Deadlier · Than · the · Male

Because I'm swollen and sore and cranky and incapable of doing anything worthwhile, here's a dumbass meme courtesy of greygirlbeast:

TECHNOLOGY
Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
Cover of THE GIRL FROM HATEVILLE by Gil Brewer.

Q. How many televisions do you have in your house?
None. Well, I have a monitor hooked up to my DVD player, but it doesn’t receive any kind of outside signal.

BIOLOGY
Q. Are you right-handed or left-handed?
Ambidextrous.

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Teeth!

Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted?
Do leg presses count as “lifted?”

Q. Have you ever been knocked out?
Yes.

BULL*OLOGY
Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
No.

Q. If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
Fuck you. That’s my name.

Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
My tattoos.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
Ahem…

DAREOLOGY
Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
I’m with Cait on this one. It is a heterosexist question.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?

Sure, but not a toe. My feet are worth much more to me whole and unharmed.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000
What and miss out on brilliant, meaningful shit like this? Um… yeah.

Q. Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
I’ve already posed naked for much less.

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
I’d have to wait till my mouth heals from the surgery.

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
Yes. And I don’t just want to pick the human, I also want to pick the method of execution.

DUMBOLOGY
Q: What is in your left pocket?
Not currently wearing pants.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
Yeah.

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
Cheap ugly linoleum. Yes, I’m serious. Even in the bedroom. I love my crappy little ghetto shack.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
Stand.

Q: How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
One, since I stopped seeing my flip-flop sniffing foot client and now only wear them on the way home from a pedicure.

LASTOLOGY
Q: Last person who texted you?
PZB – the only person who can get away with it.

Q: Last person who called you?
Keith

Q: Last person you hugged?
Butch

FAVORITOLOGY
Q: Number?
8

Q: Season?
We don’t do seasons in LA.

Q: Color?
Black.

CURRENTOLOGY
Q: Missing someone?
Nope, I pretty much know where everyone I care about is.

Q: Mood?
Sore.

Q: Listening to?
The keyboard.

Q: Watching?
Am I supposed to be simultaneously watching a TV show and listening to music while doing this dumb meme? Look, I’m an old fart and like to do one thing at a time they way they used to do back in caveman times.

Q: Worrying about?
Teeth.

Q: Wearing?
Halloween socks. Yes, that’s all.

RANDOMOLOGY
Q: First place you went this morning?
To the kitchen to make coffee.

Q: What can you not wait to do?
Be done with all this work on my damn teeth.

Q: Do you smile often?
I find that a people-with-missing-front-teeth-ist question. Ask it again and you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
Are you kidding?

I decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo by having the next step in my marathon of oral surgery. I just love that happy little care sheet explaining that it’s perfectly normal to experience “some discomfort” after this procedure. I’ll say. After first having the entire front section of my upper gums (from canine to canine) cut away from the bone and hauled up like a curtain to reveal a tiny play starring the roots of my teeth, enduring two hours of drilling, scraping, x-rays, more drilling with consecutively larger and larger bits, the insertion of the enormous “roots” of the implants into the pair of gaping manholes in my jawbone and finally the closing of the bloody curtain with sutures, I think “some discomfort” is the fucking understatement of the century.

This was step 2. Step 3 will be adding another segment of the implants, the part that will screw into the fake teeth. Step 4 will be the pretty new teeth.

I’m gonna go have another popsicle…

In support of Taco Truck Night, Eric Stone, nathan_long and I set off to eat our way across the wilds of East LA. The plan was simple. One taco per truck till we tapped out. The result: here.

And let me tell you something, Matt Wallace. Wish you’d been there to tag in after #7.

(edited to add)

You can also read Eric's take on the evening here.

Before I launch into the full blown play-by-play of last nights taco truck crawl, Patti Abbott has tagged me to post about a novel that might have been forgotten over the years. The last time I was asked to do something like this, I had to pick Douglas E. Winter’s RUN, one of my favorite novels of all time. I just can’t recommend this book highly enough. A bad guy’s bad day goes from bad to worse in this fiercely original and addictive neo-noir novel about gun running, gang warfare and crooked politics. Fairly recent (2000) and not exactly forgotten, but I’m always amazed by how many people managed to miss this one.

Forget the Edgars, something even more important is happening tonight right here in Los Angeles. The Man (well, Supervisor Gloria Molina) wants to place heavy restrictions on LA’s beloved taco trucks, resulting in stiff fines and even jail time. In response, a group of taco-loving Angelenos have declared tonight, May 1st 2008 “Taco Truck Night”. If you love good cheap tacos like I do, go out tonight and show support for your favorite local taco vendor.

For more information, including a petition and a map of taco trucks all across the city click here.

