Archives - July 2004

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July 28, 2004

Disappointment and its relationshop to crazy MF's

Played hooky from work the past two days. Got a lot done; wrote eight scenes in my new screenplay today alone. Short scenes, yes, but that's eight more than I had yesterday.

Been checking out some other blogs and sites lately in my never-ending quest for truth and justice. Or whatever. Perused Dragonfly Jenny's blog yesterday (one of three or four I hit every day) and found a nice kudo from her. That kind of stuff is important to me, as it is to everyone. She, like some other folks, like to keep up on what's going on in my writing "career," and I post that kind of thing here just for that purpose. I'm good about posting good news, and I think I'm pretty good about posting bad news, too. Part of the reason I do this blog thing is to let other indies (of all kinds) know there's always sour with the sweet.

As some of you know, I optioned the film/TV rights for Undercover White Trash almost two years ago. Had a few nibbles, but no bites. A couple of producers in Gollywood were interested, but they faded away. No activity at all in the past year. Well, the option has expired and I am back to square one. No option, no agent, no six-figure check coming my way any time soon. Just like I was in 2000. Oh, well.

Disappointment is never a good thing, but I find that I have to turn it around if I'm going to survive in this game. Rather than go out and put a shotgun in my mouth like some crazy artistes do, I choose to channel that frustration into something constructive. A plan.

I'm half-Irish and half-German; as a result, I've been told I'm a crazy mother f***er with a plan. A really GOOD PLAN. So, my plan is to consolidate all my "properties" (that's hep-cat Gollywood lingo I just learned) to prepare for my next quest, which will be to get an agent. An honest-to-God, cigar-smoking, Colonel Tom Parker-esque bad-breathed S.O.B. of an agent in LA LA Land to hawk my stuff to people who matter. My last attempt to get an agent was a dismal failure: 150+ queries and not one taker. But I think I'm positioned (another Gollywood lingo term) a little better than I was back then. So, it's off to do a little research on where and how and I'll get down to the typing and printing and mailing. Not fun.

Off-topic but put here as a reminder to myself: Met a playwright (how come the "write" in this word is spelled "wright??") today in Borders' Books, working in the coffee thing. A bright young fellow full of energy and talent. Has had quite a few plays produced and is very active in the local theater scene as a writer, director and actor. I'll post more about him and his plays, and his current theater soon. I've always liked theater people, even though I really hate live performances: they make me nervous. Even when I'm not in them. But writing a play is a very, very difficult thing, I know that much, so I have much respect for this guy and his craft. Again, more about that later.

P.S. Don't forget to get yerself one of my new UWT women's tank tops. Also remember that the first person to send me a pic of themself with one of my promo items will get a free autographed book. If any of you ladies douse the wife-beater with a pitcher of ice-cold Lone Star first, well maybe you'll get TWO books. Just kidding.


July 22, 2004

Holy Jelly Cliteriffic, Batman!

Got an email today from someone today who found my entry about Joanne Webb. If you remember, Mrs. Webb was arrested in Texas for hosting Passion Parties in the fair burg of Cleburne, Texas, selling marital aids and fun to lots of randy housewives down in the country. Update: Mrs. Webb's case of dildo racketeering was dropped by the local judge at the request of the DA's office, who didn't want to burden the taxpayers with pursuing the charge. Gee, isn't that what I talked about in my first blog entry? But, it's really too late; the taxpayers there will have to shoulder the federal civil suit brought by Mrs. Webb to declare the Texas Dildo Law unconstitutional. Dumb law, dumb police, dumb prosecutors who accepted the charge to begin with. Maybe the uptight blue bloods who started the whole debacle can hold a bake sale to raise money for the county.

Anyway, back to my original post. Well, one Tonia, a "Passion Sister" of Joanne's from Iowa found my first blog entry and liked it so much, she posted it to a nationwide forum of Passion Sisters (fellow Passion Party franchise owners) and also posted a link to my site on her web site. Here are a few choice comments from the Sisters:

"Kudos to David Kilpatrick! The world needs more writers, and thinkers, like him!" And, "What an excellent article! Thanks for posting it!"

