Will Viharo's Blog, page 3

Why 2014 Will Be My Year

Drinking a Vesper, the original James Bond cocktail,
at Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge.2014=2/14=Valentine's Day=Vic Valentine. Not sure whether I believe in numerology, but if Christian Slater's film version of my novel Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me finally gets a green light this year, then that will definitely make a believer out of me. 
But even if it doesn't happen that soon (sigh), because Christian is too busy with his new TV series Mind Games, which premieres on ABC in March, my life will change drastically this year anyway, for the better, because Monica Tiki Goddess and I are pulling up stakes and moving our Bay Area base of operations north to Seattle, WA.
Plus, I now have my very own Wikipedia page, officially declaring me a pulp writer of note to the universe at large. My mission to reintroduce myself as an author and not just a B movie impresario/lounge lizard is now complete. Now I just have to continue living up to the honor.
But why leave (mostly) sunny Northern California and move all the way to Seattle, you ask? Doesn't it, like, rain a lot up there?
Exactly. I'm a noir kinda guy.
I've lived in California since I was on my own at age 16, after being raised primarily in South Jersey, having spent my first few years in Houston, born in Manhattan 4/2/63. After being kicked out of Jersey by my stepmother for non-sensical reasons, I was alone and lost in Los Angeles till I was 22 (during which time I was befriended by a young Mickey Rourke), when I decided to move to San Francisco without knowing a single soul there. I picked a random room out of the newspaper that happened to be the legendary Hotel Europa in North Beach, above the strip club where the famous Carol Doda performed. I pissed in my sink, typed novels on top of my portable fridge, watched Miami Vice on my small TV, and hid my beloved cat Puss (RIP) from management. Yada yada yada, 29 years later I've become locally known as "Will the Thrill" of "Thrillville" fame. But all good things must come to an end. Much as I felt back in 1985 when I left LA for SF, I now feel like I'm stuck in neutral, spinning my wheels in the same old well-worn grooves, complacent but uninspired, and frankly the Bay Area's recent historic dry spell reflects my personal sense of ennui. I need a big reboot right up my ass. I need a major storm. In short, I need Seattle. It just fits the Thrill-bill, climate-and-culture-wise, soothing my soul while invigorating my spirit. Monica's best friend from college lives up there, and The Tiki Goddess is applying for her PhD in Theater at the University of Washington, better known as UDub. It feels like the right move at the right time. I turn 51 on April 2 - and I'm barely become accustomed to turning 50, which happened on my exploratory trip to Seattle last year. I figure if I'm going to alter the trajectory of my life, both personally and professionally, it needs to be now. I want to spend the autumn (and winter) of my years in a place that actually has both seasons, as opposed to the perpetual spring-summer weather of California. I left LA three decades ago largely to escape the heat, and it apparently followed and finally caught up with me. Yes, I crave clouds. Some like it hot. I dig it cool. And green. Go ahead, call me crazy. I'm used to it by now.
As for my career aspirations, other than writing and simply finding some kind of regular work to pay the basic bills, I doubt I'll pursue any kind of theatrical version of Thrillville up in the Emerald City, but I'm in no position to turn down cash offers, either. I do envision a book reading/burlesque mashup of some sort, especially since Seattle is such a literary hotbed, so to speak, but we'll see what Fate holds in store. My main job at the moment is simply to get there, bridging the gap between my past and future. A new place to hang my fez...Meantime, Thrillville has become the online platform for my pulp fiction, and it finally ends its long running incarnation as a "cult movie cabaret" when the "franchised" version I'm currently programming at The New Parkway comes to an end in June, when we plan to move, taking my brand name with us. The Sunday night series, for which I've been designating rotating guest hosts since about a year ago, moves back to its original, "old Parkway" time slot of (every other) Thursday night this month. My first gig of the year, on January 9, will be our final Elvis Bday Show by the Bay, featuring Elvis's greatest movie, King Creole (1958), one I've always wanted to show, but there were no 35mm prints (The New Parkway, like most theaters, is all digital projection). Check out my take on this movie as classic film noir here.

Complete Thrillville Theater schedule through June here. I won't be personally presenting most of them, but on March 20, I will host my final SHATFEST: Tribute to William Shatner, featuring The Devil's Rain (1975).

Then on Thursday, April 3, I celebrate Thrillville's 17th Anniversary with a combo Farewell Bay Area Show featuring my all-time favorite flick Sweet Smell of Success (1957) - a scent I hope to be getting a huge whiff of real soon...
Years ago I introduced clips from this and other beloved movies like I Was a Teenage Werewolf, Faster Pussycat Kill! Kill!, and Bare Knuckles (starring my father Robert Viharo) in this early local TV appearance, my first as "Will the Thrill," back when Thrillville was still called The Midnight Lounge . In fact, I initially introduced the whole concept of "Thrillville" right on the air:
Recent shows I've hosted at The New Parkway:
Hosting "A James Bond Christmas: On Her Majesty's Secret Service" at The New Parkway,
12/8/13  Hosting "A Rat Pack Holiday Party" featuring "Ocean's 11," a movie that looms large in my history...
 The New Parkway, 12/29/13

After last fall's promotional blitz for the reissue of Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, I don't have a lot of other projects lined up. I'm pretty preoccupied with the move. And the movie. I really need both to happen this year. But only one of them is actually under my control. And I'm taking it. 
Original mock poster by storyboard artist Matt Brown,
the basis for the cover of the Gutter Books reissue of the novel. ONWARD 2014, CHEERS! Drinking a "Vic Valentine," New Year's Eve, Forbidden Island


My short story "Behind the Bar" is included in this new Charles Bukowski Tribute anthology, LONG DISTANCE DRUNKS, from Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing, now available for pre-order.

"People Bug Me" by Will Viharo

PEOPLE BUG MEby Will Viharo
A stylized short story synthesis of my two favorite movies...
The random reports coming out of Rockdale were all over the map, a map leading me someplace I didn't want to go. But I had no choice. My career as a New York publicist was finished, and I'd barely beat that bum marijuana rap hanging over my head like second hand smoke blown out of Satan's fart fissure. I figured if I could sell a major piece to a national magazine, my name and rep would get paroled off of Death Row, even if my soul had already been sold to the only bidder for chump change.

After I checked into a cute, cozy little motel that would've been considered a dive if it wasn't so antiseptically clean, I headed over to the nearby diner for lunch. I sat silently at the counter, surrounded by the local yokels, who all looked serenely traumatized, like they'd stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell cover of the Saturday Evening Post, with special guest editor Alfred Hitchcock. They seemed to know something I didn't. Not in the smug, patronizing, pseudo-sophisticated manner of the hoity-toity high-falutin' snobs with whom I once strategically rubbed shoulders, whose knees were as sharp and dirty as their minds. These blank-eyed suburban zombies had nothing to hide with their hypocrisy but the sinister secrets of the scandalously supernatural, as well as their own sexual suppression.
Rockdale was a sleepy little slice of postcard-perfect Americana, and the snoring was contagious. But I immediately sensed a seductively evil presence lurking beneath the deceptively placid facade. These dinky little towns were all alike. They didn't fool me with their church choirs, softball games and sidewalk swap meets. After all, people are the same all over, and people are rotten to the core. All you have to do is take a bite out of one, and a worm will be squirming down your throat along with the sickly sweet poison. Despite the conservative propaganda, good old-fashioned sin bubbled beneath this sanitized surface and sometime boiled up like rancid chicken fat in a pot of your mother's best natural cold remedy, making you gag on the grease even as you're forced to swallow the scum. After all, it was for your own good.
But I wasn't here for the cruddy soup du jour. Just the raw ingredients to a steaming hot story. As I said once to an infamous ex-friend of mine, 'The cat's in the bag, the bag's in the river.” But in this case, I was planning to bag a wolf that had already drowned. All I needed was its head in a sack, even if it did stink like a wet, dead dog.
As I sat there stewing in my own bitter juices, I picked up and scanned a copy of the local rag. The headlines echoed the same shrill, bold-faced hysteria screaming from all the nation's newspapers that day: AMAZING COLOSSAL MAN ATTACKS LAS VEGAS! Apparently some bald, diaper-wearing, 60 foot freak incidentally exposed to atomic radiation had bashed in the Sands' neon sign on his way to a watery grave at Hoover Dam. He got it easy. Sinatra wouldn't have made it so quick after the big baby crashed his nightclub gig.

