Weston Ochse's Blog, page 32

Cheerleader vs James Bond: It's a Tie!

I've been asked to do a series of blogs on Criminal Element this year.

The first one is up is titled AIRPORT TRAVEL FOR THE PARANOID AND DELUSIONAL

The next and most recent article is titled HOW TO USE ESPIONAGE TRAINING AT A PARTY. I credit editor Peter Joseph with the idea. After thinking about it, though, it really wrote itself.



Take a close look at the picture. See the dress on James Bond? It's because I said that the single greatest perpetrator of espionage is the American cheerleader. Want to know more? Then you have to read it, I guess.
 
I'll be doing others like MY BENE GESSERIT BOX, and TRAINING CHALLENGES IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA.



It would be cool if you all could flip over and maybe comment once or twice.

In addition to mine, there are quite a few interesting bloggers on Criminal Element. I particular like Dave Richard's blog, Westeros Noir: A Game of Thrones as Crime Fiction, where he parses the plot to demonstrate the criminality of it. Now I REALLY can't wait for GAME OF THRONES.

There's also some good information about new books coming out, the fall television line-up, an essay about author Ross MacDonald, and my recent favorite article about a guy who orders a television and instead gets a combat rifle. 

Regardless, get over there and kill some time while you're in line at Wal-Mart, or on the train, or whatever it is you're doing when you wish you were doing something else.

Esquire Magazine's 79 Story Contest

Esquire Magazine is having a fiction contest. You must tell a story in 79 words. No more. No less. I'm not so good at this sort of flash fiction, but I thought I'd try it. In fact, I'm hoping to get advice from you kind and talented folks. 
[image error] The entries will be judged on the following criteria: plot (25%); characterization (25%); theme (25%); and originality (25%).
The deadline is September 1st.
So here are my four I created today. Hopefully you all will like one of these. Excluding the title, they are all 79 words.
Which one do you like the most? Which one the least?
VACATIONShe held the corners like Steve McQueen’s mustang, digging in and letting go at all the right times. I told her I loved her. I come back to her every time I’m in Amsterdam. She’s always ready. She’s always a pro. Why don’t you marry her, a friend once asked? I explained, you can’t live on vacation. When I returned home, I kissed my dear wife promising to never leave again, but I was soon longing for another vacation.  
SALAD DAYSShe had me dig and watched as I struggled with the desert scrabble. Blue sky up to God and a vicious sun spit lava through my veins. I told her I wouldn’t ever hit her again, but she didn’t believe me. She had me sit in the hole, then filled it in with the dirt until only my head was free. Now you know what helpless feels, she said. She walked away as the combine began picking the lettuce.
LINE LOGICGomez straddled the border as he hiked west. Neither in America or Mexico, he was in both and nowhere at all. Whose laws should he follow? He stepped to the right when the Zetas came. He stepped to the left when he saw border patrol. Funny how a line meant so much. Days later he delivered the bag of cocaine to a cousin in San Diego. Its street value was measured in grams, but it was enjoyed in lines.
PATRIOTISMShe wipes tears away as she watches him go through security. Six months in Afghanistan, then return. She wonders where her boy had gone, that child who’d pointed at the moon and announced he’d one day go there. His legs are doing better now. Metal is so much more sturdy than flesh. The detector alarms and men scramble towards him. They make him hold his arms like a criminal, her boy, her soldier, her red, white and blue dreamer.
Muchos Gracious for your help. It's not too late for you to write something too. Maybe you'll win one of the prizes. Maybe we both will. Maybe we'll find ourselves in NYC laughing about this as we drink free wine and eat free food.
We'll see.

IndieBound, Independent Bookstores and SEAL Team 666

Have any of you ever been to IndieBound?

Those of you who have know what a terrific resource it is. Those who haven't need to keep reading.

Essentially, IndieBound is a community of independent bookstore owners, writers and readers. It's a way to find bookstores near you, whether you are at home or traveling. It's also a way to get to know bookstores and booksellers and order books from them without leaving your home. Sort of like Amazon, but a lot more personal.

