Last night I received the incredible news my new collection of horror short stories, Behind the Shadows, has been accepted for publication! This one is my most meaningful achievement to date, as I have loved horror since I was a wee young thing and made it my mission at age 12 in 1982 reading the Stephen King paperbacks my grandfather bought me to become a horror author.
I have taken many paths in my writing career including horror film coverage for magazines and sites and I had a total blast with my first assignment for Rue Morgue mag last week. Yet finally getting the first book of my horror fiction out there is the most gratifying moment of my writing career so far. I celebrated with a befitting toast of Zombie Dust IPA, its ghoulish packaging art provided by comic book legend, Tim Seeley. It just felt right.
I will once again be published by Raw Earth Ink. I will keep y’all informed as Behind the Shadows comes to haunt the masses…
At one time, my favorite song ever. Still one of the mightiest, bombastic boogie rock cuts anyone ever laid down. The riffs, man, the riffs. Did anyone at the time think the blues could shake and roar this much? Angus Young and company sure as hell did.
I’m still mystified how precise Angus strikes and solos with all of that relentless headbanging and Chuck Berry footwork that’s been his trademark all these decades AC/DC’s been a thing.
Here’s a loud and proud version of “Whole Lotta Rosie” circa 1977, live on the British Broadcasting Corporation. The snaggletooth Aussies planting their beefy cut about getting it on with a loose and thick lady with a greasy groove and featuring the late Bon Scott, one of my top vocalists ever, all respect due to the legendary Brian Johnson.
Poring through a handful of Marvel comics from 1978 this week (Avengers, Black Panther, Daredevil, Thor, Spider-Woman, Godzilla, Captain America and Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man, to be precise), I repeatedly ran across these whimsical Slim Jim ads from yesteryear. They used to make me smirk as a kid, even if I didn’t know what a Slim Jim was then, other than a metallic apparatus adults used to unlock their car doors when leaving their keys inside. In 1978, the stick meat products were found advertised heavily in comics with its “meat tooth” campaign, featuring classic Universal Monsters such as Dracula and The Wolf Man.
Mad magazine artist Paul Coker certainly enjoyed a good bit of freelance commissions with his gleeful caricatures including Slim Jim in the 1970s and their long running “Beef Up” campaign. Considering all the sports connections Slim Jim meat snacks would ally themselves with in the late 1990s and mid 2000s, it’s a wonder this particular slogan never resurrected.
Now when you think of Slim Jim snack ads, the de-facto pitchman coming instantly to mind is late wrestling megastar Randy “Macho Man” Savage and his “Snap into a Slim Jim!” cheer. So popular was this tactic other pro wrestlers like The Ultimate Warrior, Kevin Nash, Edge and Bam Bam Bigelow, plus other celebrities (who can forget the hollering antics of comedian Sam Kinison’s spot?) who lent their talents to the brand’s whip-crack huckstering. Worked like a charm, since Slim Jim probably sold better in the 1990s than any other decade.
Unless you’re a vegetarian, who hasn’t sat down with one of these pencil-thin snacks likened to a rolled-up pepperoni and salami sausage hybrid? Actual ingredients being inclusive of beef, chicken, soy and lactic acid. The oily texture of the sticks themselves is part of the experience but if you have a box of these things handy, I dare you, like Pringles or Girl Scout thin mint cookies, to eat just one.
My stepfather used to pound a whole box of Slim Jims with a couple of beers on a day off with westerns playing on the tube, his idea of heaven. Perhaps Paul Coker had managed to drop him subliminal messaging from the “Beef Up” series. Still, you have to tip your hat to Slim Jim’s moxy back in the 1970s for shoving their brand unsparingly at kids, parents, outdoor sportsmen, athletes and beer drinkers alike. They claimed their product to be “a little less than meal, a little more than a snack.”
Too bad 20th Century Fox no longer has the direct franchise rights to both Alien and Star Wars, which begun under their flagship in the 1970s, or something like this could well be within reach of scope. Fox was, of course, gobbled by Disney and rebranded as 20th Century Studios.
Thank you to Andy Morales and tara caribou from my publisher, Raw Earth Ink, for a mega fun podcast interview on Unraveled Sessions last week. Incidentally, they had my wife, TJ Perkins, on the show a couple weeks ago.