I shook my head. That coverage would've earned me an international byline, along with everyone else riding that bandwagon to journalistic glory. While in Sin City anyway I could've been stirring my martinis with some shapely showgirl's garter clip. I should've been there instead of following mere rumors of a rampaging monster all the way to little old Rockdale, where I had about as much chance of getting laid as Joe McCarthy at a beatnik poetry reading.

However, for the sake of distinction, if not integrity, it was either this or following up on the gossip coming out of some other map speck called Hicksburg, where the local kids were swearing up and down that their dullsville town had been recently invaded by “saucer men” from outer space, killing people with booze in their claws, but the Army had it all sewn up. I'd decided that nonsense just sounded like a bad, babbling hangover. The tale I was trailing now was a bit more plausible, if only because it wasn't being told exclusively by teenagers. I hate them and their phony, ugly rock 'n' roll. They have no class or respect for anything, and their musical tastes are in their ass. Jazz was my gospel. And Elvis had stolen my hairstyle, anyway. That hip-swiveling hick wasn't even a real brunette, but a natural blonde - a slimy, spastic, fish-eyed poseur with a purloined, pompous pompadour. Nice voice, though, even if he did sound like a Harlem hillbilly.
After I forcibly ate my bland sandwich, which made me yearn for the Carnegie Deli like an unhappily married man missing the nasty whore who took his cherry back in the Army, I headed over to meet with my only real lead in the case, Dr. Alfred Brandon, the local shrink. In a repressed town like this, filled with quietly desperate nobodies, he had to be a busy man. The thing was, he'd just been released from the hospital himself. From what I'd heard, his throat had nearly been torn out, and he could barely talk. That's why I brought a pencil and a notepad with me. A lot of people didn't believe the quack's account of the mysterious events. Even the cops had shut the case tighter than an Amish snatch. They wouldn't even talk to me. But Brandon immediately agreed to meet after I'd phoned his reluctant receptionist. In fact, he couldn't wait to spill his guts, even if most had been spilled already, all over his own floor. I nearly slipped on their residue as he led me into his office. There was truth in what he had to tell me. I could smell it on his breath like dime-store whiskey, and booze never lies, even the cheap stuff.
In fact, after greeting me at the front door, he offered me a shot of bourbon, which I naturally accepted.

“Take a seat, Mister Falco,” the quack said to me in his raspy whisper. “As you can hear, my overly educated eloquence has been fatally compromised, so our chat must be brief and directly to the point.”

I sat down in the chair opposite him and stared at the bandages around his neck. What appeared to be deep scratches were protruding at odd angles from beneath the bandages onto his ruddy cheeks, like the legs of a spider squashed beneath a soiled cocktail napkin. Poor bastard must've really suffered. No sense in prolonging his existential agony.

“Yea, let's get right down to it then,” I said. I tossed my notepad and pencil on the desk. “I don't care if your voice shakes as long as you shoot straight, Doc. No dirt dishing or mud slinging. Just the clean scoop.”
Brandon picked up the notepad, scribbled something on it, and threw it back on the desk. I lit up a cigarette without asking permission, and took a gander at what he'd written: “Lycanthropy.”
I looked up at him quizzically. “That's it?”
“You wanted me to be succinct, no?”
“Well, what the hell does that even mean? Like...a rare disease, or what?”
“Of a sort.” He suddenly went on a coughing jag, spurting up a little blood into his pocket hankie. I pretended to be patient.
“What kind of disease? By the way, you don't sound so healthy yourself, Doc.”
“It's...a form of...behavioral regression...induced by hypnosis.”
“Oh yea? Sounds like those mental masturbation marathon sessions back in New York. Just one big intellectual circle jerk.”
“Why did you leave New York?” Brandon asked me.
“I didn't want to get all sticky with cerebral semen.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously? Too many people,” I said, which was only partially true. “People bug me.”
Brandon chuckled, which led to more coughing and spitting. It was disgusting.
“What the hell's so funny?” I asked.
“That's just what he used to say.”
“Who?”
“My...previous subject. Tony.”
“Tony Rivers? The kid the cops shot?”
“Yes. Although...he wasn't just a kid when they shot him.”
“He was...some kind of monster, right?”
“Not just a monster. A werewolf. At least that's the culturally recognizable term for this condition. It's funny – you remind me so much of him. Your volatile nature, your almost primitive energy. All of mankind springs from the same savage ancestry, but some of us are more in touch, shall we say, with our primordial roots than others. From what little I know and have observed of you, Mister Falco, you are one of those rare, ideal case studies.”
“Wait a minute, just can the psychoanalysis, Doc. I didn't come here to get my head shrunk down to a shriveled prune. Squeeze some othersucker's skull for brain sap, I'm tapped out. Let's just stick to the facts, shall we? So...you're trying to tell me the kid was a teenage werewolf? Like in the old spook shows and pulps?”
He nodded. “Not in the traditional sense, meaning his transformation was more the result of an emotional catharsis brought about by scientific catalysts than any sort of malevolent, medieval magic. But yes. That's exactly what I'm saying.”
I leaned forward, mesmerized. “So the rumors are true. Can't youjust prove this?”
“Only by replicating the experiment, I'm afraid. But as you can imagine, I've had no volunteers lately. I'm actually out on bail, Mister Falco. The police are trying to pin Tony's death on me. I'm their fall guy, since the townspeople won't accept the premise that a relatively harmless juvenile delinquent was gunned down for no good reason. Tony had only a sketchy, mainly innocuous police record, mostly for schoolyard fights and such, only minor offenses. He was actually a promising student. Obviously intelligent, but internally troubled. Like you, I respectfully surmise. The recent murders were obviously committed by either some kind of wild animal or...a madman. Essentially, both and neither are true. In any case, since I've always been viewed with skeptical animosity by the small-minded members of this provincial community, and Tony was found dead in my office, I'm considered the main suspect, even if they're having difficulty putting all the pieces together into a coherent picture to fit the frame. My defense hangs in the balance of this interview, I'm afraid. I need you to clear me, Mister Falco, by exposing the truth the entire world. Even if you will have to publish it under a nom de plume given our mutually special circumstances.”
“I'm not sure what you're referencing and so sorry to hear about your troubles, Doc, but since we do share this spiritual kinship, as you suggest, just call me Sidney. Smoke?”
He scowled and shook his head. “I'd rather not.”
“You mean smoke or call me Sidney?”
“Neither. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I already don't like you, Mister Falco.”
“Well, I don't want or need your friendship, Doc, or even your respect. Just your story. In fact, I need to tell it as much you need it told, so we're on the same page here. Literally. But if you can't provide me with any hard evidence to chase this hard booze, I'm afraid you're wasting both our time.”
He let out a long, discordant sigh, like a TB victim blowing infected air through busted glass. “My former assistant Hugo and I filmed the final transformation, but I'm afraid it was destroyed. I do have my notes, but without physical manifestation, recorded for posterity, they're so much science fiction, at least as far as the authorities are concerned.”
“So...no other witnesses.”
“Oh, others most certainly saw the...'beast,' for lack of a better term, Mister Falco. But those who did are either being forced into silence by the mayor and his minions eschewing the public panic as well as the damaging publicity, or they're...dead.”
“I see. So...what now?”
“Well, that's where you come in, hopefully.”
“Yes, but I told you. I need some kind of proof before I pitch this piece to a respectable publication. Otherwise they'll lock me up in the loony bin right next to you, and frankly, I prefer tailored suits to straight-jackets.”
“Actually, Mister Falco, I was hoping you'd willfully submit to my special brand of...therapy.”
I laughed, but nervously. “You're joking, right?”
“Not at all. I've actually done my research on you, Mister Falco. Technically speaking, you're a fugitive from justice, like me, on the lam after you were allegedly set up for drug possession, specifically marijuana."

