Gelato

I actually have several book reviews in progress, but haven’t had the time to sit down and flesh them out (and make sure I have things right, like the characters’ names or the spelling of the author’s name, little details like that!) as I’ve been busily working on an outline/synopsis for a novel. I’ve had a story accepted for publication and the editor wants me to expand said story into a novel, hence the outline. I suck at outlining, so it was a bit of a trauma getting it written. Outlines have always made me feel hemmed in creatively and I either have a huge block towards them or lack the ability to plot without starting at chapter one and laboriously following my characters through the story. Either way, I did get a short and VERY basic outline finished and sent off. Yay me!

What, you ask, does this have to do with gelato? I just finished a cup of dark chocolate and Tahitian vanilla bean goodness before writing this post. It was on my mind, doncha know. And OH so very very very decadent and yummy… For those of you not in the know, I will quote from the Caffe Gelato website here:

Gelato is Italy’s version of ice cream, with three major differences.
First, gelato has significantly less butterfat than ice cream’s typical 18 and 26 percent. Tests conducted by Delaware’s Department of Agriculture confirmed Caffé Gelato’s vanilla and chocolate gelato both have less than 10 percent butterfat.

However, less fat does not mean less taste. With the lower butterfat content, gelato is less solidly frozen than ice cream and melts in the mouth faster.Therefore, the customer will taste gelato’s full flavor immediately.



Second, gelato has a much higher density than ice cream. Ice cream is produced by mixing cream, milk and sugar, then adding air. Manufacturers add air to ice cream because it nearly doubles the quantity of their product. But, it cuts their quality in half. No air is added to gelato. The result is a higher quality dessert with a richer, creamier taste.

Third, gelato is served slightly warmer than ice cream. While both gelato and ice cream are served well below the freezing temperature of 32 degrees Fahrenheit, gelato is served 10 to 15 degrees warmer than ice cream. Because it is less solidly frozen, gelato’s taste is further enhanced as it melts in the mouth.

I will be reviewing a book this weekend, as well as posting on Fatal Foodies. Do check out that blog (there are five of us currently posting each week) if you’re into mysteries and food! Or just food. It’s a very droolable read! And don't forget my new blog is here! Still trying to make that switch...

Upcoming Virtual Book Signings!

My friend and fellow writer Steve Prosapio, is holding Bookdays on his blog, virtual interviews and book drawings with four writers, including myself. Steve’s blog is here. Below, in his own words, is a more comprehensive description of the events. Please stop by his blog, both on the dates mentioned and just to check it out! And yes, a free copy of MURDER FOR HIRE: The Peruvian Pigeon, will be up for grabs!

“They say that March comes in like a lion…

But I’m hereby declaring the next thirty days, “March out and buy a book” month! In support of that, I’ll be hosting virtual “book-signing” events each Wednesday this month on my blog. In fact, I’ll no longer refer to the fourth day of the week as “Wednesday” any longer. It’s now called “Bookday.”

Okay, that last part might be a bit over the top, but the “book events” will be fun.

Without further ado, here’s who will be joining us:

March 5th – Chicago, IL
Geoffrey Edwards, author of Fire Bell in the Night, a historical novel set in antebellum South Carolina that centers on the trial of a man who helped an escaping slave.

March 12th – San Francisco, CA
Dana Fredsti, author of Murder For Hire: The Peruvian Pigeon, an almost-cozy murder mystery about an acting troupe that specializes in spoofing, not sleuthing…until bodies start stacking up.
March 19th – Sienna, Italy
My review of Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno, a memoir of a Chianti tour guide. I recently met Dario at a book signing. I’d corresponded with him from time to time since purchasing his book in 2005.

March 26th – New York, NY
Seymour Garte, author of Where We Stand: A Surprising Look at the Real State of Our Planet. This nonfiction work explores environmental topics and suggests what we can do to better care for the earth.
Stop by for any/all of these events on my blog. Interviews with the authors will be posted and some of them have agreed to stop by the blog that day to discuss their work and answer questions from the audience (aka the No Bull Gallery). You do NOT need to be registered with Live Journal to participate. You can post anonymously (hit the “anonymous” button after clicking your comment), but please make sure to put your name on the post. Books and/or gift cards will be given away on the Friday following the visits to those who participate.

