Brrrrains and Beans

I woke up this morning thinking it was going to be a productive day. When I woke up for a second time at 6pm, I realized it wasn't. But I didn't mind too much, because at some point I just want to be a hermit, and do nothing more with my day than maybe lazily finish a book and make some beans and rice for dinner.

Of course, this doesn't make for a very interesting blog post, but there you go. I did finally get my ass out the door to go comic book shopping the other day. For research purposes only, you understand. If I'm going to be writing a zombie comic, I have to know what else is out there. And there's A LOT out there. I've been reading The Walking Dead off and on for the past while, but something about that book has never sat well with me. I liked the gore, but always ended up feeling as if it was discount Romero without his occasional attempts at progressive politics. But I was surprised at how many other series and graphic novels there were, from Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse to Remains. I picked up Warren Ellis' Crossed, but now I'm thinking the whole zombie genre thing has itself become a zombie. Shambling, cannibalistic... maybe I should lead the rebirth of mummies in horror comics.

Mmm, phone.

Today, I couldn't find my cellphone and had to get one of my friends to call it. Wanna know where it was hiding? In the box of storebought cookies I had been emotionally snacking on. Life win or fail?

Getting Kinda Spooky (And Shorter)

I got another haircut today. Over the past few years, my hair has become progressively shorter to the point where I'll probably end up bald the next time. I can only think that would be an improvement with the humidity, because right now I start looking like Ziggy Stardust as soon as I step outside. Except with the face paint and/or outrageous alien sexuality. Yet.

Also, I think I posted about my obsession with the Penguin Gothic Reds series before. But let's check in again with my favorite literary crack (Hot Gimmick is more like crystal meth at this point):
I'm 60% of the way through the series. Of course I hit all the stuff promising tentacles, severed heads and swine creatures first. Their interpretation of "gothic" is... shall we say... generous. But there's no Stephen King in the mix and eleventy times more noxious fumes and creeping fungi, so I'll forgive them. Here's the roll call so far:

1. The Dunwich Horror: Oh, Lovecraft. At first I thought you couldn't possibly be the strangest of the bunch, although the story with the horrific furry critter from another dimension and the poor lodger who deals with him haunted me for months. Maybe that's because there was probably a squirrel nest above my old room. Or were they squirrels? DUNH DUNH DUNH (Rating: 8 out of 10 tentacles)
2. The Haunted Hotel: This was my staff pick for the longest time, complete with an illustrated card of why noxious fumes+ severed heads= one whacked-out good time. Nobody bought it. Everyone bought The Time Traveler's Wife. Clearly, people suck. (Rating: 8 1/2 out of 10 skeletal countesses)
3. The House on the Borderland: If Hodgson wasn't high as a dirgible on opium when he was writing this, he was doing something terribly, terribly wrong. Or terribly right. I don't know, but this book doesn't end when the horrible swine creatures disappear from the narrative. Because that's when the sinister luminous specks appear and that's when shit just gets started. (Rating: 7 out of 10 outer dimensions)
4. The Beetle: This book outsold Dracula at the time of publication and is still a rollicking good read. Sure it's Orientalist out the wazoo, but with two sassy female characters and one hilariously caddish inventor, I won't tell my post-colonial lit prof it's awesome if you don't. (Rating: 8 out of 10 Egyptian cults)
5. The Spookhouse: I was a little disappointed in this collection, since I loved An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and one of the first few stories, about a boy who encounters half of his fantasy in a forest, is amazing. But too many of them relied on "But he was DEAD!!" ghost twist endings and Civil War yammerings for my taste. (Rating: 6 1/2 out of 10 spectres)
6. Lois the Witch: The least Gothic of all the books so far, but Gaskell has a fine eye for class interaction that's very much like Austen. Gothic thrills are exchanged for non-stop depression as babies are killed, parents are betrayed and the Salem witch trials don't go anywhere good. Check out the title story, which at times shows a surprisingly progressive handling of colonialism in America. (Rating: 7 out of 10 Welsh curses)

If these go out of print before I have 10 queasy yellow spines sitting happily on my shelf, I'll be hurt. Time to go back to my old job and do a special order! I think The Lair of the White Worm should be next.

The Dark Side of Plumbing

I'm back from the country and I've brought with me a sunburn, some insect bites and some entertaining memories. Of course it wasn't the whole "Abandon Game" button I was hoping to hit, but eh. In the cold, hard vision of hindsight (where the lighting is a lot like a J-horror film) I now realize that I was putting too much pressure on the weekend.

