strumpet

Warped

Tickle-brained

Varlot

Wayward

Toad-spotted

Vassal

Weedy

Unchin-snouted

Whey-face

Yeasty

Weather-bitten

Wagtail

Respect, Nine Old Men: Classic Disney Cartoons

Just aces, kids! That’s all I can say! Skipping about the Roku this morning in my luxe Resort Suite at the Hotel del Coronado this gorgeous summer’s day and what did I find? Disney is giving up the goods: Classic Mickey & Friends cartoons! I watched each and every one of Walt’s mini-flickers when they originally came out in theaters as early as the 1920s. Even after my unfortunate demise in 1934, I hightailed my haunted self into theaters well up into the 1960s. (After that, theater-going became a little sketchy in the 1970s, especially in downtown San Diego, Boston and New York. Icky and sticky.) Trust me, being a ghost up through the 1960s was much easier than it is now (far less crowded); plus, folks dressed a might better when going to the pictures. (Remember heels and hairbrushes, dames?) Disney animated shorts just filled up the dark, like a gentle flood of colour accompanied by the lulling sound of happy fantasy and storytelling. There’s nothing like a Disney cartoon.

 

If you’re only keen for Cars 2, WALL-E and the like’s cutting-edge animation; this ain’t it. This isn’t the latest evolution in cartooning technology; this is the original DNA, straight outta the primordial swamps. This is the genetic strain that runs through today’s Pixar genes, a Walt Disney Company subsidiary. Not familiar with classic Disney? (I sigh audibly here and swig my Pink Lady because I know, sadly, there are some half-portions out there whom have no clue about the likes of pre-Epic Mickey.) Just click on your Roku‘s Disney station and acquaint, or even reacquaint, yourself with the brilliantly-hued, richly-saturated, laugh-out-loud, pratfall-funny, simply-happy, Disney viewing.

 

This is Hawaiian Holiday (1937) and a slew of Goofy’s pre-WWII How-to films: Golf, Swim, Fly and the classic The Art of Skiing. Yaaa-hoo-hoo-hooweeeee! Mickey and the Seal (1948), Clock Cleaners (1937), The Whalers (1938), a variety of Pluto, Donald Duck and Chip an’ Dale shorts, plus, for you mystery lovers, my fave, Lonesome Ghosts (1937) with Sherlock Mickey, Donald and Goofy.

(Aside: Apropos to mysteries and ghosties, Yours Truly is headed home for Hallowe’en! Dr. Harvey & Hildy and big bro Hugh better get their costumes ready, ’cause we’re all spending the holiday in Salem, Mass at the Hawthorne Hotel! I’ll most likely do the Bellatrix Lestrange thing and, Hugh, I just learned, is going as Dr. Devorkian this year. Brilliant, I tell you! Brilliant! To that end, the Hawthorne Hotel had better prepare for a few more hauntings that night! Hannah Hart ghost-post for October? Murder, but yes!)

Back to the ‘toons, these are the original, kippy, good old-fashioned, pen-and-ink, hand-painted, stunning, watercolour cels  from the ingenuity of Walt Disney and the WDC’s Nine Old Men: Ollie Johnston, Les Clark, Ward Kimball, Wolfgang Reitherman, Frank Thomas, Mark Davis, Milt Kahl, Ward Kimball, Eric Larson and John Lounsbery. Indeed, it did all start with a mouse … and a few ducks, a dog, another dog and a couple of brazen chipmunks.

If I may be so bold, Disney Channel online-programming department, if you’re reading, any chance of adding some Unca Scrooge, more Hewey, Dewey and Louie and, please-oh-please, any Humphrey and Ranger Smith shorts?! First you pick it up, put it in the bag. Bump, bump!

Disney, overall, may not float your boat. Maybe you’re too smooth, Abercrombie. If that’s the case, I can’t help you. I’ll wager you “don’t get” puppies, either. Those of you whom do appreciate the dynamic artistry, talent and sheer, organic purity and originality of early-20thC. animation, treat yourself: Roku Disney >>Mickey & Friends >>Classic Cartoons. No queue necessary; they’ll play one after the other.