I stood up and pointed my shaking finger at him. “I was framed by Hunsecker, the lousy, lying, two-faced bastard! That fat, sweaty cop planted that stuff in my coat!”
Brandon remained impressively calm, but after facing a drooling teenage monster, I couldn't have been all that intimidating. “I'm not questioning your denial of the charges, Mister Falco. Though skipping town as well as your own court date might not have been advisable, from a prudent point of view. I'm only pointing out that we could both benefit from this situation, risky as it may be. At least for others, if not us.”
“Well...what if I refuse to be your were-guinea pig? Which, by the way, I am.”
“I'm afraid it's too late to refuse, Mister Falco.”
“What do you mean?”
“You see, I invented a very specific narcotic for this therapy, which is normally injected into the patient's bloodstream. But since I rightly assumed you'd refuse to cooperate, I naturally resorted to a more subversive method of...treatment.”
That's when I began to feel woozy...
The bourbon. It was the god damn bourbon. Never trust a shrink with a drink. I should've known...When I woke up, I was strapped to a reclining chair in another room. A 16mm film camera was set up at the foot of the chair. I could already hear it whirring.
Brandon was behind it, expertly operating the equipment. He didn't say anything. He just kept watching me with unnerving intensity. I screamed several randomly selected yet circumstantially appropriate expletives at him, and that's all I can remember of that moment...except for the vague sound of Brandon's relentlessly droning voice, counting backward from one hundred...

I did have a dream though, which I recall with vivid ferocity. Or rather, it was a wet nightmare – soaked in a sickening variety of various bodily fluids, all blended together by way of fiendish, insidious alchemy, served chilled and neat. The lid had been blown off my Id. My nocturnal visions were full of screaming strangers and violated flesh and dismembered body parts. In particular I recall the image of a young, sexy girl with her tight sweater ripped down to her small waist, and deep claw marks shimmering across her ample breasts and soft, white torso, her big blue eyes wide open with shock, staring into apathetic eternity, her long dark hair casually tossed across her blank, pretty face. Then there were seemingly miles and miles of very thick, black, barely moonlit woods in a seemingly endless rural landscape, dotted by blazing torches, like fireflies in an angry abyss, with the sounds of shouting and sirens and gunfire resonating repeatedly in the distance.
Then there was nothing but cold, silent darkness for what seemed hours.
With the rays of dawn rudely invading my bloodshot eyes, I woke up in a roadside ditch somewhere on the outskirts of town. My Fifth Avenue wardrobe had been ripped to shreds, stained with gore, but I couldn't tell how much of it was mine. I had one hell of a hangover.
Pain wracking every fibre of my being with every step I took, delirious from my delusions, I walked back into town and found my motel. Miraculously, nobody seemed to notice me but the milkman, who did a double take, but kept right on driving. Didn't even offer me a lift. So much for small town hospitality. I didn't deserve a ride, anyway. I might've killed the poor schnook's daughter, for all he knew, or Iknew.
On the way I passed Brandon's office, but there were three cop cars and an ambulance outside, lights flashing ominously and a body with a sheet over it being carried out on a stretcher, so I kept my discreet distance. Looked as if someone had finished the dirty job Tony Rivers had started. Probably me.I didn't even bother to check out. Just broke into my own room, retrieved my car keys and nothing else, and walked out.
Then I left Rockdale, destination unknown, innocent blood dripping from my Thunderbird's tailpipe. At least I didn't have to be the sap who broke this story anymore. Now, I was the story. And I'd already been broken wide open.

Pimping the New Edition of "Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me"

I've been very busy the past couple of months promoting Gutter Books' reissue of my novel Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, initially published in 1995 by Wild Card Press, but out of print for many years. There is renewed interest in the new edition due to Christian Slater's film option, which is still in development as of this post. The back story of the book has been told before, so I won't rehash all that here. Instead, I am proudly presenting a pictorial retrospective of my exhaustive, and exhausting publicity tour, all based here in the Bay Area. I scored some great press and photo ops for my efforts, and that's about the best I could've hoped for. I also sold a good number of books along the way, which really is the whole idea. Hopefully this collective multi-media blitz, which began with the official launch party back in July, will result in more online sales as well. I also hope it will ultimately help with the film's financing. It's great the book is back in print and available to prospective investors and actors while Christian is filming his new TV series Mind Games, an ABC midseason replacement co-starring Steve Zahn, in Chicago.

For now, I have no further literary events scheduled. Instead, I'm focused on making a living with my freelance gigs, and writing short stories, a form in which I haven't really invested much energy, preferring the expansive creative freedom of novels, but I think I'm hitting my stride with the sprint as well as the long distance marathon. I've already had one story accepted, in the forthcoming Charles Bukowski tribute anthology Long Distance Drunks, from Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing. The story, called "Behind the Bar," an imaginary conversation between Bukowsi and my old friend, Mickey Rourke, who of course starred in Barfly (1987). The anthology is due out in the spring. I'll naturally keep you posted on this as well as my other recent submissions to other anthologies, including "People Bug Me," which blends elements from my two favorite films, Sweet Smell of Success and I Was a Teenage Werewolf, both released in 1957, so they already exist simultaneously in the same cinematic alternate universe.  I'm also still writing my regular movie column for Bachelor Pad Magazine. The latest issue, #25, featuring my article on horror/sci-fi noir, is now on sale.