Of course, coming back meant the weekend was over, which means that I was back at work today. Now, I don't talk about my new job all that much. I think it's smart blogging policy, it's actually a part of my contract and since I deal with the adult industry a lot- and no, not as the onscreen talent, thanks- I don't want to offend any of my parents' friends who might stumble across this blog. But today, I'll share.

Why? Because today I came across a site that used the term "sperm pipe" in reference to a penis. Now, is this the blorst of the blorst when it comes to cock euphemisms, or are you all hoarding something even worse? Come on, don't fear my sperm pipe. Share.

Summer in the Country

I'm fleeing Montreal for a few days to go out in the country. Pistache, who is currently purring merrily with his paws under my arm and his head on top, will probably be unamused by this turn of events. I have someone coming over to look after him, so hopefully he won't be cranky enough to barf all over my bed.

I'm leaving to help out at a music festival, but honestly, I'm hoping a weekend away will be a kind of reboot on my life. Aside from an almost pain-free move to Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, July has been kind of shitty so far. Mainly for the kind of embarassing, overly hormonal reasons that belong more in something like Hot Gimmick than the life of a reasonable 20yr-old girl.

So, here's to running away from my issues! Cheers!

Worst Frostbite Ever: Dead Snow

How do you react to the phrase "nazi Zombies?" If you're indifferent, go home and get your pulse checked. You might just be one of the undead. But if you're a God-fearin', SS-hatin' man or woman (and the God-fearin' is entirely optional) read on.

Here's a prediction: Tommy Wirkola's Dead Snow will be the best nazi zombie movie you'll see all year. Okay, so it's not like competition's tight in that category. For a genre so potentially rife with social critique, or at least exploitative gore, there really hasn't been anything of note since 1978's Shock Waves. But it's still a fun bit of campy fluff with some delightfully gruesome kills.

The film starts off strong with a moonlit chase that comes with a squelching finale. Unfortunately, the movie gets bogged down for about twenty minutes so we can meet our meat, a group of videogenic Norwegians who've made the classic mistake of heading to a secluded, wintry cabin for fun. The med students drink, fuck, drink some more, discuss pop culture and go snow tubing in a few interminable scenes that might have you digging around in the snow to sic the zombies on them.

But soon enough, a creepy old man is on the scene to insult their domestic skills and hint that the snowy hills might be holding some frozen Germans. Then the friends realize the girl who was supposed to meet them there still hasn't come and get their first hint that, as one of them ends up yelling later on, they should have gone to the beach instead.

Soon enough, the undead are marching with revolting rotting flesh but surprisingly natty uniforms. Don't get too attached to any of the students, because pretty much everything the creepy old man warned them about in the beginning from holding your guts in your hands to getting a limb torn off, happens to one or more of them. As the kills become more baroque and entertaining (particular favorite: zombie meets snowmobile engine) the film gives up any actual creepiness for hard gore laughs.

It's the kind of zombie comedy that's more like the bloody slapstick of Brain Dead than the verbal play of Shaun of the Dead. Or maybe it was like Shaun, and the verbal jokes just didn't translate from the Norwegian. A horny med student deciding there are just some body parts he can't amputate does work though, and a Nazi ghoul getting clotheslined by a tree is just plain classic.

Wirkola doesn't care about making a Romero-like statement. No connections are made between the Nazi invasion of Norway, facism and general and the zombie attacks. The only thing I could salvage was something along the lines that all the enlightened institutions the West clings to as markers of civilization (mandatory non-combat military service, higher education) are actually frigging useless when it comes down to survival. And a guy's lack of Molotov cocktail throwing skills. But then again, the reason why these Germans turned into zombies is never explained either, so maybe ideological coherence isn't Wirkola's biggest concern.

It's the splatter that counts and Dead Snow delivers, particularly on the intestinal trauma front. Zombie purists might not like how speedy these ghouls are, but any true gorehound won't care. It just means they'll meet the chainsaws that much faster.

Go, Go Sonia

Oy. Those Sotomayor hearings. Sometimes I forget how prevalent racism still is, and then I see a Latina woman being questioned on whether her identity will influence her decisions on the bench. I don't remember anyone asking John G. Roberts how his blinding whiteness would affect his rulings, y'know.

