Stephen Colegrove's Blog, page 10
January 19, 2014
The Amish Spaceman Available Now!
The Amish Spaceman is available at Amazon for $2.99. I wanted to have a party in honor of this momentous occasion, but since mother and the cat are the only people I know, it would be like any other Monday. Later today, however, when the lights are off and mother has locked the door, I might pour a few “Hillbilly Cocktails” for myself and watch episodes of “Manimal.” What’s that, you ask? It’s a Glen A. Larson production from 1983, where a guy solves crimes by changing into animals. Oh, you mean a “Hillbilly Cocktail”? It’s just MGD and Mountain Dew.
Since I can’t have a real one, let’s have a “meme” party instead!
Amish Spaceman: The Soundtrack
Questions are floating through your mind right now. Who’s this devilishly handsome author? What’s a book soundtrack? Where are my pants? I can only help you with the second question, as the first and last are clear signs of mental incapacity, and you should be put down.
A book soundtrack adds to the experience of reading a novel, just as the musical score in a theatrical production enhances the viewing and makes you forget you’re in an auditorium full of coughing Typhoid Marys and terrorists with explosive vests, not to mention the gum on the floor. In spite of those worries, you’re swept away by the emotional chords of music and fantastic acting, and afterwards, you’ll swear that was the best production of “My Fair Lady” the fourth grade had ever done. If it’s arranged properly a book soundtrack works the same way–– with a few tracks of Tom Petty, bad grammar and purple prose are wiped clean from the pages like filth from Eliza Doolittle during her first bath.
To facilitate your listening enjoyment, I’ve created a playlist on Spotify, a free music streaming service. I don’t make a penny from Spotify, but I like to think that for every track you hear, a squishy wad of emotional cash is deposited in my name in that great old mortgage lender in the sky.
Text List of Tracks by Chapter:
1. Moi Je Joue – Brigitte Bardot, Alain Goraguer
1. Saturday In The Park – Chicago
1. Computer Games – Mi-Sex
2. Maui Waui – Chuck Mangione
2. Ain’t Nobody’s Business But My Own – Tennessee Ernie Ford & Kay Starr
2. Hells Bells – AC/DC
3. Born To Run – Bruce Springsteen
3. Something About You – Level 42
3. Jubel (Original Mix) – Klingande
4. The Modern World – The Jam
4. Our House – Madness
4. Runnin’ Down A Dream – Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
5. Nightshift – The Commodores
5. Obsession – Animotion
5. Take On Me – A-ha
6. Cowboys and Indians – Pearl Harbor & The Explosions
6. Familiar Spirit – Allen Bruce Ray
6. I Got Stripes – Johnny Cash
7. Missing Cleveland – Scott Weiland
7. Major Tom (Voellig Losgeloest) – Peter Schilling
7. Why Does It Always Rain On Me? – Travis
8. Drivin’ – Pearl Harbor & The Explosions
8. White Wedding – Billy Joel
8. Ila Nzour Nebra – Jalal Hamdaoui, Driver
9. Russian Dance (Trepak) – Christmas At The Devil’s House
9. God Save The Queen – The Sex Pistols
9. Surfin’ Bird – The Ramones
10. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight – Genesis
10. The Lady In Red – Chris Deburgh
10. The Way It Is – Bruce Hornsby and The Range
11. Dreams – The Cranberries
11. Our Lips Are Sealed – The Go-Go’s
11. True – Spandau Ballet
12. Learning To Fly – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
12. Run-Around – Blues Traveler
12. The Joker – Steve Miller Band
13. Losing My Religion – R.E.M.
13. Salsa Cubano – Mambo Companeros
13. Son de Baloy – Afro-Cuban All-Stars
14. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door – Bryan Ferry
14. Begin the Beguine – Artie Shaw & His Orchestra
14. Lone Red-Tailed Hawk – Allen Bruce Ray
15. My City Was Gone – The Pretenders
15. Head Over Heels – Tears For Fears
15. Call Me – Go West
16. Ain’t Gone ‘N’ Give Up On Love – Stevie Ray Vaughn & Double Trouble
16. Space Oddity – David Bowie
16. I Fought The Law – The Clash
17. The Lonesome River – The Stanley Brothers
17. Oh Very Young – Cat Stevens
17. Suicide Is Painless – Johnny Mandel
18. This Is Heaven To Me – Madeleine Peyroux
18. Down By The River – Neil Young
18. Ohio – The Black Keys
19. Throwing It All Away – Genesis
19. Shaker Song – Spiro Gyra
19. Last Christmas – Wham!
20. Run To You – Bryan Adams
20. King of the Road – Roger Miller
20. Cleveland Rocks – Ian Hunter
January 16, 2014
The Spaceman Cometh
The publication date of my third novel, The Amish Spaceman, is approaching rapidly, and in fact, will happen within the next few days. Not since Halley’s Comet crossed the skies of 1986 have so many people been excited for something so small and insignificant, but let history be the judge of that, not me. If history wants to be unkind it won’t bother me a bit. Please take a drink of this grape Kool-Aid first, history. I agree, it does have a funny taste, but that’s city water for you. Oh! You mean funny as in ‘strange,’ not ‘funny’ like Richard Simmons. I’ll tell you who’s funny––you are, history. Watch out, he’s going to hit the coffee table.
We buried history in the back garden.
The Amish Spaceman is first in a new series of novels and stars Dean Cook, an unsuccessful motivational speaker. In an attempt to raise his profile and possibly be hired for a national tour, he’s weaseled his way into a speaking slot at the National Motivational Speaker’s Conference. His girlfriend shreds all of his ID cards, however, and Dean is forced to steal a camper/converted ambulance in an attempt to make it to the conference in Charleston, West Virginia in three days. Accompanied by his personal assistant and a runaway bride from Kamchatka, Dean is pursued by the girl’s Russian mafia boss fiance and his parents, who will stop at nothing to finally throw Dean a party that doesn’t end in complete disaster. Because, after all, it’s Dean’s birthday.
More updates coming soon!
Steve
December 15, 2013
Pick-Up Lines Worse Than Mine
One would think that no pick-up line could be worse than “Is this your condom? I think you dropped it,” but after many hours of clandestine research in female dormitories and the college dive-bars of America (but mainly the dormitories, and specifically the showers), scientists have proven that it is not, after all, the worst pick-up line.
Counting down from ten, where ten is the worst pain in your life … ah, forget it
10. “Is that Sontaran cloning fluid on your sleeve, or are you happy to see me?”
9. “I’ve been watching you for hours. Want to return the favor?”
8. “You look like a very lonely person. Let’s change that.”
7. “Did you call for a knight in shining armor? Because I just came from a SCA meeting.”
5. “Honey, you look the way I feel. Let’s dance!”
4. “I’m drunk and you’re drunk. It’s kismet!”
3. ”I know what you’re thinking––oh, my GOD, he’s covered in blood! It’s Sriracha sauce.”
2. ”Is this your ball? It’s a nice ball.”
And for the number one, scientifically-proven worst pickup line of all time:
1. ”I was looking for my mom, but you’ll do.”
Buy my book and stuff … http://amzn.to/XksnKc
November 1, 2013
Tyrolean Goat Milk Ice Cream
Only the abnormal would aspire to be a writer. Would anyone else but the mentally imbalanced lock themselves in a room away from other people, day after day, typing away at manuscripts in the vain hope of earning the adulation of other people? There’s a reason we have so many novels about vampires.
It’s difficult to say with great certainty, however, that someone is abnormal in a state like California, where you find yourself waiting for a port-a-potty at Campbell Octoberfest behind a mohawked woman with arms and tattoos like a Samoan linebacker, and the next moment in the checkout queue at Whole Foods with goat milk ice cream melting in your hot little hands while a student in a Tyrolean hat and suspenders in front of you tries to use Bitcoin to pay for his cruelty-free tofu salad.
That young man obsessed with soy and internet currency rationalizes his behavior in one of two methods: by comparing himself to people who are more extreme than he (e.g. I may eat tofu sashimi twice a day, but at least I’m not Henry Rollins), or by comparing himself to people in the suburbs (e.g. I may be squatting in a $1000/month Tenderloin flat with four roommates and the constant smell of Korean barbeque, but at least I don’t have a lawn and good schools).
