Ministry and Werewolves

Watched the gratuitously gross and amusing film Hatchet II last week on satellite, and was pleasantly surprised to hear the Ministry song "Just One Fix" at the opening and the closing.

Now, I used to be a huge Ministry fan. The slightly aggressive electro-Industrial album that came out in 1986, Twitch, captivated me. '88 and '89's Land Of Rape and Honey and The Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Taste coincided perfectly with my harsher sensibilities at the time, their new sound a merger of Industrial and hardcore punk. I actually lost track of the band after that, even though I played the three tapes, and later CDs, often for many years.

Then, like I said, I caught Hatchet II last week, and it rekindled my Ministry love. I spent a few days looking up all of their albums on amazon.com and listening to the given samples. My, they've been prolific since 1990. Their music has undergone changes that don't necessarily appeal to me anymore (too thrash-metal for my taste), though I really liked, and downloaded, the single version and the extended remix of "Just One Fix".

For fun I downloaded several other older Ministry songs as well, fiery aggro energizing ditties. Then, the heat and volume beneath my brain-pan cranked up to 11, caffeine from too much coffee and diet cherry Mountain Dew (aptly called Code Red) scorching through my veins, a curious idea morphed into being. A cunning idea. Oh, yes. Indeed.

Now that my LJ and DW readers are whittled down to a manageable few, and any illusory hint of on-line "popularity" has long-since dropped off like a withered vestigial tail, I feel content to disgorge my writing and ideas here. Uh... Woo hoo?

Anyway, the nitty gritty: Set, obviously, to a steady diet of Ministry. Short story or long? Not sure yet. Plot will be about lycanthropy as an addiction. Main character obsessed with werewolves from a young age (gee, sound familiar?), finally manages to find one, begs for a bite, then finds out why there are so few werewolves in the world.

Werewolves and Titters

Allow me to wax a bit on the recent past, since 2011 is officially winding down.

Just before Halloween I came dizzyingly close to a rather expensive impulse buy. Every year before Halloween the boys and I haunt a local year-round party store called FUN Services. It's a huge building built to look like a castle constructed of gray stones. Great fiberglass dragon sculptures grace the rooftops and one perches near the parking lot. This year they were sporting a new Halloween prop for sale, a werewolf dubbed "Heavy Metal Wolf". It stood perhaps 6 ft. tall, and seemed nicely made at first glance: Digitigrade, fur hand applied, glass eyes, lots of attention given to make the muzzle, teeth, feet, and hands appear real. The sunglasses were a cheesy addition, as was the flimsy rubber mat cut into a guitar shape it brandished. It was on sale for $295. If the gut was padded, I might've snapped and picked it up. As it was, though, it was gaunt for lack of pillows to stuff it's torso with. It would have been impressive fully done up; it's a shame the store faculty didn't present it better. If< it's there again next year, I'm going to inspect it closer and ask the workers about it. If I'm satisfied with the structural integrity of the beast, I'll ask if they'll sell it to me without the sunglasses and the chintzy "guitar".

And now for the titters... well, alright, the full-on guffaws. But first, a caveat: I am not a prolific writer, nor do I send submissions to every venue in existence. I try to admire those who are and do regardless of talent or skill, because at least they're pursuing a dream and trying. To sum it up, it's not my place to poo poo a publishing house, or to chuckle at the glaring lack of proof-reading or editorial skills of the contributors in a given anthology from said publishing company. Remember, here I am, pushing 40, disabled as f-ck and living with my parents--I.E., a sad lonely old nerd that hasn't been published in ages. *Laughs*
That said, let me also state that my tittering is actually good-natured, and I mean the publishing house and its contributors no ill will. They serve an audience and seem to be thriving, so good on them.

Ack, 'tis bedtime. Will finish this on Sunday. Yee-hah!