Ok, ok, I know- a hokey, stupid blog entry given the fact that is indeed Halloween but I thought it best to line up my favorite Halloween movies and give a brief little detail as to why they are in such high regard with yours truly. For anyone who gives a shit, please feel free to comment.

This is a ranking in terms of the best - in my opinion- not based on character, dialouge, story, or anything else - just pure Halloween flavor films.

This is a goddamn huge photo dump, so I'm putting it in a blog.

In an effort to stay in shape, I recently bought a bike, and it's a thing of beauty. I've done a lot of riding from home to the pier in Manhattan Beach, but I realized that Venice and Santa Monica are pretty much the same distance away. The only drawback is a few traffic lights heading that way (plus a brief ride in traffic), whereas going to Manhattan beach is all bike path. Venice is just a lot more photogenic, and there's a ton of exploring to do. Check it out:

Here's a mosaic mermaid on a hotel just as you hit the final turn on Washington to head into the Venice Pier.

this is the story of how jen and i floated in her car last night, and how we got in that situation in the first place. (sadly, to admit, it had a little to do with boredom. and she was lit and i was devastatingly sober.)

***

as i'm sure many of our texas and louisiana friends could most likely immediately attest, there are rains and stormfronts in the south. central arkansas received eight inches last night alone. and some people are just really dumb..

The summer of 1981 contained my first glimpse of adulthood, sort of. My parents, sister and I lived within the city limits of Washington, Indiana, “Home of Mr. Basketball Steve Alford 1983”, although we didn’t know it at the time. A few miles south of us was a small rural community called Cumback. No shit, how could I possibly make up a name like that? Cumback consisted of a church and few small homes along a long stretch of gravel road. Washington was considered “the city” to my two cousins, Tim and Bryon, who lived in Cumback, and my family considered Cumback “the country”, for obvious reasons.

Growing up I had an uncle named Benjamin Hill. He passed away years ago. Our family called him Uncle Benny. He was a truck driver for a bottling plant in Evansville, Indiana. He always dressed rather simply, so I doubt the job paid much of a wage. Black shoes, plain cotton or polyester pants, and a short sleeved buttoned shirt in a modest print. Uncle Benny wasn’t a member of the jeans generation, and I doubt he ever owned a pair. He was pale, rail thin and always wore his favorite truckers cap, embellished with such logos as John Deer, Jack Daniel’s or 7 Eleven. As a young child I just assumed he just traveled a lot and those were names of various high-end luxury items or exotic destinations. For some, perhaps they are.

I was walking home-up Bush Street.

And I crossed an intersection.

There was a Blockbuster on the latter side.

I stepped onto the sidewalk and took a step.

Then a river ran right into my shoe.

I didn’t know what it was.

I followed the stream up the steep hill,

To the middle of the block,

And there an old lady stood squatting.

A cane was supporting her weight.

Her knees were bent.

And she was pissing on the sidewalk.

People were walking by.

Cars were driving by,

Horns were sounded.

The city was shrouded with mist.

But no one stopped to look.

Besides me.

what i have
is notes and observances,
an empty hand and a
collection of judgements

i fill my empty with your empty,
and am forever hungry.

what i am
is rage, and love and every grand emotion
on a canvas with so careful a brush
afraid to paint in audacity

what i do
is hypothesize.
i speak of what i am tempted to do;
i do nothing. i think
i imagine

where i go
is toward the fringes of something dark and rust-coloured
near the biting of winter and woodsmoke,
pure red pigment and green
i feel like a fallout.
here i sit.