A fundamental flaw exists in both types of comparative thinking. First of all, the people you consider more extreme are ninety-five percent of the time only people you’ve seen on television, where “extreme” behavior is carefully scripted and planned with “extreme” focus-group consulting and “extreme” use of “extreme,” so much so that when you flip through the channels and finally find a show that’s NOT about a gay punk guitarist and historical women’s fiction writer who solves future crimes while inking cruelty-free tattoos at her RenFair booth, you sigh in relief but have a strange craving for mead. At home, these television personalities frequently have less personality than a vanilla wafer soaked in milk. It’s been whispered through my door that Johnny Knoxville collects stamps in his spare time, and someone tossed a bathroom tile through my window upon which were scrawled the words “Val Kilmer Likes Pie”.
The other side of the comparative “at least I’m not like them” coin are the suburbs, where ninety-five percent of the people are more interesting than anyone you’ll see on television. A neighbor of mine is an accountant, and comes home to an immaculate three-bedroom California ranch full of wax figures no longer popular enough to be at Madame Toussad’s. (Because children may be reading this, I will refrain from describing the horrific scenes, apart from five words: Timothy Van Patten and ALF.) Next to this gentleman lives a couple ostensibly in the real estate business, but who actually run an escort agency that caters to a mature clientele. Not someone you’d call to take grandpa to the library, if you know what I mean. (Unless that’s what the kids call sex these days, I can’t keep up.)
In summation, kids, stop tossing your lit cigarettes at the boring-looking suburbanites, because they are far more likely to come after you in a minivan-induced rage with ten years of thai kickboxing classes than the bearded hipster on his fixie.
In other news, I am working on my fourth book, which is a follow-up to the third book, which isn’t even out yet.
October 29, 2013
A Girl Called Badger Free for Two Days
The first book in the Sleeping Birds series will be free for two days starting October 30th. For those playing along at home, that is October 30th.
“The Dream Widow” will also be .99 for a limited time.
September 27, 2013
Keep on Booking That Face
I applaud the fact that more and more young people spend their days and nights on the long-form poetry of social media communication. As adults we should strive for one-hundred-percent saturation of the teen market, and for every kindergartener to play Minecraft. Why? So kids won’t steal my car.
My car is very important to me for two reasons: it’s how I get to work (root beer floats don’t make themselves!) and it’s how I escape other people when I see a long line outside The Shake Shoppe or when they look at me with their eyes.
Children in my neighborhood are far too busy tweeting on the toilet about the newest release of Nursing Home Genocide or what silly outfit Cristyl Sue Bukowski was wearing to trod on my azaleas, toilet-paper the house, or light on fire a pungent bag of feces. Adults with more time on their hands and fewer cars and brain cells than I will decry the permeation of video games, streaming media, and Facebook into modern life, but I still don’t think it’s gone far enough. Perhaps when teenagers spend so much time online that they have hemorrhoids like a state worker and astronault-style muscle atrophy, then I will be satisfied. I find the streets so much safer when I can fend off teenage hoodlums with a fistful of leaves and a brittle twig, in contrast to the olden days when I suffered daily beatings and furious purse-snatchings. We don’t need more police to reduce the youth crime-wave in poverty-stricken areas––simply air-drop containers of Xboxes and flat-screen televisions. The harried adults will look up to the sky, see those lovely parachutes, and bless your face.
September 25, 2013
How To Make A Car
Like many of you I sometimes lie awake at night, heart pounding, mind racing over age-old questions such as:
Am I a good person?
Am I doing the right thing?
and of course
If I time-traveled to the tenth century, how do I make a car?
Honestly, the modern man is as useful as a platypus or a sock you find under a bush in the park (not underwear––at least you can use that). Our fathers grew up re-wiring ignitions using bark and a sewing needle and making their clothes from living bears. They had to kill a deer with their fists and write poetry in iambic pentameter before they turned sixteen. Today’s dandified man of thirty is only familiar with bacon because it was featured in last month’s Maxim and wouldn’t know a carburetor if it fell on him from orbit (killing the young scamp of course, making it pointless to keep yelling at him, DAD). Modern man has an app for everything, apart from an app to tell me to stop looking for an app for that. If women ever design a furniture-moving robot that opens jars, our species will become extinct.
Which is why the scenario of having to make a car in medieval times frightens me. Men imagine that we are superheroes gracing you with our presence, but time-travel back to 1100 A.D. and Chad TwiddleFist would have as much impact on society as a terminally depressed goat. Less, because you can’t milk or eat him. Chad would spend his days trying to make an iPhone from reeds and offal. After years of effort he would be patted on the head for remembering how to make a basket from that one time in Cub Scouts.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is, Chad, stop reading this and start tearing apart your Corolla’s fuel pump.