So I guess I'm in like Flynn with the Passion Sisters, like I am with the Hot'nSmokin' Avon Ladies. I know these conjure up images of porn movie plot lines (at least they do for ME, which tells you where my head is at) but it is all quite innocent. Just like me.


July 19, 2004

In a white trash kinda mood.

Just sitting here eating cereal out of the box and watching one of my all-time favorite sci-fi flicks on the tube, Tremors. Has all the required elements of a sci-fi monster flick: isolated location, two buddies, a beautiful female scientist who has the hots for one of the buddies, a scientifically-explainable creature, and a few yucks and disgusting blood-letting scenes thrown in to round things out. It's got me in a white trash sort of mood, so the topic of the day will be underclass pop culture.

First, my country-western song lyrics of the day, as heard on the old-time country station on my way to work this morning:

Were you lyin' down when you stood me up?


Next are a couple of pics to contemplate. If you've seen them already, contemplate them again and have a few yuks:

(Jenny, I know you like the burlymen, so I sent this guy your phone number, okay?)

I just don't know what to say about this one.


And last but certainly not least, there's this story from the BBC:



Sunday, 18 July, 2004

David Havenner, 41, faces misdemeanour charges of battery and possession of an alligator, said the authorities.

Girlfriend Nancy Monico claimed he beat her with his fists and then grabbed the alligator and swung it at her as she tried to escape, said officials.

Havenner's subsequent jailhouse conversation:

Inmate: Hey, bud; whatchoo in fer?

Havenner: Hit my ol' lady with a gator.

Inmate: A LIVE gator?

Havenner: Un huh.

Inmate: Front end or back end?

Havenner: Her or the gator?

Inmate: The gator, man!

Havenner: I kinda slung 'im by the tail.

Inmate: Damn. You da man.

The three-foot (one metre) alligator, which had been kept in a bathtub, was handed to Florida wildlife officials. "He threw [the alligator] at me," 39-year-old Ms Monico said on ABC News. "I don't think he knew what he was doing. He was just throwing it at me."

(I hope they have TWO bathtubs in their trailer; showering could be problematical.)

She also alleged Mr Havenner threw beer bottles at her at their home in Port Orange, central Florida, said the sheriff's spokesman Gary Davidson.

Mr Havenner's version of the story differed. According to the Associated Press, he told investigators Ms Monico bit his hand because she was upset they had run out of alcohol


So there you have it; your white trash dose of the day. Now, I'd better quit loafing and get back to that screenplay.

By the way, you may see some changes to my site as I make the pages more attractive and easier to navigate; if you encounter any problems, please email me.


July 17, 2004

Can I get a witness?

Heard some news today, another one of those out-of-the-blue things that can delight me so. I found out today that a minister in McAllen, Texas, is going to use a passage from In The Way That Elephants Do as the basis for four sermons he will be delivering in the next few weeks to his congregation. I don't know what the sermons are to be about, in their spiritual sense, anyway, but I do know the passage, from Chapter 18:

My time on this earth with William was as fleeting and ephemeral as a mayfly's dance, but what it left behind was as timeless and eternal as the stars and sun and moon; he became a part of my soul, he did, a part that never left me.

In one's life, one meets many other beings. Each has a different purpose for coming into your life, I believe; some do good things and some do bad. There are those that destroy and degrade, and there are those that uplift and inspire. And there are beings we encounter that do nothing for us, but instead, it is we who do something for them. Some teach us, and some we teach. There are those who enlighten us, and there are some we illuminate. But it does not matter on which side one stands in this exchange, for these relationships benefit both with equal splendor, and each is blessed in ways that words cannot describe. William was one of these beings; sent into my life as a blessing, a comforter, a guardian of my spirit. He taught me patience, loyalty, and understanding...those things my own soul painfully lacked. And I suppose I taught him some things, too: strength, pride, confidence...

