What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

What doesn't kill you now will kill you eventually.

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the artistic license authors/producers/directors take with the truth when it comes to portraying history, and I really want to write a couple thoughtful entries about the subject.

First, one of my latest passions comes to mind, Public Enemies. This is going to get a couple essays of its own, which I'll post in public_enemies1. Here's a subject where the director/writer, Michael Mann, was obsessive about casting people who looked like the actual historical figures, who wanted to use the actual places in filming many of the key scenes, but who took the order of events and just screwed with them in order to make Dillinger's death the climax of the action. Was that important? Maybe not.

But maybe it was.

While I was sick I got interested in doing another William Evans adventure, moving him from Doc Holliday's death in 1887 to 1888 London during the Jack the Ripper killings. I decided to have him meet and interact with Inspector Frederick Abberline, Johnny Depp's character from the movie From Hell. So I started doing a lot of Ripper research, and found that little or nothing about the character in the movie matches the real life man. (For one thing, Abberline lived to the ripe old age of 86, and the final scene in the movie is Depp's character dying of a drug overdose.)

So, why even use the real man's name if you're going to change so much? When is screwing with the facts outrageous, and what makes it so? Is it okay, for instance, for Sam Cowley (in Public Enemies) to die months too soon, but ridiculous for Abberline to die decades early? Sam ends up playing *no role* in Dillinger's death, because of having him (and Baby Face Nelson) die beforehand. And Abberline doesn't get to spend 12 years as a Pinkerton man, after retiring with 80-some decorations from Scotland Yard.

All of this is swimming in my brain mostly because we're on the verge of the 50th anniversary of the Clutter family killing in Kansas, one of the most famous murders in American history and the subject of one of my all-time favorite books, In Cold Blood. When Truman Capote wrote ICB, he invented the historical narrative, a new art form. And he spent years researching the thing, although he certainly took some literary license. The book is a masterpiece. But it's still controversial to this day, because of the way the story was told.

Is a documentary-style program so much more true than historical fiction? And aren't the two sliding closer and closer together all the time? Hey, I watch the History Channel all the time, and that recent doc on death masks was just this side of sensationalized.

The whole subject fascinates me, especially since right now I'm writing these stories about a fictional character interacting with historical characters who are portrayed by actors in movies that fictionalize them. It's mind-boggling. When I write a PE story and try to keep to movie canon while reconciling the action to real life events, I start to think the genre needs its own term. 'Fanfic' just doesn't cut it.

More to come. (Spending three hours on my event/program budgets must have cleansed my palate, but my brain needs a break.)

Wow, it feels good to take a shower after being down sick for five whole days. I wasn't fit to live among humans.

I still feel bloated and out of it, but I can sit up and make sense again. Now I have to finish all the stuff I didn't finish a week ago, not to mention catching up with everything else I missed . . .

I've watched enough TV to do an entire blog on just bad horror movies and old episodes of TV shows I never thought I'd watch in the first place.

At least I've got the germ (so to speak) of a new story. It's far fetched and will have absolutely no audience. In other words, it's typical stuff.

Herbert Sucks . . . Necks in The Fearless Vampire Killers

A recent exchange with delorita, coupled with yesterday's Halloween holiday inspired me to make a list of:

My Top Ten Vampire Movies

My list illustrates my usual eclectic appreciation for everything from the ridiculous to the sublime (or vice versa).

10. Dracula (1979)

Director John Badham's version, with Frank Langella as a sexed-up Drac. Badham cut his chops on TV and made a breakthrough with Saturday Night Fever. Langella is best known now for his Oscar-worthy Nixon in Frost. The sexual tension in this one is what made me add it to my list, although I wanted to slap Lawrence Olivier's scenery snapping Van Helsing. Oi vey!

