Rose update: As soon as the photographer friend who has the originals returns from a vacation, I will get back on finalizing the cover for the book. Then I will start looking for venues and opportunities to read from it (hopefully to sell some books) in the 612.

Ordering two new batteries for the video camera so that actual work and "research" can commence on the not-so-top-secret Midwestern movie project.

Still waiting to hear from the LA-based producer who is allegedly eager to start moving on one or both of my two family films. I would think "eager" would have gotten a phone call last week or the one previous, but "eager" tends to mean "eventually... maybe" in Hollywood parlance.

If you're wondering what to get me for my birthday (you have about a fortnight still to shop) perhaps I have a suggestion. Thurman is showing off his terrible-two's in fine, feline fashion; the little jerk broke my absolute favorite coffee mug yesterday morning. I had been drinking my morning Joe from my Ren & Stimpy mug for many, many years but change is good, right?

And although I had to do it twice - what else is new? - I think I finally told the management company what to do with the key to my now former residence. Perhaps I said "sideways"...

Opening Day is tomorrow. Tigers at Yankees at 1pm at the new big ballpark in the Bronx. We play today, we win today, tha'ssit...

So, I had fully intended to write about that kitten of mine who was turning two on Saturday and welcome him to cat-hood. We've been suffering through some epic flooding in the basement of the house he & I now call home. Bad enough on my feet (splashing & squishing and inches of standing water in places) I at least could put hip waders (ok, exaggeration: mock-croc's did the job) but Thurman refused to wear his. He refused to sleep downstairs with me that night. And I guess I should have known that he just couldn't stand the cold water on his furry paws -- and I should have paid more attention especially considering that his litter box was in the downstairs bathroom.

Now, many many of the feline persuasion would display their displeasure at these indignities by making a point; that point either made proudly on a couch or in the master bedroom, or of the more hidden variety (oh, the humans will eventually find out about my displeasure when they clean out this closet come Spring), but my fine beast took a dump in the upstairs bathroom tub. And really, I couldn't come up with a better, more considerate place for that sort of business to be done. So as he turned into full-fledged cat status, I was applauding his maturity.

But he is a cat after all and I am not saying it was revenge per se, because he's not talking but he did get me back yesterday. Now, potentially it could have been the contractor who came to assay the water damage and what to do about it. Our new house mate had opined that his contractor is an alien, and we all know what Alien Life Forms eat, so maybe Thurman was hiding from him and maybe he got trapped somewhere for the day, but all I knew was he was gone.

And he wasn't answering calls.

And we had the front doors wide open for some time as we were dragging the dead weight of wall-to-wall carpeting that has been soaking in icy cold water for days and day up the basement stairs and out to the driveway to dry in the bright sunshine. So I assumed he got out.

Spent a good part of yesterday afternoon into early evening canvassing and wandering the neighborhood looking for the lil' jerk. Did cause me to update his status with the micro-chip people, but he wasn't wearing his collar because the tag on it has my old phone number (will correct that order of business this week too) and to say I was in a panic would be understatement. I had to cancel a dinner date at that last minute for which I felt really, really crappy, but I would not have been much fun to be with. But I suppose all's well that ends well; Thurman was located last night; he's got his collar on, and I've Sharpied the address & telephone number on his face so we won't be having anymore mishaps like this! Sheesh...

***

Of course now instead of visiting shelters, pounds and re-canvassing the neighborhood I get to schedule my wisdom teeth extraction this week so there's that big WIN!

Perhaps there will be some pain med-induced Opening Day rambles posted here this week so keep your eyes out for that.

Thanks,
Brian

Well, now that the settling in has mostly occurred and the worst of the flu is gone, it's time to start making some moves. One of those will be this blog although we are only 10 days 'til the beginning of Yankee baseball season, so there will be *plenty* with which to fill this space: consider yourself warned...

But there's some interest that may lead to some movement on a few scripts back in Los Angeles. My good friend Cowboy is my man back on the coast -- and he has both "Field Trip" and "Blacktop" in some interested hands.