He came to me a broken soul, and he left with the dignity of a prince. It was a gift I loved to share, for it gave me joy to see him grow. He was a true friend, as true as ever a friend there was, a friend who would have laid down his life for me without so much as a blink of hesitation, and I think he would have thought the same of me. Only the power of Nature itself could tear us apart, and Nature always wins this battle. To experience such a friendship just once in one's life is truly one of God's gifts to us.


A very nice surprise indeed. I will try to get transcripts or tapes of the services and some feedback as well if I can find a way to contact this man.

Speaking of spiritual things, be sure and check out my Guest Writer Jeffrey A. Davis and his short story, The Ultimate Failure. By the way, the invitation is still open for anyone wanting to submit a little something for my Guest Writers section.


July 15, 2004

Good Flicks and Bad

Saw a pretty good movie on The Mystery Channel. It's called TORSO. It's the true story of a woman charged with murdering her hubby in Canada circa 1947. Great costuming, good acting, and a story that grabs and doesn't let go. It is a true mystery, in that you can't figure out what the truth is until the end, and even then... It's definitely worth a look. If you liked L.A. Stalker, you'll like it; similar themes run through it.

Watching Blade II as I get a little writing done on the new screenplay. Why do vampires have to know kung fu? What's up with that? When did Nosferatu and Jackie Chan breed?

Waiting for a couple of movies to come out this summer: Alien vs. Predator and The Bourne Supremecy. I might actually spend a few bucks to see them. They'd better not suck.

Speaking of sucking, I read that the big summer concert tours, and big concerts in general are going the way of the dinosaur. All the big acts like Britney are dropping out due to injury or poor ticket sales. The AVERAGE price for a concert ticket this summer is $54! And a good seat will run at least a $100. Who the hell is going to pay that kind of money, especially considering the one factor this article failed to mention: VIRTUALLY ALL OF THE NEW BANDS SUCK.

There are no supergroups any more. Groups or acts that have a wide enough appeal and a big enough fan base to fill a large hall. Why is there a dearth of talented groups? The reason is similiar to the problem in the movie industry and in the publishing industry; corporate cookie-cutter practices, dumbing-down of the product, and formula-driven material have led to a creative void in those industries. Lack of creativity means lack of interest, and lack of interest means slow sales. I still don't understand why these corporate yahoos don't get the concept; if you allow creativity to flourish, you unleash The Beatles, Vonneguts, and Spielbergs of the world. Insist on boring formula, and you get Britneys, Pattersons, and Woos.


July 12, 2004

I've Gotta Quit Loafing

A small observation. Is it me, or does Lynndie England, the young soldier accused of abusing prisoners at a prison in Iraq, look...well...see for yourself.

Those of you who read my blog entry on this subject know how I stand.

Oh, and this is an experiment for the Google engine: Lynndie England pic naked prisoner abuse torture Iraq

(And yes, there was another entry here for a few moments. I deleted it for the sake of cowing to the man...I'll repost it later when it is safe).


July 8, 2004

A Discourse On Japanese Pop Culture, Godzilla et al, and the psychology of the modern American Male

Couldnít sleep the other night. Took an antihistamine too late or something. So I got up and turned on the tube at about 3 a.m. expecting to see one of the ubiquitous infomercials shown at that time. Exercise machines, diet aids, Girls Gone Wild video spots, personal injury attorneys... To my surprise and joy, a Godzilla movie was on.

And it was a good one I have never seen: Godzilla 2000. To me, a Godzilla flick is like your favorite fuzzy blankie. Warm and comforting. Sure, I know the beast eats Tokyo and breathes atomic fire onto scores of hapless model tanks, but I still love the guy. I guess it stems from my childhood. Growing up in a smallish Texas town with only three TV stations, a Godzilla flick was a rare event. Occasionally, one would come to the theaters, which was a special treat. Godzilla in Technicolor, kicking Nippon ass. On TV, he was just black and white.

