I had a really cool dream last night, a blog-worthy dream.

For some reason, I was in an old European city walking around with a group of vaguely familiar people. Maybe it was Rome, or Venice. It was gray and mostly make of old stone. I was walking past an old wall outside on a narrow street and suddenly parts of the wall opened up and it was an old mausoleum. The whole wall was full of dead old ladies. They all looked the same, yellow decaying faces with large noses, and their bodies tightly wrapped in black shrouds. Everybody I was walking with didn't seem to notice the corpses laying in the recesses in the wall. We all turned at an opening in the wall and walked down a set of stairs to a dimly lit room full of strangers. It was cool and dry and had stone walls, ceiling, and floor, like a basement. There were people dressed up for a social gathering milling around quietly, talking to each other in hushed voices as they would in a cathedral. There were several rooms like this, all full of quiet people. Then, from the shadows and corners of the rooms, the dead old women from the wall outside started standing up and walking around slowly. Dozens of eyeless old crones with yellowed, sallow faces and frail bodies wrapped in black were all slowly ambling around with the other people. Each one was only about five feet tall, slightly hunched over. I was uncomfortable, so I avoided them as best I could. I kept walking down small flights of stairs and through more and more rooms of old dead ladies. I got freaked out and started panicking when I realized that I was surrounded by zombies, and I tried to get out, but there were too many of them in my way, so I started punching them. For some reason I can never move fast or hit very hard when I dream, but I was able to beat the crap out of these frail old dead ladies pretty easily. I think it's because they were all atrophied and because they didn't have any water in their systems, so their muscles were useless and they were really light weight. I would punch them and they would fall over. I was really enjoying myself, actually. I managed to escape out a back entrance and for some reason I exited out of a screen porch in the American suburbs where a large white passenger van was waiting for me with all the people I was with in the beginning. They were waving to me to get in when two other people, a man and a woman from inside came running up to me and started yelling at me. Apparently, the old zombie hags were their old dead relatives and they were raised from the dead once a year for a traditional family function. None of them meant me any harm after all, but I wasn't convinced. Then the two people stated to turn yellow and sickly like the zombies, so I punched them both and jumped in the van where everybody congratulated me and we drove away. I woke up and I was pretty happy that I got to punch out a bunch of zombies.

The cool thing about when I dream is that not only do I see color, but I see dramatic lighting and shadows as well. My dreams are often very cinematic, but this was the first time I battled harmless geriatric European zombies.

I just finished watching what might be the next big thing on the internet, a fan film called The Fanimatrix: Run Program. Fan films have been around for years, and most of them fall into two separate categories, humorous and serious. The humorous ones are often riffs on traditional media, usually sci-fi. My personal favorites are Red vs Blue and Star Wars Janitor. Typically, these are the better movies on the internet. Serious fan films seem to be much harder to make. Most of the Star Wars themed movies I've seen fall into this category and feature amateur thespians trying their hardest to be serious and solemn Jedi, and often come across as rigid and boring, not to mention goofy. Often the scripts are void of any real plot or characterization and all lead to the same kung-fu charged lightsaber duel at the end, and the viewer is left with little more than a special effects exercise.

With the bar set so low for serious amateur films on the internet, it's nice to see someone come along and make something like Fanimatrix. It's not perfect, but considering that the cast and crew were volunteers and the total production cost was about 1000 New Zealand dollars, the resulting movie is phenomenal. $1000 wouldn't get anything done in Hollywood, not even a sixteen minute movie such as this one. With that thought in mind Fanimatrix is enjoyable in the same way as Sam Raimi's Within the Woods, the low budget precursor to Evil Dead.

The plot centers on two characters, Dante and Medusa, as they enter in to the matrix and the operator who oversees their mission. I'm not sure what the mission is, but it's established that wherever they have to go is packed to the rafters with security and unpleasant people in general. Dante's mission is to start a bar fight in the goth bar below the office that medusa is breaking into, probably as some kind of diversion. Soon enough Dante is confronted by bar patrons dressed as Nine Inch Nails roadies. Now, obviously, there will be some trouble here. There isn't any doubt that these mimes from hell will get their asses handed to them, and this is where the movie actually picks up quite a bit.