And with Spring wanting to burst out here in the melting world of Minneapolis, it's time to start "gathering material" and "doing research" on the little indie movie idea that I have set in this frozen land o' lakes.

No more good excuses on the book cover: I'll get that ball back rolling up that particular hill. Of course that will also mean I will have to start seeking outlets to read and present which is what I am supposed to be doing anyway.

Okay, off to kick the word mine; see if anything avalanches down on my head...

This past week's excuse for not blogging: Worst Flu Ever. I'd been handling the rather relatively pleasant weather -- the coldest I've been during my fortnight in the 612 was earlier this week under 3 blankets in bed. But I am thawing along with the snow so I'll try and be more regular. I could make a joke about the flu and being regular but I'll refrain...

*****

I am kind of looking forward to the documentary on its way from Netflix right now. When "Troll" came out in 1986 it quickly became a favorite piece of schlock -- probably the best Sonny Bono movie of all and I do really mean that. So, I was excited for the sequel when it came out a few years later. Disappointment would be understatement. I have seen some very, very bad movies in my life -- often my choice (Crap! I've written a few of them too -- rarely by choice) but I have been calling "Troll 2" the worst movie I have ever seen.

I have described it to anyone willing enough or trapped in my company as seemingly having must been made by people who had never heard English spoken or had ever seen another movie in their lifetime. Troll 2, in my less than humble opinion, is truly the absolute worst movie ever made. No bold statement.

How bad does it get? Outside of no repeat Sonny Bono perf there are no actual trolls in this 1990 release. The movie is set in the hopefully-fictional town of Nilbog. Now it's been 20 years since I saw it, but I have one very vivid memory that these days I would never have even gotten to: Now I would have plucked it from the dvd player and returned it to Netflix with disdain and prejudice.

The lead characters having escaped look back at the town sign in their rear-view mirror and see the name reflected. NILBOG IS GOBLIN BACKWARDS! Which, while true as all get out -- the movie is called Troll and not Goblin. And I think that was the best moment in the entire film.

So I am very excited to see a doc about how this is the worst movie ever made; it's not like I need validation when I *know* I have been 100% correct for the last 20 years, but ...

****

Between the waiting for my stuff to arrive from LA and the flu I have watched more pre-season baseball than even I would left to my own devices (in this case: the beloved MLB.TV package, my annual early birthday present to myself) which has been a great distraction.

Best tidbit: Bosox manager Francona asks Lester to be opening day starter via text message. How bush league is that? About as bush as it gets, but I suppose that is to be expected.

Okay, back to your regular programming: I'll keep this thing more regular too: "Promise."

Greetings & salutations from the snow-covered MidWest.

Things I have noticed that are the same: seemingly no one walks in Minneapolis either - just me - but I think that's because it's slippery, not because there's a rule against walking, as in Los Angeles.
And although my first greeter to Minneapolis threatened to shoot me if I flew with Thurman again, he was wearing a Cubs hat so he wasn't a local, per se. Since then, despite temperatures that my SoCal thinned blood still need to acclimate to, the welcome has been much warmer. I'm not saying this kind of abrupt change is for everyone, but nearly a week in, it feels right to me. Even waiting all day for UPS & Fedex ain't so bad when there's pre-season baseball to watch.
AT&Pee can keep sending me bills for my cancelled cellphone service, but they seem like they're missives from another time and another place- so there. That, much like the old homestead seem to have less reach here. To say that I don't miss it is understatement. Good sleep seems to help sweep that all away...

I won't yet bore you with details of the Yankees' grapefruit league play, but you know it's coming...

The Rose cover will be done as soon as a friend who is on vacation, comes back. In the meanwhile, I'll get back to the Live Fast! novel edit and I think there's a family script that is supposed to get banged out this month. I get to hibernate, assimilate, acclimate some this month as I learn to get my snow-legs...

Or: Snow-far, snow-good...

Cheers, Brian

All apologies for neglect here; I've been packing and moving. I'll file my first report from the frozen tundra this weekend. Cheers & Thanks, Brian