Speaking of Van Helsing, he is in some ways a better known character than the Count himself. He's been played by some pretty hefty talent, including a couple guys with "Sir" in front of their names, Olivier and Anthony Hopkins. Christopher Plummer was notable in Dracula 2000. Edward Van Sloane was the first, originating the role on stage with Lugosi in 1927 and then playing the "Professor" or "Doctor" in both Dracula and Dracula's Daughter. (I was shocked to learn he was an American character actor, born in Minnesota. I was convinced he was German or Dutch.) And of course the mega-hot Hugh Jackman brought the character to blockbuster status. My all-time favorite was the Hammer Film version, played again and again by Peter Cushing, the foil to many folks' favorite Drac, Christopher Lee. (Funny, but none of Lee's countless versions of the Count make my list.)

9. From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)

The guilty pleasure of vampire movies. (Thanks Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez.) George Clooney with that tattoo and that twitch, Selma Hyack in one of the most unforgettable dance sequences on film, and Cheech (or was it Chong?) barking out the promise of "Pussy" at the Titty Twister bar (which is a good place to avoid, just in case you're wondering). He made the 'P' word as memorable as Al Pacino's cruder 'C' word in Scarface.

8. Capt. Kronos, Vampire Hunter (1974)

He's hot, he's dedicated, he's the Indiana Jones of vampire killers. He's got GREAT HAIR. If you've never seen the legendary Caroline Munro (the Megan Fox of her day), see her in this movie. A Hammer film.

7. Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992)

Francis Ford Coppola masters the art of the big bite. As the King of Counts, Gary Oldman wears a profile as memorable as the original pre-Dracula vamp Nosferatu (is that his head or his hair?) and captures the heart-breaking angst of the vampire's curse. (And lovely Keanu Reeves as Jonathan Harker doesn't hurt.)

6. Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)

My favorite classic comedy team meets three monsters, two of them the 'real guys,' Lugosi as Dracula and Lon Chaney, Jr. as Larry Talbot, the Wolfman. (Glenn Strange, Sam from Gunsmoke, was The Monster, because Karloff sadly turned down the part. Strange also played the part in House of Dracula and House of Frankenstein, so he was no slouch.) This is both hilarious and creepy, the best horror parody I can think of. Lugosi outdid his original Dracula, and he played off Lou Costello as perfectly as Bud Abbott did.

5. Brides of Dracula (1960)

I could watch it any day of the week, the beautiful ladies, the poignant vampire mother, the handsome, evil young vamp, and, of course, Peter Cushing as Van Helsing, heroically branding himself on the neck with the sign of the cross after he's been bitten. A Hammer classic.

4. The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967)

Gorgeous Sharon Tate, pretty Roman Polanski (who also directed), a mincing Draco Malfoy-ish vamp who has his fangs set on Roman. Great atmosphere and a truly creepy take on a Vampire Ball.

3. Interview With the Vampire (1994)

I couldn't believe how much I ended up loving Tom Cruise as Lestat (not to mention Brad as Louie and Antonio as Armand). I saw this (probably eight times) before my first visit to New Orleans, then had a tour bus driver spontaneously offer to take us past spots where the movie had been filmed. I just have to close my eyes to relive it all, the music, the costumes, the dialogue I know by heart, wonderfully directed by Neil Jordan. Who can ever forget Lestat biting that rat and squeezing its blood into the goblet like he was making his morning orange juice! (Oprah was appalled, and I was entranced.)

2. The Lost Boys (1986)

Sleep all day. Party all night. Never grow old. Never die. It's fun to be a vampire.

It was more than a movie for me, it was a lifestyle. It defined one whole summer of my life, and, yes, I wore David's hairstyle without apology. The music, the memories, the hot young actors . . . I can recite the lines. Kiefer Sutherland and Jason Patric will never be more beautiful. (As I'm sure Joel Schumacher noticed when he directed this.)

1. Dracula (1931)

Bela Lugosia, the original, directed by the great Tod Browning. I know this one by heart, and it has some of my all-time favorite lines:

"Listen to them, the children of the night, what music they make!"

"They're crazy . . . they're all crazy. Except you and me . . . and I have me doubts about you!