My man Walt is laying it down like its Saturday night in Kansas City and I don’t care what you do or don’t think about Mr. Disney himself, his contributions to American industry or contemporary, digital animation … nothing beats early-Disney for the fine art of modern animation. Got a beef, by the by, with Mr. Disney? Good luck, ’cause now you got a beef with one Miss JennyPop! I dare you to take it up with his most gleaming, eternally Disneyfied devotee, my pally, Jennifer Susannah Devore. Them’s fightin’ words, for certain!

“How does Disney not continue to make this quality of film?” ponders a very digital, very modern-minded filmmaker I know and whom, almost by default, rejects any film made prior to the 1980s (A Pavlovian response, to be sure, due to being forced to watch “old films” by snarky, pompous, film school profs.). “Even the music,” he says, “when I’m not watching the screen, the music is so entertaining and fresh. It just makes you happy.” (Full disclosure: the filmmaker in question did his Master’s degree internship at WDS, in the old Animation Building, to boot.)

By the by, Miss Jenny, being a good Disney girl, a lifelong fan since weekly, family dinners at The Blue Bayou and, thanks to her Parental Units, having been an annual passholder since Year One, way back in the day when the Park started all that jazz, plus having worked at The Happiest Place on Earth during her Twenty-three skidoo! college days, knows just a few million bits of trivia about the Man, his Mouse and their House. (Don’t ask her about the Cars movies, though.  Other than the fact that Captain Sig Hansen did a voice over in Cars2 and that there’s a animated Porsche in one of the films, she’s knows squat.) Are you a Disney dork, too? Enter “Disney” or “Disneyland” right up there in the search bar of JennyPop.net, and you’ll find post after post of Disney goodness.

To that point, do you know how to tell the difference betwixt Chip an’ Dale? Why, it’s easy peasy lemon sqeezy! Dale’s nose is red, whilst Chip’s is black, similar to  … a chocolate Chip.

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Abyssinia, Meeces!

Careful, she's stark ravin' mad! The DNC Chair & Clint Eastwood's Chair Go To Tea

Like any junkie worth her weight in used hypodermic needles, I take my news any way I can get it. Anywhere, anytime and from anyone with the goods: Fox News, CNN, WSJ, KFI talk radio (Trustworthy, up-to-the-minute L.A./O.C./CA/national news, plus the likes of Rush Limbaugh, John & Ken, Mo' Kelly, Tim Conway, Jr., The Fabulous Lisa Ann Walter, George Noory and so many more!), BBC News, CNN International, Financial Times, France 24, Daily Show, Rolling Stone and whatever else my gritty nails can scratch up in a train station cafe or a rest stop outside of Richmond. I used to get a serious fix from Chris Matthews. Then, circa 2008 he turned weird, rude, subjective and totally unaware of himself. I still watch on occasion, hoping he'll come back. When I do watch, I think of David Letterman in a 2009 interview with a bearded and seemingly addled Joaquin Phoenix. Letterman ends the interview with, "Joaquin, I'm sorry you couldn't be here tonight.". Chris, I'm sorry you couldn't be here.

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Simply because I occasionally lean to the right on various issues, some friends and fam erroneously presume my news and political intake must come solely from Fox News. As Dwight Schrute would say, "False." To boot, even if it did, Fox News' reporting and anchors -not their primetime, opinion programming- are as viable and objective as anyone's coverage. The fact is, I consider myself to be largely Independent/Libertarian.

So, as of late, across the political media landscape, in the frenzy of RNC and DNC convention coverage, I cannot help but notice a dichotomy, an almost schizophrenic division of Democrats, amongst themselves. I don't mean a philosophical division amidst the party, I mean a Jekyll and Hyde division within core individuals. Fighting their own common sense and arguing with themselves, à la Liz Lemon or Larry David in vicious mirror-fights. Hilarious on 30 Rock and Curb Your Enthusiasm, sad and querulous on national news.

To cite a few:

Former president Bill Clinton backtracked on his praise of Mitt Romney and his qualifications to hold office. First stating, “this is good work…there is no question that the man has been a governor and has a sterling business career crosses the qualification threshold.” Bubba quickly recanted this. He also "refined" to CNN's Wolf Blitzer, comments about renewing Bush tax cuts and praising private equity companies, including Romney's Bain Capital.

