Wednesday, April 30, 2008

The Ripple Effect

At the very core of Karma, as defined by the Indian religions, is the concept of cause and effect. Yesterday, Al very smartly noted that sometimes negative actions can turn out to have positive consequences, which goes against the traditional idea of Karma, and creates more an impression of “the Lord works in mysterious ways.” Regardless of how things may have played out over time, I’m left with the knowledge of having made a negative action in the past, and not knowing how it may have impacted and changed the other people involved. I may very well discover that in some cases, they turned out for the better, and that in other cases, they were forgotten, though I bet most of them remember.

So I got started on the list, and already I’ve come up with 45 items, so next month I shouldn’t have any trouble coming up with things to write about. I may explain more than one of them per day, but I’ll be sure to write about at least one per day. Then in June when I have a nice long list made up, I can start the process of making up for them and crossing them off.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Karma Suitor

I haven’t been writing a lot lately, and I notice I’ve been making excuses, saying things like, “I’ve been getting caught up in other things,” but those are just lame excuses. The truth is that I just haven’t felt like writing. Part of the problem is that since I don’t really do much else, there’s not much for me to write about.

For instance, I went to see Depressia today, but that’s not really new, and she certainly didn’t say anything new. She asks me to show her how to use e-mail every time I’m there, and each time, my heart’s in it less and less, as I know it won’t stick. And every time I start explaining it, she cuts me off and moans about her vision, and her hearing, and how it’s too complicated, yet she keeps asking, hoping this time it will be different.

Not much is happening with that woman I like either. She tends to take a few days to get back to now, and though there tends to be a lot of bounce in her message, I get the distinct impression she has no interest in taking it further. And I don’t know what bothers me more, the fact that she’s not showing much interest, or the fact that I don’t much care anymore. I can’t even remember what I like about her. How am I supposed to establish any sort of connection with somebody if our conversations are so sparse I forget them. Maybe that’s a sign that I don’t really care about her at all. And that annoys me because it means there’s nothing at all going on in my life. So what the hell am I supposed to write about?

Of course, one can always depend on the newspapers for stories, but, those tend to be either sad and depressing, or something that isn’t worth mentioning.

So, then I just watch TV. And instead of being a good little writer and keeping up the pace of my book, I’ve been putting it off to watch the first 3 seasons, (or what’s available of them to date), of My Name Is Earl.

And the show got me thinking. The more of it I watched, the more I found I had in common with the main character.

Though I don’t necessarily believe in karma per se, and though I’m aware it isn’t just a concept that Carson Daly made up, I have a sense of having done a number of bad deeds throughout my life, and like Earl, my life sort of sucks right now. I’ve been cheated, cheated on, robbed, assaulted, given an STI, had permanent nerve damage, and the list goes on, but you get the idea. I don’t really blame anybody for any of this, because I know the truth is that I let a lot of this happen to me, without putting up much of a fight. Sometimes I catch myself asking “What did I do to deserve any of this?” but then again, what have I ever done for the world? Nothing. I can’t think of a single good deed I’ve gone out and done. I suppose I’ve given clothes to charity before, but only because I didn’t want them anymore, so that doesn’t really feel like generosity.

I’ve done bad things in my life. I’ve made bad choices, and that takes me to the theme of the day. Now, as I’ve said, I don’t believe in karma per se, but like Earl in the show, I get the feeling that I’m not ready for a relationship yet – that I haven’t earned one yet. There are a lot of things in my life that I’ve simply walked away from because they were too hard, too time-consuming, or too annoying, or even that required just a little too much ass-kissing for my liking.

So, I’ve thought up a new project for next month. I’m going to make up a list of all the bad things I’ve done in my life, and one by one, I’m going to make up for them and cross them off the list. And, silly as it sounds to create a goal based on a sitcom, at the very least, it’ll give me a decent thing to write about for the coming months. I don’t expect this will make my life better, but rather, I want to make other people’s lives better. I don’t just want to want to do it anymore, I want to actually do it, starting with the people I did wrong in the past.

The coming month will be devoted to the compilation of my list. I will also, of course, keep chipping away at my book, but with a more manageable amount (for me) of 1,000 words per day. Hopefully I can keep up with that.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

10 Dorky Films I Can’t Wait to See

Okay, so for today’s entry, something nice and easy. There a great number of films coming out that are all going to be really bad. But guess what? I’m going to enjoy them anyway, unless the scripts are really so bad that I find myself asking the question, “Why do those guys get to be paid two hundred grand to write this. I could write better. Where’ my obscene amount of money for a month or so of real work?”

  1. G.I. Joe – Part of the problem with G.I. Joe is they’ve got almost as many villains as heroes, which would be so problematic if it weren’t for the ridiculous amount of heroes they have. The same could be said of the X-Men movies and the like, or say, Street Fighter (1994), which didn’t even make any sense, because they (and by “they,” I mean that hack Steven E. de Souza), spent far too much energy making sure they layered in as many characters as possible, plot be damned.
  2. Death Race – Sad as it is to admit, if I find out Jason Statham’s in something, I automatically want to see it. I think he’s the epitome of cool. This can backfire of course, with titles like War, a film which is an offense to every aspect of cinema. (You can read more about why I hate that particular film in my Film Review Blog. Recently, my good friend Ema introduced me to the original Death Race 2000, (which I also reviewed in my blog), and I’m very excited to see how they do the remake. From what I’ve read, it already sounds like they’ve worked out a much better plot and protagonist, but maintained the essence of the story and theme from the original.
  3. Tropic Thunder – Now here’s a thought. A parody of the war movie. I’ve wanted to see one for a long time, I just didn’t realize it. Particularly noteworthy is the fact that one of the main characters is in blackface, something no real movie has dared to try in some thirty or forty years. Unless you count White Chicks. And I do. So never mind.
  4. Arrested Development – This was an awesome show while it lasted, and I’m keen to see how nicely they can tie the whole thing up in one final shebang.
  5. Noah's Ark: The New Beginning – Who doesn’t love a good parody of a classic bible story?
  6. The Brazilian Job – Despite the fact that this is a sequel to a remake of a film that was fairly unintelligent to begin with, and despite its unfortunate name, I can’t wait to see the BJ. The dynamic between the characters in The Italian Job, particularly Handsome Rob and Lyle (the Napster) was enough to get me hooked on the sequel. Actually, as stated earlier, Statham’s presence is enough.
  7. Crank 2: High Voltage – Okay, this is the last Statham movie I’m going to list, I swear. But here’s what I love about Crank – You’ve got a hero who, not only should be dead by the end of the first film, but you wonder how he’s alive at all, because Chev Chelios has to be one of the dumbest protagonists ever to grace the screen, which is very difficult to do with a character, and still have him be this likable.
  8. Iron Man – ‘Nuff said.
  9. Get Smart – How many of you remember watching this as a kid? I used to watch it all the time in the 80’s, when I was clearly not old enough to understand a fair amount of the humor, but I enjoyed it for its slapstick elements, silly plots, and cleaver wordplays anyway. Another thing I enjoyed about the show is that it was one my dad had watched when he was a child, so it all came full circle, and we both had a show we loved to talk about. Of course, we also had the Disney cartoons. And Looney Tunes. You get the idea. Fun shows are always more fun when shared.
  10. The Dark Knight – Now, maybe it’s all a little over-hyped, but I’m keen to see the late Heath Ledger’s portrayal of The Joker, which is apparently so frightening it might send Jack Nicholson running for the hills, or the circus, or something like that. Anyway, it’s the most prolific performance of an actor’s final role in clown face before dying mysteriously since Brandon Lee. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. I wonder who’ll be next. My money’s on Jack Black. Of course, they say you should always bet on black.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Jamming My Circuits

