This just in: Singer Robert Goulet is currently hospitalized and awaiting a new lung. Not to irritate his wife further, but if he doesn’t pull through (we’re rooting for you, Bobby!), the 73-year-old crooner’s prediction of expiration will be off by a good 15 years.
You read about it in the most recent issue of Hitch, and now Hitch contributor Chris Sharpe’s feature-film debut, SEX MACHINE, is hitting DVD on May 1, from Anthem (the same people who had the foresight to release FRANKENHOOKER). You can order it now. Do it not because we’re quoted on the back, nor because we wrote the jacket copy – do it because it’s actually an enjoyable, fun, well-made movie!
What’s with the lack of activity here of late? The simple answer: I started a job two weeks ago. After six-and-a-half of freelance life working from home, circumstances forced me to return to the working world, where I have actually “talk” to these things called “people” and wear something called “pants.”*
The job – assistant editor of the Oklahoma Gazette, the state’s largest newsweekly – is fun and the hours are good; it’s coming home and working on freelance projects ’til the wee small hours of the morning that are killing me. Until 10 p.m. last night, I had a grand total of 40 minutes of free time all week long, which I spent watching PRISON BREAK. Until I can drop one of two mortgages, I’ll still have to slave away at night.
So hang in there during this tough transition.
*Pants joke accidentally stolen from Joel.
Sorry to anyone who recently tried to place an order for back issues in our store and were unable to. I had forgotten to recode all the links after our recent Internet e-mail provider switcheroo! All’s well now.
The forums are open! The forums are open! And in case you weren’t paying attention, the forums are open!
As of today, the Hitch discussion forums/message boards/whateveryouwannacallthem are up, operational and waiting for you at eyeballforums.com. Use them to discuss movies, TV, music and current events, whether covered here or not; to post strange and interesting images; to gossip; to bitch; to rant; to rave. Before you ask “What’s the ‘eyeball’ all about?,” Hitch is part of the Eyeball Media Group of cool websites, which also includes Bookgasm, Daily Starlet, Joe Bartender, All Things Damaged and the new Guerilla Cinema.
For now, the comments on that site will remain open, but I’ll likely close them down in the near future and just have all discussion take place in the forums. Besides, today’s spam comments alone – about penis enlargement, online casinos, prescription drugs and porn cartoons – totals 993!
Well, that’s certainly the last time I’ll ever move houses. As I told my wife tonight, this new house is the one I plan to die in someday (hopefully in my sleep and luckily not last night while I was fooling around with the electrical wiring in the laundry room).
April definitely has been the most stressful month of my entire life. Nothing has compared to the mammoth task of moving five people. I don’t see how families do it every few years. I would go crazy. And since we’ve barely begun to unpack, there’s still a long stretch of unpleasantness ahead.
It wouldn’t be so bad if problems hadn’t kept arising. This Saturday night – the day before we moved in – water from the upstairs bathtub flooded through the ceiling into my office (the only wood-floored room in the house, naturally), thanks to an improperly installed and unsealed drain. Then the movers couldn’t get the shutoff valve on our fridge to shut off. And today, I was alerted to a leak in our sprinkler system. What’s with all the water problems? Who am I, Jennifer Connelly?
So all that helps explain the past few days of no updates here. I aim to remedy that in about a day. We’ve got lots of reviews in the hopper and one kick-ass poem that literally fell out of the attic when the cable guy was here yesterday. Start salivating now, people.
So the other piece of Big Hitch News is that we’re moving! Having outgrown this our residence for the past decade by one space-sucking child, we’ve bought a house about 15 minutes away from the one in which we now reside and are in the midst of packing up everything we own. I know what you’re saying: “Whoop-de-doo, Mr. Monopoly. But how does this affect me?”
Well, I’ll tell you, champ: Savings!
The file cabinet in my garage, you see, has long served as the Official Non-Hermetically Sealed Archive of Back Issues. As I’m in a big “less is more” phase, I’d prefer not to move it or the issues it shields from the elements. Seeing as how we only have a few copies of each issue left, I’ve slashed the prices, because EVERYTHING MUST GO! What used to be $6 with coast-to-coast shipping is now $4. I think one of the older issues is even down to $3, which barely covers shipping.
Anyway, if you’ve been wanting to add to your Hitch collection (you do have one, don’t you?), now’s the time. Visit the store today.
So I turned 35 years old young old on Sunday. I always imagined my 35th birthday would be a real momentous one like 30 was. And since it would be my last to fall on a weekend for another four years, I assumed I could make it an all-day funfest like I did for birthdays 33 and 34.
Instead, as I stepped one year closer toward death’s door, I worked all day and had a 100˚ fever. In the middle of the afternoon, I told my wife, “Have the kids come tell me ‘happy birthday,’” because they apparently forgot. My 6-year-old daughter scrambled to her room to make me a card; one minute later, she brings me a piece of paper with a heart drawn on it. That’s it. No special design. No words. Just a heart. And it wasn’t even symmetrical. I assume she’s in her abstract period.