The action and fight sequences are all top notch. Not just compared to other amateur fare on the internet, either. Every move is carefully planned and filmed in a way that elevates this movie above the backyard wrestling quality of other fan films.

It would have been nice to have some more exposition in the beginning of the film, even just a voiceover. Also, some of the editing could have been tighter, especially in the opening sequence. Two more nights of editing and the movie could've looked smoother in some parts. This is a pithy complaint, though, because they managed to get the movie done by the promised release date of September 28. Usually, a project this size would never make it's release date, so serious congratulations are in order to the cast and crew of Fanimatrix.

Yet again, I didn't do anything today. I plan to work on the guitar picture later, though. I messed up drawing the frets, though, a tedious process of almost but not quite right angles. The website has hit a snag because I need more images before I can continue.

Now that I think about it, I did a little more than nothing. I watched Westway to the World, a great documentary about the Clash. It's a great movie for music lovers in general because the interviews with the band members show their passion for music in general. They loved everything they came in contact with, from the Rolling Stones to the reggae in the Jamaican area of London, to the early rappers in the streets of New York City. They explain many of their songs and the stories behind them. The movie should be required viewing for all of the dumbass kids who like to think they're punk. The Clash used to dress in clothes that they had painted themselves with automotive spraypaint and metal stencils. At one point in the interview Joe Strummer laughs and comments how crazy they looked. The point is that nobody was doing anything like that anywhere else. Now, people can buy "punk" clothing off the rack at the mall. I've even seen a shirt with safety pins included at an upscale department store. It's disgusting, really. Granted, I was a toddler when punk was at it's height, so I'm not really an authority.

More of the same thing from yesterday. Web site, drawing, Cubs win, yay. But I have something I'd like to offer to the general populace, or at least the quark-sized percentage of people that will read this. Next time you need to imply that someone has below average intelligence, say that they're from a Nielsen family. If you don't know what this means, a Nielsen family is a household with a meter that lets them rate TV shows for a "random" sampling of the TV viewing population's opinions. This amounts to an anonymous mob of morons who are contractually obligated to watch a certain amount of television every week. It's because of these people that America gets nothing but "reality" shows and carbon-copy legal dramas. Maybe I'm talking to the wrong people, but I mostly hear people talk about The Simpsons. So use the phrase if you like it. I think it's apt.

I'm making more progress on the website. The rudimentary java programming is a little over my head, but I want the rollover images to work. I'm all about the eye candy. That meant that I had to make a trip to the main branch library to find books about HTML, Java, and web design. It's surprising how many worthless web design books are in print. There are so many books that are full color illustrated and reference the latest software, but say absolutely nothing about making an effective site or the technical details for such a task.

In other news that has little to do with me but will have Gerry leaping over tall buildings in his Superman boxers, the Chicago Cubs beat the holy hell out of Cincinnati. 6-0. That's not even close. Even the Libertarian party would say "damn, you lost by a lot."

West Wing premieres tomorrow night. I'm all hyped about democracy for that. It ought to be an interesting season, too. Multiple Emmy wins and a new head writer hopefully mean that the show will have new issues to explore. After 4 years, where do they go? I have high hopes.

Enough blogging, back to the web page. I need to get this thing done.

It's been a productive day. It's been an Oi day, that's for sure. I listened to lots of loud punk music and worked on my guitar drawing and had a productive afternoon. So far, so good. I've been in need of calipers for a few of the details, though, so tonight I decided to venture out into the darkest corners of the city's craft and hobby stores. The first six places I tried turned up nada, and all the employees I asked told me to try stores I had already tried. I eventually ended up at the Sears hardware department and the helpful salesman had just what I needed. I'm now the proud owner of an odd looking ruler that slides and measures things. It kind of looks like a wrench. That wasn't the only cool thing at Sears, though. The girl at the register in the hardware department was cute, too. Throw in a HDTV set playing non-stop episodes of the Simpsons, M*A*S*H, and Buffy/Angel and I'm in Valhalla.