Corey Booker, mayor of Newark, NJ also praised private capital investment, admitting to David Gregory on Meet The Press that attacks on Bain and private equity were "nauseating", made him "uncomfortable" and offended him on a "personal level". He enacted takesies-backsies very quickly via his own YouTube video.

Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley's organic claim on Face the Nation that "We are not better off after four years ..." was walked back forthwith and all too quickly on CNN's Starting Point said, “We are clearly better off as a country ..." Politicians seem to spill their souls on Sunday morning talk shows, only to retract those souls on Monday morning. Sunday nights in D.C. must be tough.

Most glaringly, with steady eyes and an Obi Wan-like mind hold, DNC Chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz claimed, clear as a bell on audio, “We know, and I’ve heard no less than Ambassador Michael Oren say this, that what the Republicans are doing is dangerous for Israel.” She then denied having quoted the ambassador, after Oren himself said he argued no such thing. Wasserman Schultz added a double-scoop to her cone of lies and further claimed, with indignity, “I didn’t say he said that. And unfortunately, that comment was reported by a conservative newspaper. Not surprising that they would deliberately misquote me.” The odour of mendacity is strong with this one.

Watch the following videos and tell me what you see. Do you see reality? Or, as Anderson Cooper calls yet another of Wasserman Schultz' misspeaks during an interview about the controversial, convention vote to add "God" and "Jerusalem" to the Democratic party platform, do you see "an alternate universe"?

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It's all so Alice in Wonderland. Such a Mad Hatter's Tea Party! Wild hats and all!

Mad Hatter: Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Alice: Riddles? Now let me see... why is a raven like a writing desk?

Mad Hatter: I beg your pardon?

Alice: Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Mad Hatter: Why is a what?!

March Hare: Careful, she's stark ravin' mad!

Alice: But it's your silly riddle. You just said...

Mad Hatter: Easy, don't get excited!

March Hare: How about a nice cup of tea?

Alice: "Have a cup of tea," indeed! Well I'm sorry, but I just haven't the time!

 

Ironically, if you do a man-on-the-street segment, I'm willing to bet almost no one will even know who Debbie Wasserman Schultz is, let alone recognize her blatant inability to tell the truth from moment to moment. On the flip side, every single person you ask would know all about Clint Eastwood and his empty chair.

The legendary actor's-actor and director's-director deigned to bring a little theater to a rather stale RNC convention -a standard tenet of classical drama and philosophy, the empty chair as symbolism- and he was not only splattered across every mainstream website, newspaper and broadcast of popular note, but labelled therein as a "kook", "unhinged" and "losing it". Rachel Maddow snarked, "That was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen at a political convention in my entire life.” Piers Morgan said Eastwood was "going bonkers" and asked interviewees, "Weren’t you in pain while he was up there?”. Andrea Mitchell, a once-serious and -objective journalist, in serious danger of going the Chris Matthews-way sniped that the speech "was exceedingly strange. It just seemed like a very strange, unscripted moment."

That's because it was unscripted, Mrs. Greenspan. Clint Eastwood is an actor and an improvisor and despite advice from "everyone but the janitor" on what to do, he went his own way and it was brilliant. He wasn't scripted, he didn't have crib notes and he sure as hell didn't use a Teleprompter. I understood his technique; I got the symbolism. It was an eloquent method to dramatize his point. In fact, there were three:

“I had three points I wanted to make,” Eastwood said in his first après-convention interview with Paul Miller of The Carmel Pine Cone. “That not everybody in Hollywood is on the left, that Obama has broken a lot of the promises he made when he took office, and that the people should feel free to get rid of any politician who’s not doing a good job. But I didn’t make up my mind exactly what I was going to say until I said it.”

Still, this is how modern Democrats and supposed-, pseudo-journalists fight. Dirty, personal, uninformed and way below the belt. Mental disease, aging and cheap name-calling are the tools they use? It's shameful. NPR called former Democratic Michigan governor Jennifer Granholm's DNC Howard Dean-styled convention speech "high-spirited"; ABC News called it "rousing" and CBS News said "energetic". If Rush Limbaugh calls her an unstable wackadoo, they'll try to run him out of town like, well, the way they try to run Rush Limbaugh out of town on a regular basis.

