I'm Back

I have returned from my trip. For those of you who have frantically checked this blog on a daily basis waiting for the exact moment of my return: the wait is over. Breathe.

My travels took me to a place whose travel slogan is "One Happy Island." You may find the notion of The Angry Piper on "One Happy Island" to be fraught with irony. To that I respond: surely. But it was fun.

Of course, I was ready to come home. There's only so much drinking and reading and laying in the sun you can do, especially when my Celtic paleness turns into something the hue of cooked beets when exposed to sunlight for more than a few minutes. And it's a whole different kinda sun down there, people.

So what did I do? Lay in the sun a lot. Got a tan, belive it or not, despite the fact that I layered myself in 30 SPF sunblock 3 times a day. Swam in the Caribbean Sea. Re-read the Chonicles of Narnia and 4 other books. Met a few nice Dutch people, but didn't get in the car with any of them (I'm not a blonde 18 year old girl, but you never know). Covertly watched lots of foreign big girls in small bathing suits from behind the mirrored lenses of my shades. And I dodged lots of iguanas and iguana shit. Iguanas are like cats down there. They're everywhere, and they're big.

I also went to a casino for the first time in my life. I gave myself a limit of $20.00. It took me an hour to lose it all, but I was bored to tears within 10 minutes. I don't see how people enjoy sitting in front of a slot machine all day.

I drank quite a bit too, but towards the middle of the week it lost its charm. Drinks of choice: Balashi Beer and Pink Panthers. Now, I know what you're all thinking. How could The Angry Piper, a paragon of masculinity and virility, drink something so pussylike as to be called a "Pink Panther"?

Well, it's like this. There's no Guinness on the island.

Now, I was pleasantly surprised by the local Balashi brew. It's good stuff. But there's only so much you can drink of it before you want something new. So I tried the "drink o'the day" one day and it was a Pink Panther. Looks like Pepto Bismol, but tastes a lot better. And it does the job in no time flat. Especially for guys like me who don't usually drink (or like) hard liquor.

I brought some of you some souvenirs. Malach and Murk, you have presents. But not you, Eve. I didn't get you jack shit.

I bought myself something, too. Nothing major, and not something I needed. It's another T shirt. And it's not the one I saw depicting a Jolly Roger with the slogan: "Surrender the Booty" on it. I mean, really. There's a point I won't go beyond.

Anyway, I'm back, and I'm considerably more swarthy-looking than usual. I am also glad to see that my apartment, and all my stuff, is exactly how I left it. The Angry Piper doesn't live in the best part of town.

On a side note: I mentioned the Chronicles of Narnia earlier in this blog; for those who simply skim my rantings, you may have missed it. Anyone else waiting for this movie with as much antici......pation as me? Christ, I watched the trailer again a few minutes ago and got chills.

Liam Neeson as Aslan? Oh yeah.

Where do Angry Pipers go on Vacation?

Someplace tropical.


See you in a week if I don't die in a fiery plane crash.

It's TRUE!

Another Purported Sighting of The Angry Piper

The Angry Piper, long thought to be a mythological beast the likes of Nessie, El Chupacabra and The Jersey Devil, has supposedly been sighted in New England. This photo was hastily taken by an intrepid investigative journalist from the Weekly World News who heard a "godawful sound coming from the woods, like someone flogging a cat with coaxial cable wire." She goes on to claim that upon being photographed, the Piper made a rude gesture and fled into the woods. "He looked like he just wanted to be left alone. It was all so surreal...it was kinda like seeing Bigfoot, but not in the Pacific Northwest. And not as hairy. Or as big. And oh yeah...he was carrying a bagpipe."

Like Bigfoot indeed.

Climbing the Hill

So last night I sat down with my friend, Malach, and my therapist, Dr. Robert J. Murk, to wax philosphical about life as is our wont. They told me of their plans to start a revolution and I spoke lamely of my unnatural love for bagpipes and how I'd marry my pipes if it weren't against God's law. Dr. Murk shocked me with the cattle prod, providing me with the negative reinforcement I needed, and said "Listen up, rubberneck. We're talking about a revolution, for fuck's sake. Are you in or will you be shot with those who stand against us?"

I rubbed my arm. Sometimes I regretted signing that waiver. Besides, he wouldn't be around forever and soon I would be back at home with my pipes...

Murk raised the cattle prod threateningly.

"OK," I said. "Gimme another Beck's and I'm all ears."