Don’t miss out on your chance to “mingle” with published authors (and win free books)!

Again, these events will be held ON MY BLOG on the posted dates. I will be “replaying” the interviews, so to speak, on my gather.com home page but if you want to win prizes, come and post to the BLOG itself. “

I am the Liberty Bell

I went to a Capitol Crimes (Sisters in Crime, Sacramento Chapter) meeting this Saturday as the guest speaker. Dave went with me, in a combination of pack horse (he lugged the book boxes), actor and moral support. My sister Lisa also joined us as she was up from Venice Beach for her birthday. We drove separate cars from our house to Sacramento as Lisa has a sometimes cranky back and my Saturn, which would have fit all three of us and our gear, is not necessarily the best car for that. She has a Mini, a cute little red and white one, and although it’s comfy and adorable, it does not have the trunk space we needed for the trip.

We rendezvoused at Perko’s Grill and Cafe in Rancho Cordova where the Sacto Sisters have lunch before their meetings. They were just a delightful group of women, some professional writers themselves, some aspiring authors, all of them voracious readers and so nice! Dave was an honorary Sister for the day and handled himself well as the only male in a group of around 20 women. No huge shock, that. And they didn’t seem to mind the extra shot of testosterone he brought to the mix. Lisa had just gotten her own literary agent (yay, Lisa!), so she fit right in the conversation and had some good advice to share.

The meeting itself was at the Rancho Cordova Library. Now I’d mapped out the journey weeks in advance, using Google Maps. Oh, foul Google Maps! Assuring the helpful Sisters I knew how to get to the library, we set off following the directions I’d googled (as did Lisa, who had the same directions as us) and ended up on the correct street, but going in the wrong direction. We figured this out as the addresses went up in number instead of down to the 9000 block, where the library was. D’oh!!! So we flipped a U (and I mentally flipped off Google Maps) and drove as fast as the traffic would allow down Folsom, a busy street with many stoplights and more Sunday drivers than should be legal on a Saturday.

I will admit to being a little (a lot!) stressed. I hate being late and every minute the clocked ticked closer to 1:00, the higher my blood pressure rose and the more vociferous my swearing became. When poor Dave tried to calm me down, I’d snarl “I. Just. Have. To Get. This OUT OF MY SYSTEM!”

Now in my defense we’d received some very bad news Friday in the late afternoon and we were already dealing with a huge amount of stress. I like to think I’d have been a little calmer had things been different, but I’m sure there would have at least been some mild cursing. As I said, I hate being late. I knew in the back of my mind the Sisters had business to take care of before my presentation and my being 5-10 minutes late wouldn’t hold up the meeting, but the rational part of my brain was obviously being held at gunpoint by my inner White Rabbit ’cause common sense never made it past the ‘omigod, I’m LATE!!’

We finally made it to the library, which is located about three blocks away from Perko’s. Sigh. Got the books, the presentation board with all the old MFH material, the boombox and noir cds, and ourselves inside and all was well. Two of our Brackmann cousins, Jill and Sammie, were there. Jill was dolled up for a wedding she was attending right after the presentation and Sammie was noired out to the hilt in green and black satin and velvet, with four inch green satin heels, and a little black torque perched on the back of curly auburn hair. They both looked quite smashing. My cousin Lindy also showed up a bit later even though she was not feeling well. So a special thanks to all three cousins and Lisa for going out of their way to come see me do my schtick.

Dave started out the presentation with a short monologue (backed by appropriately noirish music) from The Peruvian Pigeon (which, for those of you not familiar with the history of my mystery…heh…that rhymes…was the first script Maureen and I wrote for Murder for Hire many years ago), which was much appreciated by the audience. I think it was both the effectiveness of his performance and the fact he looks cute in a fedora and trenchcoat). The monologue ends with “…and SHE walked in.” A great cue for me to start my presentation if I do say so myself.