I've also done a few radio interviews, like one now archived online at the popular podcast Books and Booze, as well as my guest stint on grunge goddess Nikki Palomino's Dazed internet talk show.
Anyway, here is a visual litany of my recent pulpy promotions in the press, bookstore/tiki lounge/movie theater appearances, etc.:

VIC VALENTINE'S COCKTAIL PARTY, Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge, Alameda, 9/16/13Book signing and celebration of Susan Eggett's original "Vic Valentine" being added to FI's new cocktail menu as a regular house drink, currently their bestseller! Also screened the Frank Sinatra PI flicks "Tony Rome" and "Lady in Cement."
With FI owner and my friend, Michael Thanos


Celebrating with a "Vic" after my Books Inc. Alameda reading, 10/11/13... ...and again after my Green Apple Books reading in San Francisco, 10/24/13  With Monica and "Vic" at Forbidden Island's annual Parking Lot Sale, 9/29/30
"TRUE ROMANCE IS TOO VIOLENT FOR ME," The New Parkway, Oakland, 9/26/13Book signing and screening of my favorite Christian Slater movie, and one of my favorite flicks, period.Co-hosted by my beautiful Thrillville/life partner, Monica Tiki Goddess.
I'm also still programming Thrillville at The New Parkway every Sunday, with designated guest hosts,
like Lord Blood-Rah (center)....  ...and Misery Ann Mayhem!READING AT BOOKS INC., ALAMEDA, 10/11/13 From the East Bay Express
Photo by Mike Lano Photo by Mike Lano
LIP SERVICE WEST AT LITQUAKE, San Francisco, 10/19/13Reading the story of The Night I Nearly Killed Tom Waits from my unpublished epistolary memoir, "Graffiti in the Rubber Room: Writing For My Sanity," as part of my friend/Gutter editor/acclaimed author Joe Clifford's posse at San Francisco's legendary literary crawl.

With fellow pulpsters Joe Clifford and Tom Pitts At Luna Rienne Gallery, site of the outdoor street reading. "Friends, Romans, and Thrill Seekers..."
READING AT GREEN APPLE BOOKS, San Francisco, 10/24/13 Major article by Tony DuShane in the San Francisco Chronicle, 10/24/13
(Online version) Page 2 of the San Francisco Examiner, 10/24/13


Illustration by Rick Lucey Nightcap at the Dirty Trix Saloon next door.


Whew! Cheers.

Viva Vic Valentine!

Monica and I recently took a trip South of the Border, down Mexico way, to celebrate the wedding of her brother, Quetzal Cortes in Cabo San Lucas. We stayed in an all-inclusive resort called Riu Santa Fe, and overall had a festive time. This was our second trip to Mexico, following a 2004 swing through Acapulco, Mexico City, and Guadalajara (Monica's fraternal relatives are from Tlaquepaque.) I love Mexican culture - the music, the cocktails, the food, the scenery, the women, lucha libre, and especially the old monster movies - but I'm not a big fan of the generally hot, humid climate. Despite the incessant perspiration, we managed to enjoy ourselves (especially with all that "free" booze literally on tap). The wedding was simple but beautiful, the company was pleasant, and I had fun running around the resort in my Santo mask, alarming tourists, many of whom asked me to pose with them for pictures. 
New Forbidden  Island cocktail menu,
designed by Doug Horne
with new drink descriptions by yours truly Mock paperback cover for my novel
A Mermaid Drowns in the Midnight Lounge
by Marvel/pulp artist Mike Fyles


























Now it's on to the business of promoting the re-release of Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me . I have several signings and interviews lined up for September and October, which are listed on my schedule page. These include "Vic Valentine's Cocktail Party" at Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge, celebrating the inclusion of the original "Vic Valentine" cocktail on their revamped menu (for which I provided new drink descriptions); "True Romance Is Too Violent For Me," a combo True Romance film screening/Love Stories booking signing at The New Parkway; and readings at Books Inc. in Alameda and Green Apple Books in San Francisco. Plus I have interviews lined up on the famous Nikki Palomino's Dazed program as well as the popular literary podcast Books and Booze. Hopefully more TBA.
As for the movie version, it's currently on the back burner while director/star Christian Slater shoots his new TV series Mind Games in Chicago, an unexpected delay, but hopefully he will be able to slot in our project during the show's hiatus in 2014, as in 2/14, Valentine's Day...meantime, I'll just keep pluggin' my pulp.

Below is a photo-journal of our brief but busy trip. Salud! Viva Mexico!  Marilyn de los Muertos Mural by a roadside market in Los Cabos Luchavision! With the groom, Quetzal Cortes Downtown Los Cabos Downtown Marina Poolside at Riu Sante Fe Michelada Time!  Tiki Goddess of Mexico  Unmasked! Fun in the sun? Drinking a "Miami Vice" in a tiki bar in downtown Los Cabos Femme fatale drinking a Mexican Mai Tai
Viva El Santo!

Onward Vic Valentine: the "Love Stories" Launch Party & Beyond

Photo by Oscar Benjamin
From the
San Francisco Bay GuardianOn Saturday, July 27, 2013, Gutter Books threw a book launch party for their reissue of Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, my 1995 novel that has been out of print for many years, and is currently in development for a film to star and be directed by Christian Slater (hopefully during the hiatus from his brand new television series, Mind Games, which he is currently filming in Chicago). The swingin' shindig took place at 50 Mason Social House in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. It was an appropriately stylish/swanky venue in a suitably seedy/sleazy neighborhood. I finally got the chance to meet my new publisher, Matt Louis, who looks so young I would've taken a hard look at his ID has I been the joint's bouncer (and I have experience, having been Forbidden Island's door man for over three years). He is a sincerely nice guy, and what's more, he's extremely capable, ambitious, savvy and smart. Suffice to say, I'm in good hands. I'm proud and honored to be part of the Gutter Books team, including my friend/editor, rising literary titan Joe Clifford. GUTTER GANG: From left to right - author/Gutter editor Tom Pitts,
author/Gutter editor Joe Clifford, and flanking my right,
Gutter Books founder/publisher Matthew Louis
PULP MARTYRS: With T. Fox Dunham (photo by Oscar Benjamin)

It was actually a double book launch party, since my fellow Gutter author, T. Fox Dunham, flew out from Philadelphia (my childhood big city, since I grew up in the South Jersey suburbs) to celebrate the publication of his first novel, The Street Martyr. Meeting Fox was a very special and privileged experience for me. The sweet, humble guy is not only an incredibly accomplished and prolific professional short story scribe - mostly in the horror/noir genre - but he is a cancer survivor. His personal story is courageous and inspirational, and he is a model of human dignity and spiritual strength. I've just began reading his book and I can tell you he's one hell of a writer too - the modern day equivalent of his famous literary ancestor, Philly's previous pulp poet, David Goodis.  Fox also gave a mesmerizing reading that had the audience positively spellbound - it was way more effective than my own reading, since I can improvise much better than I can recite a script, even my own. Fox in action

