But don't listen to me, here's their mission statement in their own words:

IndieBound is a community-oriented movement begun by the independent bookseller members of the American Booksellers Association. It brings together booksellers, readers, indie retailers, local business alliances, and anyone else with a passionate belief that healthy local economies help communities thrive. Supporting local, indie businesses means that dollars, jobs, diversity, choice, and taxes stay local, creating strong, unique communities and happy citizens.

It's a powerful tool for booksellers to communicate their part in a national movement supporting independents--and lets everyone know just how many independent bookstores there are. It's powerful for authors to show their dedication to indies nationwide, easily done through linking to thousands of indie bookstores through IndieBound.org. It's powerful because IndieBound encompasses and supports all types of independent retailers, not just booksellers--and local or regional shop local campaigns and independent business alliances, as well. And it's powerful for consumers to feel a part of a larger movement, to know that their choices make a difference and that others are working toward the same goals.

I've been a member for years. I love IndieBound.

What'd you say? What about Barnes and Nobles? No, they're not the enemy. They're booksellers just like the rest of them and deserve absolute respect. One of the differences, though, between an Indie bookstore and Barnes and Nobles is that an Indie can choose what so sell and how to sell their books, while B&N decides that through corporate decision making.

I've found some of the neatest bookstores through this...

Book Soup in West Hollywood has write-ups for all their books done by the staff
Myself, Sam Sykes coolly admire the swirls James A. Owen uses in his autograph while signing at The Poisoned Pen


Atalanta Books is in Historic Bisbee. Just a terrific location. And the author sits outside and gets to talk to everyone.



And if you join and if you have a hankering to, add SEAL Team 666 to your IndieBound wish list. It doesn't mean you have to buy it, but it shows the community that there is interest in this book. The more people who see that there is interest, the more likely they are to stock SEAL Team 666 in their stores.

You can do that here- SEAL Team 666.

Or just click on over to INDIEBOUND and support your independent book seller.

Please do it today.

Thanks!

I Dream of Hank Moody - Californication

An author's commentary on the things he likes in life...

CALIFORNICATION

They call it a dramedy-- a Hollywood word for a comedy that's a drama and a drama that's a comedy. Isn't that how life is? Isn't it a dramedy, too?

I just finished watching the final episode of Season 5 of the Showtime series Californication. I had it recorded, but in one of those terrifically-timed Direct TV moments, the TIVO decided to record only the first five minutes of that episode, so I was left breathless all this time until I found a free episode on the web.

So it was almost five months later that I saw it.

But before that, let me tell you a little about me and Hank Moody. If you haven't met him, he's an award-winning novelist, living the life in L.A. trying to make it as a writer. He's a broken toy. He's morally bankrupt, except for some surprising sparks that elevate the other 99% of his behavioral. He's an addict-- to alcohol, to drugs and to being miserable. He loves his wife and he loves his daughter, but he loves himself more (or is it that he hates himself more than he loves them).

But behind all the terrible, Hank is Don Quixote tilting at the windmills of life. He's the indestructible hero, forever battling the legions trying to bring him down. He's Sisyphus, pushing his ego up the hill, only to see it roll back down to be pushed up once more, at the beginning and end of every season.

I can relate to Hank Moody in so many ways. I've been him. I've been stupid and I've been great. I've found myself in situations where I've gone one way, usually the moral way, and Hank Moody has gone the other. I've seen what could have been and it's not pretty. Hank is who we all could have been if we lacked moral filters. Still, for as bad as he is, Hank Moody is that terrible man who continually fucks up that you have eternal hope for.

That's why when I saw the final episode of season 5, where he was about to abandon his life and move in with his wife and daughter and live an upstanding life, only to be overdosed by an ex-lover who couldn't let him go... I almost cried. He was so close. He was there. All he had to do was to not have that drink she offered him.

But you know what? In classic Hank Moody style, he couldn't say no. He just had to have one more of something, anything, in this case a dope-laced highball of fuck-it-all-let's-end-it whiskey.

Californication is in my top five favorite shows on television. It always has been.I pay for Showtime so I can get 12 episodes of Californication. All the rest of the time I ignore it. Yes, even the softcore porn. There's also the advent of David Duchovny. When I used to see David Duchovny, I thought of Fox Mulder. That time is long since gone. He's Hank Moody all the way and he's as cool as Steve McQueen.

Yeah. I said it.

And now I discover that in 2013 there's going to be a Season 6.