Writing Day: 6

Word Count: 15,508

Okay, finally I’m back on the writing bandwagon. As hard as I’ve tried to avoid it, I wound up building a huge crush on the woman that I’ve as of yet only gone on one date with, and have still so much to learn about. It has been jamming my circuits and though I admit I’ve not been terribly busy, my procrastination levels have been through the roof.

There was one moment back there that I became depressed for a time because she didn’t message me for 48 hours. I almost immediately decided that this was it, she’s decided I’m a loser and she’s moving on without another word.

And then of course, yesterday she sent me another message asking how I was, same as always, and it became obvious to me that I’m overanalyzing everything way too much, and starting to act a little psychotic. So I haven’t even written her back yet. Strangely, it isn’t even that I want to make her wait now. It’s more that I’d rather not be anticipation of her next move for once. And it’s really working too, for today, I put in another good day of writing, something I’ve been having trouble getting myself to do of late.

But enough about me, I’m going to get a head start on tomorrow’s entry.

Oh, and obviously, I’m not going to meet my goal for this month, but I don’t think it’s a total loss. Instead, I’m going to keep the goal 50,000 word intact, and carry it over into the next months. I said I could do it in 20 writing days, and I still believe that to be true. I was merely wrong about them all being in the same month.

Monday, April 21, 2008

My GP must’ve been asleep when he gave me this referral.

I went to a dermatologist’s office today, in order to talk about a small benign cyst I’d like to have removed. I did the usual filling out of pointless information, and sitting around reading month-old magazines for my appointment which has been pushed back by half and hour, even though it’s only 9 A.M. I feel the poor guy whose appointment is at noon. He’ll probably be there all day.

I get called in and present my cyst.

“Oh,” she says “were you expecting me to cut that off? Because I don’t do that, and OHIP doesn’t cover that.”

“I know. I’m prepared to pay for it, I’ve done this before.”

“Oh, who’s your regular dermatologist?”

“Doctor Whitehead.” (A pseudonym of course.)

“Why didn’t you see him?”

“Because my GP sent me here?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why indeed, doc. Why indeed.”

I guess the correct response is, because he’s not very good at his job. That’s why he’s a GP and not a surgeon. Oh wait, you’re not a surgeon either. Well never mind.

We both laughed it off and she gave me a referral, but you know, this was about 2 hours of my time I’m not getting paid for, nor am I getting it back. Bah, I probably would’ve wasted it anyway. And she seemed happy enough to have one patient in today who was in good spirits and did not have cancer.

Thank you, OHIP, for adding a step to my dermatological experience, and causing me to lose just a little bit more faith in my own general practitioner.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Blackheart’s Review: Passover

Okay, so last night, with nothing better to do, I decided to go see “Passover” or “Pesach” (Payce-Ugh) the Seder.

The treatment of the story was old, tired, and all-too predictable. You’d think that after 5700 years and change they’d maybe freshen up the story a little. Maybe add some sex or explosions, or Moses could have a comedy sidekick played by Owen Wilson. Yeah, and Ben Stiller as Moses. And Will Ferrel as the Pharaoh. That’d be a sweet comedy right there. But NO! The main gimmick as usual was the parting of the Red Sea. And it looked so fake! The special effects were crap!

And whatever became of the greatly anticipated sequel: “Passover II: Paint the Town DEAD”? I was looking forward to that one. The bit in the story about painting over your door with ram’s blood is a sorry substitute for a whole new epic story. Oh, big deal, so the angel of death floated down from above. I could see the strings. What was that, fishing line? Terrible!

As usual, there was very little story or character development, and the Seder seems to be more about groveling to some invisible guy than getting inside the headspace of the protagonist.

But the worst part of all was the singing. Terrible! Who died and decided that Passover should be a musical? There’s nothing more unpleasant to listen to than a bunch of untrained singers butchering the Hebrew language. And I already don't like the Hebrew language. My mother turned to me during the Seder and asked me:

“How many different keys do you think they’re singing?”

“All of them.”

Basically if you have twelve Jews in a room singing, you have thirty-six different keys, and that’s not even normally possible! If they modulate out of one key, they just invent a new one. “Halilah hazzeh, halilah hazzeh, mico-ol ha-le-lo…” *cough* *wheeze*

In a nutshell: Jews should stick to what they know, which is writing sitcoms, romantic comedies, and being lawyers, plastic surgeons, stand-up comics and shysters. Jews were not meant to sing.

Here’s a philosophical question: If a tree falls in the woods and kills a singing Jew, does anyone care?

Unless you’re a die hard Passover fan, you could probably give this mindless spectacle a miss. 1 Star

Saturday, April 19, 2008


Okay, because I don’t have a lot of time today, (I’m on my way out to Passover Seder in about 10 minutes), but I do want to make an entry, I’m doing something quick, yet thematically festive for Pesacccchhh. (And yes, though I am relentlessly atheist, I do love to go out on a religious holiday and pig out and get drunk with friends and family.)

