Ed Wood Wednesdays is going on hiatus (and other disappointing blog news)

Yup. That about covers it.

"If I could not earn a penny from my writing, I would earn my livelihood at something else and continue to write at night."

-Irving Wallace (via Michael O'Donoghue)

Yesterday, I went into my Blogger "Draft Posts" folder, where all my unfinished articles and stories reside, and deleted everything in it. It was a sad and profound moment. I knew I was never going to finish these posts, so why should they taunt me? Among the casualties: a very high-concept short story about cartoon characters (specifically, cartoon nephews) getting together in Hollywood; a far-reaching and history-minded analysis of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, one which connects it with such films as Easy Rider, The Big Chill, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas; and a half-kidding, half-serious editorial about how Jim Henson's Muppet Babies was the beginning of the end of everything. They all bit the dust, along with a number of never-to-be-completed reviews of certain movies, including (yes) some titles from my Mill Creek Comedy Classics box set. (I haven't forgotten about it.) I honestly thought I could live like Irving Wallce suggested: earning my livelihood by day and writing at night. Kafka did it. "The Night Writer," some have called him, though that nickname brings to mind talking cars more than talking cockroaches.

Folks, I've tried, but I just can't be Kafka. Not right now, anyway.

Between working and commuting, I have only about two hours every weekday between when I finally get back home and when I have to be in bed. During that two hours, I have to eat dinner, make my daily phone call to my father and patiently listen to every detail of his event-free day, check my e-mail and social media accounts, and maybe try to watch a little TV or part of a movie. That leaves very, very little time for writing. Today, I'm using part of my two hours to write this little update. Was it worth it? You tell me. I suppose I could write on the weekends, and I try to do so, but those are my only days to catch up on laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping. and (oh, yeah) something called sleep. While it's still warm outside, it would be nice to get some fresh air occasionally, too, if possible.

Ed Wood Wednesdays is going to have to go on an indefinite hiatus for the time being, at least until my mind and body adjust to my new work schedule. All other writing projects I may have had are hereby cancelled. As always, I will probably post some brief, informal articles here from time to time, as I have always done. But I don't see myself writing anything research-heavy or complicated in the foreseeable future. This is a very troubling and disheartening time in my life. It feels like I'm putting a well-loved pet to sleep. The creative/silly side of my personality is dying. Maybe it's already dead. I just know that I'm tired all the time now. Tired of mind. Tired of body. Tired of spirit. As Lili Von Shtupp once succinctly put it, "Goddamnit, I'm exhausted."

On the bright side, I discovered a neat little obscure R&B number from the late 1950s, lurking on a compilation I've owned for years. It's called "King of Fools," and it's credited to a singer named Sam Hawkins, who currently does not even merit a Wikipedia entry. Give it a spin.

I own 'Brothers in Arms' by Dire Straits because of some lady in a swimming pool

Believe it or not, it has to do with this woman.

Years ago, and we're talking decades here, my mother and father got me a whole stack of books they'd found in a remainder bin,  One of them was this collection of funny and unusual vintage photos from Life magazine. Now, Life has been kind of a mini-obsession with me for a long time. Not the magazine's sad final years of dwindling sales and cultural irrelevance, of course. No, I mean the mag's heyday as a weekly publication, right up to the early 1970s, when it was such an easily-identifiable piece of Americana that even MAD spoofed it. When I was in college -- and I realize how nerdy this will sound -- I spent many hours poring over old Life magazine back issues, which the library had bound in volumes. I was especially transfixed by the photos, but I read the articles, too. I can remember being really psyched to find the issue which contained an article actually written by Frank Zappa called "The Oracle Has It All Psyched Out." To me, issues of Life were much more interesting decades later than they probably had been when they were brand new.

So I usually read before I go to bed, and one night I decided to browse through the aforementioned volume of funny Life photos. One of them was a 1962 black-and-white snapshot of a girl swimmer in what looked like an Olympic-sized pool. She was spitting water like a fountain, and the water in the pool caused a distortion which made it appear that her head had come loose from her body. I noticed a weird detail in the picture, though: a big crucifix on the wall behind her. For some reason, I decided that this was a swim meet at a Catholic high school or college. I was brought up Catholic, so maybe that had something to do with it. With a little Google-fu, I found a site which identified the girl as Kathy Flicker and the locale as Princeton University's Dillon Gym.

Anyway, I was looking at this book before bed, and it made its way into my dreams. I had a very vivid dream in which I was competing in a swim meet at a Catholic high school. In reality, I can swim, but I have never even come close to competing in a swim meet. But, still, that's what was happening in this dream. Before the competition started, I noticed that all the other competitors had these special little slippers that they put on over their feet. I didn't have a pair, and I started to get nervous. Then I really freaked out when the race started, and my competitors were all able to walk on water with their special slippers. I tried it, and I sank to the bottom. And all through this experience, the song "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits was playing in the background. I could still hear it when I was underwater, except it was a bit muted and distant.

