Matthew Perry 1969-2023

It was November 4th, 1994, and I turned on the television for something to do (it was a Thursday, and Thursday night always meant something good on NBC, ever since "Cheers" debuted in 1982).  The show that was on had already started, so I didn't know what it was called, but a likeable, sarcastic young man named Chandler got stuck in an ATM vestibule with a Victoria Secret model during a blackout, while his buddies back in their apartment have various hijinks.

At one point, trying not to seem nervous in front of her, Chandler tells the beauty (Jill Connick) that "Gum would be perfection."  Of course, he then questions his choice of words (in an inner monologue that was--I think--absolutely unique for the series).  I didn't know the name of the show, but I knew how hard it was making me laugh, and that I liked the characters, especially the one I mistook for "the main guy."

Matthew Perry as Chandler Bing was my favorite of the "Friends," a series I watched religiously (even it's mediocre third season) from that point until its finale a decade later.  I know the show has its haters, but in a time when I was lonely and all-too-aware of the fact, I really considered these six fictional characters my friends, and looked forward to watching the show each Thursday, whether I had roommates to watch with me, or all by myself.

Over the years, they gave the character all sorts of interesting quirks and developments, and I was extremely pleased when they introduced a romance with Monica Geller, new insecurities that came with being with her (such as abiding her obsessive cleanliness and measuring up to the perfect ex-boyfriend played by Tom Selleck), and I ultimately rooted for the two of them to live happily ever after, rather than the constant focus on Ross and Rachel in the first few seasons.

There were good episodes and lesser ones, great laughs and small chuckles, but when all was said and done, I felt the show deserved its enormous spotlight, and I followed Perry to other projects, like FOOLS RUSH IN, "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip," and those two NINE YARDS movies he made with Bruce Willis.  Heck, I even watched "Go On" until it was canceled, and "Mr. Sunshine" until I couldn't stand any more.

Well, it was with sadness that I read today that Matthew Perry, TV's Chandler Bing, was found dead, of an apparent drowning in his hot tub.  He was fifty-four.  

Rest in peace, my friend.  Gum would be perfection.

My Voice on "Come Find Me, Mummy" on HorrorAddicts

Emerian Rich, over at HorrorAddicts.net, continues to employ me to do the male voices in her audio presentations.

I've actually done several voices on HorrorAddicts recently, including an angry rich British guy in "Flowers in the Foyer," an American doing a British accent and a German-accented creature in "A Study in Terror," and most bizarrely, the store "Storage," where I only speak a single word in the whole episode.

The most recent episode is "Come Find Me, Mummy," by Rosetta Yorke, where I somehow neglected to record the tiny part (a douchey older brother) I was given until the night before the episode dropped.  I actually ended up recording and sending it around three in the morning the day she released it.

Oh, and her cover art:

Emz also has A.I. create the covers for her episodes, and I've been pretty darn impressed with the results.  Makes me want to create some of my own . . . one day.

Rish Outcast 262: Underdecorated 1

Rish presents the first half of his Halloween story "Underdecorated" about a town without holiday spirit.  

Or is it "Undecorated?"

To download the episode, just Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

As always, Gino "Down Underdecorated" Moretto created the logo.

I Perform "The Raucous Depths Abide" on Kaleidocast

I've got another reading up at New York's Kaleidocast.  Scott Schrieber (despite my inability to spell his name*) sent us a couple of stories back in the Dunesteef days, so it was a pleasure to get to record his story "And the Raucous Depths Abide" for Kaleidocast.  Of course, they commission their episodes so far in advance (I believe this one came to me in September or October of 2022) that I could barely remember the plot--something about two alien machines that come to earth to observe our evolution, only to have one lose its mind and become a threat.

It's packaged as a double-feature with a story called The Tallest Doll in New York City, so that sounds like a win-win to me.  You can check it out HERE.

*It's actually Sam Schreiber, I think.

Rish Outcast 261: Have Toys, Will Travel 3

Rish tells more toy-selling war stories, including some with his Cousin Ryan. 

Note: Sorry about the bad audio--the microphone was sitting next to the fan.

