2012 ... Who Woulda Thunk It?!

January 2, 2012: A friend of mine recently commented -- and I'm paraphrasing, of course -- that "It's never been January 2nd, 2012, before." Yet I'm not convinced that's entirely true. I'm reminded of an old Peanuts cartoon, wherein Lucy becomes convinced they've stuck her and her community with a recycled year. The question arises of what authorities they can report it to ...

Which reminds me, SPACE CASE is now available at both Amazon and Barnes & Noble for e-book consumption, so please get yours today, or I'LL report YOU to the authorities for grotesque negligence! (And I can't resist excerpting a lovely email I received today from one of my fans, and I didn't even tell her to write this: "Okay, I have decided that what I like best about your writing is that it is always surprising and unexpected. Never predictable. I keep starting to read portions of Space Case to my husband because I am laughing so hard, and then I have to stop myself because I don't want to spoil the surprise for him. Too much fun to read!!!!") Yes, see, there ARE people out there willing to risk $2.99 on my talents, and they're not all in mental institutions ... at least not yet!

But I was talking 2012 -- a fine year in process. And I don't know why people are worrying about the doom-filled prophecies of the stupid Mayan calendar, mainly because if the Mayans knew anything about anything, they wouldn't have destroyed their civilization with human sacrifice and spicy foods. And if that's not enough to convince you, make note of the fact that 20 minus 12 is 8, which is my favorite number, as well as being divisible by 2, which is of course even and a multiple of 8. I mean, the positive coincidences just go on and on ...

But despite my good hopes for 2012, I'm still struggling to catch up on all the closure requirements for LAST year, including trying to catch up on all my Christmas music. In fact, I'm feeling somewhat guilty right this moment, listening to my "Country Christmas" CD, trying to consume it because I feel I HAVE TO, like leftovers I can't let the garbage have. And in a way, it makes me feel like a pervert, gaining tawdry, guilt-ridden pleasures from sounds that have been made unwholesome by the passage of time. On top of everything, this is even the first holiday in about 15 when I HAVEN'T bought NEW Xmas music to add to my ever-lengthening shackles of seasonal joy, and I feel guilty about THAT (and, of course, not even watching Mr. Magoo this year! ...) Oh, I needed another week of December to get it all done ...

(By the way, following up on my last entry, what does it mean when they sing, "Joy to the world. The Lord is come!" That just doesn't sound right ... Am I hearing it wrong? All the versions seem the same ...)

Anyway, the point is, I will not make this Blah-ugh! a weak excuse to keep advertising my new novel SPACE CASE ... provided you buy it and let me get on to other more important matters here, such as tasteless references to Jesus and the Lord and everyone else in the religious community. As I've often stressed with you people, you have to do YOUR part too, if I can be freed up to do mine ...

Happy New Year!

My Novel On Amazon for Kindle, and other Xmas Thoughts

December 24, 2011: It's Xmas Eve, as Johnny Mathis sings, and I needed to file this folly before all my holiday insights became irrelevant.

For starters, let's understand that my novel SPACE CASE is now available as an e-book from Amazon. ( http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006N3KJJU ) If you enjoy this Blah-ugh! even in the least, you'll absolutely love SPACE CASE.

Further, I'm counting on you to not only purchase the thing, but let everyone in your contact list know about it ... I'm counting on you, now ... Don't let me down ... And if for some reason you DON'T have a Kindle, I expect you to work twice as hard networking on my behalf. (Ask yourself, what have you done for me lately?)

Either way, please visit the link immediately and read the first few pages for FREE. FREE! Free, I tell you! FREE!!

Now, I had a few points to make regarding my confusion with certain Christmas song lyrics. Of course, I still have no idea what "wassling" is (per my silly old video -- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEQCMQq4184 ) and I suspect I never will. But there are other references and lines which are equally as baffling, and I wanted to make reference.

In particular, what does "in sin and Arab pining" mean in O Holy Night? Is that a reference to 21st century terrorism, and how could the writer have been so prescient? Is it that the Arabs are sad because of Jesus? Why does Jesus make Arabs sad, anyway, and does that have to do with Allah or Abdul or whoever their Jesus is? Is the reference that Arabs are inheritantly sinful because of their un-Jesus sentiments? ... I'm very confused.