After a careful and scientific study of the Godzilla phenomenon, I divide the Godzilla genre into five periods:

The Paleozillic: This consists of only one film: the original. Godzilla, King of the Monsters! 1956. Black and white. Filmed during the heyday of Japanese cinema, it has all the sweeping drama of a Kurasawa film. Highly underrated. The creepiness of Frankenstein, the pathos of The Seven Samurai. In a way, the original Godzilla was a ronin, a samurai without a master. A vagabond, hanging on to the old ways of honor and chivalry. Yeah, sure he trashed Tokyo, but by God, they needed it. Pennance for Pearl Harbor and The Bataan Death March. Raymond Burr is the main human character, his English scenes carefully grafted into the film in a way that does not detract. A freaking sci-fi masterpiece.

The Jurassizillic: The few films made in the 60ís and 70's after the Japanese realized they had made a billion dollars and could make even more if they franchised their critter. All involved Godzilla pitted against some cosmic adversary, usually another dinosaur-like giant creature or a mutant space alien. Some were better than others, but the best has to be King Kong versus Godzilla (1963). Not the most creative title, but it drew the American crowd with its familiarity. My boy got his ass kicked by the big monkey, and in protest, I didnít watch that movie again until 1993. Then there was Godzilla Versus the Terror of Mechagodzilla. Not too bad.

The Cretaceouzillic: The horrible, low budget films that were cranked out in the late seventies. Some were probably made for Japanese TV. Godzilla and his mortal enemies were reduced to stupid cartoonish characters, H.R. Pufnstuff-esque campy clowns. The worst was Godzillaís son:Godzuki. A repulsive little creature. The low point of Japanese cinema, their Porkys.

The Neozillic (Also known as Retrozilla, The new wave of Godzilla): It started with Godzilla 1985. He returned to his bad ass, Toyko-eating self. Good special effects, cool beast. I saw this with a friend at the theater in 1985; it was full of guys our age. No kids were in the place. Only pissed-off girlfriends and wives dragged there by their immature significant others. The genre had been resurrected. Then came Godzilla 2000, another good one. And Godzilla vs. Destoroyah which I reviewed earlier (see below) wasn't bad, either.

The Dark Ages: Godzilla, remade in 1998. Matthew Broderick was the main human character. A cool creature, but had absolutely no character development. It degenerated quickly into a King Kong ripoff. And to make matters worse, Godzilla was a girl. A pregnant girl. I could only stand to watch it thinking that the real Godzilla was out there, kicking back and smoking a cigarette after knocking his girl up. The genre had taken another atomic blast.

What's in the future? I don't know, but this site will keep you up to date on my boy. It's called Barry's Temple of Godzilla and appears to be the repository of all things Godzillic.



July 6, 2004

This and That

Had a weird thing happen last week. Well, several weird things. First, received a pic in my email from a guy who had PhotoShop'd a pic of Debra LaFave to where she was...well, performing an unnatural act upon an usher at her wedding. I said "thanks" to the guy, but...okay, so my fan base is a little off. Anyway, I asked the guy how he found my site. Said it turned up in a Google search when he put in "Debra Lafave" (see my June 29 entry below). That was strange, considering I didn't even put those keywords in my header (those of you who blog or have a web site know what I'm talking about). Out of curiosity, I checked my counters for that time and discovered that I must have been on the top page of Google for Mrs. LaFave's name for a couple of days: I received over 800 hits on my blog for two days! Then, back to the normal 20 or so. At least I know now how to drive up hits: post on something very topical very quickly and Google will pick it up. Sold a few books from the exposure. Nice.