  1. Thou shalt not show up late to thine first date. Seriously, you do this, you might as well have been wearing a chastity belt, because you’re never going to get laid if you do this. She or he is going to think you don’t respect them or value their time, and they’re not going to respect you, either.
  2. Thou shalt not ask how the date is going. Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe you think she or he isn’t feeling the magic, but whatever you do, don’t say something like “so how’s this date going? I’m I doing all right?” There is only one right answer to this. (Of course your date will say something reassuring, unless they’re really mean.) If things were already going badly, now they’ve just gotten worse. If you were doing fine, now you aren’t, because you just brought the date into the realm of awkward.
  3. Thou shalt not come on too strong. Maybe you feel like you’re face-to-face with the woman or man of your dreams. Don’t say something like “I know this is just our first date, but I really, really like you.” If you’re a man, women want to see that you can control yourself, and pace your emotions. If you’re a woman, you’ll simply scare him, and he’ll think you’re either desperate or cheap, or perhaps both, but he probably won’t respect you. He might, but let him do the chasing. Men like that anyway, even though some won’t admit it.
  4. Thou shalt not go home with thine date on the night you first meet. Unless you’re just looking to get your rocks off in a meaningless fling, moving this fast means bringing your relationship to an early grave. Think about it. What do you talk about the morning after? “Oh yeah, so what country are you from?” Or, “Oh, I didn’t realize you were a Scientologist.” There’s still so much you don’t know about one another, yet you’ve gone all the way, if you’re even still there in the morning.
  5. Thou shalt not dwell upon the past. I’m sure you loved your ex very much, and he/she broke you heart, but guess what? Your date doesn’t want to be compared to your ex, which is exactly what it’s going to feel like when you keep bringing him or her up. If he or she asks, fine, but keep it short. The most important love interest in your life, at least for the moment, is the person in front of you.

And… I have to go, but I’ll finish this later. Or, heck, maybe you guys can finish it for me.

Friday, April 18, 2008

My Charming Springtime Date

So we’re having a bit of a heat wave this week. It’s great. It’s really kicking the crap out of our record-breaking snowfall. It’s almost entirely gone now.

I went on my date in the market today, and right now I’m a little fatigued and zoned out from all the sun I got from the walk home, but in a nutshell, here’s how it went.

I got there 20 minutes early this time, which is good because I walked into the wrong place. It turns out there are two different restaurants with the address 55 York Street. One is across the street from the other. I’ve never seen this before, and I thought it was an odd way to do addresses.

Anyway, she was there ten minutes early, so we a great deal of time to chat. She told me a bit about her life story, which I thought would make a good little book. Of course, her life isn’t over yet, though that part of it is.

She almost got married to a man from California in her 20s, but they couldn’t rectify their long distance situation. He kept teasing her with the idea of marriage, mocking like he was going to propose, and then not proposing, (again, a lot like that episode of the office last night), and she wound up meeting a man in the Dominican Republic who offered her a job at a resort, which she happily took, to get a change of lifestyle. She wound up dating the manager of the resort. Finally, her past would-be fiancée called her up to say he had something to tell her. So, he made arrangements to come and see her, but she wound up having to cancel, because she found out she was pregnant, and she told him maybe this wasn’t the best time for a visit. So that was that. He did not come to see her, and it turned out that he had picked out a ring for her and everything, but because of the timing, it simply wasn’t meant to be.

So she had her daughter, and had a small wedding reception, marrying the father of her child. After the pregnancy she was quite sick, and awoke frequently in the middle of the night, only to find that her husband wasn’t around, and that his wedding band was left lying inconspicuously on the dresser.

When they needed a new place to live, her husband said he would find them a proper home. What he found was a derelict place with a swimmingly pool in which the water was a murky black from disuse. They squatted here, and at some point, a very controlling mother-in-law entered the picture, someone for whom nothing you ever do was good enough. There was a lot of yelling by his side of the family, and she decided enough was enough. This wasn’t a good life for her or her daughter, so she demanded a divorce, boarded a plane with her daughter, and moved back here to live with her parents. She said he sent over the divorce papers later, but she just ignored them, as they were “just wrong.” The papers said there were no children from the marriage, which clearly wasn’t true. It turns out the marriage isn’t legal in Canada anyway, so why bother with the paperwork just to help him lie?

We really only had about an hour and a half together, then she had to head home to get her daughter.

Now the choice of how to progress is in her hands. I haven’t told her this, but I’ve already decided I’m interested enough in her to go as far as I can. Now it’s a question of whether she feels the same way. During our date I mentioned in passing that I found different people tend to have a different approach to dating. Some look for ‘signs’ that someone is or isn’t the one. Invariably they won’t see stars or cupids or whatever, and they say “yeah, I’m not feeling it.” Then they’re gone, back to lavalife and whatever other dating services they use so they can disappoint someone else, and themselves, again. Hey, I’m not saying love at first sight doesn’t happen. I’m just saying great relationships can come about without it. Even in the great romance stories, what is that one moment that love truly begins? I mean, for Romeo, it’s right away, without even talking to the bitch, but he’s a bit of a douchebag anyway. Then you take a story like Emma, where she doesn’t even realize she’s in love with Knightly until the end where she starts to panic. Of course, by then he totally enamored with her too. Love grows.

I’ve wanted to go further with other dates too, obviously, but those didn’t pan out either. So I suppose there’s nothing to it now but to wait and see if she takes my dinner offer.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Post #50: Ways to Break away from a Blind Date

I thought to commemorate my 50th post, and in light of my hot date tomorrow, I’d make a list of 50 ways to escape a date gone horribly wrong, but, I only felt like making 20 of them. So, here they are, in no particular order. If you have your own to add, pease, feel free. Oh and obviously, some these are serious, some of them are not. Use your own judgment as to which of these might be tactful to use in real situations. Most of them are not. Dating is fairly intimidating, and nobody likes to feel judges. ‘Cept those morons on those reality dating shows, but they get what they’re asking for. They also probably get paid, which is a nice consolation too. We’ll go with that one. Leave these to trained professionals.