Then I went and bought coffee and doughnuts, making for a very nice evening indeed. I think there was a Beavis and Butthead episode where they have a great day and get free nachos and free money, and that was pretty much my day. Wahoo, you know? Now I'm going to work on a website. I'll post a link when it's up. I'll post a link for the what, two people who read this? Yeah.

I woke up tired today, which is always a disconcerting feeling. It's been a Tom Waits day, even though it was sunny. Actually, the weather is cooling down enough that I can wear long sleeves again, which is always a relief. Most of my favorite shirts and sweaters were purchased when I was still financially viable, and I prefer them over most of my t-shirts.

I went to see I Capture the Castle tonight. I wasn't sure what to expect from it, and now I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, the cinematography is great. The set dressing is all vintage 1930's British avant garde, the type of thing that I love. The lighting was consistently well done, in some cases upstaging the script and the performers. And the movie features Marc Blucas, recognizable from his stint as Riley on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It was nice to see him in a different role. The rest of the movie is a "coming of age" story of the young heroine, which is even less exciting than it sounds. It avoids most of the cliches that plague similar movies, but it remains staunchly unhappy despite the fact that the young woman lives with a family of geniuses in an idyllic castle in rural England before Germany had the chance to bomb the hell out of the country. It was a mostly enjoyable movie, but I probably wouldn't see it again.

I didn't make an entry yesterday because almost nothing happened yesterday. I drove Dad's new Volvo and started the new Palahniuk book Diary, but that was about it.

Tonight I hung out with my three room mates from college. I didn't realize how much I miss those guys and how great it was to see them. We played video games, watched GI Joe cartoons, and ate soft batch cookies. The cookies are significant from college- we always had a bag somewhere in the dorm room.

Not much else tonight. The claritin knockoff I took is making me more tired than usual. It is talk like a pirate day, though, so arrr. Or as I might say to Gerry, "Arrr, ya cheap fuckers!" Guess you had to be there for that one. It's not that great a story, but at the time it was hysterical.

Today was a good day. I hung out with Gerry and we geeked out watching Smallville and a bunch of cartoons. We even caught West Wing amidst all of that, making for a well rounded evening. I also made more progress on my guitar drawing, so hopefully it'll be done in time for the alumni show. I have yet to start with the ink, though. I'm kind of nervous about that because I'm not happy with the shade I mixed for the wood color on the neck. None of it is an exact science, though. I never learned how to do this sort of thing, it just sort of interests me.

Web logs were originally meant to be semi-personal autobiographical diaries about the people who write them, presumably so that other people they know could stay current with the writer's life events. This is what I intended mine to be, originally. I had all kinds of lofty ideas about using this fine and free service as a project until I find meaningful employment, now that the economy and job market are ostensibly on the mend. My blog was, and still is, meant to document the things that I do every day. However, that doesn't amount to much. I could report my feelings about the demo for the new Jedi Knight game I just tried, or I could relay my secrets for cooking macaroni and cheese in a clean and efficient manner that I have developed in my hiatus from usefulness. No, none of this, not yet anyway.

Actually, I did do something today. I listened to the new Rancid album. This one will be worth buying after the boycott, I think. It's kind of a departure from their earlier albums, but it still has their reggae and punk roots.

