Don't lose your dinosaur.

I was going to write about Toy Story 3, then I was going to write something nice about my old man on Father's Day...then I was going to write something about the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson's death. I just haven't really had the time. At least that's what I tell myself in my head.

I guess that's what all grown folks tell themselves. It's a cop out for sure. We have time, we have all the time in the world. As kids we looked at time as something relative, we were more like prehistoric man in that regard. When the sun came out our day began, when it was setting it was time to start biking toward home. When the ten o'clock news theme song was playing, it was time for bed, simple really.

That's when I got to thinking how can I string all three entries together, and it was right there in front of my face.

The other day the goofy film Step Brothers was on HBO. The one where Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly basically play themselves, if they were stepbrothers. I only caught bits of pieces of it but one part that stood out was when Richard Jenkins' character, the "regular" sort of Dad, tells a story about how his own father used to yell at him to stop pretending to be a dinosaur because it's childish and stupid (even though I think he was like seven at the time) and concern himself with becoming a doctor. Of course in the end Jenkins' character resented that and told his own son and stepson to never "lose their dinosaur".

There's a sea of fond memories of my own Father from when I was a kid, the one that pertains to this though was his encouragement to be a kid, be scared, act goofy.

"Don't go down in the crawl space" not because the steps were rickety and dangerous but because there was an old Gila Monster down there that he found at college and brought home with him. My childhood was filled with tales like that, countless nights of driving home from restaurants or movies and hearing the legend of the Jersey Devil and how my dad once tape recorded his snarl back in the seventies on a hunting trip.

My old man has well known love of dancing and a little known admiration of science fiction and besides The Land in Epcot Center (google it), I believe his favorite part of Disney World back in the day was Captain Eo, starring the King of Pop himself. As nothing other then a spaceship captain that teaches a post apocalyptic world to love one another. How does he do this? Through some smooth ass dance moves of course.

Michael Jackson was another person who inspired me and most of my generation to dream. Forget the fact that his music is still to this day incredibly awesome, his videos are classic and he may be the greatest performer in music history. His Thriller video was etched into the fabric our childhood. It was a central part of my Halloweens, the "making of" VHS was as common in our household as Eggo waffles and Windex.

I've read about the "phenomenon" of grown men crying or at least getting choked up during Toy Story 3. Is it really that hard to believe? The film perfectly captures the feeling that myself and most other guys go through at some point. It's not necessarily the feeling of giving up our toys (although that sucks too) but it's more the feeling of growing up, losing our dinosaurs (in the movie Andy literally does lose his, Rex)

Michael Jackson didn't want to lose a childhood that he didn't get to experience the first time around and in the later part of his career was crucified for things that were never proven and ultimately painted as come grotesque monster by some.

My parents allowed me to be a kid for as long as I wanted and to this day my Wife allows me to be a grown ass kid. We are to the age now where we are talking seriously about children of our own. Children that will be encouraged to dream, inspired to imagine.

Children that will never be told to lose their dinosaurs.

Fun with Lycanthropy!

I watched The Wolfman tonight and enjoyed it...more importantly though it reminded me of this here. I wrote it last Halloween to try to kick the writer's block I was having while working on my novel. I didn't map out the story or anything before hand I just started writing...but it came out a lot better then I expected it to. Enjoy!