  1. Ask a friend to call you on your cell an hour into the date. Then you have an excuse to answer the phone. If it’s going badly, immediately after answering, say “Oh my god, he did what? Okay, don’t worry, I’ll be right there.” After you hang up, simply turn to your date and say “I have to go to the hospital.”
  2. Talk about your ex. Nothing will turn your date of faster than your obsession with the past, and your comparison of your ex to your date should signal a red flag for them to run.
  3. Run.
  4. Hit on your server, regardless of your sex or sexuality.
  5. Dig around in your purse, and when your date asks what you are doing, tell him. “Shit, I forgot my pepper spray. Sorry, now I gotta go get it.”
  6. Begin humming any frequency. Be consistent. Rock back and forth, and try throwing salt over both shoulders. Shush your date whenever he or she tries to interrupt you and ask what you are doing. Then say “thank you, god.” Repeat this until your date runs away.
  7. “I am gay. No, I only just realized it. Yeah, just now.”
  8. Ask him how he feels about castration.
  9. Try to sell her something.
  10. Fake a heart attack.
  11. Induce a real heart attack.
  12. Ask about how she or he feels about a really bizarre fetish you have. Keep bringing it up. If she/he responds favorably, and gets progressively more excited, perhaps this date isn’t a lost cause after all…
  13. Excuse yourself and go to the washroom. If you can, find a window through which you can escape. If it doesn’t have one, come back out immediately and complain of a lack of toilet paper in the washroom. Explain that you’re just going to run to the store to buy some, as your date’s company has made you seriously feel the need to pinch a loaf.
  14. Two words: Nose rape. Point at the sky/ceiling and say “What’s that?” When he or she looks up, shove a finger in his/her nose and yell “Nose rape!” Then run away, giggling with glee. You have just nose raped your date.
  15. Get really drunk and then call your date a slutty (man) whore.
  16. Lift up your hand and say “cheque please.” They’ll take the hint.
  17. Announce that you just realized your favorite TV show is on, and you have to go watch it right now. If they say “what, you can’t TiVo it?” You ask, “what’s TiVo?” They should give up on you as a lost cause at this point, but if they try to describe it to you, explain again that you have to go right now, because this week Brad is cheating on Stephanie with Stacy, and Phil found out, and Phil really likes Stephanie, so he’s going to try to blackmail Brad, except he slips the pictures to his neighbor by accident who’s a police officer, and also gay and…” You get the idea.
  18. Here’s a good one, and I admit I stole this from an episode of “The Office” I just watched. When she or he first arrives, and turns out to be far less attractive than advertised, (maybe she’s 50 pounds heavier, maybe he’s missing all his front teeth), simply pretend your name isn’t whatever they call you, and wish them luck on finding their hopeful. Who knows? Maybe some other shmoe will feel sorry for him/her and buy them a drink.
  19. Scratch you crotch. A lot, and become more and more animated in the scratching, and finally say, “excuse me, I’ve gotta powder myself again.” Then disappear to the bathroom. When you return, hopefully, (s)he will be gone.
  20. To end the date with utmost style, make sure you do this near a body of water. Perhaps you met your date at the beach, or for a romantic paddleboat ride, or maybe it’s a riverside restaurant. When things aren’t going well, suddenly stand up and scream “FUCK YOU BITCH!” and jump into the water. If you need to remove your shoes before swimming, take them off and dump them on the table, preferably in your date’s food, and then deliver the line. Now run for the water. Giggle with glee, for you are free, as (s)he is almost certain not to pursue you. If (s)he does, (s)he may in fact be a keeper after all. Try to get this one on film if you can.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Post #49 (For lack of a better name)

So here’s what I did yesterday, after that last post. I decided I’d look for some friends of mine online and get them to complain about their problems, and then finally I went to visit Depressia so she could complain about her problems. I figured that would put everything into perspective, and it made me feel marginally better.

One of my friends was about to get some teeth pulled at the dentist, and was justifiable distraught about that. Of course, I told her I was fine, that I was just bored.

Then at Depressia’s place, she complained about the usual – the size of her room, how blind she is now, how deaf she is… and then of course she talked about Obama and Hilary, and how she thinks Hilary should be given a chance.

“I’m afraid McCain will continue what Bush is doing, and keep the war going. I think Hilary is smarter than that.”

“What about Obama?” I asked her.

“Obama is smart too. But he has to prove he is Christian.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense.”

“They are trying to get him to admit he is Muslim, but he is not religious.”

“Why can’t he just be an atheist? Why a Christian of all things?”

But of course, I realized that this is the Americans we’re talking about. Americans are basically a bunch of insecure Christian patriots who still don’t seem to quite get the concept of separation of church and state. That’s right, you heard me. No, no, not you, Ravens. You’re cool. Put the pitchfork down.

Seriously though, if you ask me, (and no one is), I would say Obama for president. Because he’s smart. You won’t catch him saying dumb shit like “this is a holy war,” like some mindless Muslim or kooky Christian would. I’m looking at you, Bush! And you… other Bush.

And my other grandmother, Loopy, reached a new record yesterday. She left 48 messages on the answering machine! 48! I didn’t even know it had that much storage. And the messages are getting stranger. One message to my dad was telling him to call himself at his own phone number. Another message was left from her neighbor’s house, with her neighbor reluctantly leaving her own number on the machine, as my grandmother explained she couldn’t be reached at her own home.

Apparently when she couldn’t get through for the 30th or 40th time, she assumed her phone wasn’t working properly, so she went to her neighbor’s house to use theirs. I was told later this wouldn’t be the first time she did this either.

So, that’s update on the family. Now finally, an update on the date that I stupidly stood up yesterday. She got in touch with me. It turns out she only waited twenty minutes and then left, which honestly, is more than fair. I personally would (and in fact, have) waited much longer for a tardy date. (At least three times as long, though I’m beginning to question why.) Anyway, apparently she just assumed something happened and shrugged it off and went for a nice walk in the downtown sun. She’s somehow decided I’m worth another chance, so I’m meeting her downtown on Friday.

It weird, because I was totally expecting that to be it. No more chances. Being late for the first date, that’s like being late for a job interview, or your first day at work. You do that, you’re fired. I’ve had women turn me away for less.

In fact, the woman just before this one, whom I’m met through lavalife, was turned off me because I hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice, which I do actually do want to read, though no thanks to her. When a woman turns me away for a reason like that, I’m glad, because man, that’s psychotic. This is the sort of thing my Auntie Flo would do. This chick is going to be alone for a very long time. I’d put money on her account still being active a year from now. I say this because I’ve dated a number of women over a year ago who are still on there. I suppose you could accuse me of having a double standard, and you would be right, but that it only because of the skewed numbers on the site. There are two men for every one woman there, so for the ladies, it’s like being a kid in a candy store, except the candy wants to pay for itself. So yeah, I have a double standard. When men are still on the site a year later, it’s because they’re having trouble finding the right girl. When women are still single and one the site a year later, it’s because they’re way too picky. I mean come on! You think I’d turn away a hot girl because I found out she never saw “Back to the Future”? Seriously, Ema, if I say something like that to you, that my date hadn’t seen that movie and I think she might not be the one, bitchslap me and say “then sit down and watch it with her, bitch!” People seem to fail to realize that when somebody hasn’t read a particular work, or seen a certain film, that this is your opportunity to shape them the way you want. That’s every woman’s wet dream right there. I guy she can shape.