I’ve done this presentation a few times now and get more comfortable with it with each new appearance. I basically talk about the history of Murder for Hire, both the theatrical troupe and the novel, going off on tangents about chocolate, supermodels, show anecdotes, screenplays, whatever happens to come up during the talk. I love fielding questions from the audience and this group was the best yet in terms of having plenty of questions to throw at me. After the presentation, I sold and signed books. I seem to be incapable of just signing my name; I feel obliged to write a mini-novel for each inscription. I’ve been told by more seasoned authors I’ll get over that the first time I do a really big signing. Heh.

The Capitol Crimes group also sold and signed books; CAPITAL CRIMES, an anthology of short stories written by members of their group. Dave and I bought one and I’m looking forward to reading it.

What, you might ask, does this all have to do with the Liberty Bell? Well, I’d brought my camera to the event and Dave took pictures of me as I was giving my talk. I saw the pictures yesterday, showing me in my slinky black top, red flowing skirt made out of Saree fabric, and black boots and for all the world, the shots all made me look bell shaped and much heavier than I’d like to think I appear in real life. I told Dave I looked like a big fat bell and he said I was cracked. Hence the Liberty Bell.

And you didn’t think I’d ever come to the point, did you?

The pictures had one positive affect (after reducing my slowly building self-esteem to rubble) - my motivation to exercise has revved up to high gear, I’ve started taking calorie counting seriously (did you know if you order a goat cheese, strawberry and spinach salad with candied walnuts and raspberry dressing you can reduce it from 880 calories to 280 by switching the dressing to a vinaigrette and cutting out the walnuts?) and I’m going to remember to stand up straighter when I give my talks! More yoga!

Potential

I’ve spent a large portion of my life collecting items and ideas with the goal of realizing their potential. This is why I’ve spent my adult life carting around and storing boxes, bins and tins of fabric, shells, beach glass, pieces of driftwood, battered picture frames, old jewelry bits, beads, pieces of furniture on the very shabby side of chic, news articles, pictures torn out of magazines, scraps of paper with one line notes scribbled down on them, stories with one paragraph written… the list goes on. When I actually buckle down and spend time on one of these projects, be it craft oriented or writing, I’m usually pleased with the results; I think I have a knack for visualizing the finished product. It’s the buckling down part that gets in the way.

There’s a quote about genius being 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration (I may have the percentages wrong, but you get my drift) and it’s very true. I get inspired a lot, but getting off my butt to act upon that inspiration…well, let’s just say I do most of my perspiring in yoga class. And yes, I know this is figurative perspiration. Or would it be more apt to say metaphorical sweat? Either way, I’m trying to get myself on a schedule of sorts to allow for the time and energy to achieve potential instead of just dreaming about it. To clear out some of those boxes of bits and turn them into something else. And most importantly, to stop talking about my ‘next writing project’ and just write the damn thing.

(Please note my new blog address is www.danafredsti.com/blog)

I've got to get through that door...

I don't know about you, but when I get home from work, I can't relax until all the chores that need to be done are completed. I'm like a shark - if I don't keep moving, I'll sink into a sea of apathy and exhaustion. Nothing will get done. It doesn't matter how late I work, how exhausted I am. 10 cats and one dog need feeding, floors need sweeping (10 cats generate a lot of pine litter dust), litter boxes need cleaning...there are usually dishes to be washed, laundry to be folded. And if I'm REALLY lucky, one of the kids will have upchucked his/her breakfast and there will be cat vomit to be cleaned up.

Sigh.

I'm tired all over again. Tonight included all of the above, btw. And let's not forget the recycle and garbage.

By the time I'm finished with all of these things, I'm wiped. My brain is mush, my body exhausted and conjuring up creative energy is a challenge. But part of being a writer is...well...actually WRITING. Working on something. Not just resting on my laurels (and my butt) and thinking about writing. But dang, there are days when I wish I could put corks in my little darlings. I won't say which end. I'm sure you get the idea.

Posting for Mr. Fabulous

If you haven't visited Pointless Drivel (and it's hard to imagine anyone NOT having visited this amazingly warped and funny site at least once 'cause Mr. Fabulous IS the funniest blogger on the 'net at this time), go there now! For one thing, as mentioned, it's just really funny. For another, he gave MURDER FOR HIRE: THE PERUVIAN PIGEON, an extremely nice endorsement. He is one of four people who have already ordered a copy and I think that's pretty nifty! Some of my friends and family are waiting for it to be out on Amazon.com or in stores, which is also cool. I'm just so chuffed that anyone actually wants to order it (like, pay money for something I wrote). I mean...wouldn't you be?