Another thing I don't understand is what Theodore is saying in the song "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth." It sounds like "Sittin' to the kitten on a thistle," but what does that mean? Again, are we supposed to read something into this. As a chipmunk, is he wishing bad upon the cat, and if so, what are we cat owners supposed to think -- not only about the Chipmunks, but Theodore in particular.

I wanted to explore this topic further, but I also wanted to make mention of how embarrassed and appalled I was by Robert Deniro getting someone pregnant at age 68. I mean, what the hell is that about?! Is there no limit to the selfishness of man -- especially celebrity man -- who doesn't seem capable of looking ahead 10 years to the poor kid he sired who's going to have a 900 year-old father (if even that, gahd f'bid!) ... Ridiculous. And worse are all the sycophants around people like DeNiro who enable his thoughtless behavior, rather than telling him outright, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you selfish bastard!" ... Well, believe me, I'll tell him the next time I see him ... and you know I will!

Happy Christmas, and for all you Jews and minorities (myself included), Happy Hanukkah! Let's make it a great one (for me, by plugging my ebook SPACE CASE -- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006N3KJJU ) ...

Me The Contest Winner

November 2, 2011: I don't know who reads this stupid thing, but the numbers on the clicker keep moving gradually forward, so there must be SOME action. (If not, Winc & Fletch, I appreciate your returning at regular intervals to move my numbers up!)

The point is, those of you who didn't hear, or didn't care enough to hear, or don't care now -- I won a horror writing contest (of all things), and if you haven't, please visit http://everywritersresource.com/ and enjoy my short demented little story, and my even shorter demented little biography. (I'm their lead story, in fact, and while there's no picture of me, just imagine me lolling naked on a lounge chair and you'll get the full effect of real horror!)

Over the years, my fill of official praise has been severely limited to a few editors congratulating me on my spelling, and one former supervisor admiring my shoes. So to be recognized not only in a public forum, but for something that's so important to me -- namely writing -- makes this a new season of the dead in which it feels good to rejoice (or rejoinder -- I'm still not sure which).

The story itself is very short (which some of you may find is part of its strength), but I'm told it's concentratedly disturbing. And while I don't consider myself a horror writer officially, I'm capable of some very horrible writing and so it kind of makes sense that this would be my first area of success. Either way, if you know any horror people who you feel might be able to find me more work -- or if you know Stephen King and he owes you a favor -- please mention my name.

I'm tired now, as I've spent the past hour photographing our jack o'lanterns in the dark. I've done some very wonderful shots, which I'm sure my wife will delete from the memory card come morning. But as my old art teacher Jim Wheeler used to emphasize, it's about the process, not the product. This is good to remember, as it frees me up to continue doing most of my writing in my head ...

Again, Happy Halloween!

Again With Halloween ... III

October 31, 2011: Ah, so the dark season is once again upon us ... and as I sit here in my devil's costume, enjoying the remnants of snow and sunning weather, I can't help but think of all the strange and superficial things that Halloween (and peripheral autumn) means to me ...

Of course, it's mostly about pumpkins, and the color orange in general. I like orange, even though I was kicked out of Princeton (or at least asked to leave after I visited my friend there and took my shoes off in his eating club). Contrary to popular belief, orange is NOT a combination of red and yellow, but a blend of yellow and blue. (Some people think this is green, but I know better.)

Which brings me to my very favorite seasonal movie of all time -- Halloween III: Season of the Witch. I watched this classic once again last week, and I'm never disappointed. Tom Atkins, who plays the rugged, oft-drinking hero Dr. Dan Chalice, remains my perfect ideal of a film hero, despite how ugly he looks with his shirt off. The story itself is a minor gem, and had it been written by Poe or some Poe derivative, it would continue to be hailed as a classic, and not relegated to the dusty shelves of B-movie accidents. I consider Tommy Lee Wallace, who wrote and directed the film, an unknown gem of a man (See "It" and "Fright Night 2" if you don't believe me!), and while he never responded to my letter back when I was living in L.A., I'll never hold a grudge because for me, he created the quintessential Halloween experience with his delightful story of a mad male Celtic warlock, his demented Halloween mask factory in northern California, and all the shenanigans that ensue.

There's a lot more I have to say, but I'm suddenly realizing I probably said it LAST YEAR, so I urge you to begin rereading my old Blah-ugh! posts ... Tell your friends about them ... Tell ME about them, and maybe I'll stop writing them!