And despite my best efforts, I do have a huge crush on this woman that I haven’t even met. And the fact that she’s giving me another chance, without even a side order of guilt makes the crush all the more difficult to resist.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Feeling Stupid

Okay, so another rant today, about how stupid I am.

I was supposed to have a date today at 11, with a very attractive, very charming woman I mentioned earlier. I got up good and early so I had enough time to make myself look nice and pretty for her. Then I checked the bus schedule, just to make sure I knew what bus to take to arrive on time. So I go outside 9 minutes early, but the bus simply never comes. It was either really early, or it simply broke down or was canceled for some strange reason, which meant I wound up waiting around, waiting for the next one, which came over half an hour later. That meant I was half an hour late.

Standing there at that bus stop for over half an hour made me feel really stupid. I kept asking myself Why didn’t I expect this? Murphy’s Law, anything that can go wrong, will. Why didn’t I walk? It would have taken me less time frankly.

So I get to the coffee show where I was supposed to meet her, and didn’t see her. I described her to the girl at the counter, and she said a woman of that description had been in an hour and a half earlier, which really threw me.

“That doesn’t sound right,” I said, and paid for my coffee, which I can still taste, by the way, almost two hours later. I’d forgotten how much I hate coffee.

So, I sat down and waited, hoping that the coffee vendor was wrong and that perhaps my date had the same trouble with public transportation as I had. (She said she’d be taking the bus too.)

So, now I’m left with all these questions. Was I too late? Was she extremely late? Did she get the time wrong and come way too early? Did she simply stand me up? Does she think I stood her up?

The funny thing is, I was trying to psych myself up to be disappointed, because that way it’s easier, but I didn’t expect to be disappointed by no date at all. I thought I’d at least have a date to talk about on my blog, rather than a missed one.

I’ve never been late for a first date before either, nor have I ever cancelled one or stood someone up. I know better than that. That’s a combination of faux pas if you want a serious chance with her, and evil if you don’t.

And I don’t even know which is worse, facing the fact that I’m the one who screwed it up, or the idea that she wasn’t really serious to being with.

And I’d like to blame our city’s bus system, but truth be told, I should have known better than to trust them. This is the one time I really didn’t want to be late. Again, there’s also a chance that my being late had nothing to do with her not being there, but it gives me one more damn thing to worry,

And now I know the healthiest thing I could do is delve back into my writing, and if she responds to my message, she responds, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t, but now I feel too stupid, and antsy to write my fantasy novel. I don’t even know how to calm myself down. I feel like I’m ready to run a marathon. Maybe I’ll run it off…

Monday, April 14, 2008

Blogs that are Better than Mine #3

Yesterday, Ema shook a finger at me for falling behind on my blog. Sorry Ema. Anyway, you said you were looking for stuff to read online, well, here’s something you might enjoy, being white and all.

Quote of the Day:

“Being white means to engage in a day in, day out struggle to prove that you are smarter than other white people.” – Stuff White People Like

I absolutely love the articles in this sight, because they completely outline exactly why I hate white people so much, which is a great point of tension for me, since I actually am one. The site really captures a lot of my friends, and particularly most of our parents. This is my favorite article:

Basically, white people are pompous, sickeningly positive, filled with a sense of duty (or a meaningless work ethic), overcompensatingly unracist, overeducated, overworked, underpaid, patriotic, and gluttonous drunkards. Of course, this is coming from a pompous, overcompensatingly unracist, (yes, I know those aren’t real words), overeducated, gluttonous white guy, so take it with a grain of salt.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Things Men Do When They Cheat

Okay, so today I decided to do a response article to this article about cheating husbands, because I found it to be outrageously stupid. It lists five classical warning signs that your husband may be cheating on you, based on a book called The Script: The 100% Absolutely Predictable Things Men Do When They Cheat.

So, here are the five warning signs they list, and what I think of them.

1. He starts criticizing everything you do. "He's trying to make you doubt yourself, become defensive," says Landers.

Hmm… This is something women to men ALL THE TIME. This is one of the many double standards that really gets on my nerves. If we criticize them, we’re trying to make them defensive. When they criticize us, it’s routine.

Interestingly, as a man, my experience has been the exact opposite. Once my girlfriends started cheating on me (yes, “girlfriends” with an ‘S,’ I was gullible enough to date not one, but two cheaters in a row), they criticized me a lot less. At first I welcomed the break, until I realized it was only because they really didn’t give a shit.

My last girlfriend could NOT STOP CRITICIZING ME! Sigh! That’s how I knew she loved me.

2. He starts offering "suggestions" to improve yourself. Again, says Landers, this is about making you appear difficult. "He'll say, ‘I keep telling you to lose weight or get a job or go back to school,'" she says. "As though you are the one with the problem, a problem he has been trying to fix."

Or maybe, MAYBE you DO need to lose some weight. Or get a job. I mean seriously, criticism isn’t always a veiled attack. Sometimes criticism is criticism. Honestly I think women give men too much credit. They think we have a cleverly veiled passive aggressive attack, when we actually just tend to say what we mean. Perhaps I shouldn’t speak for all men, but I certainly don’t try to layer my messages.

3. He calls you crazy or depressed. "When he starts acting suspiciously later, staying out late, you'll question your own suspicions," says Landers. "After all, he told you that you're crazy -- you'll start to wonder if you are."

Okay, I do agree that you should never call your significant other crazy, especially if she actually is. Although if she is, you probably shouldn’t be dating her, and you certainly shouldn’t have married her. Or him. Maybe your spouse became crazy later though. And if your husband says you’re depressed, maybe he just means you’re depressed. Maybe he’s worried. Maybe he wants you to feel better. Most husband don’t like it when their wives are depressed, because they love them. Nobody wants somebody they love to be depressed.

4. He starts doing strange things with money. Money or bank statements are suddenly missing, he's carrying around lots of cash or he's spending too little cash.

Finally, here’s something I can agree with. If he’s doing this, he’s definitely hiding something, although it might not be cheating. He may have a drug or gambling addiction, which frankly, can be just as dangerous to your marriage. Okay, so I’ll admit you got 1 of 5.

5. He buys you big, expensive gifts. "You'll think, how could he cheat on me when he bought me this big diamond?" says Landers. "But it's more likely he bought the gift to throw you off or to hide his own guilt."