My wife Monica Tiki Goddess is a professional actress, and whenever I have to make one of these promotional appearances, my already sincere admiration for her public speaking and thespian skills only increases. Monica actually surprised me with a special cake that featured a frosty replication of the book cover, though unfortunately it sustained a little damage on the way over the Bay Bridge, which only gave it a pulpy look.
Monica Tiki Goddess always puts the Thrill in Thrilville Crooning?
Live readings are too violent for me With my museThe highlight of the party, other than the schmoozing and socializing, was the special guest performance by one of my favorite bands, The Aqua-Velvets. The irony was that I was listening to their first album while I was writing Love Stories back in 1993, and in fact Vic Valentine mentions them in the text throughout the series, including the subsequent four sequels.  Their unique blend of retro lounge/tiki exotica/crime jazz/classic surf music perfectly suits both the material, and their gig completely captivated the audience. They really made that party rock.
The Aqua-Velvets in action
On-the-spot drawing of my reading by the great artist Rick Lucey,
who illustrated the cover for I Lost My Heart in Hollywood/Diary of a Dick Anyway, if you missed the party - and odds are you did - the new print edition of Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me is currently available via Amazon, as is the Kindle edition. But I have a few more events lined up already, with more in the pipeline, if you're local and you desire a personally signed copy. 
On Thursday, September 26, starting at 8pm, I'll be appearing at a "True Romance Is Too Violent For Me" book signing and film screening of Christian's 1993 classic (and my personal favorite), True Romance. I will also be hosting a "Vic Valentine Cocktail Party" sometime in September at Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge in Alameda, celebrating the official induction of their custom "Vic Valentine" cocktail onto the newly revamped menu. There will also be a reading/signing event at Books Inc. in Alameda, with more to follow. Check out my Thrillville schedule page for updated info.
On top of all this, second annual naughty nudie Nightcap Edition of Bachelor Pad Magazine is now available, featuring buried within all that fabulous fleshy fantasy my new Vic Valentine vignette, "Space Needle Fix," actually a follow-up to "Private Dick, Public Enemy," published in the first Nightcap Edition (details on that here). 
These two stories are basically the first two somewhat truncated chapters of my planned sixth Vic Valentine novel, Hard-Boiled Heart, which catches up with Vic in middle age, sans any boring personal growth, with the action relocating to Seattle, my future home base as well, hopefully by next summer, if all goes according to plan. Thanks to Jason Croft for printing the new installment, and congrats to him for 25 years of Bachelor Pad - a print only magazine, quite an accomplishment these days. This boast just adds to its timelessly retro appeal. The mixture of pulp and pinups can't be beat. I'm proud to say my movie column has appeared in every single issue. Subscribe today!

Close-up of the crazy cool illustration
by Scooter HarrisFinally, check out a couple of cool, recent interviews with yours truly:By author Ryan Sayles, Out of the Gutter Online.By author Jochem Vandersteen, Sons of Spade.
By the way, in case you missed it, or don't own a copy of the book yet (and why not?), my exhaustively comprehensive introduction to this new, revised, definitive edition of Love Stories was reposted in my last column, revealing the whole sordid story of its initial publication, the Christian crusade, and its recent rediscovery (read Joe's blog about editing the novel).
Onward Christian Slater, Onward Vic Valentine, and Onward Will Viharo. Cheers.

The Story Behind "Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me"

As recently reported, my first published novel Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me - currently in development as a film to star and be directed by Christian Slater - is back in print after being OOP for many years. First phase of the operation has been completed: the Kindle version of this revised, definitive edition of LSATVFM, published by Portland's premiere pulp fiction press, Gutter Books, is now on sale - for cheap! ($6.99 - order HERE). The print edition is due out at the end of this month, initially available at the official book launch party on July 27, 6-10pm, at 50 Mason Social House in San Francisco, with live music by one of Vic Valentine, Private Eye's favorite bands (and mine), The Aqua-Velvets! More events will follow, including a book signing and special screening of True Romance at The New Parkway on Thursday, September 26. Stay tuned for updates.
Below is the complete story behind this particular novel (along with a summation of my literary career in general, at least so far), published as the introduction to the "definitive edition." Dig:
THE PULP PACK: With fellow word-slingers Tom Pitts (Piggyback, left) and my Gutter books editor Joe Clifford (Junkie Love, Wake the Undertaker), Green Apple Books, San Francisco,  July 2013

INTRODUCTION TO THE DEFINITIVE EDITION OF“LOVE STORIES ARE TOO VIOLENT FOR ME”by Will Viharo
I first wrote this novel on an old school portable typewriter, rat-a-tat-tat style, in the tiny kitchen of my lonesome little Berkeley studio back in the spring of 1993. I was 30 years old. At that point it was my eighth full-length book – and I was still unpublished, at least as a novelist. However, this was during my two year courtship by famous New York editor Judith Regan, already a rising celebrity in her own right. An author I'd interviewed, Wally Lamb (She's Come Undone), had sent her one of my manuscripts, Chumpy Walnut, my very first effort, completed at age 19 (I've been on my own and writing steadily since age 16, raised mostly in South Jersey by a stepmother with whom I did not get along). Chumpy is a Runyonesque fable about a guy only a foot tall, featuring my own crude, Thurber-ish illustrations, which I finally self-published in 2010. I still remember the night I came home from my job as a delivery driver for the ACCMA Blood Bank and heard Regan's astonishing message on my answering machine. She was taken with my literary “voice” and “promised” to publish “something” by me. This was like Elvis getting the call from Col. Tom Parker. After over a decade of dejection, I was more than ready for my ship to finally come in.

Creatively motivated by this improbable prospect, I almost immediately began work on a modern film-noirish piece of fiction inspired by some of my pathetic experiences at my workplace, the hospital blood-delivery gig being the latest in an epic series of odd-jobs I took to support myself while following that seemingly impossible literary dream. The title, Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, popped up accidentally (or at least incidentally) during a phone conversation with my father, now-retired actor/filmmaker/artist Robert Viharo, wherein I was lamenting my latest, largely self-imposed amorous atrocity. Like my protagonist, Vic Valentine, I was constantly pursuing unattainable women, but given my critical lack of self-esteem, vehicular mobility, formal education, social skills, and disposable income for dating, they all seemed pretty much unattainable at the time. (I actually did “The Date That Never Was,” with similar results – you'll see.) I think Pop was suggesting I watch a certain film he enjoyed that of a romantic nature, and I just automatically retorted, “I don't think so. Love stories are too violent for me.” And he laughed and said, “That's the title of your next novel!”
THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION: Florida's famous crime novelist/satirist Carl Hiaasen, whose work partly influenced my own outrageously sexy, violent saga  Down a Dark Alley ; at Rakestraw Books, Danville, CA, July 2013

Suffice to say, Judith Regan did not come through for me, despite her initial enthusiasm. Cutting to the chase, she unceremoniously dumped me by farming out my stuff to an assistant who obviously had no idea who the hell I was, after requesting I write a memoir (!), which I completed and submitted, an epistolary autobiography called Graffiti in the Rubber Room: Writing For My Sanity, composed of imaginary letters to people in my life, including my own fictional characters, like Chumpy Walnut, along with various relatives and love interests. Several were addressed to my late mother, a virtual stranger to me, named Charlotte Glenn, formerly Miss Houston 1960 and an aspiring actress until she went to New York City with my father circa 1962 and got knocked up with yours truly, biologically coinciding with the onset of her schizophrenia, which eventually proved fatal, after enduring the most tragic life I've ever witnessed second hand. She is the inspiration for Vic's own mother, though the similarities are vague outside of the mental illness. As always, this book was cheapjack self-therapy. But with Judith Regan egging me on, I was determined to appeal directly to the mainstream tastes of the general public by concocting an easily promoted and digested product. I was always a fan of crime fiction, and had just completed a straight-up pulp piece called Down a Dark Alley that was also sitting idly on Regan's desk, so I decided to meld genres and create something both uniquely personal but also commercially viable. Apparently, it wasn't enough. As widely reported in the mass media, Regan left behind Simon & Schuster (and me) to start her own imprint at Harper Collins, then went on to her own glory, publishing the likes of Howard Stern and hosting her own TV show until she decided to publish O.J. Simpson's “confession,” which ended her career as a publisher. I'm still going as a writer, though.
WILL POWER: Writing novels on my little portable typewriter in my Berkeley studio apartment, circa 1993

