Tag Archives: Eric Robert Nolan

I spend way too much time on the Internet.

So I’ve been ransacking the cooler at my local Dunkin’ Donuts a lot lately, looking for just the right novelty bottle.  Because I am an emotionally disturbed 44-year-old man, with too much time on my hands, and not much in the way of an actual agenda.

This is what my search efforts recently labored to produce.  I plopped it down, looked the girl at the counter directly in the eye, and belted out, “LEEROOOOOOOOOOOOY JENKINS!!!”

She looked at me as though I had just demonstrated severe mental illness, like maybe I had addressed her as “Mom,” or tried to pay for my soda with cotton swabs or something.

Is the joke that old?  Is the reference too obscure?

I feel certain she knew I was not simply crooning my own real name.  I look and sound so much like a New Yorker that I cannot possibly pass for a “Leroy.”  Probably not even a “Jenkins.”

Oh, well.  YOU people get me.

 

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Cover to “World’s Finest Comics” #286, Rich Butler and Dick Giordano, 1982.

DC Comics.

 

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Franconia-Springfield Metro Station, Virginia

I arrived here with a friend to pick up a third arriving from DC.  These stations are always so much cleaner than their counterparts in New York.

 

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Tonight’s thoughts:

  • I wonder how long it will take for people to start referring to the Trump administration as the Turd Reich?  I can’t be the first person who thought of this. The pun is too easy.

 

  • “You had a group on one side that was bad, and you had a group on the other side that was also very violent. And nobody wants to say that.”  I wonder … is this how he would describe World War II?

 

  • I’m thinking of renouncing my past statements of admiration for the French resistance during World War II.  It has been brought to my attention that they were operating with a government permit.

 

  • The Russians. The Nazis. Foreign dictators.  It’s like the only people who Trump won’t criticize are the villains from 1980’s action movies.  What’s next? Is he going to tacitly defend Zuul from goddam “Ghostbusters?”

 

[The memes are not my own:]

 

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Northern Virginia Rainstorm, August 2016

I took this video a year ago today.  It seems like another age.  So much has happened between then and now.  It’s feels surreal how our perceptions of time can be so subjective.

This was one hell of storm.  Summer thunderstorms in Southwest Virginia seem absolutely commonplace.  It is an extraordinary experience watching them roll in over the mountains, each of them a rapid fog ragnarok — and then moving on just as swiftly.

I don’t think I’ve seen a storm around Roanoke yet that can match the wet armageddon below, though.

 

 

A review of Season 1 of “The Exorcist” (2016)

I liked the Fox’s take on “The Exorcist;” I just didn’t love it the way that I thought I would.

It has a lot going for it.  It’s easily the most intelligent horror show on television — its characters and plotting are detailed, thoughtful and well developed.  It actually occupies the same universe as the classic 1973 and 1990 horror films.  (We won’t mention the 1977 abomination here.)  And, like those movies, this is a skilled, methodical screen adaptation of the universe imagined in William Peter Blatty’s source material.  (This show establishes its continuity with the movies in ways that are interesting and surprising, too.)

The script takes archaic theology and otherworldly events and makes them seem plausible in its real-world setting.  It also succeeds in giving a distinct and frightening voice and personality to its demon.  I was impressed — I’ve seen a lot of movies with this plot device, but I’ve never seen this kind of antagonist so fully realized into a distinct character.  This owes a lot to Robert Emmet Lunney’s outstanding portrayal as the demon personified.

The rest of the cast is also roundly excellent.  Geena Davis shines as the mother of the afflicted girl; I had no idea that she was this good of an actress.  So, too, does Alan Ruck, who stars as her kindly father who is affected by a traumatic brain injury.  Ben Daniels is also very good as the experienced half of the duo of priests who serve as the story’s heroes.  By the end of this first season’s ten-episode arc, both priests seemed like three-dimensional characters that I could like and root for.  I was impressed again — priests in stories like this usually tend towards stock characters, and I can only imagine that it would be challenging for a screenwriter to make them relatable to the average viewer.

Why didn’t I love “The Exorcist?”  First, the show’s story elements felt too familiar.  Once again, we have a possessed young girl, a desperate mother beseeching the church for help, and a pair of priests, one of whom is experienced and one of whom requires instruction.  Once again, we see that the personal lives and the metaphorical demons of both clergymen can be used against them.  Once again, we find the girl secured to a bed while the story’s protagonists pray and shout at her possessor.  I do realize that these tropes are to be expected.  (This is “The Exorcist,” after all.  Do we really expect the writers to not depict an exorcism?)  I can’t deny, however, that my attention wandered.

Second, it was sometimes too slow for me.  I do understand that the show’s creators are probably being faithful to the storytelling pace and style originally established by Blatty, as well as William Friedkin, the director of 1973’s “The Exorcist.”  (Blatty actually wrote the screenplay for that seminal film, two years after his novel was published.)  The tension sometimes builds slowly in its realistic milieu, and events gather momentum over the course of the story.  The show also goes to great lengths to offer us more than its boilerplate exorcism story.  (There are some major demon-related events happening elsewhere in its troubled setting of Chicago.)

Still … I again found my attention wandering.  I might have enjoyed this more if it were edited down to six episodes instead on ten.  And I can’t write a glowing review for a show for which my interest occasionally waned.  (Admittedly, I have a terrible attention span when it comes to TV shows.)

All things considered,  I would rate “The Exorcist” an 8 out of 10 for being a smart, grown-up horror series, even if its slower pace and familiar story elements detracted slightly from my enjoyment of it.  I would recommend this show — especially to those who enjoyed the better “Exorcist” movies.

 

 

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Publication notice: The Bees Are Dead will feature “At the End of the World, My Daughter Wept Metal.”

I am honored to share here that my colleagues over at The Bees Are Dead have agreed to publish my science fiction – horror story, “At the End of the World, My Daughter Wept Metal.”

The story, which originally appeared in Dagda Publishing’s “All Hail the New Flesh” story anthology, should be featured at the online magazine’s website by the end of this month.  I will post a link here when it appears.

I am quite grateful to Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron and Dennis Villelmi for this opportunity — not to mention B.A.D.’s invaluable editorial input, which helped me to tighten up my writing considerably.  Cheers, Mates!

 

Throwback Thursday: Mary Washington College Spring Break 1994!

This is a shot of me and my alum Dave at the site of the “Lost Colony of Roanoke” during Spring Break 1994.  A bunch of the seniors at Mary Washington College’s New Hall trekked down to North Carolina’s Outer Banks that year; this is one of the places we stopped along the way.

Dear God, that was one of the most enjoyable trips of my life.

What the hell were Dave and I doing below?   Performing a skit?  I can’t remember.  I was a really, really weird kid, and Dave was also pretty out there.

 

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“A MAN HAS NO NAME.”

Except when a cheesy marketing gimmick causes a grown man to ransack the Dunkin’ Donuts cooler in search of a novelty plastic bottle.  Then a man has a name.

 

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Black humor.

I was at Starbucks today, and I waited a full 23 minutes in line. There were still four people ahead of me. I was late for an appointment, and I needed coffee. I just … grabbed a tall coffee that had been laid out for a customer ahead of me. I didn’t pay for it. Just walked out the door.

In the parking lot, I sipped it to discover it was a delectable CAFE MOCHA.

Are you judging me? Don’t.

DON’T JUDGE ANY MAN UNTIL YOU WALK A MILE IN HIS MOCHA SINS.