OR, maybe the gift is a GIFT. Maybe he wanted to give you something special, JUST ‘CUZ. Questioning a gift your husband bought you is a big FUCK YOU, and the exact opposite of what he’s trying to achieve. Then again, I suppose if he really is cheating, he’d say the same, which basically means this simply isn’t a way to tell.

Though I’m aware that in a lot of cases where cheating happens, this is exactly how it plays out, I am under the impression they do not account for the instances where it does not. My girlfriend in high school was convinced I was cheating on her, and did indeed act a little crazy because of it. It turns out she was the cheater, not me. I’ve never cheated on anyone, ever. Her suspicion does not equal his guilt. How many healthy couples did she interview for her book? I bet none, probably because nobody wants to hear about them. (Ugh! Healthy couples are sooo boring!)

All right, so what kind of jerk would I be if I simply tore down a list without offering up any ideas of my own? Feel free to rip mine down too, or add some of your own. So without further ado, here are some real tips for the ladies.

  1. You do not use condoms, yet you find them among your husband’s belongings.
  2. You find women’s garments in your home that are not yours.
  3. He becomes abnormally obsessive about his appearance. Maybe he’s started working out, or put in hair plugs. Maybe he got a bikini wax. The question is, if he’s not doing it for you, who’s it for?
  4. You come home unexpectedly, and there is a naked woman hiding on your balcony, in handcuffs, and wearing your favorite ball gag. “I have no idea how she got there,” he’ll say, holding a pillow in front of his raging hard-on. The really sad thing is, you might still believe him, out of sheer will power.

Here’s a story. It’s not a true story, but I thought y’all might enjoy it.

Awhile ago, a female friend said she found condoms in her husband’s coat. When she confronted him about it, he explained that he took them to work because sometimes he’d “need to relieve stress,” so he’d go to the bathroom and masturbate into one of them.

“Oh, men do that all the time,” I told her.



“So, you take condoms to work with you so you can masturbate into them.”
”What? No! I thought you meant lying about sex. He’s cheating on you, you moron.”

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Happier Endings

Writing Day: 5

Word Count: 12,976

It turns out this woman I met on lavalife went to high school one year ahead of me. We have a number of the same friends. I found picture in the yearbook, and even back then she was mad-gorgeous. Naturally she doesn’t think so.

She has a daughter, who’s now in the terrible twos, and she wants to use her experiences to make some children’s books. I won’t talk about her ideas, but I think they’re brilliant.

As for my own writing, my fantasy stories, right now there’s a long one that accounts for most of the writing I’ve done. The more I think about it, the more I don’t like the ending. It’s not a very happy one, and it also doesn’t necessarily make good use of the theme, (which is a combination of “there’s some good in all people,” and the dichotomy of courage and cowardice.) Nonetheless, I have many other aspects of the story to work through first, so maybe, hopefully, my better ending will come to me while I complete the rest of the story. Anyway, I’m happy to say I got back on the writing wagon today, and my first long story is shaping quite nicely.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Distractions #2

So, you may have noticed that I haven’t listen my word count since Monday. Well, my discipline has been wavering the past few days. Yesterday was just an extremely lazy day for me. I took to doing laundry and cleaning up my hard drive – you know, the stuff you get done when you’re putting off doing real work. Oh, and I applied for a whole bunch of government jobs yesterday, not that that matters. I’m not sure I believe any people actually read those forms. I think they just feed them into some machine that gets off on possessing personal information.

I shudder when I think of the distant future when our government is no longer run by people. Just machines, and the odd wanker who supposedly does maintenance from time to time. But mostly that guy just plays with his prick all day. And who could blame him? If you had a prick, and a machine to do all your work for you, I’m sure that’s all you’d do too. Then some wiseguy, in the name of equal rights or something, would invent a prick for machines, screwing up the whole system once again.

Anyway, here’s what’s been going on with me that last few days. I sent a message to this one girl on lavalife and we’re exchanging e-mails. That’s it. I don’t want to say much more because I don’t want to jinx it. She’s a real cutie though.

So that might be jamming my creative juices a little. Also, I’m looking after my cousin today, so I doubt I’ll have much time for writing. This time, by his mother’s request, I’m supposed to keep him away from “screens” and help him with his homework, which I hear he’s having major problems getting done. He’ll no doubt tell me he doesn’t have any again.

Yeah, I know, excuses, excuses. Tomorrow I’ll get back on the writing thing, I swear.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Phone calls from Grandmas Depressia and Loopy

A few moments ago, Grandma Depressia called me and asked me if I could take her to the hospital today. I told her no, that I was busy. Then she said she would have to get my Auntie Flo to do it, but it’ll take five or six hours for her to drive here.

“Why can’t you get you get someone at the lodge to do it?”

“They asked me if there was someone else.”

“Get them to do it. It’s their job.”

These people are paid to deal with her crap. I’m not. They have a job, they can fucking do it. I need a job, and I can’t find it if she keeps dragging me back into her daily meaningless crap. I’m not doing this for them so those assholes at the lodge can be paid by my family to do nothing. That’s fucked up. It’s not like this is a public lodge, it’s a private lodge which she pays $3,500 a month to live in.

It irritates me that I’m left with this feeling of guilt after the conversation. It make s me think I just shouldn’t answer the phone when she calls me anymore. Usually it’s for something annoying.

Here’s the thing. I’ve gone with her to the hospital before, on a number of occasions, and generally speaking, she’s fine, and just whining about something that the doctors can’t do anything about, or something she’s just plain made up. She is such a hypochondriac, and what I anticipate is going to happen now is that she’s going to call my mother to complain, and I’m going to hear about it tonight from her, which is fine, frankly. It’s easier to tell her off than it is to sit in emergency for four hours with a kvetching old hag, in a room full of people with real problems. And if it turns out she really is dying this time, finally, (which she can’t be – she didn’t even sound certain she needed to go. Frankly I think she’s just bored, but if we don’t make it easy for her to waste the day there, maybe she’ll just give up.) If it really is something serious, then too bad. This is what happens when you cry wolf.

And for the LOVE of GOD our other phone line won’t stop ringing! It’s only noon, and my other grandma, “Loopy” has been ringing all day. It’s only now noon, and she’s left 24 messages. I’m thinking maybe it’s time we took her phone away. Ugh. Here’s message #25. She sounds so out of it too. Yesterday my dad showed her a picture of our cottage and she thought there was a dragon in it. I actually thought that was kind of cool.

