Vulcans. You know, because they have green blood. Because it's copper-based, and oxidizes green, instead of being iron-based and oxidizing red. And today is St. Patrick's Day. And I'm a dork. And...oh, never mind. Bad dreamsickness this ayem, but now I'm only manic, which is a vast fucking improvement.
But, here is my favorite St. Patrick's Day article ever: "Why Ireland Has No Snakes."
I managed to spend two hours yesterday looking for a title for the aforementioned steampunk story. Two hours, plus spare change. Two hours and seventy-three cents. And finally, after various dozens of permutations, I learned the title is "The Benefactions of Demons MM. Newcomen, Watt, and Boulton (1900)." I could have written a thousand words in the two hours needed to find five words, three family names, an abbreviation, two parentheses, and a date (a total of fifty-three characters). Other than email and proofing artwork for Alabaster: Wolves, that was work yesterday. But it might be more than I accomplish today.
And I want to know my fate
If I keep up this way.
And it's hard to want to stay awake
When everyone you need, they all seem to be asleep.
Last night, we had two scary films for Kid Night. The first was Andrew van den Houten's adaptation of Dallas Meyer's (oh, Jack Ketchum) novel Offspring (2009), which, of course, is the precursor to Lucky McKee's brilliant The Woman (2011). Alas, and alack, and Alaska, Offspring isn't brilliant. It's hardly even lousy. It would have to get better just to be bad. Only one thing redeemed this silly shit-stain of a film, and that's the astounding Pollyanna McIntosh, who here first appears as "the woman" of McKee's film. If possible, Offspring is actually worse than Jack Ketchum's writing. Okay, no. Maybe it's not that bad. However, that said, I am in love with Pollyanna McIntosh. Spooky calls her "your cannibal girlfriend." I wish. She could gnaw on any portion of my anatomy. I think I'm about to start the Pollyanna McIntosh Facebook Fan Page. See The Woman. DO NOT see Offspring, unless you're just watching for Pollyanna McIntosh. That would be okay. I would eat offal just for an autographed photo of Pollyanna McIntosh (stop, Caitlín; you're embarrassing yourself).
The second film last night was Mike Flanagan's Absentia (2011). Funded partly by Kickstarter (and this is relevant, and one day soon we'll come back to film and Kickstarter), this film is very near to brilliant. Here and there, the acting is just a little weak, but...you have to see this film. Not only is it a grandly creepy movie that has the good sense to rely on atmosphere and innuendo for its weirdness, but it is a sterling example of how to make a very good film with very little money. SEE IT! Even though Pollyanna McIntosh isn't in it. See it anyway. But, here's something you ought know. There are two posters. One poster perfectly captures the mood of the film. The other is awful, and makes the film look like one of those rancid novels released by Zebra in the 1980s before the "horror bust." The good poster is below, on the left. The awful poster is also below, on the right. Ignore the awful poster. Also, "One hell of a horror film," spoken by some twit of a gorehound at – ahem – Fangoria, is among the very last things that would make me want to sees a film.
You can't see a dream
You can't see a dream.
You just can't see a dream. ~ Death Cab for Cutie, "Bixby Canyon Bridge"
I wish I were in Ireland today. Not Dublin. Today, Dublin would be almost as big a drunken mess as will be (or already is) Boston. But maybe Shannon would be good. Or somewhere near Shannon. Or the Wicklow Mountains (Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin). Someplace with nothing but grass and sheep. That would be nice. The sky would probably be the same lead grey, but the world would be green. Outside, the sky looks like Ireland, but the ground looks like...well, not Ireland.
Verdant on the Inside,