Anyway, the evil Connell Cochran tells Dr. Chalice before he leaves him to suffer the awful pains of wearing that scary skull mask before the twisted television transmission, " ... and Happy Halloween!"

The Scents of Smells

October 13, 2011: I was just thinking about what an acute sense of smell I have, and how it's both a blessing and a curse. I was also thinking about Angelina Jolie and how she grosses me out, but I'll get to that in a minute.

Specifically, I was thinking about this woman I know who has the most tragically horrendous breath you could ever imagine. It smells like a decaying mouse that was left in the filthy boot of an old Irishman for seven long weeks. I've been in a room with this woman and could smell her breath from 20 feet away, that's how rippingly offensive it is, and perhaps how acute my smell is. (You see, I had to leave the room, while others stayed. Did they not smell this vile stink? Were they immune to the aromatic assault of this unfortunate woman's decaying gob?)

Cigarette stinks, bilious foods, bad breath, and the acrid, sour pew of all the awful aromas plaguing mankind are always quick to find their way up my virulent (and obviously eager) nostrils (despite the ever-increasing forest of thick black hairs that keep growing there). At the same time, however, I'm also blessed with a great ability to pick up on the subtlest scents earmarking sweet beauty -- like spring lilacs from a great distance away, or the grand, pungent smell of my wonderful decaying autumn as it sends it lithe, ancient reek out across October (and November too). You see, it's a blessing and curse and, I guess (like so many things) ... It just is ...

Which brings me to this somewhat weak Angelina Jolie movie I'm in the middle of watching called "The Tourist," featuring the perpetually hard-trying Johnny Depp, whom I like very much, despite his sometimes questionable facial hair.

In all fairness, Jolie is probably a fair actor, but she's apparently been marketed to such an absurd point now that filmmakers (probably because of the marketing departments' insistence) must completely prohibit her performances by encasing her in a series of supposedly stylish (albeit sadly sophomoric) specially staged shots aimed at making her appear alluring and charmingly sexy in some poorly contrived version of Hollywood sexiness.

Now, for starters, she is actually rather bizarre looking, and seems to appear more and more so as time passes -- a kind of botox Barbie, with a vaguely misshapen head, eyes much too big for her ample forehead, and lips that become less and less alluring, and look more synthetic, with each passing frame and hour. It's also become her trademark requirement -- and who knows, this all may be HER doing -- to shine this same supposedly sexy expression in almost every scene, as if it's all a commercial for her magnificent face, or her brand, and it's making the entire film feel like an inadequate apportionment of softcore masturbation fodder for Angelina Jolie fans (who must be a sorry lot, if the truth is to get out).

On top of everything else, I really find her name annoying ...

Meanwhile, Depp, who I've lauded here before, is making a fair effort of a rather weak story (although he's starting to fall back on some of his Jack Sparrow schtick, and probably isn't too proud of it). I wonder how an artist such as he sits through production of such a minor debacle, and whether he finds Jolie's big, bulbous lips somewhat disconcerting after having to look at them close up all those weeks.

To tie this whole Blah-ugh! piece together, we can only imagine what Jolie's breath must smell like, let alone some of her other parts. I'm sure there are fans who will enjoy speculating, but I'm somewhat proud to say that not one of them ...

NEXT TIME in THE BLAH-UGH!: "What wonderful, subtle scents might linger about Kiera Knightley at any given moment?"

Sometimes ...

September 23, 2011: Sometimes I turn on the computer and just start writing a Blah-ugh! entry ... and sometimes I spend days, or even weeks, contemplating a particular complaint, controversy, consideration or critique ...

Sometimes I wipe with natural dye-free toilet paper that I pay a little bit extra for ... and sometimes I just use whatever's lying around at that time ...

Sometimes I remember myself in present-time awareness, connecting with my breath and the universal omnipresence as I understand and interpret it ... and sometimes I'm thinking about something stupid I said to someone eight or nine years ago, or how I'm going to handle some situation that I fear may come up eight or nine years in the future ...

Sometimes I watch old horror movies late at night, such as John Carpenter's "Prince of Darkness," or the original "Fright Night" with the great Roddy McDowall ... and sometimes I read a fine book at night, like "The Journey to the East," "The Sun Also Rises," or "Dracula" ...