I always get a kick out of reading personal ads. Sad, funny, or just plain weird, I like seeing what average Joes and Janes think are their best qualities and what they claim they want out of a relationship.

I always wanted to place the following personal ad, just to see what sort of responses I would get.

"Cold blooded, amoral femme fatale seeks sexually frustrated hard luck drifter with nothing to lose. Must be strong, ruggedly handsome and willing to help me murder my rich husband."

The LA Times Festival of Books is a much needed yearly reminder of just how many people actually give a damn about reading. Of course it’s only a small percent of the larger population, but when you put them all together in one place it’s pretty astounding. It’s also always hot as hell. I figure those 20 dollar lemonade dealers have some kind of top-secret weather machine that cranks the mercury up to three digits every year just in time for the Festival. It’s hard to be glamorous and sweaty at the same time.

The Friday night kick-off party at Mystery Bookstore was a blast. It was jam packed and hopping and I had a great time catching up with old friends and meeting new ones.

Saturday was a long hot slog but I signed a ton of books and got to hang with all sorts of creative miscreants. I finally had a chance to sit down and talk female pulp writers Kevin Burton Smith. I tried not to be too geeky when I met Joseph Wambaugh. I don’t think I would have made it through the day without all the free water from Sisters in Crime and my trusty parasol.

By far the strangest thing about the day was the number of underage school girls (and boys) who wanted their picture taken with me. They didn’t buy the book, they just wanted to pose with me. At first I thought it was just me, but they were everywhere, doing it to every writer they could find. Finally I just flat out asked what was up. Turns out there was some kind of scavenger hunt deal where the kids needed a photo of themselves with an author. And no, I didn’t get arrested, but thanks for your concern.

I valiantly resisted buying any more books (the TBR pile is currently taller than I am) but I did receive a collection of four Goodis novels in one volume (Nightfall, Down There, Dark Passage and The Moon in the Gutter) as a gift.

That night Eric Stone was able to convince a large group of brave souls to leave bland white Westwood and venture out into the real Los Angeles. We had a HUGE meal at the amazingly named Honey Pig in the gritty heart of Koreatown. Maybe not the best choice for the vegetarians in the group (here, Sarah, have another mushroom) but damn, it was good. The food was all cooked on a big cast-iron volcano in the middle of the table. The spicy pork belly was not all that spicy, but still very tasty when combined with charred fresh chili peppers. I also really liked the simple dish of sesame oil, salt and pepper for dipping. The best moment of the night was the looks of horror on everyone else’s face (except Eric, of course) when the waiter tossed a large whole squid on the cooker (“Free!” he told us) and then started chopping it up with scissors. Charbroiled Cthulhu! I think I must have eaten almost the whole thing myself. It was so delicious, if I described it you would go mad!

Sunday was mostly spent trying to recover and make up for the lost word count. I figured one day at the Festival this year would be more than enough.

Back at it...

I attended the last night of Noir City at the Egyptian to catch one of my all time favorites NIGHT AND THE CITY on the big screen, along with a rare Ida Lupino melodrama called WOMAN IN HIDING. What was particularly interesting about the screening of NIGHT was that it was a British print. I have the Criterion DVD, which I watch compulsively, and right away I noticed substantial differences. Familiar scenes were gone and new scenes were added. Nothing major, just little things here and there. Even though I missed the things that were cut (particularly the scene where Helen tells Nosseross how much he disgusts her) and the editing itself was choppy and not very well done, it was fascinating to see the alternate scenes. Alan Rode told me that this cut was done without director Dassin’s knowledge or permission. I wonder why… Now I’ll have to go back to the DVD and sift through the supplements to see if there is any information related to this British version.

WOMAN IN HIDING on the other hand was pretty silly and more straight thriller/melodrama than real Film Noir with it’s sweet, innocent heroine and happy ending. Still it was worth it for Peggy Dow as the luscious and trampy gun wielding other woman.

Oh and tonight I will be attending the LATFOB kickoff party at the Mystery Bookstore. I really should be working…

Two magazines currently on my coffee table: Martha Stewart Living ("Braised, tender baby artichokes add a taste of spring to the meal.") and American Handgunner ("Tired of uncomfortable holsters? Are you carrying a smaller gun than you want just so you can conceal it?") I'd like to see these two combined into one.

"Fight clutter with style: Charming, whimsical vintage chocolate boxes can be recycled into handy ammo caddies that keep bullets neatly organized by caliber."

I really need to just hole up and write, but first a few more signings. I’ll be at the L.A. Times Festival of Books this coming Saturday the 26th. I’m signing at the Mystery Bookstore booth (#411) from noon to 1 pm and then at the Sister in Crime booth (#355) from 4-6pm.