David Frye's ("Rats!") Renfield rivals Lugosi's Dracula for memorable-ity. It was incredibly exciting when they added the Philip Glass score in 1998 (although some people admittedly don't like it). Edward Van Sloane returned as Van Helsing in Dracula's Daughter (on my alternate list).

( Honorable Mentions )

What a day. What a week. (What a year . . .)

Well, we got through it somehow. Writing Group on Monday, the first phase of our move on Tuesday, along with lots of setbacks and annoyances both large and small. The 'recycling lady' crapping out on Wednesday and Thursday, followed by having to just pay to have the rest of the furniture hauled off just in the nick of time on Thursday afternoon. The board meeting Thursday night, with everything passing, including the latest version of our damn bylaws. And then today's move-in of the new owners, which was something of a circle jerk, but eventually got finished.

I didn't get my budgets done, or even started. But as Sue pointed out, who was it that said Monday was the deadline? I think that was me.

And on the writing front, I promised a Halloween Public Enemies story, but Charlie already used my haunting of Melvin Purvis idea, and BradyGirl did the death mask thing, so I'm out of ideas. Aside from having Dillinger or Mel suddenly end up a damned vampire (sparkly or not sparkly?), I find my imagination is as catatonic as the rest of me.

And I bet the vampire thing's been done, too.

Whatever.

I'm still exhausted and vaguely depressed. Last year I was all excited about my transformation to Sarah Palin, and this year Halloween is pretty much slipping like a wraith past my consciousness. I just have to admit I can't do it all. Today I reached capacity, something that almost never happens.

Well, I've spent the last couple hours catching up here at LJ, commenting to friends and reading some stories. And now I've got to see if I can manage to write anything halfway decent, because I'm taking this weekend OFF (for the first time this month) and WRITING. I've got deadlines (Halloween challenge, NaNo and Writer's Digest popular fiction awards), and I love deadlines.

Even the word itself is perfect, especially on Halloween.

(I'll save my Andre Agassi rant for later. Can't face that now.)

I got pulled back a few years in my journal, when an occasional post would end up on metafandom, by the lovely delorita commenting to an old entry about slash fanfic. It can be fun to travel back in time (recent time, not the Old West, hehe) and see what you were thinking just a few years back.

I guess that's why we journal . . . so we can capture that thinking and those moments in time.

In the meantime, this week has gone fast and furious (how Dom/Brian of me)! Jeff's family has been stricken with the swine flu, so that meant no meeting at City Hall today; after our parade creative team, the entire day was spent on cleaning and packing. It seems like the whole office was engaged, and we had four volunteers going at it. I went home and changed out of my decent clothes into sweats and picked up Charlie. She made great head-way on the computers.

My office seems like it's now the worst. As people clear out other rooms, they bring stuff 'in question' into my office, and there are stacks EVERYWHERE!

Tomorrow is the big 'packing day.' We have at least a dozen people coming, and I have to be at the office at 8:00am to set everything up (or just assist the amazing Sue, who has the whole thing organized . . . she and her hubbie will be the primary workers). Tomorrow will take energy and patience, and by the end of the day I should be ready to have the movers come and take the first load on Tuesday. I met with the 'recycling lady' today, and she's a godsend. She'll take EVERYTHING we don't want, and I don't think it will end up costing us a dime!

And speaking of going back in time . . . all this old stuff I'm reading through! Last weekend it was my very first personnel reviews from the days I was in my 20s. My favorite 'opportunity for growth' from my first boss: "Marilyn needs more confidence."

Oh, lordy! (Talk about over-compensating . . .)

I actually feel like I've *finally* finished my latest fanfic, a western crossover between 3:10 to Yuma and Tombstone. I've spent so much time researching the last days in the life of Doc Holliday, I'm going to use his ghost as the subject matter for my 'Fright Night' story due next week in our Writing Group.

The story turned into something of an epic . . . 6,750 words, which is longer than I like to read or write.

But, hey . . . I kept having more and more I needed to say. And when my 'Doc Holliday, A Family Portrait' book arrived in the mail today, it was a sign from somewhere.

