December 20th, 2007

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Death by Irish Car Bombs

At Readercon 2007, which all four members of the Inferior 4+1 attended, a certain tall, hairy member of this blog introduced the practice of drinking "Irish Car Bombs."

Here's the recipe, given solely as a prophylactic measure, so that you will be able to recognize this infernal cocktail, should ill chance put you in its path:

Another member of this blog, a female who shall remain nameless, attempted one such, and later regretted her consumption of the evil drink.

It's a good thing said member had the sense to quit. Because now we learn of a woman driven to suicide by this devil's brew.


"Early police reports indicated Olson became distraught and suicidal after O'Neil suggested skipping the show, but O'Neil said there was no disagreement over the concert - only too much celebration.

"The couple began drinking over dinner at Planet Hollywood and continued at The Perfect Pint, guzzling Irish Car Bombs - Guinness and a shot of whisky, O'Neil said.

"'All evening we were laughing with the people at the bar about how we met,' said O'Neil, who asked Olson out a month ago after she helped with his root canal. 'They said it must have been destiny. We were having a blast.'

"O'Neil said he left the bar, which was across the street from the Night Hotel on W. 45th St., where the couple was staying, and returned alone to their room. Olson arrived a little later, came into the room, lay on the bed for a moment and then left, said O'Neil, who thought she was headed back to the bar.

"Instead, a witness told cops, Olson climbed the hotel fire escape, and then fell to her death about 9:45 p.m. There is no evidence of foul play, cops said, and the medical examiner declared the fall a suicide."


Read the full article here:

So at this festive season, when consumption of spirits rises, please take heed, readers of the fairer sex, of the perils attendant on following the lead of a large, burly man constitutionally fitted, unlike you, for life on the edge.

Posted by Paul DiFi.
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Illos for Bok's BLUE FLAMINGO

[Click to change size, and likewise below]

Here's the January 1948 issue of STARTLING STORIES, featuring the Hannes Bok tale that he would later expand into BEYOND THE GOLDEN STAIR.

This cover image, by the great Earle Bergey, is all over the web.

But where else except this blog can you see the interior illos?

Despite googling, I can't pin down the artist. No credits in the zine, natch, nor signature. I'm leaning toward Virgil Finlay. If anyone knows for sure, please comment.

UPDATE: the consensus among some very knowledgable people on the e-group Fictionmags is that the artist here is one Lawrence Sterne Stevens, who did tons of work for this publishing house.

Posted by Paul DiFi.

Cloverfield and etc.

Here's the Cloverfield trailer, which has the look of a big budget urban Blair WItch Project and has been hyped by a similarly mounted Internet campaign and seems to consist mainly, from the various clips I've watched of handheld shots of young or youngish actors scurrying about in a panic and not knowing what's going on. It looks to me like a massive pile of crap, exactly what I'd expect from JJ Abrams, but you be the judge:

I watched a French supernatural thriller with an ingenious device tonight. It's called Ecoute le Temps and stars Emilie DeQuennes, who played the title role in Rossetta, the Palm D'Or winning film by the Dardennes brothers.

Charlotte (DeQuennes) is a young sound engineer who works mostly on nature documentaries. When her mother is murdered, she returns to the rural village where her mother lived and worked--she was a clairvoyant and was considered a witch by many of the villagers. She settles into the decaying family home. Soon she begins to hear snatches of conversation that she realizes have taken place in the past and, using her professional equipment, hoping to solve her mother's murder, she attempts to map the sounds and align them with her mother's acquaintances--the mayor, who owns a fertilizer factory, and his promiscuous wife; an organic farmer; a neighbor's adult son, who's somewhat slow; her father, long divorced from her mother; a couple whose child has vanished.

The solution comes too easily, but it's an eminently watchable film thanks to the direction by Alante Kavaite, which lets the story unwind without overexplaining things, and because of DeQuennes' performance, which is remarkable. She manages to convey so much with her face and body, the film's many dialogue-less, solitary scenes are completely compelling. This one is due for a Hollywood remake to be entitled Fissures, but if I were you I'd catch the original instead.