Which means Hank Moody didn't die.

That's cool, but it's also fucking sad because it also means he didn't get the life (I think and hope) he deserves.

His ego ball has rolled down the hill and for one more season I will happily (morosely) watch him push it back up the hill.

Waiting impatiently for 2013.

Hank Moody!

Call me.

We gotta talk.

You need some better advice.

[image error]

Love They Neighbor What...?

It all began when we ordered something online.

Then about Tuesday we wondered where it was. I checked the tracking and it was allegedly delivered on Friday. So I called FEDEX and gave them the WHAT FOR and the WTF. They opened an investigation and promised to get back with me. They still haven't.

Meanwhile, in our neighborhood, unbeknownst to me, the package with the thing we'd ordered had been sitting on a neighbor's stoop since last Friday. And it's a big box. If dropped on someone's head it might kill them. If slung in the chest of a neighbor, it would surely knock them down. Finally yesterday, I spied this box, about five houses down, on the same side of the street, a home with similar numbers.

So I went up to the door, which was partially blocked by the box, stepped around it, and knocked on the door. I peeked through the window and saw toys strewn from one side of the house to the other. The television was on a Maury Povich-like talk show. A child with wild hair, food on her face, and a look like Jack Nicholson gave after he stuck his head through the hotel room door plastered her face to the window. A man holding a baby opened the door. He looked all the world like a meth-addicted Tom Green (even though Tom Green often looks meth addicted).

The conversation went something like this:

ME: Hi. I think FEDEX mis-delivered my package.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I live just down the street.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I saw this on your porch and thought I'd stop by.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: It was delivered last Friday.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I've been looking for it.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

I tried once more to get single word man to explain WTF he kept my box on his front porch for a week rather than bringing it down.

ME: Just five houses down (as I point towards my house).

His vapid expression changes.

NEIGHBOR: I didn't see it.

Really? For a week? You didn't see it? You had no idea? Seriously? For a whole week?

But trying to be a good effing not the sort to shoot someone kind of neighbor I smile weakly.

He closed the door. Through the door I hear:

NEIGHBOR'S DEMENTED OFFSPRING: Who was that, Daddy?

EFFING VAPID POS NEIGHBOR: Just a wierdo, honey.

Really?

Seriously?

I'm the wierdo?

Sigh.

Love thy neighbor what?

Criminal Element and Me

I've been asked to do a series of blogs on Criminal Element this year.

The first one is up is titled AIRPORT TRAVEL FOR THE PARANOID AND DELUSIONAL

I'll be doing others like USING ESPIONAGE TECHNIQUES TO GET WHAT YOU WANT AT A PARTY, MY BENE GESSERIT BOX, and TRAINING CHALLENGES IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA.

I have to up my blog game a little. Hope I pull it off.

It would be cool if you all could flip over and maybe comment once or twice.

In addition to mine, there are quite a few interesting bloggers on Criminal Element. I particular like Dave Richard's blog, Westeros Noir: A Game of Thrones as Crime Fiction, where he parses the plot to demonstrate the crimeness of it.

Neat!

Now I REALLY can't wait for GAME OF THRONES.

My Japanese Oni Tattoo - Part One

I shared this live as it was going on through Facebook, but want to have a more permanent place for the pictures here on my site. This is part one of my Oni Tattoo. Part two occurs on Wednesday, when I get it colored.
What is an Oni?  According to the gods of wiki it is:

Oni (鬼?) are creatures from Japanese folklore, variously translated as demons, devils, ogres or trolls. They are popular characters in Japanese art, literature and theatre.[1]Depictions of oni vary widely but usually portray them as hideous, gigantic creatures with sharp claws, wild hair, and two long horns growing from their heads.[2] They are humanoid for the most part, but occasionally, they are shown with unnatural features such as odd numbers of eyes or extra fingers and toes.[3] Their skin may be any number of colors, but red and blue are particularly common.[4][5]

But why an Oni on my arm? I've always liked them. Here's the one I saw that was my inspiration for the tattoo:
In doing research, this is not just an Oni, but a Hannya as well.  According to the great demons of wiki:

The Hannya (般若) mask is a mask used in Japanese Noh theater, representing a jealous female demon or serpent. It possesses two sharp bull-like horns, metallic eyes, and a leering mouth split from ear to ear.[1] 