The necessary beverage secured, Malach proceeded to tell me of the stirrings of unrest and discontent among the masses. "The revolution is dedicated to providing alternative production and dissemination of any and all forms of media. The entertainment industry and news agencies are full of shit. You, as an intelligent person, have known this for years."

"Of course." I said. I'm quite smart.

"Yet you still watch, listen and believe," said Dr. Murk. I noticed with some trepidation that he had not put the cattle prod away.

"Well...maybe not so much believe. Or watch, really...I'm more of a reader..." I began.

"Shut your filthy hole, you scum!" said the Doc. So far our little get-together was proceeding as usual. "Hill TV needs you!"

I blinked. "What?"

Dr. Murk moved with the speed of a striking cobra. I barely ducked in time. The cattle prod left a smoking hole in his couch. I smiled in triumph, thinking Mrs. Dr. Murk would soon take it out of his cursed Gallic hide. Ha!

They went on to tell me that Hill TV is the vehicle by which our ends will be achieved. They offer a home for amateur media. Remember Pump Up the Volume? Hill TV is the Pirate Radio of the Internet. Write something. Film something. Draw something. Record something. Podcast something.

Submit it to Hill TV.

Hill TV has the potential to be the LA Free Press (the Freep) of the Internet. The Phoenix. The Economist. The Christian Science Monitor. You stuff will be treated with respect and given a forum.

Been writing for years and haven't been published? It could be that you suck, or it could be that "there's no market for this stuff right now." Whatever the case, if you want others to read your work, submit it to Hill TV. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, commentary, humor, op-ed...hell, if Malach can do it, you sure as hell can!
Are you an amateur filmmaker? The next Michael Moore, the next Spielberg? Post your fan films or documentaries.
Are you a misunderstood artist? Post your work and use the opportunity to explain it to the dullards who don't understand your genius. Or don't bother to explain. Sulk in tragically hip melancholy-whatever you want. But for God's sake DO SOMETHING!

Do: Check out Hill TV today. The place reeks of potential!!! (Or that could be Malach's Axe Body Spray. Mmmmm....)
Do: Think about what you want to do.
Do: Read their submission guidelines. Seriously.

Don't: Submit crap. Or if you do, at least try to make it look nice.
Don't: Just SAY you'll submit something. DO it.
Don't: Neglect this opportunity! There's a large readership out there!

See, Hill TV is backed by the webtraffic from Stool Sample, Rubbersuit Studios, Minimum Security, Dr. Murk's World, and a host of forums and blogs that link to it, not the least of which is my highly controversial and critically acclaimed blog that you're reading right now. When I add my readership of three to Hill TV, their ranks of loyal fans will thicken and become engorged, their girth swelling with throbbing, veiny pride! It's an open call for submissions, people!!!

I can hear your smarmy replies now: So what are YOU gonna do, Piper? All you do is hype your friends' site and solicit submissions, but are YOU doing anything? Are you?

Yes, douchebag. I am.

I had originally planned on asking them to do a column on love advice. I always wanted to be a love advice columnist.

"Are you crazy?" asked Dr. Murk. "No, don't bother...I know that one already. I've read your pitiful excuse for a blog. Your Automated Menu pretty much shows how successful you are in love. Here's some advice for you: put the bagpipes away and drop the book and spend some time with someone who wears skirts besides yourself."

"It's a kilt," I said, but Murk only expressed his disgust with a sound not unlike a cat makes when disgorging a hairball. Perhaps a love column isn't in my future. But you can bet your collective arses I'll be at Hill TV!

The Monster Under the Bed

I'm 32 years old. It's been a long time since I believed that evil Grimace from McDonald's lived in my closet and wished me ill. I don't scare easily anymore. In fact, pretty much the only thing that makes me crap my kilt in terror is the thought of being devoured by a shark, which is why I never swim in the ocean. Of course, like all celebrities, I also live in constant fear of being "punk'd" by Ashton Kutcher.

Which brings me to my chosen topic for this post:Horror. Now, I know I could have waited for a more appropriate time of the year, perhaps closer to Halloween, but the simple truth is that I don't have anything else to write about and I'm catching shite from my adoring fans (all 3 of you). I don't want to write about the real-life horror of New Orleans, because I can't possibly convey my rage and heartbreak at that mammoth clusterfuck in a coherent manner. Suffice it to say our emergency response (or lack thereof) was, well, two words associated with horror come to mind:horrifying and horrible.

But enough of that. (I really could rant all day about it, but I won't.)