The Dream Widow is .99 cents for a limited time. Cheers!
How Make Car?
Like many of you I sometimes lie awake at night, heart pounding, mind racing over age-old questions such as:
Am I a good person?
Am I doing the right thing?
and of course
If I time-traveled to the tenth century, how do I make a car?
Honestly, the modern man is as useful as a platypus or a sock you find under a bush in the park (not underwear––at least you can use that). Our fathers grew up re-wiring ignitions using bark and a sewing needle and making their clothes from living bears. They had to kill a deer with their fists and write poetry in iambic pentameter before they turned sixteen. Today’s dandified man of thirty is only familiar with bacon because it was featured in last month’s Maxim and wouldn’t know a carburetor if it fell on him from orbit (killing the young scamp of course, making it pointless to keep yelling at him, DAD). Modern man has an app for everything, apart from an app to tell me to stop looking for an app for that. If women ever design a furniture-moving robot that opens jars, our species will become extinct.
Which is why the scenario of having to make a car in medieval times frightens me. Men imagine that we are superheroes gracing you with our presence, but time-travel back to 1100 A.D. and Chad TwiddleFist would have as much impact on society as a terminally depressed goat. Less, because you can’t milk or eat him. Chad would spend his days trying to make an iPhone from reeds and offal. After years of effort he would be patted on the head for remembering how to make a basket from that one time in Cub Scouts.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is, Chad, stop reading this and start tearing apart your Corolla’s fuel pump.
The Dream Widow is .99 cents for a limited time. Cheers!
August 3, 2013
Things To Do When Bored Or In Fresno
Frequently mother forgets to unlock my room in the morning or even for days at a stretch and I must find interesting ways to whittle away at the stick of time. I have abbreviated these ways to “D.O.R.K.,” which coincidentally was a word I heard quite a bit in my thirties and specifically directed at me. Even more coincidentally and strangely enough, it seems to be an epithet.
1) Drink
Whether your choice of beverage is Wild Irish Rose, orange juice fermented behind the toilet, or your own urine, you can pass the hours trying to keep the walls from spinning, counting pi backwards, or trying to remember if Baron Rothschild is your fourth or fifth second-cousin removed and what color are her toenails.
Drinking is the overwhelming choice of all humans when faced with nothing to do because we can’t remember what boring thing just happened. Not that waking up at 4 a.m. covered in glitter and fake tanning cream in the back of a Datsun is all that much fun, but it gets everyone to Monday.
2) Ogle
After mother has turned on the power for the day, I spend my time searching the Internet for photos of women in hats from the 1980′s or investigate rumors in Weather Report forums on whether Weather Report is getting back together or not.
If for some reason you have no power, simply stare at the blank screen of your computer or TV. Imagining the lost photos of Paulina Poritzkova that you might find is inevitably more enjoyable than actually finding them, as the human mind has no low-resolution formats. You can also pretend to order tickets for the upcoming tour of Weather Report, and that your imaginary group of friends want to go with you for real and not as paid “escorts.” Imagine you are posting photos of your three-week eco-tour in Borneo to (Insert Social Media) and that your imaginary (Insert Social Media) friends will be filled with imaginary (Insert Social Media) jealousy.
3) Recite
When boredom begins to fray at the tatters of what doctors might call my soul and the walls begin to close in, I create my own entertainment, either by re-enacting action scenes from The Master (with myself as Timothy Van Patten and a stick as Lee Van Cleef) or reciting Maggie the Cat’s lines from “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof”.
If, unlike me, you went to a state college, then simply decant passages from The Tempest or Donne or a chapter of Kant.
4) Kick
Violence is never an option unless it’s hilarious, says mother, but at this stage of your boredom you may simply be out of ideas and must resort to striking the walls with your head. From personal experience, I strongly advise that you use a body part that is easily replaced such as a foot or kidney. On the whole, breaking things is like a one-night stand in Fresno with a rather overweight lady: lots of fun but later you wonder why you have so many bruises, and in such strange patterns.
There you go! D.O.R.K., my tincture for the road rash of your boredom. Which, seeing as you’ve made it this far down the page, is kicking in about now.