The name hannya (般若) is a Sino-Japanese word for prajna or wisdom. One tradition states that this name was given to this mask because it was the name of an artist monk Hannya-bô（般若坊） who is said to have perfected its creation.[2][3]Another explanation is that Perfection of Wisdom sutras and their variations were considered to be particularly effective against female demon. An alternate explanation is that the artist would need a great deal of wisdom in order to create this mask.[4] 

The Hannya mask is used in many noh and kyōgen Japanese plays, as well as in Shinto ritual kagura dances.[5] The Hannya mask portrays the souls of women who have become demons due to obsession or jealousy. Plays in which a person may wear the hannya mask include Aoi no Ueand Dōjōji; its use in these two plays, two of the most famous of the Noh repertoire, and its distinctive and frightening appearance make it one of the most recognizable Noh masks.
The Hannya mask is said to be demonic and dangerous but also sorrowful and tormented, displaying the complexity of human emotions. When the actor looks straight ahead, the mask appears frightening and angry; when tilted slightly down, the face of the demon appears to be sorrowful, as though crying. The oldest hannya mask is dated 1558.

So when it was my turn to get a new tattoo, I went to my favorite joint to see Mike, who'd given me the rest of my tattoos.

HA HA!

This is Mike's version of the drawing I brought in. 
This is Mike's space at the tattoo parlor. He's been there 25 years. You can't swing a dead chicken in town without hitting someone who wears his ink.

What does a tattoo feel like when it's being applied? Sometimes like a sharp knife through the skin and sometimes like a low level current of pain. In the end, though, you have control, so you can manage the pain however you want.


This is what it looked like during the first break... after the first hour.


This is what it looked like after the second hour, all done. Now all we need to do is color it in.

Bacon-infused Gastropub in Tucson - The Parish

Yvonne and I made our bi-monthly trek to Tucson yesterday to support their economy. We had about five stores to go to and usually plan on going to a different restaurant each trip, time permitting. I'd done a little research and found a little out of the way gastropub on Oracle called The Parish. What jumped out at me was the lamb chorizo flatbread. Then I saw the bacon popcorn, the goat cheese rellino and a dozen other dishes I'd eat in a second.

So about one in the afternoon, after going to three of the stores, Yvonne and I drag-assed to The Parish. First of all, it was smaller than I thought it would be. Still, we'd missed the lunch rush, so we easily found a table. I ordered a Gordon Brothers Chardonnay (buttery), and the waitress, who'd somehow recently lost thirty pounds in a restaurant that has bacon in every other dish, told us about the special. Let me just say that I thought of you, dear reader, when she told me about it. I knew that you'd want me to have it. Hell, I could hear you begging me.
These are the Bacon-shell Tacos So good, it could be a poem

Goat Cheese Rellino
 The bacon-shell tacos are in the Top 10 Best things I've ever eaten. The red bean puree acted as a flavor balancer between the adobo pork and the bacon. The salsa, queso fresco, and cabbage not only enhanced the taste, but added a three-dimensional texture to the tacos. Seriously. It's three pieces of bacon that make up the taco. You have that many at breakfast. You have got to try this. It literally is a life-changing experience.

Next we had the goat cheese rellino with a balsamic reduction. It was tremendous. Although it tasted rich, it didn't cloy. It was fresh where it could have been dry. Just a fabulous appetizer.










Bacon and Eggs
Then it came time for us to order the main course. Steve, one of the owners came out, and apologized for the fact that they were out of the the Lamb Chorizo Flatbread. He said they'd had a record night the previous evening, and that they'd run out. They'd made new dough this morning, but it needed all day to set. Still, he brought out a cup of the lamb chorizo. After I pried it out of Yvonne's hands, I had a taste. Oh yeah!  I'll be back for that.

So for my main course, I decided something different. I'd have the homemade fries with white truffle aoli and the Bacon and Eggs appetizer, constituted of hollandaise, a fried grit cake, pork belly and a poached egg. The taste really was phenomenal. I loved every bite. I thought the pork belly was a little one note, but then again it's is pork belly and already succulent. I would have liked to see it marinated in something. If it had it would have put the dish over the top, for sure.