To download the episode, just Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Have Boys, Will Unravel" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 260: Science Fiction Double Feature

Rish presents two new sketches, "Favorite Son (Or Grandson)" and "Doctor's Orders," both performed with Big Anklevich. 

Oh, and Fake Sean sings the title track.  Poor you.

 To download the episode, just Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Triple Feature" Moretto.

THE WITCHES (1990)

So, I grabbed the earlier movie version of the Roald Dahl book, and I am so glad I watched these in reverse order.  Every time there was a repeated gag or plotpoint from the Zemeckis 2020 film, I was happy to discover that it worked better in this version.

This film was fairly well known for scaring the crap out of a generation of kids, and is lesser known for the saccharine-sweet happy ending that diverges from the book, but I was happyto have watched it.  

Anjelica Houston was obviously having a blast playing the Grand High Witch, and the mouse effects ranged from pretty good to "Wait, how the hell did they pull that off?" 

Yes, there were still a couple of WTF moments, but partly in gruesome and disturbing choices.  

There was also a moment when Jim Carter, who would go on to play the butler in "Downton Abbey," has a mouse run up the leg of his trousers, then he flops around on the kitchen floor, screaming, "It's gone into my underpants!"  Probably the most undignified film appearance outside of the Star Wars Prequels . . . yet today, he's married to that hot British actress Imelda Staunton, so go figure.

10-11-23

How did I keep up a daily blog for two years??  I mean, I know how I did it: I got into the habit and made it a priority to write SOMETHING even if I didn't feel inspired or that anything interesting happened to me that day.  But what I mean is, I've MEANT to blog a couple of times over the last two weeks, and I haven't done it.  I even started writing two posts, and abandoned them halfway through.  So weird.

Anyhoo, I'm at the cabin now and my hands are ice cold.  I knew that today was going to be cold--the first freezing day of the fall--but I wanted to be here.  I have chapters to edit (I recorded all of Abbie's third story and two pathetic chapters of my own) and find I can focus here better than anywhere in the world.  But man, it was cold--mostly due to an incessant freezing wind that keeps blowing around the windows and roof.

I stupidly forced myself to get up and drive over to the dam so I could do my run and check my email, arriving just as the sun's last light was fading in the distance.  No one else was around--perhaps anywhere.  

I started my run, but immediately my hands were so cold that I turned around and sloshed back through the mud to my car to remove my gloves.  I had assumed that the physical exertion would keep me warm, but I ended up needing to throw my winter coat on too.  The run across the dam was the worst it's been this whole year, and I had to stop halfway there to gasp and try and get my coat closed up (the zipper is broken, something that happened in March or April, but I'd forgotten about).  And I considered--very strongly--just turning around and going back to the car, marking today as the first day I've ever not made it all the way across the dam.

But I collected myself, put on an old 38 Special song (Caught Up In You), and started running again.  And as I did, I realized that I couldn't see the end of the dam.  A fog had materialized, not particularly thick, but thick enough I could no longer see the lake beside me or my car behind me.  It was rather cinematic, and I'd like to incorporate it into a story.  I ran to the end of the dam, rested for a minute, then ran all the way back.  I took my gloves off to check my messages, then headed to the car, starting the engine and backing  up . . . only to discover I only had a single glove.  Had I . . . Where was it?  It was dark now, and I was cold and muddy and miserable, but I needed to go back and look for my glove.  That too seemed like the kind of thing you could use in a story.  Luckily, it was right there where I had stopped and typed a text to my niece about Saturday's eclipse, and I scooped it up, then ran back to track mud into the car and get back to the cabin and the fire I'd built there.

But I think there's something there.  The fog springing up (which I had never experienced before) and the dropping of the glove, and having to go back into it.  I dunno.

P.S. One last thing.  I was reading something on the internet today, written a few years ago, and I came across a throwaway mention of Snooki.  And as Howdy Doody used to put it, I cursed with a sore cursing.  It makes me both furious and disgusted that I know who that is.  But it bummed me out to be reminded.  And now I've reminded you.  Sorry.