Sometimes I say what's on my mind because I don't give a shit what people think if they might happen to foolishly disagree with me ... and sometimes I just keep my mouth shut because I remember that nothing's really that important after all, plus no one really cares what anyone else has to say anyway ...

Sometimes I think about how conscious changes in our society could result in tremendous postive whole-scale advancements for humanity ... and sometimes I think about how great certain women look naked ...

Sometimes I listen to beautiful songs over and over again while driving in the car, and sometimes I just shut the radio and listen to the jabbering voices in my head ...

Sometimes I like some people and sometimes I don't ...

Sometimes I love humanity and sometimes I think they're just a bunch of idiots ...

Sometimes I write for myself and sometimes I try to write for you ...

But I always, always, always feel a compulsion to use a napkin whenever I eat, thanks to the neurotic conditioning of my once-demented mother ...

The Paving of the Park

September 13, 2011: Well, I promised I'd post soon, but then I didn't get around to it ... But this evening I was so irritated by seeing this "thing" (as you'll see below), I motivated myself to write an op/ed piece on it, and so I end the evening with both self-worth and copy ... I'm forwarding it on to the papers, etc., but I never have faith that any of them print anything, and if they do there's a good chance they'll omit my commas ... For those of you with Westport, CT, connections, I hope you'll find it interesting and worthwhile, and for the rest, I hope you'll simply enjoy the opportunity to bask in my lovingly crafted work ...

The Paving of the Park

by JARRET LIOTTA


Doesn’t it strike anyone else as odd—-or disturbing—-how the park at the corner of Main Street and the Post Road has been quietly usurped by the businesses that lease the adjacent building?

For the past several months the latest land grabbers have loudly toiled on what was once a pleasant downtown park, with plants and shrubs and wooden benches that had back support. Now, the designers have basically clear-cut the place and left a spread of cement that looks more like a parking lot than anything resembling the open space its supposed to be.

Once upon a time, this was the library park, for the Westport Library occupied the adjacent brick building all the way back to the river. The park was tiny, if not elaborate. It felt set back from the busy road by some pleasantly untended plantings, and was slightly elevated behind a small rustic brick wall in the same style as that running along the library building. The back of the park was a bit of a mishmash of ivy and shrubs, but really it was kind of nice to see a small, uncontrolled speckle of wild open space left in the center of the commercial district—a romantic remnant of a time when we weren’t as afraid of dirt and chemical-free lawns as we seem to be now.

When the library moved in the mid-1980s, a restaurant—it was called Café Christina, if memory serves—took over the better part of the building. Through what was (in my opinion) an entirely despicable zoning variance, they were allowed to construct an enormous cement patio over half that park. Worse, Café Christina—and the clods in Westport’s government who okayed the work—sidestepped reasonable practice by putting up a small, rarely noticed plaque on the right side of the building, which gave notice that this patio was “dedicated open space” and that the public was (still) allowed its use. (I believe the plaque is still there, though it feels like you’d need a microscope to see it.)

Years later, a retail store followed, and the patio became an enormous ramp and staircase. By then they’d also taken away the comfortable wooden-backed benches, like the ones we luckily still have on the river, replacing them with those awful cold stone pews that discourage sitting.

Now, in its most recent and grossest incarnation, this poor “park” has literally become a cement-covered monstrosity, embarrassed by enough concrete to facilitate six new parking spaces. In fact, I’m absolutely surprised these greed-head builders left that magnificent sycamore tree still standing in the middle, for it can’t possibly be profitable to them to have it there. (Fortunately, it’s been rigidly confined within a very small square of dirt, so it doesn’t get any funny ideas!)

Part of being a Westport native involves the recurring digestion of head-slapping zoning decisions, the acceptance of grotesque, mammoth (and tacky) new constructions, and the sad, sometimes senseless destruction of places and properties that offer the most subtle of additions to our town—aesthetics, untended greenery, history, etc. It’s such a constant disappointment to see the pattern unfold again and again, and the sensible citizen merely goes numb and tries to keep their attention centered on the positives, like the Westport Pizzeria, the wooden-backed benches by the river, and the outstanding beauty of the old Y building.

But what a shame it is—-at least for me—-to see this lovely little spot, so centrally located, get stomped out of existence, or at best crushed into an awkward submission to bad taste, overkill, and zoning chicanery. I really, really wish Westport would think these things through.


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