Yvonne ordered the oyster po-boy. This was a little disappointing. Although the oysters weren't cooked through, which I don't mind, they had a heavy oyster flavor, which usually is the case when the oysters aren't rinsed before they're cooked. We won't order this again, still, we forgive them the error. With everything else terrific and still more than a dozen items to try on the menu, including bacon-wrapped frog's legs (poor legless frogs), bacon popcorn, Haitain pulled pork, and a blue cheese burger that'll make you wanna slap your momma.


We're going to go back to this place. We thought about not telling my parents, who live in Tucson, because they have a tradition of finding restaurants and not telling us. Seriously, they hide them like children, but we decided to be the adults and take the high road.


You an find them online here.

Their address is: 6453 North Oracle Road  Tucson, AZ 85704, (520) 797-1233


We'll be going back for sure. I highly recommend The Parish. Now get your hunger on and go there!

In the Beginning Came the End - Prologue

This is the prologue from my eBook novel Blaze of Glory (originally titled Once Upon the End, when published by Bloodletting Books in limited edition), which follows with an 8000 word essay warning what not to do in Hollywood. I thought I'd share.  
IN THE BEGINNING CAME THE END Once upon the time, there was Once Upon the End, a novella written by an author of little note but great ambition. The novella was published to moderate acclaim, created a small yet consistent buzz within a small community of horror fans and authors, and made a few people notice this author who wouldn’t normally notice him. As a bonus, because the editors were asking for extras, the author provided a screenplay based on the novella. One long night at a convention, an agent asked this author a question that he’d never been asked before—have you considered selling this as a screenplay? The author remembers taking a sip from a drink before shaking his head.  Once Upon the End as a movie?  He’d written the screenplay, but only as a sophomoric afterthought. For all he knew, he’d done it all wrong. Yet images and dialogues from the novella suddenly took shape in the silver screen of his mind. His sophomoric screenplay took life. Characters were cast. A soundtrack blared the end sequence to a cacophony of applause.  Looking around the busy party, the agent spotted someone more important than this green author and made to go. But before leaving, the agent leaned down and said something that would mold events for this author over the next five years- “You really should. There’s humanity in your screenplay that’s rare. Plus, it’s very visual.  Remember when dealing with Hollywood, visual is good.  Visual is always good.”So this is my story of Once Upon the End, a novella that became a screenplay that reached heights I’d never imagined. I’ll detail my successes and mistakes. I’ll list those who showed interest as well as those who blew it off.  This is everyone’s tale. Many have been there before me, many will come after me, but this is the story of my journey. But remember, “Once Upon a Time stories” don’t always have and they lived happily ever after endings. This tale might be a tragic one. There are those of you who still hope to see your name in lights.  There are those of you who look at the system with wide-hopeful eyes. For you this tale may be too scary. But I urge you to follow my main character, Once Upon the End, as it travels from nothing to an agent, to directors, producers and their assistants, and to Wesley Snipes and forest fires and beyond. Experience the highs and lows, the vulgarity and the hilarity, the happiness and the loss of hope, as Once Upon the End was promised, passed, courted, and used like a two-for-one whore at a Shriner's convention.Beware is all I say. Let it not be said that I didn’t warn you. Consider this the small print on the prescription bottle of your Hollywood ambition.  So poll your thoughts, interrogate your dreams and decide if you want to continue reading. And if in the end you decide to learn the true story of Once Upon the End travels along the Dantean road to movie production, then we are well met.  But first, allow me to introduce what was once Once Upon the End and is now Blaze of Glory. Before you are to know what happened to the screenplay, you have to experience the end of the world as my characters did...awash in death, destruction, marijuana smoke, crack-addled grannies, giant monsters and a garbage man with heroic ambitions.So sit back.Grab the popcorn.Cue the soundtrack.And enjoy.
Weston OchseJune 2008Mexican Border





If you're at all interested in Blaze of Glory, it can be found here for Amazon and Nook.

My Homage to Batman-- Starring Julie Newmar, Wonder Woman, and my Puberty

This has seen publication before, but on the evening of the new Batman movie, I couldn't stop thinking about Julie Newmar. So allow me, with a little bit of red face, to share this with you.