It's been another antisocial day. I meant to go to the lighting studio on campus to shoot photos of my electric guitar for a project I'm working on, but that would mean potentially seeing people I might not want to see. It's been odd since I graduated. I haven't wanted to go see anybody at the school because I don't have anything to say when they ask me what I've been up to. Of course, there is the handful of people who I do enjoy talking to whom I sorely miss and seldom see. It's kind of a kick in the balls because I sometimes feel that I've disappointed a great group of people who expected me to achieve great things. But I always suspected that there were some people who fully expected me to fail outright. These were the people who rubbed me the wrong way early on, so I resisted anything they had to say. These were teachers mostly, but teachers in title only. My feeling hasn't changed since I was in their classroom- screw 'em.

In other less self-absorbed and angsty news, I'm almost ready to apply to Google. It's been hard to write a cover letter to them because I don't know what they are looking for. I think I'll just try to sound as qualified and competent as possible. Failing that, maybe I'll just start taking companies to court to try to make the state force them to hire me.

There are several important issues to be considered in the open forum of the internet. A quick glance at the CNN website reveals a human interest quagmire:

Hurricane Isabel, a storm the size of Texas, is about to hit the east coast. Expect to see Disneyworld merchandise raining over Chicago next week.

Ben and Jen have supposedly parted ways now after calling off their original wedding plan. Meanwhile the sun still rose on time this morning, baffling pundits who predicted the opposite.

Israel has publicly stated they are considering killing Arafat because of his ties to terrorism. Does the Jerusalem mass transit department get any say in this?

Weighty issues indeed. The internet, specifically the blogging portion of it, is the perfect place to ponder these issues and offer insights that the mainstream media would normally overlook. It's a wonderful social responsibility to be able to offer input on world events. But like Homer Simpson said to Steve Martin, "Can't someone else do it?"

Today I'd rather give my input on an issue that I've been closely following: the casting of Christian Bale in the next Batman movie. Among the choices offered by the current crop of 28-35 year old actors he seems to be the best suited to play the part. Now pray for him.

The character Batman has been very carefully and masterfully refined since the revival of the character in Frank Miller's Year One and Tim Burton's two films. Paul Dini and co. then took the character and made him noirish and dark again, but still fun with the animated series.

Fans of the character expect quite a bit from a Batman movie now. Warner Brothers would probably have a safer bet by casting Ashton Kutcher as Batman, merchandising the hell out of it on a scale that far surpasses the last two Batman movies, and selling the movie primarily to their favorite market of gullible teenagers. Only by consciously making every wrong choice possible could Warner Brothers secure any sort of certainty on this project. Despite this, somebody deep within the company believes that this can be a great movie. This confidence is probably bolstered by the success of their faithful adaptations of the Harry Potter books. The correct conclusion would be this: take the time and spend the money to make the movie right and you'll reap large rewards.

But what is the "right" way to do a Batman movie? The fan expectations for the character are unreal. Batman is expected to talk like Greg Rucka and Frank Miller, sound like Kevin Conroy, move with the smooth dynamic flair of a comic book page, and punch like the old style cinema detectives that Bob Kane based him on. The standard keeps on growing, too. Jeph Loeb and Jim Lee have created a masterful Batman tale in their ten issue run "Hush." Even Kevin Smith got to take a turn with the character during his run on Green Arrow, "Quiver." Smith states in the introduction that he wanted to write Batman in somehow and make him the badass that the fans expect.

If all of these factors are carefully considered and painstakingly implemented, this Batman movie will end up being the most disjointed, schizophrenic, and patronizing movie imaginable. It can't possibly be all things to all people.

The way to go with a modern Batman movie is to bear in mind that Batman is a Hemingway hero. It's not the cape and cowl that make the hero, but the mind underneath. The spoken dialogue in a Batman comic book always takes second place to the character's inner monologue. He's introverted almost to a fault, and the main driving force from page to page is contained in the narration boxes that accompany his actions. Translating this to film would be almost impossible for most directors, but not for Christopher Nolan.

I have full confidence in Christopher Nolan. If you've seen Memento, then you know how well he can do with a character driven detective story. It'll be a cool movie, and a welcome remedy for what is shaping up to be a questionable Punisher movie. But that's a post for another time.