Just did some screencaps from 'Tombstone,' and now I'm ready to call it a day. My eyes and brain are shot, and I have a long week ahead, all leading up to Packing Day at the office on Saturday.

Thank God for fanfic. It's a daisy!

I've come to understand why old ladies can get so mean. It's not that they're 'cranky' because of their lumbago or 'cantankerous' because they're hard of hearing or 'irascible' because they never get any nookie.

They just don't give a damn anymore.

They don't care if everyone likes them or if they have a wide circle of friends (who could croak at the drop of a hat anyway).

Seriously. Maybe they aren't mean because they're unhappy. Maybe they're mean because they're happy, because they have the freedom to go around looking and acting like hell on wheels.

I am waaay past being part of the 'in crowd' and 'one of the girls.' I'm not a member of anybody's posse, and I don't travel in a pack, even for a trip to Vegas. I'm well aware there are times I'm not invited places I would have once been welcome, and that's fine with me. I have people I like and respect and people who like and respect me.

And the rest can kiss my big butt.

And they can pay attention to the deadlines I set and the instructions I give.

I laughed out loud when I talked to Mack this week, one of my longtime management mentors, and he told me he was moving his office this weekend. He said he'd been snapping out orders all week, but never asking anyone to do anything he wasn't doing himself.

I'm usually one of the first to arrive at work and the last to leave, especially recently. When the move is finished, I'll have done more of the hands-on crap than anyone. Which makes it pretty hard to successfully whine anywhere within my earshot.

I can't wait until someone tries . . .

Sometimes I think I do so much fanfic research, it's hard to get my head back into the present. It's like being back in school in a way. Tonight I forced myself to sit through two episodes of Wild West Tech, mostly just for the flavor of the thing. (I *love* Keith Carradine as the host. He's the highlight of the whole thing.)

I spent most of yesterday in the Old West, researching timelines and designing a crossover story with 3:10 to Yuma and Tombstone. Then I wrote like mad, kind of obsessed, until around 3:00am. I was pretty pleased with the result, although the thing needs a lot of 'smoothing,' to say the least.

And I really want to get back to Purvis and J. Edgar Hoover, but that will come when it comes, I guess. I've now ended up with a good start on these two western stories I've been working on. And I'm even thinking of letting NaNo be about Zee James . . .

At least it's a nice escape from moving timelines and phone systems. Today was UNfun in the extreme. Not to mention it's turned cold and rainy. And Charlie is a real downer, which isn't her fault, but still . . .

It is what it is as I often say . . . (when I'm not saying Whatever).

There's something nasty going on here at LiveJournal. When I hit "previous entries" or the back button, a box pops up from "imgboot.com" asking for my user name and password.

Don't know if others are having this happen, but I thought it would be prudent to say:

DON'T DO IT!

Here we go again . . . another year, another auction. Yikes, what a lot of work. I think my 80% FTE has been 60 hours so far, with another 10 to go before it's over. And what will it cost me? Thank goodness I paid down my damn credit card last week . . .

Both sisters are sick, so I hope they make it through tonight . . . Charlie *has to* because she's the data person. We'll have to head to the office around 11:00pm or midnight to deposit the data back on the server. We just met with the computer company that's handling the event this year. What a luxury not to have to drag our own equipment and network it ourselves. (By "ourselves" I mean Charlie.) And how interesting that this "luxury" really doesn't cost us anything, because last year we paid for an IT consultant who did nothing.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better (except my nagging right shoulder that is slowly going bad, just like the left one did nearly three years ago). I've slept two nights in a row, after pulling an all-nighter Wednesday-Thursday on the PowerPoint. And everybody who's seen it loves the show, thinks it's our best ever. I can't wait until the moment it plays tonight!

Now I need to get back to the venue for rehearsal with the auctioneer and the rest of the folks. Our queen is taking her SATs today, so she'll be late. But I've got the auction cards and the scripts and the laptop with the slideshow and the appeal presentation. So, I gotta run!