After that, I’m not leaving the house until the new book is done, or B.E.A. Whichever comes first.

Just when I think I’ve got the best of this Black Death/Captain Tripps/Ebola/whatever the fuck has been wrong with me since Left Coast Crime…

Over the past two days I’ve been dealing with yet another unwanted encore of high fever and coughing, this time with the added bonus of severe sinus congestion and an inexplicable stabbing pain in the right side of my mid-back. Sheesh! This damn flu is like a bad rock band that will not get off the stage.

But on the bright side, I get to curl up with the worlds toughest vegetarian. I just got a copy (thanks Donna!) of Allan Guthrie’s SAVAGE NIGHT. If that doesn’t heal me, I don’t know what will.

In spite of my promise to cut out the distractions and get back to work, I still managed to fuck off to the movies last night. I had a fantastic time last year doing the entire Film Noir Festival, but sadly, this year I just can’t spare the hours away from my desk. So I’m picking and choosing. One of my picks from this year’s crop was last nights rare proto-noir double bill of STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR and THE FACE BEHIND THE MASK.

STRANGER has Lorre slinking around in the shadows with his EEEEEEEEEEE-vileness turned up to eleven. Even his hands are evil in this movie. In addition to the oh-so-evil Lorre and his villainous white scarf, this movie also features an over-the-top expressionistic dream sequence and a nice little foot fetish scene where the hero invites his girl up to his apartment and then asks her to take her shoes and stockings off so that he can “warm up” her feet. Hardly a brilliant film but still lots of fun, especially on the big screen.

MASK features a much more sympathetic Lorre as a hopeful immigrant who is forced into a life of crime after a hotel fire leaves him hideously disfigured and unable to find work. This film seems to have a strong homosexual subtext between Lorre and the man who saves him from suicide, the unfortunately named “Dinky.” There’s a love interest for Lorre, a pretty and clueless blind girl, but the real heart of the story is in the bond between the two men. About halfway through the story, Lorre gets a creepy rubber mask to cover his burned face and I have to say I was disappointed that the mask stayed on for the rest of the film. I guess I was expecting some kind of Phantom of the Opera moment where it would be torn off at some crucial climax in the plot. Still as silly as it can be at times, this is a weirdly sad and memorable movie.

The other thing that made the night worth the lost wordcount, (besides a repeat viewing of Muller’s short film and the Q and A with Marsha Hunt) was getting turned on to what has instantly become one of my new favorite blogs Sunset Gun by noir enthusiast and girl-after-my-own-black-heart Kim Morgan. Plus I got to reconnect with several old friends, including Kevin Burton Smith with whom I really need to sit down and talk Helen Nielsen, and Terrill Lee Lankford who I’m still in fan-girl awe of every time I see him.

So now, back to work until the 24th. Can’t miss NIGHT AND THE CITY on the big screen!

I’ve put up a few NoirCon photos, but those who were in attendance during the now legendary “champagne toast” are probably wondering why certain key photos are missing from this set. I’ll get to that…

Meanwhile, a caption contest.

Why am I in bed with Reed Farrel Coleman, Eddie Muller, Gary Phillips and Ken Bruen? What’s so funny? And what exactly is Ken looking at? Post your captions in the comment section.

Now, where was I?

OK, we finally get Lou’s car back to him and help him lug some stuff over to the restaurant where the auction will be held. Bookstore Greg already got all my extra money and I didn’t win anything in the raffle, but the event went off without a hitch and raised plenty of dough for a good cause. However, I will mention that a certain agent, let’s call him “Frank”, bid on and won a sexy leather minidress with an iguana on the front worn by Vicki Hendricks the night before. Remember that little fact, because if there’s a leather dress on the mantelpiece, you can bet someone will be wearing it later in the evening…

Then, after a long, confused Spinal Tap-esque search for the theater (Hello Cleveland!) I finally got to see Muller’s short film The Grand Inquisitor, based on his story of the same title in Megan Abbott’s HELL OF A WOMAN. Me and this movie have had a long history of missing each other so I was thrilled to finally get a chance to see it. Marsha Hunt absolutely OWNS the film. She is mesmerizing on screen, you just can’t take your eyes off her. I told Eddie I would have liked to see the young girl in vintage lingerie instead of modern (for my own pervy reasons) but other than that, he did a real solid, old-school job of translating the story to the screen on a shoestring budget. I think the thing I liked best (besides Ms Hunt) was the refreshing lack of post-modern shaky-cam and chop-socky MTV editing. But, hey, don’t take my word for it, come see it for yourself at the Egyptian theater this Saturday April 12th.