I think it was the worst birthday I’ve had in maybe 15 years, if not ever. At least I got one gift that day, when Borders e-mailed me a coupon for a free dessert. I redeemed that yesterday morning for a gigantic Rice Krispie treat that was so big I couldn’t get my mouth around it. I ate maybe a third of it before throwing it away. The day before, some friends gave me a Home Depot gift card, which my wife promptly confiscated to use for paint, and my brother and his wife gave me a Starbucks gift card … this after a long discussion amongst us the week prior about how I detest coffee and the Starbucks experience. (Isn’t that like giving your priest a punch card to the Mustang Ranch?) But not wanting it to go unused, I decided to try some newfangled coffee-less green tean frapawhatever they have. I literally couldn’t swallow the first sip. It was disgusting. I couldn’t even pawn it off on my kids.
So I’m considering Sunday to be a “practice” birthday and postponing my “real” 35th birthday until things calm down and I can do something fun. Hear that, God? I’m still 34, so let’s keep it that way until further notice.
(If you’re wondering, that’s not me in the photo, but my son Owen, who just turned 1. I did look like that at that age, though. And though he burst into tears seconds after this pic was snapped, I still think he had a better time at his b-day than I did.)
UPDATE: Postponing my birthday is a good idea. I have yet to officially reschedule it, but my parents gave me some money, which I used to buy a couple of DVDs (HOSTEL and the new SE of EVENT HORIZON). Things are looking up! Plus, it’s no fun to have birthday sex when you’re sick, so I’ll definitely have to pencil Sharpie that in with the wife.
Packratshow tells me that I should use the remainder of my Starbucks gift card to get a vanilla creme frappucino, which is “literally a vanilla shake.” His wife manages a Starbucks, so he should know these things. And I like shakes almost as much as sex with the wife. My wife, not his.
Lastly, as I look back, I have to say my worst birthday was in 1995. It was on a Saturday, before I had kids, and my wife had to work all day long, so I had the whole day to myself to do whatever I wanted. I sat down to watch one of four movies in a row, and there was a knock at the door. It was my dad, showing up unexpectedly, greeting me with, “Let’s go dig up your backyard.” That sucked hard.
Thanks for all the concerned e-mails over last week’s “on hold” message that warned of a weeklong shutdown here due to “familial obligations,” but all was well. I simply had to attend my brother’s wedding in Colorado, and now I’ve returned safely, with chapped lips, several hundred more calories in me and several hundred dollars less to my name.
So on to the promised Big Hitch News: Without going into details, I’m placing the print version of Hitch on hiatus. Let’s just say my sanity, my family, my work and my bank account warrant it at this time. As you may (or may not) know, each issue is a huge undertaking, since it’s approximately 90 percent a one-man operation. I used to be able to crank them out every eight weeks somehow when I started it 12 years ago; it’s become increasingly harder in the past couple years just to get out two within 12 months.
I hoped to have another one put to bed by now, but honestly, I’m so behind in other areas of my life that work’s barely begun. So to quit making excuses and promising deadlines I likely won’t reach, I’m just flat out going to say I don’t know when it will come out. It may be this summer; it may be two summers from now. It depends on too many variables to accurately gauge. I’m not ditching the subscription list, but I’m not taking new subscriptions at this time, either. When the next issue is decidedly on the horizon, that’ll be reinstated.
Don’t take this as a sign that this site will suffer the same fate. Not at all. Check back every day (or almost every day if it’s a particularly rough week for me) for updates, with content old and new.
There’s actually one more piece of Big Hitch News. But you’ll have to wait a day or two for that one.
Gotta take a few days from this page due to familial obligations, but I’ll be back early next week with a couple pieces of Big Hitch News. Over and out.
Recently I was invited to submit something to Web Wunderkammer, “a collection of curiosities presented by the world’s most interesting persons.” Nearly two months later, my submission – alongside the contributions of Wink Martindale and Bill Griffith – has been posted and preserved for the historical enjoyment of generations to come. I chose to commemorate Power-Man.
Who is Power-Man? All is revealed here.
This online cabinet of curiosities is curated by Ben Osto, who also invites everyone to view his R-rated Flash-animation fable over on IFC and give it some love. Power-Man would approve.
Today is the first birthday of my third and final* child, Owen, aka The Complicator. He has quite the personality and has several hobbies: pulling things out of drawers, chewing on pens and yelling. His favorite toys are remote controls, the telephone and spare change. And I love him with all my heart.
But last night he had a round of killer gas that had him screaming and crying for 90 minutes straight, right up until midnight. This always happens with me: The warranty expires right at the one-year date. Happy birthday, Owen!
*I mean it. My vasectomy doctor just recounted my sperm one year later. It didn’t take him long because there was nothing to count. These pipes are clean!
In January of 1995, I interviewed Robert Goulet about (among other things) his fight against prostate cancer. He was an egotistical jerk, and pretty flippant about his ability to cheat God and bend time and rule all dimensions. He claimed to be neither scared nor changed by the near-fatal ordeal, saying “Hell, no! I’m gonna die when I’m 88; I got it all planned. I think 88’s a good time to go and see the Lord. What the hell?”