Let's hope we make lots of money tonight!

OMG, am I already falling this far behind? It took me an hour to go through my friends view and get back to the last post I actually saw.

It's auction week, and as usual we're down to the wire with our work, the PowerPoint presentation, the script and the auctioneer's cards. Add personnel reviews, Nominating Committee interviews and the dreaded office move, and it adds up to my life right now. I did get two huge boxes of stuff here at home ready for the shredder . . . receipts and check stubs for a couple decades. And we took two loads to the Goodwill yesterday, too. Plus we sat with Sue while she had her ultra-sound, after her second mammogram showed a growth in her breast. The final decision was: cyst.

I tried to read, but I couldn't get my mind off the women who kept coming in and out in the 'colorful' tunics they wear for the exams. The Japanese woman who needed a translator and the one who was there when we came in and when we left remain in my thoughts. Both looked frightened and powerless, like we're all pretty much powerless against cancer.

But then I had a meeting tonight with Gail, who apologized for being red in the face after yesterday's chemo. She's survived with ovarian cancer for almost a decade. Maybe we're not all that powerless.

Charlie is doing *all the work* at our Public Enemies community, which is less of a community than a depository for info. I have things I want to post there, but I just haven't gotten around to it (much less finishing my follow-ups to 'Jayee' or 'Stubborn' . . .)

So, in other words, everything's normal here.

I've never coordinated an office move before, so it's only fitting that my first one is so complicated (co-habitate with new owners, move to temporary space, move to new space once it's renovated by the City). I'm trying to figure out all the details, cramming our current operation into half the space, purchasing a new phone system, coordinating the information technology, finding parking downtown and keeping the staff inspired and positive. (Guess which of the above is the most challenging.)

The good news is: yesterday we officially sold our building! Now we can actually AFFORD to move!

And since I'm trying to downsize my own mess at home, my at-work life and at-home life are eerily similar. It's all about THROWING CRAP AWAY. But before you can toss something, you need to peruse it. Meaning it's very time consuming.

My advice: Don't keep anything.

I don't have time to take a real lunch hour, so I'm taking a few minutes to unwind by blogging. Today I had to do a bunch of research on inappropriate use of email and computer systems, so it seems only fitting that I take advantage of my work computer for personal use, which I almost never do.

Now back to reconciling the parade general ledger before the year-end close . . . woohoo!

(I didn't plan on missing so many days of posting, but somehow Charlie and the 'support' chick from Qwest managed to screw up our internet for three days. I felt bad for Charlie, because she was trying to do something good and it ended up in disaster, which always seems to be the case. And tonight she found a tech in India who could support our old Cisco modem. And we're back! Not that it mattered much, really. I had an email from Ed, and that was about it.)

So this morning I was waiting for Charlie while she had her eye appointment, and I was sitting in the car reading my little Purvis book. I keep the plastic sleeve the thing came in, because I want to protect the nearly 50-year-old paperback. So I was sitting with the door partly ajar to get some air, and a gust of wind blew the door wide open and lifted the cover up and out of the car! I sat there, disbelieving, thinking the thing was probably lost in the parking lot, carried away like a tumbleweed by the whipping wind.

I got out and looked around, figuring my precious cover was under some car. Then I saw it about 20 feet away, just lying on the ground; it wasn't moving, but somehow I sensed it was ready to bolt, like Pretty Boy Floyd fleeing through that apple orchard. I snuck up on it, soundlessly, wondering if I should reach out with my foot and hold it down, wary of an errant breeze.

I reached out . . .

I got it!

I was still grinning when I went to join Charlie, and I had to recount my adventure. The book was safe, but the protective sleeve was almost lost.

So, events industry awards day . . . Jeff was text-messaging me from Indianapolis during our City recap meeting with the bureaus. (Yeah, it's rude, but whatever.) My cell phone died, so I had to borrow Kristen's phone, which is falling apart. I had to text Jeff to send stuff to her phone, and her mailbox was almost full.