By the time of this heartbreaking, soul-shattering, disillusioning disappointment, convinced I was way down the road to success, I had already written four successive sequels to Love Stories: Fate Is My Pimp, Romance Takes A Rain Check, I Lost My Heart in Hollywood, and Diary of a Dick, in addition to the “commissioned” memoir, working late into the night after returning from my depressing blood bank shifts, determined to take full advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But just as it was pulling into port, my ship suddenly backed up and left without me, leaving me stranded on the dock, staring sadly at the barren horizon ever since. Until now, that is.
WILD CARD: the original cover by Tim Racer, 2005Then, circa 1994, a pair of old friends, who will go unnamed here for personal reasons, approached me with an offer to publish Love Stories under their brand new venture, Wild Card Press. They procured fantastic cover art by professional graphic designer Tim Racer, and promised to eventually publish the entire series. This would be their first book. As it turned out, it was also their last.
THE MIDNIGHT LOUNGE: Will the Thrill and Monica Tiki Goddess, 1998Soon after the book was published in December 1995, these enterprising entrepreneurs decided to quickly move on to what was destined to become their signature achievement: the Parkway Speakeasy Theater, an extremely popular Oakland institution and Bay Area-wide destination due to its unique format as a community-oriented movie theater offering eclectic programming, funky sofas and comfy seating, a wide-ranging food menu including beer and wine, and many other attractions which secured its place as an iconic local legend. Unfortunately, due to various factors both internal and external, Speakeasy Theaters (including the Parkway's new sister theater in El Cerrito) abruptly folded in 2009, taking Wild Card Press and my alternate “career” down with it. Love Stories was now officially out of print, though to be honest, the couple pretty much abandoned their small press after the Parkway took off, never publishing the sequels or any other book for that matter, and I was left to promote the book myself – but with a public platform they provided.


During a particularly tough time in my life, circa 1997, following the breakup of my first so-called “marriage,” the Parkway owners offered me employment at the theater, first as a ticket taker and editor of their monthly newsletter/schedule, then eventually as full time programmer/publicist. It was the Speakeasy CEO's suggestion that I host and produce my own weekly midnight movie show, with the idea that if I became a locally known “personality,” that would generate interest in our book. I caught that ball and ran it down the field and scored, inventing a “lounge lizard” doppelganger I dubbed “Will the Thrill” (my nickname back at the blood bank), initially calling the gig “The Midnight Lounge.” Though it never translated to literary success, my tenure as host/programmer/producer of the long-running “cult movie cabaret” Thrillville, its eventual moniker, ironically turned out to be my ticket to localized “fame,” if not fortune. It ran in various forms and time slots for the duration of the Parkway Speakeasy Theater's operation, 1997-2009, as well as subsequent independently booked “road shows” around the Bay and beyond before and after it closed.
LONELY NO MORE: Cal-Neva Resort, North Lake Tahoe, May 31, 2001

I met my beautiful wife and best friend, actress/educator Monica Cortes, at my midnight screening of Jailhouse Rock on May 31, 1997. She showed me her Elvis/Navajo tattoo on her upper right hip. Wow. Since I was now divorced from my first “lovely assistant,” I was selecting comely female audience members to spin the big wheel on stage and help me give out prizes, auditioning new lovely assistants – as well as potential wives. I didn't have the guts to ask Monica out that night, but I happened to run into her again at an Elvis birthday party I was hosting at the Ivy Room in Albany, CA on January 8, 1998. The rest is history. Monica – AKA “The Tiki Goddess”- got both gigs, and we were married on May 31, 2001, at Frank Sinatra's old joint, the Cal-Neva Lodge in North Lake Tahoe, with our friend Robert Ensler presiding over the ceremony as “Dean Martin,” and a mariachi band performing Sinatra and Elvis tunes. My lifelong loneliness – the major impetus for this and most of my novels – had come to an end. But there are always other forms of artistic inspiration – healthier ones, too.
TRUE BROMANCE: Christian and me, Miami, June 2012

Something else magical and momentous with lingering impact and life-altering ramifications also happened in 2001, months before our marriage: Wild Card Press received a letter from representatives of famous actor Christian Slater, who had decided to option the book for a film! I received a check from his lawyer almost annually for the next 11 years, even after Wild Card Press went out of business, until 2012, when Christian contacted me directly, offering to bring me out to his adopted hometown of Miami to work on his adaptation, which was extremely faithful to the source material.

Christian finally told me how he had come upon the book, seemingly against all possible odds: he had randomly picked it up while browsing the shelves at Dutton's Books in Brentwood, Los Angeles, which my father's wife managed, and she had made a point of stocking a few copies of Love Stories. Christian explained to me how he instantly related to the tormented voice of the main character and his unfortunate yet oddly heroic experiences, which still stuns me. Dig: shortly after finishing Love Stories in 1993, I saw the late Tony Scott's cult classic True Romance, which turned out to be one of Christians' signature roles, and I thought it had been made just for me. The references all resonated with my own sensibilities and tastes, and Christian's character, Clarence Worley, was like an idealized version of me (and it actually was an idealized version of my fellow former video store clerk/female foot fetishist, screenwriter Quentin Tarantino). Ironically, that's exactly how Christian responded to my obscure little similarly titled novel, he told me. Needless to say, we hit it off right away after finally meeting in person (“a true bromance,” as my wife called it). Christian wanted to relocate the action from the Bay Area and Los Angeles to South Florida, so he graciously flew me out first class, put me up in a Miami Beach luxury hotel, and we went about location scouting. He took me deep sea fishing off the coast of Miami where we smoked Cuban cigars and caught (then threw back) a rare Cuban night shark, and later we rode the actual African Queen down an estuary in Key Largo. How Bogey can you get? When I returned home, burning with vindication, I immediately “overwrote” his script, transferring the settings with ease, since Miami's Art Deco and midcentury modern architecture suited Vic's retro world even more accurately than the Victorian environs of San Francisco. It was like a spiritual and virtual rebirth of the book – and me, as a professional author.

Our updated script and storyboards (by this edition's amazingly talented cover artist, Matt Brown) are currently in circulation as of this writing. Forget Judith Regan. THIS was, and is, the million-to-one shot I had been waiting for all my life. My ship is back on the horizon and steaming towards port.
ALOHA: drinking the official "Vic Valentine" cocktail, available exclusively at Forbidden Island

Now to briefly back track and then come full circle:

I kept my Thrillville gig going for a while in a downsized version called “Forbidden Thrills,” a monthly movie night at Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge in Alameda CA, where I worked as a bouncer for several years after the Parkway closed, and where I met Scott Fulks, who later commissioned me to write our sci-fi epic It Came From Hangar 18 after reading several of my self-published pulp novels (including the four Vic Valentine sequels, Chumpy Walnut, Down a Dark Alley, Lavender Blonde, and my “bizarro” novella, Freaks That Carry Your Luggage Up to the Room). Moreover, Forbidden Island now features the official “Vic Valentine” cocktail, created by ace bartender Susan Eggett – and thanks to proprietor Michael Thanos for putting it on the menu! Currently I program but do not host a “franchised” film series dubbed “Thrillville Theater” at The New Parkway in Uptown Oakland, miraculously reopened by a whole new crew. As far as I'm concerned, “Thrillville” nowadays is the online pimp headquarters for my own pulp fiction, not just other peoples' B movies.
DEEP TROUBLE: Real life professional mermaid MeduSirena Marina in a promo shot for my exploitation noir,
A Mermaid Drowns in the Midnight Lounge
When I suddenly lost my career as a film programmer, I returned to my first true love, writing, completing and self-publishing a very dark, surrealistic pulp novel I'd started then abandoned once the Parkway opened, called A Mermaid Drowns in the Midnight Lounge, now informed by my experiences during my twelve year hiatus from fiction. Four years later, up-and-coming pulp author and established Gutter Books editor Joe Clifford contacted me via Facebook. We'd already been in steady communication since accidentally discovering we shared the same literary idols (Holden Caulfield, Philip Marlowe, and Batman), and he had been following progress on the Love Stories movie. As soon as I posted a status report publicly announcing I was planning to reprint Love Stories myself, Joe immediately pounced on the opportunity, offering me a contract without even having read the out-of-print book, since used copies were going for hundreds of dollars on Amazon. But he had read and immensely enjoyed Mermaid, and Christian's film option had validated its value as a literary property, so it was a somewhat informed decision, but still an educated dice roll. And now, here we are.