When I haven't been reading snippets of that coverage (translation: making myself livid with rage) I've been working on a special writing project and checking out Dead Snow at FantAsia with friends. And feeling oddly tired. I hope I'm not coming down with something, because I have to volunteer at a music festival this weekend and camp outside. God knows I don't need to add illness-induced crabbiness to my usual post-sleeping bag bitching. Time to start chain drinking the Neo Citran just as a prevantative measure.

Hot Gimmick: Secret, Sexy Shame

THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON HOT GIMMICK.

Forgive me, goddesses of feminism, for I have sinned. Again. The latest way in which I've fallen off the wagon doesn't involve my job, but the sweet, sexy allure of girly manga. I should really learn to look a gift bag in the mouth, as it were. See, before I left the bookstore for my current writing gig, I was given the chance of picking through a box of free manga Viz had sent over. Since I'm not exactly a Manga fan, but I can't say no to free books, I pretty much picked them for the lolz. Incest? In the bag! Magic words and white rabbits? Sure! A blend of bloody battles and romantic comedy set in Edo Japan? Er... okay. And one where a chick goes out to buy a pregnancy test for her sister and is blackmailed into being some boy's slave? Why, I think I remember a soap opera story line just like that.

Basically, that's the worst way to pick out Manga because you'll end up with unreadable bullshit like Angel Sanctuary. And completely addictive bullshit like Hot Gimmick. Between the normalization of abusive relationships and the hideous street fashion, this series offends me on many levels as a feminist and a woman with eyes. Our main character's name is Hatsumi, and the rivals for her favours are:

• Akane: Her childhood friend, and the stereotypical boy with a heart of gold and lashes by Maybelline... until we find out he's out for revenge on Hatsumi's father. Which he tries to achieve by getting his model buddies to rape her.
  
• Ryoki: The boy who was blackmailing her about the pregnancy test, who constantly belittles her intelligence and tries to enslave her into banging him. Oh, and he likes to whack her upside the head when he's displeased.
  
• Shinogu: Her brother. But, hey, turns out he's adopted so it's all okaa... wait no, that's still max creepy.
  

Basically, I'm reading a book where the least problematic is the quasi-incestuous one. And it's going down like strawberry-flavored Pocky, as I scroll through the scanlation I found online. I keep on trying to justify my consumption by saying that at time it shows a surprisingly realistic and gentle handling of teenaged sex at time between the Code: Fuchsia levels of drama. And that the author still keeps a critical distance of Ryoki. But honestly, I'm just hooked because it's absolutely batshit crazy. Every 2 pages there's some sort of dramatic development. I feel like only a few days have gone by and Hatsumi's already gotten drugged, sexually harassed, changed boyfriends, had her brother mysteriously move out and been shunned in the apartment. It makes All My Children look like Bergman.

And maybe there's something oddly charming at this strange but relatively staid juncture in my life about running around Tokyo in outfits of ever-increasing ugliness, gazing goggle-eyed at one of the 3-plus pretty guys in my life, screaming "I choose love!" and generally being a person who doesn't have to worry about taxes, loan repayments and being alone. Or maybe I should just stop eating so many Japanese snacks with dubious ingredients.

Femmeday the 13th

Damn it, Diablo Cody. One of my friends had just finished guilting me into tolerating you again, and now you make this movie. I'll wait until it's released to judge too harshly, but usually Megan Fox is enought to make me pre-emptively hate a movie. And it looks like you sacrificed effective horror for twee jokes, too, so you could make a film with all the clever gender critique of a "Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them" shirt.
But watch the redband trailer here and judge for yourself.
Well, at least I can always watch Ginger Snaps when I need a wickedly smart and feminist horror film. Thoughts on whether this will suck or be totally rocking?

BELLLLLLLLLL!!!

Sorry it's been so long. I moved, with all the myriad joys that come with it. Insufficient boxes, lost movers, schedule friction, unpacking and of course, the Internet move. Which, when you're dealing with my arch-nemesis Bell, ends up taking an extra week and a half. Don't trust them because they are all lying lies who lie all the time, and now I must wait for one of them to come and fix my Internet so I can Facebook stalk all I want.

I've been limited in that shady endeavor by the personal Internet use I'm allotted at work, which means 2 15-minute breaks and a little bit at the beginning and end of my lunch. Which is not enough for adequate Facebook stalkery in the slightest, much less actual blog posting. So here I am at the library, explaining why I was gone and checking out which quizzes my friends have taken on Facebook. Oh Internet, how I miss you.