Oy vey, what a morning. My plans for this weekend began thusly: "meet in front of the liquor store at ten in the morning." You know you're a midwesterner when you hear that in normal conversation. Actually, the liquor store was only a convenient landmark because it was across from the "go-stuff-yourself" self-storage place. The objective was to clean out one of the plywood lined storage sections rented by some friends of the family. Out of the shed and into a large truck with the help of a half-dozen-odd people. It was all organized kind of like one of those flash mobs that are popular in larger, cooler cities. We gathered, we lugged boxes, we departed. I think that some of the guys were workers at the local General Motors plant, hence the efficiency.

Moving the stuff into the new house was equally easy. The couple whose stuff we were porting had a preternatural sense of where each box should go. The same anonymous cardboard boxes that everybody moves with, with loosely scrawled black felt tip marker directions to rooms that possibly didn't exist when they were christened "storage" or "ornaments." These people knew from memory where everything went. Just like Thom Yorke said, "everything in it's right place."

This lead to the post-move sit down, a custom which leads back to the nomadic tribes of the North American plains. After you move, you sit and eat and talk. Just me and six other carbon copies of Joe Sixpack American watching Purdue and Wake Forrest. I have no particular allegiance to either team, but the alpha-male of the house is a Purdue grad, so that became my adopt-a-team today. Whatever. They all sat around with their light beer, athletic team shirts and $150 Nike running shoes and beer bellies to "shoot the shit" as it were. It's the kind of thing that I feel obligated to sit in on every once in awhile in order to keep my Midwestern heritage. It's one of the last vestiges of tribal culture in our society, similar in this way to wedding presents and church potlucks.

These sort of gatherings are great social equalizers. If you'll carry boxes, you're welcome. It doesn't matter if you're the archetype of the American blue collar working man who always becomes so important in major election years, or the largely marginalized unemployed artist type with more computer smarts than labor-intensive work ethic. It doesn't matter. Anyone can sit and talk about trivialities like sports and movies as if they held real importance. You can wear $95 deck shoes from Saks or $2.50 flip-flops from Walmart. You sit, talk, and absently stare at the brand new wooden deck and ponder what color wood stain would match the house, furniture, and gas grille. Yup, good times.

Perhaps this could be the answer to peace in the middle east. Seriously. Every time Al-Jazeera spins the latest video from bin-Laden we see the crotchety old bastard sitting on a pile of sharp rocks. Of course they're mad at us, they're mad at everybody. They don't have a place to just sit at the end of the day and kibitz (okay, maybe not a Yiddish term for them). They all have guns, but they don't seem to have a hunting lodge to convene at after a long day of flipping off the CIA satellites and dodging missiles. What they need are carpenters to build them manly things like decks and lodges so that they can gather to shoot the shit, not shoot the shit out of each other. The last time a carpenter was a major social force in that general area, we got Christianity. Just don't mention that to the guy at the Ace bin-Hardware in Kabul.

I'd like to start this blog with some grand epiphany that I recently came to that struck me as worthy to post on the internet, but I've got nothing. This is more of a whim, really. The reason I've started this is that I hope it might make me focus a little harder on finding a real job. I've got a little web design gig right now that isn't bad, but it won't last. My goal right now is to get hired by google. They've got a sweet position as an "Associate Product Manager" that I'd like to fill. How cool would that be? It's hard to stay optimistic sometimes, even though I'm a white male living in the middle class suburbs with broadband internet, a guitar, and full use of my arms and legs. All things considered, I guess I'm okay.

Well, maybe. I think I might be a felon. My library card is maxed out right now, so I owe a lot of money to a federal organization. Failure to pay means I can't get books anymore. If I never pay, is that a federal crime? Of course, I'll pay. The AV section has the best assortment of cool foreign films in town and it's free aside from the fines. Some of the more mainstream movies are scratched up from all the white trash who rent them and use them to buff their trucks, but most of the cooler movies are pretty clean.