Mack’s been perched upon the highest branch for almost an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness. Where the heck did his friends go? Is his hiding spot so good that he was able to lose them? Or is he the butt of a cruel joke while the other boys are laughing, taking their shoes off and getting cozy up at the house? It’s the night before Halloween and a year ago to the day the boys were playing this same game, it’s become something like a tradition. While some kids their age are dressed up in cheap costumes, bobbing for apples at some corny mom and dad chaperoned party or gallivanting around town wallpapering their neighbors’ mailboxes with Charmin Ultra Soft, his gang braves the dark woods with nothing but flashlights and adolescent foolhardiness. Their game is simple. Whoever’s “it” takes a flashlight and tries their best to elude the others. It’s sort of like a more stirring “Hide and Seek”, as kids get older it has all the traits of a make out fest. Night time, heavy wooded area, heavy petting. Mack was “it” last year when something made its way out of the darkness, bit him and took off so quickly that Mack never noticed what it was. Both his Father and his family doctor said judging from the wound it could have been a whole host of animals native to the area and they all agreed that luckily whatever it was, wasn’t rabid. Of course his friends have been convinced ever since that it had to be the mythical wolf like creatures that supposedly lurked in that area. Mack’s parents began to worry soon after the bite when the blackouts and sleepwalking started. Most recently he woke up with his head on second base at the little league field. Most kids would never go out in those woods again, Mack, he’s always been a bit braver then most kids. He makes his way down the tree, cold and angry. When he finds his friends he may kill them. Suddenly there’s a howl. He’s been in these woods countless times with his father and has never heard something like that. The sound surrounds him. It echoes through the trees, so loudly it blows leaves off branches. It continues a bit louder. It gets lost in the wind, a symphony from a strange world. Mack is sprinting in the direction he came, flashlight snug tightly in his grasp, dodging downed branches and shallow ditches. He runs and runs till he tires and falls against the edge of a large tree. The howling continues, but it’s a bit further away, he feels safer. He spots a figure with a flashlight up ahead. “Yo!” Mack screams. “Who’s there?” A gravel voiced man answers. Mack quickly realizes it’s not one of his buddies, but a strange man is better than the wolves. “I’m Mackenzie Grey. I think I’m lost!” As their lights meet they recognize each other. Mack knows the man’s bearded face from his father’s gun club and when he spots that he’s carrying a rifle his blood warms a bit, his heart slows. “Grey? You’re Marvin’s boy ain’t ya?” “Yes sir.” The man notices rips in Mack’s clothing but figures it’s just the wear and tear from the usual teenage tomfoolery. “What in God’s name are you doing out here? These woods are dangerous this time of night.” “I was playing night tag with my friends but I can’t find any of them.” “When did you see them last?” “I guess about an hour or so ago.” The symphony resumes, reaching its crescendo. It’s peculiarly beautiful and bone chillingly frightening. “You hear that?” the man asks rhetorically. “Yes sir.” “You bout ready to go home?” “Yes sir.” The country music in the dusty pickup truck would be bad enough if the speakers weren’t blown, muffling the hillbilly’s crooning on the radio. Mack and the man aren’t speaking. Minutes go by without a word. It’s getting thick in the truck. Here comes the ice breaker. “So how old are ya these days?” “Thirteen.” “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What kind of crazy father permits his boy to leave the house at all hours of the night?” The clock reads quarter to nine. It was still light out when the boys made their way into the woods. “I was supposed to be home at nine thirty, I was – The man cuts him off. “You have a cellular phone?” “I lost it a while back. I’ve been sleepwalking.” “Well I don’t keep a cellular phone.” The man’s face reddens as he clenches the steering wheel. “A boy in the woods on a night like this, left to his own devices with no means of communication. I’m ashamed of your old man. I tell ya.” The man is condescending and his breath smells like a foul mixture of tonsil stones and the bathroom floor of a truck stop. Mack was glad to see him ten minutes ago in the woods, now he’s getting irritated. There’s a bit more silence, this ride is taking way too long. “Are there wolves around here?” Mack acknowledges the elephant in the room. “Lately there’s been.” The man answers. “Not just wolves though. Sort of wolves, but they walk upright, with the eyes of a man.” Mack chuckles nervously as the insides of his stomach begin to entwine. The rain clouds part for the first time in some while, traces of moonlight splash the truck. The corners of his mouth moisten as he smells the blood flowing in the man’s veins. “You okay kid?” The man asks nervously. “I’m fine.” But he’s not. He feels another blackout coming on, the second one tonight. His