Monday, April 7, 2008

A Light-Hearted Roasting of Lavalife

Writing Day: 4

Word Count: 11,039

Today, I’m roasting, or rather, the women (and in passing, probably some of the men) on it. Here’s a translator I’ve devised from my experience on the site over the past year and a half. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not totally roasting the site, as it has gotten me laid, and I do still enjoy poking through the profiles and hitting on the odd female. Rather, I’m honoring it by making relentless fun of it.

Note: I did not come up with all of these. Some of them were devised by a very funny girl I don’t know. Or someone else before her, I’m not really sure. But they’re mine now.

What she says about herself

What it actually means

Body Type: Thin

Thin, usually

Body Type: Fit

“I practice a sport occasionally”

Body Type: Athletic

No Boobs

Body Type: Voluptuous


Body Type: A few extra pounds

Many, many extra pounds

Body Type: King or Queen-sized

Fat, and honest about it

Body Type: Muscular

Variant on “Fit”. All people have muscles.

Body Type: Average

Could mean literally anything.


Will sleep with your friends





Contagious Smile


Emotionally Secure

Heavily Medicated


Not serious about dating

Free Spirit

Hippie / Drug Addict

Friendship First

Former Slut / Recovering Slut







New Age

Body hair in the wrong places



Outgoing / Life of the Party

Loud, Obnoxious, Annoying and Vapid


Likes sex. Honestly, who doesn’t?


Morose and Alienating


Idealistic, looking for any reason to dump you



Wants Soul Mate

Will Stalk You (This one’s kinda fun actually.)

Working Professional

Underpaid Customer Service Worker


Poisoner or Axe Murderer

There was this one woman in particular who listed herself as “thin” when she is 5’1” and 170lbs. I’ll tell you right now, this girl had quite the beer gut. Something to be proud of, to be sure. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being “on the heavy side,” but don’t flat out lie about it, because then when you show up for your date, not only is your true weight revealed, but you’ve just given me the first impression that you’re a liar. That is to say, with this one particular girl, I knew she was a liar before she even opened her mouth, and that made the rest of the date rather awkward, though in the end it was still enjoyable. She was good company, and had some good stories to tell. Of course, who can say whether or not they were true, at least she told them well. Well she invited me up that night, I politely declined. I’ve not spoken with her since, but I’ve revisited her profile, now it is roughly a year later, and it still reads “thin.” My one regret is not bringing this to her attention, as I think it is crucial for her success, but how do you bring something like that up without hurting their feelings. There is even an option not to list your body type – that would be perfectly acceptable. Dishonesty is not.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Lazy Sunday #1

It’s the week-end, so I’m not doing much writing today. Haw! (Actually, I did do a bit of writing this week-end, but only because I was bored. I’ll count it toward tomorrow’s total, since Monday is always my busiest day anyway.

So, here’s something I found that’s kinda fun. I get a huge kick out of getting 1985 as my year, seeing as my favorite movie of all time is, in fact, Back to the Future.

You Belong in 1985

Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day.

Friday, April 4, 2008

Incidentally, How Does One Sell 50+ Boxes of 30-Year-Old Wool?

Writing Day: 3

Word Count: 7,477

I’m pretty happy with today’s writing progress, I actually wrote one very short story, start to finish, (800 words), and it leads in very nicely to the longer story I’m currently working on, (which currently accounts for the other 6,700 words. It’s gonna be a long one.)

Grandma Depressia called me today, asking if I’ve help her sell off all her excess wool, again. About half a year has gone by since my Auntie Flo took it to away to her home in the big city, where she said she could sell all of it to one big company. Depressia complained to me that she hadn’t come through.

Wow, surprise, surprise. Auntie Flo didn’t come through for you yet again. (I try hard not to be bitter with my Auntie Flo, really I do, but you know how for just about everyone there’s that one person that bring out the worst in you? Like you’re actually in a good mood and she opens her mouth and you just want to throw the kitchen table out the window and then open the fridge, tear up the cabbage, and then finally grab the roast from the fridge and run upstairs and fuck it help calm yourself down? Do you all have that person? I do. For me, it’s Auntie Flo.)

This morning my mother said to me,

“You’ll be glad to know your aunt isn’t coming this week-end. She has a date.”

So she’s coming. Just not here.

“Why are you bringing her up? I didn’t know she was planning on coming anyway. This is good news, though, to be sure.”

“She often doesn’t come when she says she will. It’s a five hour drive each way. It takes a lot out of her.”

“And thank god for that deterrent. The harder it is for her to get here, the better.”

“You are miserable, aren’t you?”

Ah yes, so back unto her not coming through on things, a short while ago she came and took a number of boxes filled with my grandma’s old wool.

In total, across three households and her space at the retirement lodge, we have 50 huge boxes of the stuff.

So while I listened to her babble on about Swiss and Japanese knitting machines and her daughter letting her down, and all the money she’s paying for storage (I believe she’s paying one family $50 a month to store 40 boxes of her crap. I think that’s pathetic), as I frankly, sort of tuned her out, (because most of what she has to say about it is irrelevant anyway), I wondered how on Earth I’d go about selling all this crap anyway.

My temptation would be to simply hop on eBay, and put it all into one giant auction and see what happens. I don’t imagine I’d get very much for it. I would probably charge $300 for S+H, since the only real way to move all of it is with a moving truck, or it could be negotiable if they want to make their own moving arrangements. The auction would probably close at under 50 bucks, and that would roughly be her net profit. A dollar a box, and honestly, I think that’s far more than it’s worth.

Here’s the irritating thing. She thinks this stuff is worth a fortune, and that it would be abusive to her if she did somehow make a profit on all this “premium wool” that she bought 30 years ago, and now reeks of moth balls.

Come on! That’s like saying that 1983 copy of E.T. for the Atari_2600 you own is still worth its retail value of, whatever it was worth in 1983. They had enough trouble trying to sell the game new. They actually had to bury surplus copies of the game in a landfill in New Mexico. How much do you think it’s worth now? They couldn’t even give that shit away, and the sad truth is, neither can my grandma. The wool is worthless.

Not that long ago, I finally convinced her to give it away, if only for her own health and sanity. I had arranged to give it all away to the mother of a friend of mine, but then Depressia reneged, a common reaction from her. (This is a trait she and Auntie Flo share.) She felt this woman had tried to cheat her. So truth be told, I don’t know if I want to try to make arrangements, just to have her cancel them later.