Comedy of errors.

I had this fantasy of how he would text me the news that the parade I manage was the best event in the world, and I would announce it at the meeting to the cops and transporation and parks people.

(I believe in visualizing success, and it often works.)

Anyway, the parade got the silver award for best even within a festival. And while I know that's really great, it's hard to take. Why, you might ask. Well, we could have really marketed the 'best event in the world' bit. It would have been good for two or three years.

Not to mention I would have loved it.

I can't see us putting 'second best event in the world' on anything.

Anyway, we did very well overall, winning 17 awards out of 22 entries (our best margin ever). I figured 15 would be a big success, so it's definitely a good result. We won gold and bronze for best promotion (on two of my favorite projects this year), golds for best news stunt, best new event, best event to benefit a charity, and three golds in the sponsor category (including best overall sponsorship program for the second year in a row). Living History won a bronze award for the third straight year, which surprised me, as I thought it was getting a little tired. Charlie's eNewsletter definitely deserved an award for the second year. Last year she won gold; this year silver. And second best ain't bad, like I said.

Still . . .

(And, yes, I know this is obnoxious, in the same vein as all those Olympians who whine over winning anything but gold, but I'm just being honest. When it comes to special events, I'm a fierce competitor.)

Industry awards will be announced today . . . not that I'm obsessed about it or anything.

Just wanted to say that I *love it* that Neil Patrick Harris is like this cool guy that everyone wants to hang with now. The whole Doogie is Gay thing really works, because Doogie is grown up and swank.

NPH did a nice job with the Emmy Awards (admittedly after last year's fiasco with the five reality hosts, it wasn't hard to trade up). I guess we've learned it's best to have a gay guy who likes musical theater to host our awards shows. Hugh Jackman was ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS at the Oscars.

Oh.

I forgot.

Hugh Jackman is straight.

(my bad)

Being back at work definitely ate into my blogging/fanfic time. Jeez, it's hard to believe I can be so busy, and then I wonder what goes on when I'm *not* there . . . it's mysterious.

Great two-hour meeting in the Mayor's office this week . . . 'brainstorming' with staffers . . . running into three members of the Council while we were there, including Sam himself. (I think he was just checking on the room to see if he could use it. He has it decorated a lot nicer now, the corner small conference room that used to just have a round table in it. Now it has a huge redwood coffee table and couches. That's the room where I had my first-ever hot flash, the worst I ever had, just a few weeks after my surgery, when Vera was still mayor but on her way out.)

Everything is pointing to our office move a few months away. It's going to be a considerable amount of work for me, readying us to share our space with the new owner (for a month!), preparing us to move to interim space downtown (!!!), then to our real 'home' at the park (hopefully by Martin Luther King weekend). Yes, I'm going to still take my two weeks in November, no matter how crazy things are.

Today I started reading 'The Violent Years,' the 1960 abridged version of Melvin Purvis' book, 'American Agent.' I tried to concentrate on it while I was getting a pedicure, but that's not exactly the best spot for reading. Still, I can already tell I'm going to enjoy it. Yes, my Public Enemies fascination continues . . . today I finished the Dillinger hidden objects game so I could screencap the characters and their hilarious dialogue.

I also threw out more than a hundred magazines today. I finally parted with some that I've held on to for years. (I could easily turn into one of those people that lives in a rabbit warren of paper, with little paths to my chair, TV and bathroom.) I am determined to simplify my life!

Tomorrow I must write! I need to work on Part 3 of "Stubborn," as well as my sequel to "Jayee." Oh, and since our writing group meets Monday, I'd better finish my story for that!

Kidman to have sex change in movie

So, is she going back to her original gender?

Still being the pop whore, I couldn't resist the circus-like spectacle of the MTV Video Music Awards last night. From Madonna's puzzling/droning 'tribute' to Michael Jackson and the amazing performance that followed to the obligatory awards for Brit and Green Day and the annual idiocy by Kanye West, it did not disappoint.