This book is a time capsule of a particularly colorful period in modern hipster history, within which several earlier eras resonate and echo due to Vic's (and “Will the Thrill's”) nostalgic obsessions. As a freelance journalist on these particular subjects, my knowledge of classic cult cinema, lounge music, and particularly the local burlesque/surf/swing scenes increased rapidly during my tenure as “Will the Thrill.” Hence, I've made some rather stylistically significant if substance-wise superficial “adjustments” to the text, mostly cosmetic, but all strategic in terms of overall mood, which for me is an essential ingredient to any piece of literature, art, film, or music. The characters and storyline remain almost entirely intact, but I've inserted a little extra exposition here and there, some flesh-out characterization, and a number of retroactively informed pop cultural references which artfully authenticate the context.


Also, benefitted by two decades worth of maturity, while preparing and retyping the text for republication (since I didn't have access to the original Wild Card files), I was much more cognizant of Vic's relatively innocuous sexism and misguided misogyny than while actually writing his bitter, generalized observations about the opposite sex. It all came from a place of intense loneliness, for both character and author. So while I haven't gone back and politically corrected or rationalized any of these sometimes cringe-inducing comments, I have made Vic (and those around him, particularly his confidant, Doc) slightly more aware of their innate wrongness. Doesn't make them apologetic, though. These characters are slaves and victims of their own flawed human natures, as are we all. That, in my view, is what makes them so relatable.
Cheers from my future office

As I write this, I've just turned 50 years old, having celebrated with dinner in Seattle's Space Needle, which for me represents a beacon from my own future. The film is deep in the development stage, with promising prospects. The republication of Love Stories Are Too Violent marks both a personal and professional milestone. Finally, it is something in which I can take great pride, given its professional presentation and distribution. This is more of a re-introduction than an introduction. This time, though, our collective efforts got it just right.

So to sum up in cinematic parlance, this is basically my “Director's Cut.” Dig.
Cheers, Will “the Thrill” ViharoAlameda, CASpring 2013

"Love Stories Are To Violent For Me" Back In Print!

Finally, after first being published by the now-defunct Wild Card Press of San Francisco in 1995, optioned by Christian Slater in 2001, then woefully out of print for the past several years, my novel LOVE STORIES ARE TOO VIOLENT FOR ME is being republished by the reputable pulp fiction press GUTTER BOOKS out of Portland (confirming my northward trajectory), and edited by popular author JOE CLIFFORD, whose acclaimed new book Junkie Love was just issued by Battered Suitcase Press. Gutter Books also specializes in reprints of classic crime fiction, so I'm in excellent company. I couldn't be happier, or feel more honored. This will be the definitive edition of Love Stories, slightly revised and modified, in a pristine presentation.
The new cover image by the movie's storyboard artist MATT BROWN depicts Christian Slater as Vic Valentine, Private Eye (with Christian's permission, of course), whom he will portray in the film, directing his own script (with significant input by yours truly). The movie version - which will be set in Miami rather than San Francisco, otherwise keeping the storyline and characters basically intact - is still in development and there is promising progress to report, but not publicly, at least not  yet.  Christian himself is quite pleased with the book's reissue and artwork. This is basically a pre-movie tie-in. "NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE" will hopefully be added to the cover of a future run. Check out the career page for the film on the official Christian Slater fan site.
Below are some of the blurbs that will appear on the back cover:

LOVE STORIES ARE TOO VIOLENT FOR ME is the steamy, seamy saga of a San Francisco private eye named Vic Valentine, bravely facing the fin de siècle with his heart still rooted firmly in a fatally romanticized past and his head stuck someplace even darker. A client has hired him to find a mysterious, promiscuous femme fatale who turns out to be his own long lost love, leading him down a twisting trail of decadence, danger, and deception. This is ironic, iconic pulp served hot 'n' fast, straight out of the emotionally gory grindhouse called Life.
"As soon as I found this book I totally related to the main character and thought, 'this would make a great movie.' I'd never read anything like it. I felt like it was written just for me. I love it."  - actor/filmmaker Christian Slater, star of True Romance and Heathers
“Fast, funny, and way ahead of the 'noir' curve. They say to write a good book all you have to do is bleed on the page. Viharo does that, and spews a few other precious bodily fluids in the bargain.”-- Eddie Muller, author of The Distance and Dark City: The Lost World of Film Noir
"While it has all the trappings of Philip Marlowe by way of Race Williams, this book is an old fashioned (if slightly fractured) love story at heart...To tell more of the story is about as hopeless as, well, trying to explain the plot of a Marlowe or a Williams. It's in the telling, in the characters, in the whirlwind pace." -Bernard A. Drew,The Armchair Detective

Stay tuned for purchase information for both Kindle and print editions, late spring/early summer.

Onward! Cheers.

Seattle Five-O: My 50th Birthday Trip

My future home baseI have an announcement to make: I am moving to Seattle. Not sure when, but basically, ASAP. I've just returned from our swing through the Pacific Northwest via train, stopping for a glorious Easter weekend in Portland and then celebrating my 50th birthday in Seattle, the Emerald City. It's been one long yellow brick road, but I believe I've finally discovered my ultimate home. The Space Needle and I are both 50
and aesthetically stuck in the early 60s