After Muller’s film, we were treated to the amazingly over-the-top BLAST OF SILENCE. I loved all the vintage NYC street scenes and found myself narrating the entire rest of the evening in that same bombastic 2nd person style. (Danger sign! Your hands are hot and sweaty. Don’t blow your cool! You’ll be alone soon… the way you like it.)

From there we all gravitated back to the hotel bar, where we killed an hour or two in that wonderful kind of late night convention bar talk that you only get when you put a few drinks into a bunch of sleep deprived crime-writers. “Frank” the agent was there as well chatting and laughing and taking all kinds of ribbing about his new leather dress. The bar kicked us out way too early and so “Frank” offers to bring us all up to his room for a champagne toast. I’m game, as are several other writers including those pictured above and their wives/girlfriends/SOs. On our way to the elevators, “Frank” (who is quite tipsy at this point) is being teased some more about his dress and asked if he will be modeling it later. He laughs and shakes his head, at which point I, just for fun, whip out the pro Domme voice and tell him to get his ass upstairs and put that fucking dress on NOW. He grins and we all laugh and that’s the end of that. Until we get upstairs.

We aren’t in the suite more than five minutes when “Frank” comes out of the bathroom wearing Vicki’s leather dress. It is WAY too small for him, and he has solved this problem by tying a white bathrobe belt around his waist. His entire back is left bare and his ass would have been hanging out as well if he hadn’t left his pants on underneath. He then proceeds to break out the champagne and propose a toast to his highly amused client. The only thing that could have made it better would have been loud Cambodian music.

After taking a few blackmail photos, I hand my camera off and call out “Hey, Iguana Boy!”, snapping my fingers and sitting down on a nearby ottoman. “Frank” was kneeling beside me before I could blink and over my knee in a flash like a seasoned pervert. Several more shots were taken for good measure and then I let “Frank” free. He was still wearing the dress when several of us left to hunt up some late night chow.

I called it a night after the meal and didn’t see “Frank” the next morning before I split for the airport. I imagine he must have been a bit hung-over. I did, however receive an email the following day begging me not to post the incriminating photos. I acquiesced, with the proviso that he get to work cooking up a nice fat multi-million dollar deal for his client. But, if that deal fails to materialize…

Started the day with coffee at a wonderfully grungy little South Street joint called The Bean Cafe. It ain’t Starbucks, and that’s a good thing. I spent a very entertaining half hour people watching from my perch under this astounding serial killer painting of Hall and Oates.

This was actually for sale. I wonder how much the artist was asking…

From there it was off to the Noir Ladies Auxiliary panel. Now that’s not entirely fair I know, but I’m with Jenny Siler on the issue of the obligatory “bad girl” panel. Of course there is no equivalent “men’s panel” (since all the other panels are “men’s panels” by default) but hey, Megan Abbott, Vicki Hendricks, Jenny Siler and I did have a great time deconstructing the femme fatale archetype. Also, don’t know why it slipped my mind in the post about day one, but I forgot to mention that we had recorded a podcast on the same topic the night before for Shannon Clute and Richard Edwards’ excellent Behind the Black Mask.

After the femme fatale panel, I got invited to have lunch with Ken Bruen, his agent Lukas and a very dangerous man, known only as Greg.

That’s him on the left. But he looks so friendly and innocent, you say. Ha! This nefarious pusher shamelessly lured me into sin by inviting me to visit his used bookstore. And so soon after my paperback bender at the Black Ace book show. Look, I told you I can quit any time…

Well, maybe tomorrow. Come on, tell me you could have resisted this:

Be still my heart! I wanted to bring a sleeping bag and move in for a few days.

For the drive out to the shop, deep in the heart of Goodisland (don’t worry, I was the designated driver) we were also joined by the other Scott Phillips. (Ice Harvest Scott Phillips, not Stink of Flesh, Perro Dos Mil and That Ass Ain’t Gonna Fuck Itself Scott Phillips.) So while Ken and Greg sat around playing records of old Irish drinking songs and lifting a pint or three, I got happily lost in dusty pulp heaven. I was amazed to discover that Phillips was also a Helen Nielsen fan. We had a wonderful time browsing together and he came out with almost as many books as I did. In addition to the obligatory stack of cheap Shell Scott reading and lending copies, I also scored THE BRASS CUPCAKE by John D. MacDonald, HOT DAY, HOT NIGHT (aka Blind Man With a Pistol) by Chester Himes and an Ace double of THE HUMMING BOX by Harry Whittington and BUILD MY GALLOWS HIGH by Geoffrey Homes (filmed as OUT OF THE PAST with Jane Greer and Robert Mitchum.)

After several worried calls from Lou Boxer (it was his car I was driving) we eventually managed to tear ourselves away and get back to the venue. By then it was nearly six o’clock. Of course, the night was still young and we had no idea what we were in for.