For that matter, if Rush Limbaugh, Tucker Carlson, George Will or Bill O'Reilly called Ms. Longoria "a smart cookie", as Piers Morgan so insultingly did after conducting an interview about, not her upcoming speech, but her dress and shoes at length, well ... I am loathe to think of the misogynist-oriented attacks and repercussions therein.

Whether in vitriol-soaked anger or polite, intellectual discourse, when one waxes negative about a Democrat, specifically those nicely boxed into liberal platform-designated, "minority" groups, the critic is instantly labelled a racist, a misogynist, a sexist, a bigot and so on. Counterpoint: are those individuals flinging slings and arrows at Mr. Eastwood, ageists? That's pretty low: making fun of the elderly.

Eva Longoria, by the way, spoke before Obama, much in the same programming design as Clint Eastwood did before Romney. Remember what she said?

Exactly.

Sick of it all, regardless of whom is saying what? Don't give up altogether. There is another candidate, running as the B Party candidate. Check her out! She's an absolute doll! Yes, we glam!

 

P.S. Need a little onus probandi and freedom of the press refresher? Voila! Book III of my Savannah of Williamsburg series of historical-fiction! Savannah of Williamsburg: Ben Franklin, Freedom & Freedom of the Press.

 

Last Weekend of Summer, Last Chance To Meet America’s Next Top Pirate, For Free, for Kindle!

If Cosmo Kramer and Captain Ron were particle-dematerialized on the U.S.S. Enterprise and then rematerialized as one pirate on the mid-Atlantic in the 18thC., you’d have the most famous buccaneer you’ve yet to meet: Captain Maurice Bloodstone, a.k.a. Redbeard.

Meet him today! Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trails of Blackbeard and His Pirates, Virginia 1718

Last weekend of summer means last chance fer livin' large, pirate-style!

'Tis also yer last chance, fer free, fer Kindle, me mateys!

9/14 - 9/16

It seems pirates remain the bees knee’s, regardless of the generation: Errol Flynn to Johnny Depp. Today, you can’t swing a burlap bag of old turtle meat at a pirate festival without hitting one of our faves: Captain Jack Sparrow, Blackbeard, Captain Barbossa, Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Mary Read, Captain Hook, Captain Flint and numerous variations on the ghost pirates of Scooby Doo, Spongebob Squarepants and South Park. Yet, happily I have seen an influx of a new pirate: Captain Bloodstone, especially at the California festivals. Why not? He’s affable, distills his own Beach Bum Rum, loathes shoes, sports a bright red beard and offers up an infectious, jovial laugh which makes the wenches swoon and the pillaging and plundering more of an entertainment value than an annoying mess to clean up when he leaves.

Bloodstone is what literary folk call an anti-hero: a sympathetic villain with enough traces of humanity and pathos that we worry about him, pull for him and, despite the fact that’s he’s made some very poor decisions, we hope against poetic justice that he will emerge vanquished, safe and in the arms of a hot chick. His tag line? Me cup is broke and who will fix it?! It never gets old, to him, at any rate.

Armed with bandoliers and scabbards crammed with flintlocks and cutlasses, Cap’t. Bloodstone serves as Blackbeard’s first mate, drinking buddy and brother-in-arms on the sandy bars and dunes of North Carlolina’s Outer Banks and The Battle of Ocracoke in 1718. Through the magic of words and breaks in the time-space contiuum, this Kramer of pirates also emerges on a modern-day, sexy and celeb-packed, southern California beach.

Grab your Kindle and meet him, for free!! From September 14 -16, 2012! Free copy of Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates via Amazon! While you’re there, check out the author’s, my pally Jennifer Devore’s, other works, including her latest release, the sexy and salacious The Darlings of Orange County, in which Bloodstone makes his contemporary appearance and threatens our very own dear Johnny Depp on the carpet of a Laguna Beach film premiere.