Listen up, Kanye (like you ever would). I agree that it's close to obscene for Taylor Swift to win a moonman (hey, how long did it take Britney to win her first?), but nobody gives a baboon's butt what you think.

Well, actually it's a win-win for both MTV and Kanye. I'm pretty sure they put him up to the whole thing, because now everybody's talking about their tired awards again. And if Kanye hurries and gets a remix cd out in the next few weeks, he'll go to the top of the charts. The VMAs are all about offending folks, including the fans. Why else would they have emcees like Jamie Foxx and Russell Brand? (I couldn't help throwing Jamie in there after what he did to the Backstreet Boys back in 2001. I can forgive, but I won't forget.)

Bad behavior is often rewarded. It will be interesting to see if Serena Williams ends up suffering for hers the other night. While I think the footfault at that point in the match was absolutely ludicrous, I wouldn't want Serena pointing a tennis racket menacingly in my direction! And she certainly showed no contrition during her appearance at the VMAs last night--just the opposite.

Contrition? Most of these people have never heard of the word.

Well, I'm off to see if I can stay awake for yet another Roger Federer win at the US Open. Yawn. (Is Mary Carillo actually surprised that he likes watching himself on the big screen during the re-plays? Nah.)

ETA: Hey, welcome brushed_velvet and byeblackbird to my flist!

Back from the beach, a last trip before summer (not to mention vacation) ends. We played Fascination and had dinner at the Wayfarer, and despite the promise of an off-shore flow, it was still cloudy and cool in both Seaside and Cannon Beach. Naturally we followed dinner with a Zingers old fashioned ice cream cone. Mitch and Sue and Charlie all seems to enjoy themselves.

I have officially eaten my way through another vacation. I'm hopeless (or helpless).

I sucked at Fascination, even when I wore my real FBI hat for luck. (It was given to me after 9/11 by the SAC here in Portland, who became a buddy.) Sue played great and won three coveralls, our favorite. There's nothing like a little Fascination for a taste of old-fashioned fun. The game started in 1932, so you can imagine Purvis and Dillinger and those types playing it on the Jersey shore. What the heck is it? Go to Charlie's LJ here to find out.

Sounds like there was drama at the US Open today when they finally got the women's semis played after the rain. Serena actually lost to Kim, and she lost on a penalty point . . . unbelievable. We'll see if Rafa can overcome Delpo tomorrow . . . me doubts.

I want to welcome bradygirl_12 to my flist, yay! Met her through Public Enemies fandom, but I just noticed she's also a member at a couple other communities I frequent. I love making new friends in new fandoms!

And I was pleased with the way my first PE fanfic turned out. I have another I've got a pretty good start on and two others in the works, so we'll see how it goes.

And now I believe it must be time for coffee and powdered donuts!

I actually cried a little today when I read the end of 'Vendetta,' Alston Purvis' story of the life of his father, Melvin Purvis. Even if Purvis hadn't lived in such remarkable times and been involved in such amazing historic events, the story of his fractured family was captivating (although it was not the focus of the book, by any means).

The real focus of the book is the relationship between Purvis and J. Edgar Hoover. The epilogue did the most to explain the lurid title, the decision to make the book center around Hoover's animus and active campaign against Purvis, even 25 years after the agent left the Bureau. Doris Rogers, Purvis' secretary in the 30s, was one of the important contributors to the book; and in the epilogue Alston explains that she told him--exhorted him--to make the book "angry"--as angry as she was, even at 90 years of age, at the treatment of her boss, Melvin Purvis.

I got the new edition of the book (done for the release of 'Public Enemies' with a quote from Christian Bale on the cover), but the original was even more lurid. Go under the cut for the cover photo and the quote.

( X Marks the Spot )

It really is a well-written book, no doubt thanks in part to Alex Treswiowski, the co-author. Yes, it's too personal, too analytical and too preachy from time to time, but overall I found it fascinating, enlightening and even heart-breaking.