Actually, what I really want to do is move to another city, far, far away from all these crazy people.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Women Who Cry During Sex

Writing Day: 2

Word Count: 5,164

It occurs to me that my first ever “short story” isn’t going to be all that short.

You ever have one of those days where you feel like your brain went out to lunch, and then forgot to come home? And then hours later, you find out it’s been over at Johnny’s house again, smoking marijuana and looking at nudie pictures of Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, and Peter Jackson. And you yell at your brain and tell it to come home because you’re lonely and you haven’t cuddled in like forever. That’s my brain everyday.

Sometimes I haven’t even noticed my brain is gone. I could just be sitting there reading a book.

“Hey Mal. Whatcha readin’?”

“Oh, uh…” I stop, look at the cover of the book, totally spaced out. Read the title to myself. Look back at my questioner. Forget what the question was. “What?”

“What book is that?”

Look at the title again. Look at the pretty picture on the cover. It’s a turtle.

“I’m reading a turtle book. I’m learning all about turtles. Did you know turtles can live up to…” Stop to read the passage again. Can’t find it. “A long time?”

I had this thought today about microorganisms. Some parasites kill the host, right? Others keep them alive, feeding off them, but essentially letting them stay healthy. What if there were a parasite that actually kept the host alive indefinitely? I’m talking reversal of aging, eradication of any incoming cancers, recalibration of your metabolism, the tuning out of rap music – you know, the works. Wouldn’t that be huge? You could have a T-shirt that says “Kiss me ladies, I have a disease that will keep you young and reperkify your boobs.”

Hehe, “reperkify” isn’t a real word. Did anyone catch that? I bet you did you sexy little devils.

I invented a new game today. I call it “Who-what-when-where-why.” Basically, while you’re talking to someone, you cut them off in mid-sentence with “who.” Typically, they’ll say “what?” before they know what’s going on, and you immediately respond with “when.” Now if they’re really on the ball, they’ll say “where,” and you can respond with “why!” Congratulations, you’ve won. You get to sing your favorite jingle at the top of your lungs as you jump up and down.

If they fail to help you complete the game, you shout “you ruined everything,” and you inexplicably run away. That’s just the way the game works. Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game. Sigh… This is what happens when you’re single for too long.

Oh yes, you’re probably wondering why this entry is titled “Women Who Cry During Sex.” Well, so am I. Often people talk about what a bad move it is on a date to cry after sex. I’ve had a few one night stands, and nobody’s ever done that to me, but I did have one girlfriend who used to cry during sex. It was the strangest thing. She’d start to moan and cry.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“No, it just feels really amazing. Don’t stop!”

Apparently crying for her was the orgasm. Every time. Now, I’ve laughed so hard I cried, but I still wasn’t actually crying. There were tears, but I still like to think there’s a difference. Anyway, just thought I’d share that with all of you.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

I am Sam 2: Green Eggs and Harry

Word Count: 2,675

I am Sam 2: Green Eggs and Harry

Sam is back, and this time, he’s pissed. Since he lost custody of his daughter seven years ago, Sam joined the NYPD and hit the beat on the mean streets of New York City, with his partner “Dirty” Harry Callahan.

Here’s an exerpt:


THUG #118 turns the corner, exhausted from his chase with SAM, and finally finding himself face-to-face with HARRY.


Drop the gun before I put a hole in your chest the size of your prick! That’s right. It’ll be small, embarrassing and painful to look at.

THUG #118

Man, I got six kids. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.

THUG #118 drops the gun at his feet, holding his hands high in the air. Sam comes from behind with his handcuffs and puts them on the thug, with a big grin on his face.


You dropped the gun, that was a good choice. That’s a excellent choice.

When Sam’s sexy teenage daughter is kidnapped by the evil Hong Kong Chinese Triad Yakuza Hybrid New Wave Syndicate, they aren’t afraid to get retarded dangerous on their ass. So help him, if Sam’s out of bullets, he’ll hug them all to death.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

The Story of Blackheart Begins

This month, on “The Ghost Writer,” I’m going to be keeping a daily word count.

So I did a quick analysis of what sort of pace I’ll need to keep to reach my 50,000 word goal. I’m changing it up a little. I’m going to treat week days as writing days, and week-ends as days off. So, assuming I have four work weeks, or 20 days total, as long as I write 2,500 words per week-day, I should be fine. I took a look at how that fit spatially in my word processing program, and that’s just four pages. Four pages isn’t bad. I can write that with my eyes closed.

That’s 625 words per page. I still remember my university days when the assumption was 250 words per page. What a joke. (Yeah, I know that’s “double-spaced,” but still…)

Here are the synopses: (Maybe more like teasers)

Forged by Revenge

Macil, a soldier hell-bent on revenge against the gargoyle people for the slaughter of his family and community finds himself conflicted when a childhood friend has chosen to stand by the gargoyles and protect them.

The Man of the Faith

In a world where the clergy are responsible for law enforcement, Caleb, a cleric is sent to investigate the death of a young and loved exotic dancer. On the surface it looks like suicide, but as Caleb examines the dancer’s life, he senses there is something much bigger going on.


Alesha, once an assassin, lives her life on the streets of an urban community as a pickpocket and streetear. Investigating the disappearance of a close friend, she learns that he may still be alive, and that she may be able to save him, but now it seems she is being tracked by a former fellow assassin.

Beneath the Abyss

Ivan, a highland warrior is enslaved by a group of pirates and forced into a life of servitude on the sea. As he slowly gains their respect, he learns that their captain is not who he says he is, and that he knows more about the strange whirlpools that have been swallowing ships whole.

The Heart of Gold

A long time before the other stories take place, a heroic knight falls in love with an angel. The angel is condemned for this and banished to the underworld, into which the knight plunges himself to retrieve her.


Vanquo Zane, a member of a discredited noble family rises to power by cunningly using the people’s discontent to overthrow the old ailing monarchy, quietly, but firmly squashing every obstacle in his path. Like every great conqueror, he has a dark secret.

The Lifelight

Caleb responds to a distress call from a regional slum reporting severe hauntings. As he investigates the apartment complex, a mysterious force has him haunted by his own past.

The Darkest Knight

Ivan unwittingly unleashes an invincible, bloodthirsty demon-knight whose sole purpose is to kill the one woman who is keeping the demon-queen sealed in the underworld. Macil has vowed to protect this woman even at the cost of his own life. When the Black Knight stumbles upon Zane’s secret records, Zane calls in the clergy to stop this demon-knight however they can.