Longtime Hitch readers know we haven’t forgotten his promise, counting down the years in every issue since his bold proclamation. And now, through the magic of the Internet, we can hold him to it in real time! Just click here to visit our new, handy online Robert Goulet Death Watch anytime to get your between-issues update! Note it is also accessible from any page under the “Departments” link on your right.
Saturday night I was invited to attend the Oklahoma Society of Professional Journalists annual awards banquet as a guest of the Oklahoma Gazette, where my cover story “FOOTLOOSE: The OKG True Hollywood Story” was to receive some kind of award recognition. (Astute Hitch readers will recall a longer, more error-ridden version of it appearing in the current issue as “FOOTLOOSE: The Hitch True Hollywood Story.)
The trip turned out to be worth the 220 miles and eight-hour investment because – to my surprise – the article took first place in the newspaper entertainment feature category. I got a shiny new plaque, which greatly impressed my 5-year-old daughter, who said excitedly, “Hey! It says Rod Lott on it!”
The last award I won was for column writing. It, too, was for first place. It was back in 1993. I am on a roll.
While fulfilling a back order issue yesterday, I noticed I have exactly one copy left of Hitch #26 from summer 2001. If you don’t yet have this issue, be the first to e-mail me who’s willing to part with $4.95, and you soon will. (Sorry, Iran: Offer good in the U.S. only.)
This issue contains our interview with B-movie starlet Julie Strain, plus articles on backwards masking, the Grammys, the DeadCENTER Film Festival, teen movie overload and the usual wealth of reviews, all in 64 pages.
In a big cleaning phase around here. I’ve got a stack of the eighth issue of Hitch (August/Sept. 1995) that I’m going to throw out, after this one final opportunity.
This is the issue that has interviews with Gunnar Hansen (Leatherface from TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE), Tommy James (of “and the Shondells” fame) and some guy from BAYWATCH (Jaason Simmons). It also has a he-man adventure to the chiropractor, McDonald’s fun facts, the Hootie-O-Matic and the infamous cover story on fast food horrors, which is five pages of readers sharing disgusting stories of stuff they found in their food. Plus a whole lot more, 44 pages in all. There’s actually some good stuff in it, and – collector’s alert! – it’s the only issue of Hitch that has a bright-orange cover.
If you want one, it’s just $4, shipping included. This offer is only available in the U.S. This offer is only available for one week. So if you want to buy one, e-mail me. Because in seven days, this old dog is being put out of its misery.
UPDATE: Oh, and the first person who orders one gets a free set of “Autopsy Trading Cards” I just found. Also, a photograph of a cute blonde co-ed in her swimsuit that the girl pictured sent to me when we were in college, even though I had never met her. It’s kind of a long story.
“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’ That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”
From all of us here at Hitch Magazine, a very Happy Thanksgiving holiday and weekend to you all.
What are you thankful for? I’m thankful that the movie RENT is opening this weekend, so that I don’t have to see or hear its TV commercials anymore. That “five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes” song burrows directly into the cerebellum and won’t. Get. Out!
As you probably guessed from the complete lack of updates for the past three days, I was selected to serve on a jury. Luckily, it was over and done with in three full, long, mentally exhausting days. Also luckily, the case was civil rather than criminal, so I didn’t have to grapple with the moral quandries over sending a guy to jail this time.
The long story short: If a state employee files workmen’s compensation and then genuinely wants to return to his job, let him. Otherwise, you inconvenience 12 people, whom you call jurors and pay $20 a day. With parking downtown and lunch, I think I’m lucky to have cleared $10.
While I was out, it seems fall turned into an already bone-chilling winter, which puts me in the mood for some Pepsi Holiday Spice. Unfortunately, something (like a total absence of it from store shelves and the Pepsi website) tells me that ain’t gonna happen in ‘05.
So the other night our doorbell rings and I find a suspicious-looking woman who hands me some papers and says, “I have a subpeona for you!” My blood pressure skyrocketed for a second until I learned nobody was filing suit against me. I’ve just been called to give a deposition in an insurance squabble related to the two murder trials I testified in last year. It’s scheduled to take place on Tuesday, and I’m required to show up lest I wish for the fist of law up my hindquarters.
But I’m not going. Because it conflicts with jury duty, which starts Monday. Yes, for the second time in two-and-a-half years, my name has come up. (I guess I should start playing the lottery.) I tried to get out of it, but failed. Judges show no leniency for work-from-home dads who serve as the primary caregiver for three kids. However, I’ve learned the trick to getting excused, so next time I’ll approach the bench with a fatsuit, a walker and an oxygen tank.
My point? Updates may be slim all next week, as work will have to come first upon my return home each night. Why not spend some time commenting on the posts we’ve already made? Or checking out all the fine reading material at Bookgasm? Here’s hoping justice will be swift.