And, it's GREAT background for fanfic. Now's the dilemma . . . can I stomach messing further with the life of a man who's already been misunderstood and fictionalized, even in government files, by writing slash fiction about him . . . especially slash fiction about the very relationship that, for all intents and purposes, finally destroyed him?

Hmmm . . . drum roll . . . uh, yes. I can. After all, it's the Bale character I'm borrowing, not the actual man.

I'll be sure to put an added disclaimer in my template.

So a few weeks ago I was driving north on 1-5 on my way to meet Ron for coffee, and, as usual, I was in heavy traffic, lots of trucks and folks on the way to lunch. In front of me was an SUV that was weaving a lot, creeping into the right lane, then over-correcting left.

I thought, this chick is drunk. I'd better hang back and stay out of her way, because if she causes one of these trucks to jackknife, I'll end up collateral damage.

Avoiding her was not easy. In fact, I was so focused on her, I was probably just as dangerous.

It occurred to me when I was getting close to my exit that she probably wasn't drunk at all. She was probably text-messaging someone.

Yes. While she drove 65-plus in the fast lane, she was probably sharing the latest gossip about Speidi, or commiserating with her bff, or fighting with her boyfriend, or tweeting her current status to her peeps. ("I-flyin on I-5")

It's the latest phenom that has the Establishment scratching their heads: What to do about drivers who text (including bus drivers and train conductors). Texters are already responsible for ten times as many deaths as all the Public Enemies from the 30s.

Maybe what we need is a new squad of Super-Cops, trained to take care of this problem. Call 'em T-Men. They could wire-tap the airwaves and set up stakeouts along the highways, develop a set of informants with over-developed thumbs who are willing to subscribe to everybody's RSS. And to hell with pulling people over and issuing citations! Let's bring back floorboards and Tommy guns and let the T-Men riddle 'em when they see 'em!

And just in case you're wondering why I'm so sanctimonious, yes I text. But no, I don't do it while driving. I'm strictly hands-free in the car, even when it comes to sex. (I always park first.)

So, I've been trying to understand what my 'blogger's block' is about. It's like I can't stand even loading LiveJournal (which is not easy task today, btw). I've been like a social hermit all summer, doing nothing but work, drive to the beach and play computer games.

I actually finished my sequel to 'Stubborn' and posted it a few days ago, and I started Part 3! And now I need to clean out some things in this journal and re-do my profile . . .

Watching Andy Murray unravel at the US Open today seems vaguely familiar to me. It's like I've had the same mental meltdown, but I don't have to do it in front of thousands of people.

It's not that I don't have anything to say. I have LOTS to say. I think about saying it. But I don't do it. I've practiced avoidance, when I really wanted to start a new community and get deep into fanfic writing again.

So today when I was looking at my profile, I noticed that batfic100 had been deleted. Deleted! The community where I spent so much time playing a year ago, a community with so many really wonderful drabbles from batfans. Thank goodness I loaded all mine up to a drabble journal, anticipating something like this might happen. Yeesh. If someone wants to let their community go, at least leave it up so people can still read the stories. Yes, I've let many groups and communities go dormant. But I haven't zapped them out of existence. It makes it so hard to want to post to a community where you don't know or trust the maintainer.

'Nuff said. I'm off to the shower! (Just like Murray soon will be.)

It's that time of year when I drag myself out of bed every morning by 4:00 or 4:30am and go out to the family room, turn on two lamps and the TV, then settle down on the couch to watch live matches from Wimbledon. Usually I fall back asleep and dream about tennis. (During the warmup tournament this year, I actually had an erotic dream about Andy Murray during his final.)

I'm just hoping this year's men's final won't end up routine, like the women's is going to be (another Williams sisters match, hopefully a good one). Maybe this year the Queen will actually be in the royal box!

Puhleeze, Andy, win tomorrow. I mean, Andy, lose tomorrow. (Andy Murray and Andy Roddick . . .) I'll be listening on Radio Wimbledon. Because as is routine for us on the West Coast, we won't get the match live on TV.