The Legend of Julie Newmar andWhat Could Have Been with Wonder WomanBy Weston Ochse © 2007


So allow me to relay both my tale of Julie Newmar and my hypothesis as to what could have been with Wonder Woman, I'f only I might have had a driver's license, a car, and a way to drive from Tennessee to California. You might realize how much pre- and post-pubescent thought went into this. Many of you will understand why. For those of you who don't get it, move along. There's nothing to see here. Frankly, it's even a little embarrassing.
I believe that timing and placement are everything. How many times have you seen beautiful women with average dudes?  Beautiful women with ugly dudes?  And how many times have you walked away mystified, wondering what kind of drugs the dude was feeding the woman (and where could you get some)?  How could that be?  Not to over-simplify, but there is a great belief in circles, some of which I bang around in, that women care more about the way they are treated, what the man is thinking, and don't put as much weight upon the Brad Pitt-Sexy-Meter of their partner. Not that looks aren't as important, they aren't as much as the main attraction as they are with sexually heated bull men who generate more testosterone than brain cells. For those of you shaking your head, move along. There's nothing to see here.
Let's take Julie Newmar for example. She was the first and hottest Catwoman starring on the Bif Bop Pow Batman TV series with Burt Ward and Adam West. She was also a Playboy Bunny hopping along the Hefner trail. In the 60s and 70s she was about as hot as they came. Boys and priests, when they weren't lusting after each other, lusted after her. To put it simply, she was a sexpot.


The father of a (now ex) in law-type relative of mine who shall remain nameless told a story about one summer when he and four of his college pals made a road trip from Maine to California. When they got to Los Angeles, they partied, had major sex, a few drugs and lots of fun. A tidbit of information came to them, the tidbit being the address of the aforementioned Julie Newmar. Boys being boys, they decided that Julie's life would be empty without them, so they hopped in their car and trundled up the coast until they arrived at her ranch. As one ten-armed, ten-legged sex-hungry tongue-twisted teenage monster, they rushed to the door. And when the living breathing Ms. Catwoman herself answered, they could not have been more stunned. Four of the boys stammered and were unable to conjugate a greeting. The father of my in law had no such problem. Whether it was intelligence, a more elevated level of suave, or pure dumb fucking luck, he was able to clearly articulate a sentence beginning with "Hello, Ms. Newmar," and ending with "I'd love to help you around the yard today in exchange for a good meal and some conversation."  So while the other four were sent back to the minor leagues, this young man destined to be the father of an ex in-law proceeded to prove my idea of timing and placement. To this day the man will swear to you on a stack of silver age X-men Comics and a Gideon Bible from a Malibu hotel that his dessert after his home-cooked meal was none other than the tenderest parts of Ms. Newmar served up hot, rare and smoking. For those of you shaking your head, move along. There's nothing to see here.
You don't believe it?  Come on. Go to the mall and look around and ask yourself how some of those regular galoots get those beautiful babes. Time, placement and a good line will get you in the door. What you do after that is up to you.
What does Linda Carter have to do with all of this? Ponder this one my fellow denizens of the Dark Place. If you are like me, you spent part of your teen years ogling over her costume, praying to the gods of vertical hold that she'd explode right out of the red, white and blue material. Many nights I closed my eyes dreaming of being tied up with her rope and telling the truth. I think puberty makes you stupid, and the combination of puberty and Wonder Woman made me a fucking moron.

Then I grew up and found out that Linda Carter (unfortunately) spent her entire time playing Wonder Woman drunk off her star-spangled ass, allegedly willing to be with anyone, and everyone who'd take the time to say Hi, or I'm a Fan, or Knock Knock, Landshark. Volumes have been written about her now embarrassing exploits. Any of us could have made our dreams come true. Any one of us. It could have been me. That thirteen year old kid that I was had no sympathy for her. Like I told you, puberty made me a fucking moron.
So here's my hypothesis. Any man with brains, moderate looks and personality has a better than average chance of hooking up with any celebrity on the planet. It all comes down to timing and placement and a little luck.     
For those of you shaking your head, move along. There's nothing to see here.

Realize that I've accomplished the same thing. A guy like me got a girl like Yvonne Navarro. If that doesn't prove it, I don't know what does. 

For those of you who stayed till the end, thank you. Now dream about Julie Newmar. I know I still do.