Just sitting here listening to one of my favorite artists: Devil Doll. Not the metal band; Devil Doll is one Colleen Duffy, an L.A. vocalist who put out a masterful CD a couple of years ago. She's an indy like me who has a vocal style and range that is incredible. Her songs range from folksy to bluesy to torch jazz; I've never heard anything like it. I find her songs mesmerizing, and for some reason, the girl just breaks my heart. I can't explain it any other way. If you must buy a CD this year, make sure it is this one: Queen of Pain. You can get it at the link at a very good price. I have no financial interest in this thing; I just wanted to share the love, baby. You can also visit her web site at If you buy this CD and don't love it, I'll grill it and eat it for you. My favorite song changes constantly, since they are all good, but Faith In Love and Walk With Me are often on "repeat" in my CD player, much to the chagrin of my office mates. But hey, I'm the boss, so who cares?

Still working on my new screenplay. About half done. It's a comedy, in case you're wondering. Have a few things going on in my so-called writing career. Stay tuned...


July 1, 2004

I Love Godzilla

Sitting here watching a Godzilla flick on the Action! channel. Godzilla vs. Destoroyah. Never heard of it; it's one of the new generation Godzilla flicks imported from Japan circa 1995. The info thingie says "a deadly crustacean takes on an ailing Godzilla." Nice. My boy is attacking a nuclear power plant now. For some reason, he's glowing from within. I missed the first part of the movie so I don't know why. The professor dude says if Godzilla destroys the plant, "the entire world could be annihilated." Sweet. The general guy (there's always a general guy, a professor dude, a little boy, and the Japanese equivalent of a hot chick in every Godzilla movie. The hot chick is always a little schoolgirl type in a white blouse and plaid skirt) says that they are "powerless to stop him." Right on! I always pull for the big lizard; I hate the Japs.

Oh, there she is; the hot chick. Looks like she's twelve years old. White blouse, knee socks, and hey, this one has on a beret. Like a Girl Scout beret. Must be some Japanese fetish.

The general just got a call from the Defense Department. Says they're sending in the "Super X Three." Hey, here's the Super X Three, a big ass ultramodern plane. I know it's the Super X Three because it has "SUPER X III" written on the side. The professor asks the general, "But who will fly it?" Gee; I guess the Japanese air force has built a trillion-dollar plane and forgotten to get pilots who could fly it. The general responds, "I don't know, but it should be our best man."

So here's the Super X III in its dock. The ground crew is fueling it up and the pilot is lounging around looking handsome and stoic.


In the meantime, "Gozilla Junior" has shown up on a beach. Nice. I still haven't seen the giant crustacean yet.

The little boy has calculated that Godzilla is melting down. Like China Syndrome meltdown.

"He will destroy the Earth," the hot chick says.

Okay, the coolest part of any Godzilla flick is on: the attack of the little tank models. When I was a kid, I wanted some of these robotic toys so bad, I could taste it. A million little tanks, shooting little puffs of smoke at the big lizard, their shit just bouncing off of him. Then the fiery breath of death; the little tanks melt just like my toy tanks did when I doused them with lighter fluid and set them on fire. Sweet.

Oh, the giant crustacean is here. He's rushing the beach. Oh, shit! There's like a THOUSAND giant crustaceans storming the city. The tanks are firing. That's a bad ass lookin' crustacean, man. The tanks are firing freeze rounds at them, because they obviously can't stand cold temperatures, you know; like a crawfish boil. Funny, the frozen explosions look just hot explosions. Oh, double f****ing shit; the crustaceans have combined to form ONE big giant crustacean: The MEGACRUSTACEAN. Funny, but his face looks just like the Predator. Hmmmm...a little copyright infringement here.

"It can destroy everything," the professor says, "he is that powerful."

How the hell does he know? Is there a standard for measuring the power of a giant crustacean formed by a colony of smaller giant crustaceans? Get real, man.

Okay, the little boy genius has proposed to pit the giant crustacean against my boy Godzilla. He tells the general to lure both of them to Tokyo. Yeah, right; like the crab has a chance against my boy. The hot lolita chick says, "Stopping Godzilla from a thermonuclear meltdown is our number one priority."