I'm working on finishing up content for the website. We have DEAD MEAT, which I believe is the first Irish zombie movie, on for background and I would recommend this to anyone liking the zombie genre. The cause of this particular plague of undead is a mutated strain of mad cow disease. Yes, there is a carnivorous mad cow in the movie. And it has one of the more chilling and disturbing endings I've seen. And it has zombies. Sue me, I'm easy...

Anyway, thank you, Mr. Fabulous, and now back to the website!

Revving up the engines

I just got the first sample of the cover for MFH (now officially titled: MURDER FOR HIRE - THE PERUVIAN PIGEON since we're looking at a series here) and am starting to get excited about the reality of the damn thing being published after all these years. I'd post it here, but they (Rock Publishing Inc.) sent it to me as a Read Only Adobe pdf, so it won't upload. No problem, I'll scan it to my computer when I get to work and post it then.

ANYway, I don't have the back cover yet and Lynne (she who is doing the cover art) is still tinkering with the front, but just getting to look at the design has me frothing at the bit (I love that expression even though makes me sound like a rabid horse...and do horses even get rabies? Am I mixing my metaphors?) to get going on publicity. I need to get an actual author website up and running and am trying to decide between spending the dough to have www.danafredsti.com designed by a professional or trying it myself and having www.danafredsti.google.com or whatever free site I choose to host the webpage. I have no idea how to design a webpage, who to host it, how to do this mad, gay thing. So...any opinions?

Another positive side-effect (affect? I will never get those two straight , no matter how many books and stories I end up publishing in this lifetime) is that after pretty much two straight years of atrophy, my writing muscles have started to stretch out again. I picture them as about 50 pounds overweight, lots of flab over unused muscle. I have to feed them junk novels every now and again to appease and motivate them. They're not doing it easily or happily ("yo, bitch, that hurts! Knock it off or we'll Barbara Cartland on you!"), but they're working.

I'm going to the airport in two hours to pick up Dave, who is joining me for the rest of my housesitting stint. The four kittens are staying with a friend and her husband (Dave called me yesterday to tell me that the kittens had left, pretty much near tears. So it's NOT JUST ME, folks! I'm not the only one who gets attached to the little furballs!) while we're both gone. I bet the cats are much relieved to have the little hairballs out of the way for a few days. This is a picture of their safety zone when the rugrats get too 'bunctious...

And that's all I got for the moment!

Pet Peeve of the Day

You probably all know I'm a zombie junkie. I pretty much mainline any form of entertainment that includes the flesh-eating variety of the living dead. Dana, she do love her carnivorous reanimated corpses, mmm hmmmm.

But what irritates the crap out of me is when writers and filmmakers think they're being oh so clever and original by naming characters and places after other horror or zombie genre authors and filmmakers. Every time I run across a 'General Romero', 'Captain Fulci' or grunt named Schow, O'Bannon or Savini, it takes me right out of the story. I wanna slap the author and say, 'no, you AREN'T oh so clever 'cause everyone else is paying the same friggin' homage to the same people and it's just way too self-conscious and precious . We get that you all love and admire these filmmakers and authors. I do too. But it's been done. And overdone. And if I ever name a character that isn't a dog or a cat after one of these guys, all of you authors I'm talking to here have permission to smack me a good one.

Fulci would actually make a great name for a black cat, doncha think?

Rambling catch up post!

First things first.

Hi there! I’ve been away from my blog for a long time (three months now?) other than the occasional random post and swore that I’d start back up end of May after the madness died down.

The madness, in case you missed my few random posts (and I’m sure most people did), was 85 percent work related and the other 15 percent was trying to battle the stress without beating myself up for accomplishing practically nothing at home after work and on the weekends besides walking Boska, mindless housecleaning, watching a lot of bad movies, reading, being used as a comfy contoured Mommy bed for the cats, and the occasional socializing. Oh yeah, and a couple of trips to L.A. and Humboldt. But no writing, no gardening, no going through boxes in the garage. The backyard was taken over by these weird leafy tree bushes and wild sweet pea plants that grew three to four feet in height. Alien pods could be planted back there and the only one of us who’d have known would have been Boska on one of her tentative forays to find a place to do her doggy business.