stomach is twisting, bending and curdling. His temples are throbbing inside his head. A fuzzy haze fills his eyes. He feebly musters up a few words. “I feel like I might be sick.” The full moon is high in the sky now, blanketing the trees and the road ahead in its still, powerful glow. When Mack awakes he’s behind the thin metal bars of a dog crate. His legs and arms are asleep, full of pins and needles. He’s bent uncomfortably, barely able to move an inch. There are fresh scratches on his wrist and forearms. He wipes at the tickle under his nose and finds his blood on his fingertips. He moves his finger across dried some blood on his lips, his left eye is swollen shut. Boy is he in pain. A mangy yellow lab looks into the crate he knows so well, surely confused on why there is a human inside of it, he’s growling at Mack. Mack takes a moment to examine his surroundings. A dilapidated shack filled to the brim with moldy, dust covered junk. Some religious artifacts are the only things there is any order to, a crucifix hanging there, a statue of Mary here. Across the shack he can see into the kitchen where the man sits, shoveling some slop into his mouth from out a bowl, slurping it down. Messy, fat, pig. “Hey!” Mack bellows. “Hey!” The dog gets a bit more frantic and yappy, the man ignores their cries. “Please mister, why am I in a dog cage? What is happening?” “Will you two shut up in there?” What a bastard. Mack is sobbing. He’s confused and in pain. The last thing he remembers is the moon finally coming out, the rain clouds parting. He was thinking about how pleasant it would be when he got home. His mother would be waiting with some hot apple cider. His dad would be putting a new log on the fire. They would be anxious to hear their son’s spooky tales about night tag and relieved there wasn’t a bite or any other kind of bodily harm this year. The man makes his way quickly to the cage and punts Mack’s fingers through the bars. “Stop your crying before I put a tranquilizer in your rear end.” The man exclaims. “Why are you doing this? Where is my dad?” “Listen your old man can’t help you right now. You need the hand of God in these matters. The priest is on his way. He’ll have the answers.” “I just want to go home. Please.” “You can’t go home in your condition. You’re sick boy. They got to you.” The man is sitting in a rocking chair, stroking his lab’s head. They’re relaxed now. The man is puffing on a slimy stogy ready to tell a story. “People in town are living in fear boy. You know about the attacks and the howlin’. I lay in bed some nights and can’t get a damn wink of sleep in. That’s why Father, myself and some other good folks from town are doing something about it. We know whose handy work it is boy. It can’t go on any longer. I’ve been out there. I’ve looked into the eyes of these beasts. I almost killed me one of them. But never have I seen such devilish things as I did tonight.” “I don’t understand. I just want to go home.” “You’re some kind of wicked boy wolf and you attacked me, back in the truck. You don’t remember?” “No. I don’t understand. I don’t believe you.” The boy cries. “Hmph. I don’t really believe you boy.” The young, fresh faced priest arrives in the driveway. He exits his car, bible, holy water and cross in hand. “Here’s Father now.” The man exchanges glances with the priest from the window of the shack. They’ve been ready for something like this. Their smirks tell the story. To them this is hunting season. They are part archangel and part adventurer. Oh you know, just some good old boys doing what they think is right. And tonight, tonight of all unholy nights they caught themselves something nice. In the wink of an eye the priest is surrounded. There are at least a dozen of them, some on all fours and others standing six feet tall or more. Males and females, some are scruffy and gray, some have thorny hair as black as charcoal, all are hungry. At first they are merely shadows with red eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight, creeping amongst the trees. Then in one swift move perfected by centuries of primal instinct they ascend on the priest. One by one they feast on him, fighting over a juicy bite, snapping at one another, biting, clawing. Each scratch tears flesh off the priest. The man witnesses this from inside and grabs his rifle, makes his way out of the shack. He’s about to let a shot off at the first moment he smells them, when from all sides he too is pounced upon. The first at him is a large male, smacking the gun out of his hand and inserting his incisors square into the man’s meaty neck. The man is much fatter then the priest, this entices the shy females circling the feast to make their move closer, pure excitement fills the air. Howling, biting, clawing…dancing underneath the moon. It’s a two for one deal tonight, and one has enough meat to keep them satisfied for a couple more days. It’s a rainy, cold Halloween morning when authorities discover a grotesque scene. The remains of the priest and the man, nothing much left of the shack he called home, an empty cage. On the other side of town Mack is snoozing in the bed of his father’s pickup truck, sprawled out, belly full. He especially savored the taste of the dog.