One reason I decided on Seattle for my big birthday celebration is because of the Elvis connection. His movie It Happened at the World's Fair came out the day after I was born - April 3, 1963. So on April 2, 2013, I felt like I had come full circle, clear across the country and a half century removed from my birthplace in Manhattan. I actually showed a faded 35mm print of It Happened at the World's Fair (the one where young Kurt Russell kicks The King in the shins) at The Parkway back in August 2000, with special guests Yvonne Craig and Gary Lockwood, who had never even seen the movie before, despite the fact they were co-stars. (They didn't make it all the way through this time, either - more on that event here.) Toasting 50 in the Sky City Restaurant on top of The Space Needle
Also, I had originally planned for years to spend my 50th in Hawaii - you know, Hawaii Five-O and all. But as the date quickly grew closer and I gradually grew older, I decided I wanted to experience something and somewhere new to my lifetime experience. I've already been to Hawaii twice - first on our honeymoon back in 2001, and then again for our 5th wedding anniversary in 2006. Plus with Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge nearby, I had my fill of tiki culture without ever leaving the island of Alameda. Nearing my half century mark, I felt strongly it was time for a change of course. 
On the train to Portland, March 30, 2013 Monica and I had always talked about taking a train trip up through the Pacific Northwest. Though I lost my full-time blogging gig just two weeks before B-Day, I decided to put the whole thing on credit, a leap of faith in my financial future. I really needed the creative and spiritual inspiration, and something in my soul told me my dreams and desires would meet their ultimate destination with this journey. The culture and climate of Seattle have always appealed to me. I'm an indoor cat by nature. I dig my weather cool and cloudy, with coffee and cocktails on the side.
I was not disappointed.
Monica had actually been to both Portland and Seattle before, and we have friends in both towns. The culture and climate of this region has always appealed to my artistic sensibilities. The Tiki Goddess prefers the more cosmopolitan vibe of Seattle, as compared with the more casually collegiate-hipster atmosphere of Portland. Both suit our tastes and we could live quite comfortably in Portland, but Seattle is simply more our speed and style. Of course, when we arrived in Portland, it was unusually warm, while it was raining back in the Bay Area. A little cosmic irony at my expense. But on my actual birthday, it was a typically chilly, overcast day in Seattle. So I escaped the bright sunlight after all, just in time to celebrate.
Below is a pictorial overview of our epic, life-changing, and life-affirming journey, a reconnaissance mission to our future home...
At Powell's in downtown Portland - the most incredible bookstore in the universe Voodoo Doughnut in Portland casts its evil spell... Portland's original tiki lounge, The Alibi A new classic Portland tiki lounge, the Hale Pele (formerly Thatch) At the fabulous Trader Vic's in downtown Portland (who needs Hawaii?) At the amazing Bagdad, Portland's Parkway (well, one of many) With my old pal, famous cartoonist Shannon Wheeler, having too much coffee at Powell's satellite store... Dinner at the Hotel Deluxe in downtown Portland - very classy, comfy joint Portland is a mini-paradise In the Portland Rose Gardens  The MarQueen Hotel in the Queen Anne district of Seattle
Ridin' in Space Age Style on the Monorail Pike's Place is the most amazing market I've ever visited Spectacular view of the Olympic Mountain Range The Tiki Goddess fits in with the beautiful scenery On the Great Wheel With burlesque aerialist Tanya Brno at The Pink Door The Underground Tour (as seen in The Night Strangler) Have coffee, will travel At the incredible Elliot Bay Bookstore on Capitol Hill At West 5 in West Seattle  Downtown skyline as seen from West Seattle 50th Birthday Dinner in the Space Needle Classic sci-fi exhibits at the EMP Museum Monica at the museum
At the "real" Twin Peaks:  Snoqualmie Falls/Salish Lodge and Twede's Cafe in North Bend, WA - it was
positively mystical Here's to my first half century, cheersHere are a few of the choice birthday cards I got on Facebook: Of course, my dream of living in Seattle depends largely on making enough money to move there. With Christian Slater's film of my novel Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me still stuck in the development stage, I've decided to have the novel republished so it's available for any interested investors, actors, and of course, readers. Here is storyboard artist Matt Brown's mock up cover concept, featuring Christian as Vic Valentine, with his permission, offering the public their first look at the Hollywood legend as the hapless private eye hero of my out-of-print (but not for much longer) book: It should be out this summer, in print and ebook editions, exciting details to come, stay tuned...Meantime, I have THRILLVILLE'S 16TH ANNIVERSARY SHOW at The New Parkway on Sunday, April 14, 6pm, featuring the sci-fi classic This Island Earth (1955). I'll also be selling signed copies of my latest novel It Came From Hangar 18  with co-author Scott Fulks. My own pulp fiction is the true Thrillville these days. But B movies will always be one of my passions, too... Images by Bob Ekman


Here's to The Future, cheers.

RIP Parkway and All That Shat

The Parkway provided 2 out of 3 life essentialsFour years ago today - William Shatner's birthday - The Parkway Speakeasy Theater went dark on four days' notice. The Cerrito Speakeasy Theater followed a couple of months later, and my 12 year career as a film programmer suddenly ended. Since then it's been quite a struggle to survive. I finally managed to make a decent living as a freelance writer last year, but ironically, my major paid blogging gig also ended abruptly a couple of days ago, at least for now. So I'm kinda back to where I was four years ago today. 
Except I'm not, really - I now work part time as a special events consultant/programmer for The New Parkway (offering free popcorn and half price beer tonight to mark the anniversary), I still have my Forbidden Island music booking/publicist gig which I started right before the old Parkway closed. There is all of my published pulp fiction., most of which wasn't in print this time four years ago. Most promising of all, I am officially contracted as co-screenwriter for Christian Slater's film of my book, Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, which is finally in the development stage, script and storyboards currently in circulation. That's my ace in the hole and has been since he first optioned the novel 12 years ago. Meantime, I'm still struggling financially, but hope lives. Once that light turns green, I will turn a crucial corner and never look back. Onward! I'll be hosting my annual SHATFEST: Tribute to William Shatner in Thrillville Theater at The New Parkway on Sunday, March 24, featuring Kingdom of the Spiders (1977)

From ChristianSlaterFans.com
NOW AVAILABLE: BACHELOR PAD MAGAZINE #23!

The Waiting Game

I haven't updated this blog in a while simply because not a whole hell of a lot is going on, other than what I've previously reported. Here are some brief updates: With CS, Miami, June 2012 CS and me on the African Queen in Key Largo - surreal
MOVIE PROJECT: Christian and I are in the process of revising and polishing the script based on my novel  Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me as he continues to raise money and pursue his desired cast. Actually there's much more I could report (including some incredible storyboards and spec poster artwork!), but can't share in public. Yet. This prospect is my number one preoccupation these days. Onward Christian Slater!
The New Parkway - lookin' good! With Johnny Legend, one of the rotating guest hosts of Thrillville Thearter
at The New ParkwayTHE NEW PARKWAY: it's coming along quite well. I am only programming (and designating guest hosts) two nights a week - Parkway Classics on Thursdays and Thrillville Theater on Sundays (my complete schedule here) - but the entire lineup is far more enticing and eclectic than the original Parkway offered. They even offer a free parking lot across the street. Overall, going like gangbusters, better than anyone could've hoped or dreamed. 
FORBIDDEN ISLAND: Though I no longer host monthly movie nights there, I am still booking the kickass retro bands and handling media relations, and the cocktails are still the best on this forbidden planet of ours. Aloha! Opening night! Monica as an old Jewish hippie (second from left), one of her four roles
in the play Expecting Isabel.MONICA TIKI GODDESS: just finished a play in Danville called Expecting Isabel, in which she had four roles! It was quite entertaining, she had a lot of fun, and I'm very, very proud of her.
Looks just like Heaven from here...TURNING 50: Yup, my Big Five-O is coming up in a few weeks - April 2, to be exact - but instead of going to Hawaii as I'd planned years ago, we're going to take a long-awaited train trip through the Pacific Northwest, stopping in both Portland and Seattle, where I will have my 50th birthday dinner in the Space Needle. I've never been to either city, but from what I've heard, I will love both, particularly Seattle. I already hope to move there someday. Why? For the same reason many people don't like it - the cool, rainy weather! California is way too sunny for my moody artistic temperament, and after living nearly a quarter century in the Bay Area, as much I love it, I'm more than ready to move on. Toasting Monica's 40th birthday this past December 15 The Lori Carsillo jazz trio performed for Monica's private bday shindig at
Hotel Adagio in San FranciscoBut this dream move northward - I feel like I've been slowly migrating in that direction since the '80s - depends on a lot of things - the movie deal, Monica's job (since I can blog from anywhere), etc. 
So right now, I'm both busy as hell with all my gigs, but feeling oddly in limbo, as I await my ship to finally come in - preferably before I reach the half century mark, but hey, I've waited this long!
That's all for now. Stay tuned. Cheers.