While watching a "horror" movie last night, I realized just how long it has been since I have seen a film that genuinely scared me. Last night's feature was "Boogeyman", a movie that looked, at least from the outside, to have none of the qualities of those lamebrain "I know what you did in your pants" movies. One of the quotes on the cover billed it as "The scariest movie EVER." Now, I am justly skeptical of movie reviewer quotes ever since I (Heart) Huckabees was quoted as being "laugh out loud funny." It was anything but; and yes, for all the existential philosophy-major douchebags who are feeling pretentious, I DID get the point, or rather the lack thereof, of the film. It still wasn't funny. At all. But I digress.

Boogeyman was not only far from "the scariest movie ever", it wasn't scary, period. It also had plot holes big enough for an all-hippo dance company to perform Swan Lake in. Sadly, this seems to be the general trend in horror films. Crap storyline(an often unexplained series of events with no resolution at the end), often bad acting (speaks for itself) and idiotic characters (don't go in THERE, asshole!). Boogeyman fits the mold. For one thing, the storyline is never fully explained. The acting is actually adequate, but don't applaud, as it's not like the script expected all that much from the actors. The characters are typically idiotic. For example: The Boogeyman comes out when it's dark. The characters know this. You would think someone would turn on some freakin' lights, right? I mean, they might predictably go out, but at least MAKE THE EFFORT IN THE FIRST PLACE. If I thought a monster was hiding in my dark house (or even if my house just happened to be dark in general, sans monsters), the first thing I'd do is turn on the lights. Is common sense really too much to expect from movie characters?

So, thinking back to the last movie that freaked me out...I'd have to say it was The Ring. Now, I know this movie has been hyped to death, but despite its wonky premise, it had good acting and enough plot twists to keep you guessing. In addition, it had the novelty of having most of its disturbing scenes take place during the day, in well-lit rooms or in broad daylight. Often the viewer felt safe until...well, you know.

Before that, the last movie that scared me was The Blair Witch Project, and that relied entirely on the strength of its atmosphere. I really felt like I was in the woods. One of my manly friends saw that movie and was walking his dog later that night. She slipped the leash and ran into the woods. He went home, trusting the dog would find her way back on her own. THAT'S atmosphere. (It was also something we all gave him shit for, but I doubt any one of us would have gone after that dog either.)

Unless you've been living under a rock, you know The Ring was a remake of a Japanese movie. As was The Grudge (which totally sucked; meowing kids aren't scary). Asian horror is subtle. It's also scary as hell. I have praised the virtues of my comic shop (The Annex, in Newport, RI) previously in this blog. They have a wide selection of Asian Horror movies, and most of them are scary, with images that stay with you forever. I'm not talking about going for the gross-out. Although that does happen occasionally in Asian films (like The Audition) it's nowhere near as prevalent as in American films (like Saw). The Ring (either version) wasn't particularly gory, but to me it sure was scary.

Horror isn't just about movies. Since Resident Evil first came out for the Playstation back in 1997, horror games have taken off. The Resident Evil series was a blast to play, especially RE2. I haven't played RE4 yet; it's only out for GameCube, and The Angry Piper is a PS2 guy all the way. The creepiest game series I've ever played is Konami's Silent Hill series, which is so sick and twisted it gets into your dreams (in my case-literally). Wanna blow some zombies' heads off with a shotgun? Any Resident Evil game is for you. Wanna battle skinless, faceless children wielding knives who plunge them into your legs and hang on, and you with only a wooden plank to fend them off? Yeah. That's Silent Hill.

Many games nowadays offer replay value by unlocking new stuff once you've completed the game once, such as new outfits for your characters, new endings, or new weapons you can use the next time through. The Silent Hill games are no exception. But although I'll play each one once, there isn't a Silent Hill game I'd WANT to play through again. Not because they're bad. They're just way too disturbing.

For sheer eerieness, Tecmo's Fatal Frame series is number one. There are two of these games so far, with the third installment to follow soon. Both games have similar storylines and involve you (you being, in all 3 cases, a little Japanese girl in a sailor suit who can't run for beans) battling ghosts, armed only with a "Spirit Camera"; no shotguns or even wooden planks here. Having to photograph the ghosts before they get you adds the scary effect of watching them come after you as you try to focus the viewfinder. The atmosphere in these games is exceptionally spooky.

Which leaves, of course, Horror fiction. But that's a post all by itself.

Anyone see any good horror movies lately?