No, I'd say getting your ASS OUT OF TOKYO is your #1 priority, sweetie.

Hey, the giant crustacean can fly; no problemo - so can Godzilla. There's the crab, stealing Godzilla's trademarked stunt: eating a train. My boy pioneered the train-eating genre back in 1956 when the first Godzilla, King of the Monsters! hit the big screen. Cheap shot, stealing his line like that. My boy needs to call his lawyer.

Okay, the crustacean just hit Godzilla with an electical beam from his ugly Predator rip-off face. Godzilla took a spill and is knocking over some prime Tokyo downtown real estate. Oh, wait, that's Godzilla junior; big daddy is coming into the scene now. And he's pissed, baby. Electrical beams are frying junior; it's okay, you can write an extra Godzilla out of the script with no problem. Well, f*** me; the crab just sacked junior and is about to eat him with a huge appendage on his torso that looks Oh, shit; junior is foaming at the mouth.

"Junior isn't going to survive much longer," the professor says.

No shit.

Big Godzilla is coming to check on his son? Cousin? Nephew? He's dead as a bag of nails. Wait a minute; Godzilla has turned and hauled ass back out to sea. Oops, he's back. Now it's nighttime. Hey, junior is alive. What? They're meeting up in downtown Tokyo for some sushi, I guess. The giant crab is sucking all the energy from the nuclear reactor. Oh, shit; he's back now, a hundred times bigger and uglier.

The professor says, "We had better get out of here."


The crab has absconded with junior. They're calling back the Super X III. Here's the dumbass pilot again, looking cool.

"Lets go kill that overgrown lizard," he quips, "This is gonna make my day."

Hey, ripping off Clint Eastwood now??? See why I hate the Japanese; they rip off everything from us.

Wait, that's not junior the crab is carrying; it's a mutated Godzilla growing out of his torso! Holy Mothra! The mutant crustacean has now picked up junior for real and dropped him a couple of miles down onto...something that caused a nuclear explosion. Now he's finishing him off with an electrical beam. The lolita chick and her friend are at junior's side, crying in the melodramatic way of Japanese cinema. Sad music. Big Godzilla's coming. The professor says he's crying.

Where are my Kleenex? Damn.

Godzilla's punching crab boy like Rocky Balboa punched that side of beef. You're goin' down, man, you're goin' DOWN!!!

Godzilla breaks off; his core temperature is 1500 degrees Centigrade. He's going to melt down any second. Oh shit! Crab boy just ripped open Godzilla's belly like a hari-kari knife. His guts are falling out. But so is the radiation...yeah, dig it. My boy just gave the crab a punch to the midsection and yellow stuff like that yellow stuff in the crab legs, you know, the stuff you're not supposed to eat, is squirting all over. Now the crab has broken down into a megacolony of littler crustaceans, and they are pouncing on my boy like a herd of velociraptors. Chickenshits.

Melodrama as Godzilla examines the charred body of his relative. Wait; I see movement! Godzilla just breathed some cosmic rays into the little guy and brought's still dead...Godzilla's going off like a roman candle. Meltdown. The giant crustacean is back.

Jesus; would somebody just freaking DIE already???

Okay, lots of oboe music. And a heavenly chorus. Godzilla is being frozen to death by the Super X III's death lasers. He's a freaking popsicle. He has turned into a fountain of shooting ice particles. Heavenly chorus. Oboes and harps as he dematerializes. Even the general is sad. Lolita chick is crying. I don't know where the giant megacrustacean is. Silence. Ominous silence...

Through the chilly fog of ice crystals steps an image; Godzilla, King of the Monsters, in a beautiful valley, untouched by modern man. Lots of pristine meadows and purple mountains...

Oh, shit; I think he's in Japanese Monster Heaven.

That's too deep for me.



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