The madness at work involved an office move and a clump of special events, all of which needed coordinating, along with the regular day to day jobs, and there were only two of us to do it. Long hours were worked, lists made, boxes packed, and sleep patterns disrupted by random thoughts at 2:00am involving things that needed be done that day or should’ve been done the day before. You know the type of anxiety – the mental equivalent of sitting bolt upright and screaming ‘NOOOOOOOoooooooo!’ Or maybe you don’t. If you’re lucky, you’re one of those irritating and totally organized types that never has their sleep disrupted by stray work-related anxiety attacks. Or kitten anxiety dreams, where you find a bunch of stray kittens that you have to rescue and whenever you catch one, another gets away and then there’s more of ‘em and…and…

No? Okay, so I’m a freak. Sue me. Just don’t make me dream about kittens.

ANYway, on top of the existing work stress, I also had a nasty reaction to a hormone pill called Seasonale. It sounds more like a spice mix than a birth control pill designed to minimize a woman’s period (heh…Rimmer’s infamous Kajanski disguise and the line ‘I’m having a woman’s period’ comes to mind, for all you Red Dwarf fans) to four a year, thus supposedly stabilizing hormones and reducing hormone related problems, such as migraines, cramps and mood swings. My doctor prescribed Seasonale for my migraines and for stress relief back in January when I had my physical, but I didn’t start taking it until March because of a problem getting the prescriptions called into my pharmacy ( another stressful situation that went on for a month, but we’ll just leave it at that). I’d actually started to get a handle on the stress, headaches and was losing weight before starting the pill, one of those ironical (I love that word) things that made my reaction to Seasonale piss me off that much more. A week after starting it, my skin (smooth and clear and loving the foggy climes of the outer Sunset) started getting random breakouts, I was tired all the time and I started waking up in the middle of the night with heart palpitations after a couple weeks of uninterrupted sleep. After six nights of mini-panic attacks and a longer period of sleeplessness after each one (I averaged three hours of sleep a night by the end of it), I finally correlated the symptoms to the Seasonale, did some online research and found a website where out of 200 patient comments, only 3 were favorable, and took myself off the pill. It took a couple of weeks, but my skin cleared up, my sleep patterns slowly went back to normal, and I stopped wandering around with the desperate, hollow-eyed, and slightly homicidal stare of the sleep deprived.

But dang me, it was just wretched. And I was no fun to be around either. Moral of this part of the story is Seasonale is BAD. Hell, I’ll take the 12 periods a year, thank you very much! And better a couple days a month of fluctuating hormones than 365 days a year. Feh.

Then, the week of the Great Office Packing, Boska had a stroke. She was happily eating scraps off my dinner plate (yes, I’m one of THOSE pet owners) and just collapsed and went into little convulsions. She couldn’t stand, couldn’t get control of her limbs and we thought she was gone. Boska is at least 15, for those of you not familiar with my dog, and although she was in good health, that’s a pretty good age for a medium sized canine. Half Rottweiler, half Aussie Shepard, all wiggly butt and Thurber dog face.
We pretty much figured that was it for her. I called Brian in L.A. to let him know what happened and he made plans to come see her one last time on his way home to Humboldt.

Well, to cut to the chase, Boska is currently snoring in front of my coffee table, having spent a happy two hours romping on the beach. Dogs have an amazing recuperative ability when it comes to things like strokes. Kicks our ability’s ass. I’m not complaining – I’ve had a month’s worth of beach walks with her that I wasn’t expecting to get and she seems to be improving every day. She went from needing to be carried up and down the stairs and falling over when she sneezed to galloping after birds and making her own way up the stairs, thank you very much! She still slithers down ‘em if she tries to descend without our help, but sometimes manages a rather dignified descent. Her farts are still toxic. The smell wakes me up out of a sound sleep. I keep a little clove scented odor neutralizer on the bedstand. And she still makes disgusting lip smacky noises that only dogs seem to make. But again…I’m not complaining.

