Tennessee in Summer

Hello there from lovely Knoxville TN, where myself and Cor are stopping by to pester some of her parental units, having had our fill of bothering her mom in Fishersville. We’ve been here since late evening Saturday, and have had a lovely time so far, enjoying in particular the top-notch cuisine which doesn’t hurt the urge to be repeat visitors.

On Saturday night, we honestly didn’t do a whole lot, since we spent most of the day driving to get here, and a fair amount of Sunday was also low-key, but come Sunday evening myself, Corelyn, her dad, and Linda took a little hour-and-a-half car trip out to Chatanooga to meet up with Laura for dinner at a local favorite restaurant called “Big River” something or other (I’m sure it was some variation on “grille” or “brewery,” since the place featured both). The food was absolutely wonderful, and we found ourselves still planted in our seats several hours later, laughing and carrying on like the suspicious characters our loved ones know us to be. It was a fine time, and the sweetness was only increased by being parked near an absolutely gorgeous Lamborghini Murcielago, which I promptly camera-phone-ed to several envious friends. The one hitch: the thing was, in Linda’s words, “frog green.” This is one of those moments in life where rational explanation is just wanting. Lamborghinis, you understand, are not cheap things to acquire, and given the opportunity, how could a person so permanently soil the occasion by selecting such a color? I propose the following theories:

1. Colorblindness

2. Some kind of “this color is hideous and we couldn’t sell it” discount

3. A last-minute pinch-defense after dressing in blue on Saint Patrick’s Day

4. The car is just really, really envious about someting

Take your pick, I have more.

Today, much to my delight, Mr. Coates was good enough to treat his daughter and I to a showing of “The Dark Knight” in IMAX, which I must say was quite an experience, particularly on the audio level. The picture was gorgeous, sure, but given that much of the movie was filmed in IMAX, it looks very natural. But my goodness, the sound. Believe me when I tell you, we genuinely mistook it for an oncoming thunderstorm on our way into the theater.

Speaking of “The Dark Knight” briefly, you should know it’s absolutely destroying the box office, having set several more records: fastest dash to $300 million dollars (did it in five days), biggest IMAX movie, and strongest Monday (I think). There is little to stop it from breaching the $500 million mark at this pace, and that’s just domestically. There is no question that “The Dark Knight” is on fire, demonstrating what a deadly one-two punch good reviews and lots of special effects really is.

So, moving right along, Corelyn and I are scrambling to complete our moving plans. We have a likely suspect for our new apartment in the historic Wilshire district, which we’re told is nice, and we’ll hopefully be getting our names attached to a nice, 7th floor room by week’s end (the view is allegedly great). It’s not for sure yet, so don’t get too committed to the idea, but I have a good feeling about this one.

For those of you that may remember, I am continuing work on “Archangel,” the story project I’ve been slaving over since the beginning of this year. The story centers around a fictional telling of the Devil’s rebellion from Heaven, and proposes to define concepts such as time, free will and evil. No small task. The first draft was completed at about 180 pages, and although many of its ideas persist into my next version, I suspect that more discipline will be necessary on my part this time around. I had a lot of fun just going with the flow, but it rambled and pontificated to an excessive degree, and it’s about time to reign the whole thing in.

It’s a funny thing about art (on a somewhat related subject), and how art and artist can be so separate. Through my love of Batman, I’ve been cultivating a deep appreciation for the comic book medium, and the rare opportunities it offers as a visual medium. One of my favorite authors in this realm is a British gentleman named Alan Moore, whose work is the direct inspiration of such recent films as “V for Vendetta” and “Constantine.” Now, Moore’s work is difficult and highly “intellectual” (in ways both good and bad), but I find myself greatly endeared to the ethical conclusions and philosophical questions that he poses; in short, I tend to agree with him. In “Batman: The Killing Joke,” he articulates that forgiveness of even the most heinous crimes is a liberating act, a force of good that cannot be denied. In “Watchmen,” he ponders the complicated and difficult nature of heroism in the real world by reinventing superheroes, making them fallible and occasionally insane. In this and other things he’s written, I find a vast array of real intellectual challenge, and am constantly pleased with how Moore chooses to fight these battles.

And yet.

Alan Moore in real life is about the farthest thing from anyone I would ever agree with. The dude worships a Roman snake deity…seriously, he does. I’m not kidding. It’s called “Glycon.” He’s also an anarchist and an occultist. This is not a person I have anything in common with, but somehow the things he has to say in his writing always resonate with me. In keeping with a tradition established earlier in this post, I offer several explanations for this:

1. I’m completely misreading everything he’s ever done, on a level alarming both for its consistency and its depth of reasoning

2. I too worship a Roman snake deity. Thank you, merciful Glycon, for the courage to finally admit it.

3. Alan has a ghost writer whom he has many belabored story meetings with, and this guy keeps cutting scenes like the one where Robin mumbles the secret words to the Bat-Cauldron for the sake of Gotham as he stirs vigorously with a giant, wooden mallet…which I guess would be the “Bat-Mallet.”

I’ve got more. I always do.

Anyway, to be honest with you, some of me now visualizes “Archangel” as a graphic novel, if only because this medium allows for the visual focus that my stories always demand, combined with budgetary requirements that wouldn’t rival the economy of a small country (ahem, cinema, looking in your direction). In other words, it’s visual and it wouldn’t cost that much. Still, my focus is to tell a story, not to nitpick over what medium that story eventually belongs in.

Oh, one last thing: Linda’s daughter Mandy owns a tiny little dog named Nelly who is absolutely adorable. I’m usually a hard sell on little canines, but this one is so full of personality even I can’t resist. She is particularly fond of locking eye contact with you as long as possible, then rigorously kissing your face in bizarre places no one wants to be licked on, such as the underside of the nose. Something in this little girl just must plant a wet one on that location, and she goes about her attempts at this with almost more urgency than affection. She’s a dog on a mission.

Everyone’s watching “The Kingdom” downstairs, which I’ve already seen, so I did a patented “Rew sneak” out of the living room while no one was paying attention. I can hear my wife coming up the stairs now to punish me for this; she wanted me to remain and explain plot points to her. Glycon protect me.