Eminem Recovers

Marshall Mathers introduced us to Slim Shady, a hungry underground emcee from Detroit with a twisted sense of humor on his dark, entertaining debut. On his sophomore disc, the severely dated (and highly overrated) Marshall Mathers LP, had had become the superstar that the world turned him into, the one that he began to resent. Along with everyone else he resented at the time (his wife, his mother, gay people, pop stars, etc) on his next two discs, The Eminem Show and Encore, he struggled with fame and drugs and it showed.

With last year's Relapse he came back sober, with a misunderstood concept album that showcased Em at his most natural since the Slim Shady LP. He was being himself and having fun again.

Through the years he also had side projects and group albums, controversies and beefs, rises and falls, but I never really became a huge Eminem fan, mainly because all of his music never really matched his talents as an emcee. His production is weak, his crooning is even weaker…and there had been times where Eminem just came off lame both as an artist and as a celebrity (dude got legitimately heated at a hand puppet) But ever since I heard him well over a decade ago, I have always given him his due props as an emcee. As a student of the craft, I have been blown away by his verses time and time again and would go as far as to say, from a technical stand point, he revolutionized the game.

A lot of “real” hiphop fans love to hail Em’s best work as the three tracks he did for the 8 Mile soundtrack and the beef tracks that came out around that time. That stuff is all dope, don’t get me wrong but personally I have always missed the Em I was introduced to on the Wake Up Show, the guy in the Gravediggaz shirt rapping about chainsaws and wearing the same damn cap every day. The guy that he was portraying on those 8 Mile songs…but just wasn’t anymore. “B Rabbit” was who Hollywood wanted us to think Eminem was. The emcee we heard on the Slim Shady LP and Relapse…and now Recovery IS who Eminem is.

While he sings on most songs (it’s still pretty darn putrid) and he still has the hardest time coming up with strong hooks, Recovery features none of his own production and sees Eminem finally after all of these years, finding his voice both literally and as an artist

The album opens with some of that putrid singing, but it quickly picks up with Em lyrically slaughtering the first track Cold Wind Blows. On Talkin 2 Myself he explains that he almost dissed Kanye and Lil Wayne (confusingly he kind of does diss Wayne later, then has him on as a guest). On Fire is some straight hip hop shit and features Em dubbing the most listenable hook on the disc “bullshit”. DOH! Pink screams bloody murder on Won’t Back Down, Em continues to kill it. W.T.P is in the same vein as his other looser, party joints…he’s spitting with a more laid back flow on here, dope track.

Going Through Changes echoes the sound of a RZA beat for some strange reason, I dunno. Em getting introspective on here and the next joint, Not Afraid, which is his single and one of the weakest tracks on the album (continuing a rich Eminem tradition). Seduction is a chill track, a little homoerotic to play as a male but chill nonetheless. No Love showcases that Weezy appearance and samples the Night at the Roxbury song. Listen to me,” Weezy”. I don’t know him like that and don’t want to, Em kills it.

Space Bound comes next and is one of the illest songs on the album. Strong storytelling, dope beat and a rarity…a great hook, after that is Cinderella Man. I love this joint, it’s got that Just Blaze bounce, another dope hook (two in a row!) I can’t get down with Em calling Relapse trash though. I don’t believe that he really feels this way, just pandering to a fickle fan base.

25 to Life, So Bad and Almost Famous…three good tracks in a row, and whaddya know? Minimal singing. Love the Way You Lie is going to be a gigantic hit this summer, courageous move for Rihanna, singing on a track about physical abuse in a relationship and burning your lover to death. Good song.

You’re Never Over is God awful. We all can appreciate Em rapping to his dead friend, of course…but the singing featured on this track is some of the worst in recorded history. That’s not hyperbole.

Lastly a Havoc produced banger which wasn't really titled last time I checked. This is actually what I thought the whole album would sound like and might end up being a hidden track or something when it hits stores.

All in all I must say this is Eminem’s strongest effort to date. He seems to have eased into his role in hiphop, he finally understands who he is as an artist. I just hope that he is still popular and relevant enough with newb hiphop fans so they can finally hear some true emceeing.