Ah well, the whole point of the Boska stroke story was that it happened in the middle of move-week, on top of everything else. I pictured my gravestone and what it would say if I died that week: That which did not make me stronger finally killed me. But I made it through to the end of the week and the unpacking hell of the week after. And now we’re pretty much happily settled into our new office, the big advisory board meeting has come and gone, and things are relatively sane.

Of course, I had to go and get Muni Grunge (see previous post for definition).

Have I mentioned that my murder mystery, MURDER FOR HIRE, is being published? I’m pretty damned chuffed about that. I’ve been working with the woman in charge of cover art/production/etcetera (which covers whatever I’m forgetting) on the author bio, jacket blurb, cover, and studying up on my self-marketing skills. On the advice of Tom Basinski, former policeman and author of NO GOOD DEED, a police procedural about a real-life murder in La Jolla, I bought HOW TO MARKET YOUR BOOK, which so far is full of useful advice. I’m also determined to lose more weight ‘cause looking at the pictures from the days of Murder for Hire, I want my waistline back.

I am not so fond of the middle-age spread. It’s stayed off my butt and attacked my middle. My legs and butt are quite happy with all the walking I make them do, but my stomach and waist keep demanding sit-ups and workouts on the Pilate’s exercise ball. Greedy, says I. I’m going to be getting a TRX, developed by Navy Seals, and will report back as to its efficacy…effectiveness? My sister swears by it. Of course, my sister swears a lot in general, so we’ll see. Although her arms have an impressive line of muscle. I’m gonna send her on a covert mission into enemy territory and see how she does. THEN we’ll know if the hype on the TRX is true!

I am watching COMMANDO as I write the end of this post. What is the deal with Ahnold’s arch nemesis, the Australian dude in leather pants and a chainmail tanktop? OR the dude that rhapsodizes about knives cutting into little girl’s throats like butter? Of course, the little girl in question is Alyssa Milano, back when she was an irritating moppet instead of CHARMing. Truly a guilty pleasure movie is COMMANDO. I plead VERY guilty.

And now I spellcheck and send. It’s nice to feel relatively sane again.

Relatively.

Stuff and nonsense

I know I've been a very lazy, uninspired writer as of late. I'm enjoying a spate of reading. Either walking on the beach while reading, reading on the Muni to and from work, or just curling up on the couch with a glass of wine or cup of hot chocolate and reading someone else's stuff. Then my sister, now visiting China, sends me something she wants me to post for her 'cause the Great Firewall of China won't let her do it herself.

i mean, she's in China and still writing on her blog. Granted, this is the gal who, upon arriving at our place in San Francisco for a visit, had her laptop up and running within five minutes of hitting the ground here.

But...writing while traveling in China?

Okay, fine, I'm shamed into posting something. And perhaps even getting back to work on my creative writing. I've actually been thinking (something I do now and again) about a sequel to my mystery novel. I'd always planned it as a series, but over the years of disappointments and rejections, I'd kind of lost steam on it. I need to be more self-motivating as a writer, that's for damn sure.

But there's no way I'd be posting if I were traveling in China. I'd be too busy...well...traveling! Lisa, you're not normal. I just want you to know that.

At any rate, I've been reading, amongst other things, a couple of new zombie novels (DEAD CITY by Joe McKinney and PLAGUE OF THE DEAD by Z.A. Recht. Both refreshingly well written and not just in comparison with the mediocre to downright bad writing in most of the other zombie literature available.

Heh. Zombie literature. That just sounds funny.

While not quite as awesome as WORLD WAR Z (my personal favorite zombie novel, written by Max Brooks), both DEAD CITY and PLAGUE OF THE DEAD bring something new and original into the genre, with compelling characters who I actually cared about, and just good, competent writing. Thank you, Joe McKinney and Z.A. Recht for a: proving that I can spend money on a zombie novel and get more than my money's worth instead of feeling like I've just flushed between 10 and 30 bucks down the toilet and b: giving me several hours of excellent entertainment.