Blackbeard was joined at his fete by Captain Charles Vane, Captain Robert Deal, Captain Calico Jack Rackham and Captain Maurice Bloodstone, a loner and leader of a crew-of-one, and the only pyrate ever known to escape the Williamsburg gaol, many years now passed. Also present was Blackbeard’s first mate Israel Hands, sometime known to friends as Hezekiah.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Bloodstone cried. “Life was supposed to be fun! All I wanted to do was drink rum and lie on the beach. What did I do?!” he lamented.

“He escaped from a gaol to start with,” one of Maynard’s crew whispered to a younger sailor, for he remembered the news of his escape vividly.

“Ohhhhh!” he continued. “When I was in that Williamsburg gaol, I sees these little animals. A squirrel, a fancy squirrel came to visit me, but only cringed and shied away from me. Aye, she was a fancy squirrel in a fancy frock. Then one day, out me window, I sees this little cat all dressed up fancy, too. I watched him all the day and he was full of life. He was laughing and joyous and ready for anything, frolicking and fencing all the day long, with a fancy little dog in a fancy little dog coat. Ohhhhhh the fun they were having!”

The crews began to shift their feet restlessly and there was the occasional eye roll, deep sigh or spat overboard in boredom. Maynard and Blackbeard had by now both leaned on their cutlasses and were rolling their necks back and forth. Maynard leaned into Blackbeard and whispered, “One of your men, I presume?” Blackbeard just shrugged.

-excerpt from Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates

 

The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates ... free for Kindle!

 

Abyssinia, cats! Tell a friend, or a professional pirate!

Meet America’s Next Top Pirate … for Free, for Kindle!

If Cosmo Kramer and Captain Ron were particle-dematerialized on the U.S.S. Enterprise and then rematerialized as one pirate on the mid-Atlantic in the 18thC., you’d have the most famous buccaneer you’ve yet to meet: Captain Maurice Bloodstone, a.k.a. Redbeard.

Meet him today! Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trails of Blackbeard and His Pirates, Virginia 1718

Free for Kindle! 9/8 - 9/9

It seems pirates remain the bees knee’s, regardless of the generation: Errol Flynn to Johnny Depp. Today, you can’t swing a burlap bag of old turtle meat at a pirate festival without hitting one of our faves: Captain Jack Sparrow, Blackbeard, Captain Barbossa, Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Mary Read, Captain Hook, Captain Flint and numerous variations on the ghost pirates of Scooby Doo, Spongebob Squarepants and South Park. Yet, happily I have seen an influx of a new pirate: Captain Bloodstone, especially at the California festivals. Why not? He’s affable, distills his own Beach Bum Rum, loathes shoes, sports a bright red beard and offers up an infectious, jovial laugh which makes the wenches swoon and the pillaging and plundering more of an entertainment value than an annoying mess to clean up when he leaves.

Bloodstone is what literary folk call an anti-hero: a sympathetic villain with enough traces of humanity and pathos that we worry about him, pull for him and, despite the fact that’s he’s made some very poor decisions, we hope against poetic justice that he will emerge vanquished, safe and in the arms of a hot chick. His tag line? Me cup is broke and who will fix it?! It never gets old, to him, at any rate.

Armed with bandoliers and scabbards crammed with flintlocks and cutlasses, Cap’t. Bloodstone serves as Blackbeard’s first mate, drinking buddy and brother-in-arms on the sandy bars and dunes of North Carlolina’s Outer Banks and The Battle of Ocracoke in 1718. Through the magic of words and breaks in the time-space contiuum, this Kramer of pirates also emerges on a modern-day, sexy and celeb-packed, southern California beach.

Grab your Kindle and meet him, for free!! From September 8 -9, 2012! Free copy of Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates via Amazon! While you’re there, check out the author’s, my pally Jennifer Devore’s, other works, including her latest release, the sexy and salacious The Darlings of Orange County, in which Bloodstone makes his contemporary appearance and threatens our very own dear Johnny Depp on the carpet of a Laguna Beach film premiere.

Blackbeard was joined at his fete by Captain Charles Vane, Captain Robert Deal, Captain Calico Jack Rackham and Captain Maurice Bloodstone, a loner and leader of a crew-of-one, and the only pyrate ever known to escape the Williamsburg gaol, many years now passed. Also present was Blackbeard’s first mate Israel Hands, sometime known to friends as Hezekiah.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Bloodstone cried. “Life was supposed to be fun! All I wanted to do was drink rum and lie on the beach. What did I do?!” he lamented.