No doubt if you’re a horror fan, you’ve seen John Carpenter’s snap case adaptation for Stephen King’s 1983 classic novel, Christine. I have my beat-up paperback edition which my mom got for me in advance of taking me to see the film on Black Friday more than 40 years ago. I still smirk at King’s dedication of Christine, his love letter to 1950s street machines and the tunes which spun through those static-filled radio consoles, to horror director icon George Romero and his late wife, actress and film Christine Forrester Romero. And the Burg. Pittsburgh, where most of Romero’s films are set. Yinzers unite!
I’m grinning right now riffling through the paperback my mom bestowed upon me with Carpenter’s synth-hammering Christine score pounding like a creepy metronome while I write this. The DVD edition of this film sits on deck, and I’m grinning a second time thinking of the time I yanked it out of the player with my son (age 7 at the time, I believe) in the room watching. Both the novel and the film set precedents for profanity at the time of their releases, including the most innovative (if vulgar to an extreme for some women) with a lewd play upon the name of our chief protagonist-turned-antagonist, Arnie Cunningham.
Christine is a story about obsession exploited from alienation via a supernatural blast from the past, a demonized, eight-cylinder, 290 horsepower ride out of Hell itself, a cherry red 1958 Plymouth Fury.
Plymouth no longer a thing in the automotive industry, they were a force to be reckoned with in the 1950s and Sixties, the Fury being a sub-series bred from the Plymouth Belvedere, produced from 1955 through 1989. The bumper wing guards and vertical tail fins mark the Fury and its competitors from an era where vehicle manufacturers still valued class and elegance. Except, maybe the Edsel, which my parents still groan at today with derision.
The two-door Fury with its white top roofing came with a (then-new) torsion bar front suspension system and twin four-barrel carburetors. There was the optional “Golden Commando,” lifting the thrust to 305 horsepower, dubbed a V-800 Dual Fury.
It’s that bracketry of the front grille and aluminum trim on the Plymouth Fury which perhaps attracted King to use one for his novel, a more lowbrow, violent and teen-targeted extension of the phantom car premise posited in the “You Drive” episode from The Twilight Zone.
The latter being a driverless 1956 Ford Fairlane sedan, it’s easy to see why the Plymouth Fury comes off much more sinister. Especially in a red so vivid it implies death, sin and sex. A four-wheel girlfriend for nerd-turned-hustler Arnie Cunningham set in jealousy mode against his improbable winning over a real, fleshly lady love, Leigh Cabot. I always loved King’s dichotomy here, since so many guys refer to their prized cars in the female vernacular. Some freakazoids actually making out with the cars themselves. True story.
Even loonier when the “girl” is a galvanized engine of destruction which (or who, in Christine’s case) can rebound and rebuild itself from severe vandalism by story bully, the tasteless Buddy Repperton and his dunderhead thugs. Someone’s gonna pay, be it a rival for affection or ruthless street trash. Cue Carpenter’s pealing synth and pumping death march.
Hard to think of such gory mayhem back in 1958 with the Fury being peddled to middle class white America…
Yeah, I’m a Cobra Kai fan and I can’t wait for Season 6 to drop at Netflix, even if that means the end of a gonzo karate soap opera that never should have worked but worked like a charm.
I loved the first two Karate Kid films as they came out, while Karate Kid III had some great baddies despite clumsy execution and a real drag of a plot. If anything, Ralph Macchio’s Daniel LaRusso turned the same Rocky premise into its own franchise into something more relatable for teens of my generation. What he and William Zabka created later, with danged near everyone of importance to the Karate Kid films (aside from the late Pat Morita) is pure, nostalgic Hollywood magic, bridging to a new school cast up to the task. Cobra Kai has been a drug for me and again, it’ll be sad to see it conclude.
I have the scores for first two Karate Kid flicks and the first five seasons of Cobra Kai, I’m that immersed into the experience. I also have the side CK soundtrack of regular songs, which are half gooey fun and half cringeworthy. All indicative of the 80s pop effervesence in which they made.
Hearkening back to the original film, here is Joe Esposito’s memorable rally song spinning through Daniel’s LaRusso’s improbable decimation of the Cobra Kai team who has been tormenting him all movie long. My generation was found walking around singing this peppy number because it does carry a sense of stride and a sense of pride. Even Johnny Lawrence, showing momentary good sportsmanship at the end of the first film when losing to LaRusso for the All-Valley championship, can take a song like this and run to the top with it. He was the best…around. Still is.
Roads Lesser Traveled 