I just finished up IF CHINS COULD KILL - CONFESSIONS OF A B-MOVIE ACTOR, by Bruce Campbell. First time I saw him was in EVIL DEAD, which I saw way back in the early '80s when it first came out. And yes, I did go to see it because Stephen King, who at one time was my horror god, deemed it the 'most ferociously original horror movie' out there. And I liked it. And I also thought Bruce Campbell was kinda cute. Then I worked on ARMY OF DARKNESS as (respectively) the onsite armourer's assistant and a fight captain/swordfighting Deadite.

The former involved helping to maintain all of the onset armor, change out leather straps, dress extras and horses in armour, and do whatever it was that Brian, the armourer, needed me to do. Luckily that never involved armouring the leads. Brian did that and it looked to be a thankless job as far as having to outfit Ash, Evil or Good.

The latter involved perfecting the art of stripping out of layers of plastic armor and a latex costume in the quickest amount of time possible so I could pee. I have a miniscule bladder and had to make the most of the breaks between shots. I bet I held the record for quickest Deadite strip and whiz. Okay, there was more to being a swordfighting deadite than the ability to shuck my costume, but I'll write about that another day.

My point today is that the Bruce Campbell as portrayed in his autobiography and the Bruce Campbell that I saw on set don't exactly jive. My overall impression of him was that he was very much like the character Ash: he had a certain amount of charm, but was kind of a jerk. Certainly not approachable if you weren't part of the original Michigan cadre or a co-star. After reading his book, I'm not sure if I just saw him on his bad days or if he genuinely sees himself as a more down to earth person than he came across on set.

Ah well. Either way, working on AOD was a memorable experience and Bruce Campbell remains one of my favorite physical comedic actors. Although I'd pay good money to wipe out the memory of dozens of takes of 'This is my BOOM stick!' It's a funny line. Once. In the movie. But when you're on set and see it over and over and over and over...it sticks in the brain like the unwelcome refrain of a bad song. Like RUN, JOEY, RUN bad.

Or even worse, Peter Pop's memorable ode to Ash. Peter Pop was an extra on AOD. If you've read IF CHINS COULD TALK, I'm 99.9 percent sure that he's the extra that 'knew enough to be dangerous' because he figured out how to be on camera in an inordinate number of scenes. Watch the movie and look for the blond soldier. He shows up almost as often as Ted Raimi. Peter also fancied himself as the new Bob Dylan and would play his guitar during down time. He composed a song for Bruce and the lines 'Army of Darkness....Ash cuts them down...' sung in a Bob Dylanesque drone...well, they'll stay with me for life. Like that damned boom stick.

Good things about AOD?

- Swordfighting for money.

- Working with Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert. I especially liked Rob, who was an excellent producer in terms of dealing with a lot of potentially difficult situations, like stuntmen who didn't like the swordfighters (we weren't 'professional,' y'see, even though those of us hired specifically to swordfight had as many years training to fight under our belts as many of the stuntmen did learning to fall of tall buildings. Being a stuntman did not necessarily mean you were trained to fight with swords), swordfighters who showed up from working on the HOOK set and had major attitudes, scores of unruly extras, and all of the other endless details that producers have to handle.

- Sam, while more distant and preoccupied than Rob, always made a point of thanking everyone at the end of each shooting day/night, from his stars to lowly production assistants and sweaty Deadites.

- Ida, the wardrobe mistress, remains to this day the nicest person I've ever met on a film set.

- Being told 'good job' or getting an approving nod from Rob, Sam and Bruce (not all at the same time, but for the same sequence) after running a particular fight sequence with my favorite swordfighting partner on set, Rick. Don't remember his last name, but we worked really well together and put together a kick-ass sequence that we used in the background of various scenes, including the DeathCoaster battle. Somewhere I have a picture of the two of us that I'll have to post. Anyway, that little bit of validation made the sometimes very uncomfortable filming conditions worth while.

- Having cornbread with honey butter and hot chocolate with whipped cream at Carrow's in Palmdale with my good buddy and fellow Deadite fighter, Julianne M. at the end of the day's shoot.

And a lot more. But it's now time to go to an Oregon Pinot Noir wine tasting at the San Francisco Wine Trader, so it'll have to wait for another day and another post.