“He escaped from a gaol to start with,” one of Maynard’s crew whispered to a younger sailor, for he remembered the news of his escape vividly.

“Ohhhhh!” he continued. “When I was in that Williamsburg gaol, I sees these little animals. A squirrel, a fancy squirrel came to visit me, but only cringed and shied away from me. Aye, she was a fancy squirrel in a fancy frock. Then one day, out me window, I sees this little cat all dressed up fancy, too. I watched him all the day and he was full of life. He was laughing and joyous and ready for anything, frolicking and fencing all the day long, with a fancy little dog in a fancy little dog coat. Ohhhhhh the fun they were having!”

The crews began to shift their feet restlessly and there was the occasional eye roll, deep sigh or spat overboard in boredom. Maynard and Blackbeard had by now both leaned on their cutlasses and were rolling their necks back and forth. Maynard leaned into Blackbeard and whispered, “One of your men, I presume?” Blackbeard just shrugged.

-excerpt from Savannah of Williamsburg: The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates

 

The Trials of Blackbeard and His Pirates ... free for Kindle!

 

Abyssinia, cats! Tell a friend, or a professional pirate!

Free Darlings of Orange County for Labor Day: Dana Point Pirates & A Laguna Beach Film Premiere

Yo ho, yo ho a Darlings life for you!

Time for one more summer novel! FREE this Labor Day weekend, The Darlings of Orange County!

Chill as a dirty Pearl martini, dangerous as a drunken pirate, hilarious as a Real Drunken Housewife.

The Darlings of Orange County is waiting for your Kindle, PC or iPad, via Apple's KindleApp.

Having become a fan of Jenny's writing via her blog, I eagerly snagged a copy of Ms. Devore's The Darlings of Orange County for my e-reader. The description promises "salacious and comical" and this book delivered. I had downloaded a sample of Fifty Shades of Grey: Book One of the Fifty Shades Trilogy and did not find the book compelling enough to hit the "buy" button. But I was in the mood for a read that is a bit naughty. Nothing too serious. I wanted a break from gritty, moody, YA fiction. If Fifty Shades wouldn't fit the bill, would The Darlings of Orange County?

-Natalie Wright's YA

Read the full review by author Natalie Wright or watch the video interview about this sexy n' silly tale.

 

"Especially, I think, as summer comes up, this is a great beach read. It's a fabulous book to get on your Kindle. You'll be laughing out loud on the beach, so just beware you might look a little bit weird, laughing to yourself!"

-Natalie Wright's YA: Writer Chat Wednesdays

"Still in the process of reading this book. Had to stop for a few to wipe up the milk that shot out of my nose. Warning: do not read this book while having cookies and milk!"

-Gregory Allen, Napa Fantasy Review

"Thanks for the love! We are stoked!"

-VonZipperUSA

"I grew up in Southern California and every time I read your book I can feel the ocean breeze and smell the salt air. What witty descriptions of the odd nature of the O.C."

-Michele Lim-Sanders, M.D. (NorCal)

"Ch. 60. ROFL!" "Done. Omg! L.o.v.e.! So, so funny!"

-Angelea Bruce, RB Vino & Libri Chicks

"The story starts very-Hemingway, with longer sentences full of description."

-Ottobox

 

Yo ho, yo ho! Free, my friend! Free for you!

You've heard the buzz, you've read the teases. Now it's time to meet The Darlings: Veronica, Ryan, Chet, Tucker and Sugar Belle. Their wackadoo, and sometimes hilariously felonious friends, Astrid, Pardo, Lorelei, Kieran, Caesar, Sasha and Dr. Mandy. If you ever thought a Barbie-murder, an over-the-top pirate and an obsessive-compulsive hot dog vendor had nothing in common, you've never visited Veronica Darling's neighborhood.

The Darlings of Orange County by Jennifer Susannah Devore ...  Act now! Friday, August 31 - Sunday, September 2! Freeeeee!!!!!

Remember, 18+ only, please! Noooo kiddies for this J.S. Devore title!

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