Anyone But You

From time to time, I get paid to be an extra in a film or television show.  I don't have an agent, and so, it's up to me to book my own work, and since I no longer live in L.A., that means hoping to find a spot on one of the two (or three . . . or sometimes one) productions that are happening in my area every month or so.  And that also means hoping that I fit one of the roles they're looking for, and that I get one of the two casting agents in the area--the one that doesn't dislike me.*  So, it's not just on me (though I've found that the faster you submit yourself after the call goes out, the more likely you'll be picked by whoever the casting agent is) to get work.

Having said that, I get emails a couple of times a week for films or commercials or TV shows, and I consider the day and location on every one I qualify for.

The most recent email I got looked promising.  There was a period project shooting just down the street from me (technically, about four miles away, but you know what I mean), and txhey were looking for men with beards/facial hair, within my age group (30-50).  So, I had my mom take my picture and I submitted myself . . . and didn't get chosen.

But the next day, they sent out another email saying, "We have need for more Men 25-55, please apply."  I noticed they had expanded the age range, but huh, I guess they still didn't need me.

But stranger, the next day, they sent out yet another email, this one saying, "There are still openings for x production.  We desperately need Men 20-70."  Strange.

And today, they sent out yet another email.  This one said something like, "Attention Men 18+ and man-looking women/children:  For the love of Our Lord, floating on His heavenly clouds, PLEASE SUBMIT YOURSELVES FOR THIS PROJECT!!

I hope your whole organization burns to the ground.  And you know what, Big Anklevich hopes it does too.  Long live anarchy.

*I've explained this before, but there was one that booked me on a project, then sent out an email to let me know the calltime for the next morning, and because I was a movie when I got the text, I waited two hours to get back to him, so he replaced me.  And when I called him up to say, "Hey, I cleared my schedule for tomorrow because I was booked and I said I would be there, you can't just ASSUME I would flake and give my spot to somebody else," he brownlisted me (ie, I didn't get work with him again for four years).  

THE WITCHES (2020)

I watched the 2020 Robert Zemeckis version of THE WITCHES last night, and there were two or three moments in the film where I actually found it scary.  There were also, if I counted right, six or seven moments where I actually exclaimed, "What the ph**k?!" . . . which is rarely a good thing.  Granted, at least two of those were due to terrible storytelling, and three others were due to the Satanic choice of casting Kristen Chenowith (as a child, no less).  But the film was bizarre and often tipped right over the edge into terrifying.  It felt as though someone had hired David Cronenberg to make a children's film, but when the credits rolled, the flick had been co-written and co-produced by Guillermo del Toro, and maybe that was the reason for some of it.  

Zemeckis was once a powerhouse filmmaker (and lest I forget, he did make one excellent horror film, WHAT LIES BENEATH, which caused me to leave the lights on all night after I saw it), but is now reduced to making mediocre to nigh-unwatchable CG motion capture garbage.*  And this certainly qualifies as Exhibit C.

I guess it was made for streaming (like his truly awful live-action PINOCCHIO remake), but man, there was so much that didn't work in the film that I wish I could sit down with Marshal Latham and talk it through, to see if he found the main character as visually repellant as I did, or if he too was forced to look away from Anne Hathaway for the first time in her career (sucks to get old . . . or turn into a monster, you take your pick).  Also, there's a older version from the Eighties with Angelica Houston in the Hathaway part, and I mean to stop writing, blogging, audio editing, and peeing and rush out and watch it immediately, so I can see where they zigged, as opposed to Zemeckis's zags.

Perhaps, like Dean Koontz and Avril Lavigne, the real Zemeckis died years ago, and this imposter is making movies in his stead, using his once-holy name.

Writing Goal - September

9-8 448
9-11 990 words
9-12 825 words
9-13 (I tried, really) 493
9-14 169
9-15 121
9-17 1386 words
9-18 434 
9-20 121
9-21 289
9-28 139
9-29 191

Total: 5605 words (just imagine what the chart would've looked like if I had listed each day I wrote zero words)

Okay, so not only did I fail, but I failed big time.  I guess I did help two of my nephews write term papers in the same week, but I didn't think to count that as writing.  Numbers still would've been way off, though.