The next day -- maybe the first thing, since it was a Saturday -- I drove to a second-hand CD store and bought a copy of Brothers In Arms by Dire Straits, specifically to get the song "Walk of Life." And it's still in my collection to this day. I don't know if I've even played the other songs on it, except for maybe "Money for Nothing." I've told a version of this story to all the therapists I've ever had, and by my count, I'm on my fourth one of those.

My Martha Plimpton dream

Martha Plimpton: girl of my dreams?

I had a dream about Martha Plimpton once.

I don't know why exactly. It's not like I'm an obsessive Martha Plimpton fan or anything. I mean, sure, she's a delightful character actress whose quirky, offbeat presence has brightened many a film and television program. But I haven't actively followed her career. I don't even watch Raising Hope, although I've heard the show is pretty good. But, nevertheless, I had a dream about Martha Plimpton.

In the dream, I was at a restaurant, and you'll never guess who I met there. Martha freaking Plimpton! No shit. She was just sitting at the bar, waiting for a table like everyone else. I recognized her immediately. She has a pretty distinct look, after all. I debated whether or not to approach her, but only for a second or two. I figured, "What the heck? When am I going to meet Martha Plimpton again?" So I went up to her and said something clever like, "Are you Martha Plimpton?" And she said, "Yes, I am." "I love your movies," I replied. (This dream was a few years ago, before Raising Hope.)

Naturally, I started off by mentioning Parenthood and The Goonies, but the movie I really wanted to ask her about was Pecker, a John Waters film from 1998. She was really happy to be asked about that movie. I think she gets a lot of Goonies questions because people grew up with that movie and have such fond memories of it, but she's really hilarious in Pecker as the title character's remarkably gay-friendly older sister. I don't know what the real Martha Plimpton is like, but the dream Martha Plimpton was very down-to-earth and friendly. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning, I was very disappointed to realize that I had not really met Martha Plimpton.

So that was my Martha Plimpton dream. What did you think of it?

The best dream I ever had

Ike and Tina Turner: Reunited in dreamland

Ike and Tina's imaginary tobacco farm

I'm a reporter for Rolling Stone, and I am sent to interview Ike and Tina Turner. Ike, somehow, is still alive and well. Tina is as beautifully-preserved as you might imagine her to be. In fact, in their golden years, Ike and Tina have put aside their differences and remarried and are now tobacco farmers in Georgia. I visit them at their farm, and the mood is very tranquil and happy. I know dreams are supposed to be in black-and-white, but this one has a very definite color scheme. Everything looks like a faded photograph. If you've ever seen the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou?, you have a good idea of what it looks like at the Turner tobacco farm. They serve me dinner. It's good,hearty Southern cuisine. Afterwards, we sit out on the porch at sundown. Ike picks up an old, nearly-worn-out guitar and begins strumming the cords to, you guessed it, "Proud Mary." He begins singing, and his voice is as deep and strong as ever. After a few bars, Tina joins in and sounds exactly like you want her to sound. They do the whole song in the "nice and easy" style you hear at the beginning of the recording. There is no horn section here, naturally, so they can't really do the "nice and rough" part. I'm the only audience member, and I applaud when the song is done. Ike says he and Tina never perform in public anymore but still sing a little around the house. I thank them for their hospitality, get in my car and head to my next destination.

The dream continues.

Sonny & Cher: Destined for each other.

I am now driving on a desert highway in one of the Western states, possibly Arizona. My destination? A roadside convenience store now run by Sonny and Cher, who have also remarried. Sonny, like Ike, has somehow escaped death but does not seem to be doing as well as Ike. He seems troubled and serious, while Cher seems pleasant but distracted. The Bonos' store is very isolated in a desolate landscape, and everything here looks like a scene from No Country for Old Men. (Yes, I realize that both halves of this dream look like Coen Brothers movies.) Business is slow. Sonny works the register and keeps the books. Cher stocks the shelves, tidies up a bit, and chats up the few customers who come in. They live in a little house further back on the same piece of property. The store and the house, in fact, are the only two structures visible for miles around. (NOTE: I am almost positive this detail was inspired by The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, in which Leatherface's brother also operates a nearby gas station/barbecue pit.) After S&C shut down the store for the day (total receipts being less than $10), they take me back to the house. It's a mess. Dishes are piled up in the sink, and there are old magazines and newspapers stacked everywhere. They must have about 10 cats, and the animals move about the house with impunity. It is as much their home as the Bonos'. Cher staggers off to do whatever she does, and Sonny starts to confide in me. He's scared to death of Cher. If she forgets to take her pills, she "goes crazy." I notice that there are pill bottles strategically located throughout the home, presumably so Sonny can reach them and give them to Cher whenever he has to. But Sonny lives this way because he truly loves Cher and wants to take care of her.

I cannot tell you more because it's at this point that I wake up.