<![CDATA[Forum for We're Alive - Blogs - Discovering A Pandemic by Osiris]]>

<![CDATA[Forum for We're Alive - Blogs - Discovering A Pandemic by Osiris]]> https://www.forum.werealive.com/blog.php?1195-Discovering-A-Pandemic en Thu, 07 May 2026 20:08:00 GMT vBulletin 60 https://www.forum.werealive.com/images/misc/rss.jpg <![CDATA[Forum for We're Alive - Blogs - Discovering A Pandemic by Osiris]]> https://www.forum.werealive.com/blog.php?1195-Discovering-A-Pandemic Unrelated To A Pandemic: A Love Letter To Leonard. https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?356-Unrelated-To-A-Pandemic-A-Love-Letter-To-Leonard Tue, 20 Aug 2013 17:58:34 GMT The following entry has absolutely nothing to do with We're Alive or the world created by Kc and friends.

I’m going to take another minute, and break with the usual DaP format to honor the passing of a literary giant. Well, giant is arguable, but for my money there are very few writers on par with the late Elmore Leonard. His works have influenced the genre, have inspired, and have brought so much to the world as a whole. To say the least, I’m a fan. Leonard has been one of the biggest influences on my writing as an adult. In case you didn’t know, I write. I write because I need to write, I write to put my mind and soul at rest. I write because I’ve been inspired to do so, and one of the people who inspired me most is Elmore Leonard.

When I was a boy, probably nine or ten, I got my hands on a book by Franklin W. Dixon called Dead On Target. It was a Hardy Boys book, the first in The Hardy Boys Casefiles series, which would become an obsession for me. The world of crime fiction captured my imagination. I had little to no interest in anything else. It was episodes of The Rockford Files followed with a healthy dose of Joe and Frank Hardy solving mysteries and writing wrongs. I gained an affinity for the underdog. Sure, they always solved their cases, they always came out on top, but it wasn’t without a struggle.
This led me to my next great love—noir. I stumbled upon an old black and white movie with Humphrey Bogart about a bird, and I realized what my passion really was. It wasn’t the mystery, it wasn’t the insurmountable odds, or even the underdog factor. The flawed hero. The Maltese Falcon led me to discover Dashiell Hammett which in turn led me to discover another passion in the form of homage. I discovered a Carl Reiner movie called Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid with Steve Martin and the beautiful Rachel Ward.

It was around this time (somewhere in the neighborhood of thirteen or fourteen) that I switched gears and started reading Douglas Addams. This led to writing my first book—which is so terrible even pieces of it will never see the light of day—called Glyph 2363 about a crew of misfits roaming space looking for a new home. Yeah, totally original, right? Well, geez. I was a kid. Bad as it was (is), the process was a valuable lesson, and a great exercise. From that point it was all about learning structure. It was a year or two before I sat down to write the next book—you see, I was determined this would be a series. After all, I’m a great writer! I’m right up there with Poe, Addams, Dixon, and Salvatore! I’m an undiscovered literary genius! In truth, I understood very little about what makes a story interesting, what makes a reader turn pages. I have a better grasp of that now, but not a day goes by I don’t wrestle with finding the right words.

The second book was better, but not by much. The characters were wooden, one dimensional, uninteresting. Everyone sound the same, monotone, boring. So, upon completion, I took the hot mess in its entirety, and locked both books in a closet under a stack of well-worn Penthouse magazines. I decided then and there I needed to try something else. Writing novels just isn’t working out. So easily I gave up back then! If at first you don’t succeed try once more and then call it quits. I knew I still wanted to write, I just didn’t know what that was going to look like. Then I was turned on to a local contest for screenwriting. Well, shit! That’s just like writing a novel only way easier because it’s shorter! This would be my next hot mess called Bodies. It was a horror movie about some teens that head out in search of a house party and end up butchered by some unstoppable force—shades of Halloween and Evil Dead. Of course, I had absolutely no idea how scripts are written—I had the formatting down, but not the science behind it. Once again, the characters were one trick ponies with very little to offer.

Even though I had a good grasp of the story I wanted to tell, getting the characters to feel lived in eluded me. But, I wasn’t ready to give up, and I pushed along as best as I could, and by the time it was all said and done I’d written two more feature length scripts, one of which came so close to being produced I may or may not have gotten an erection because of it—but that doesn’t happen for a couple more years. I started calling myself a writer around that time, probably seventeen or eighteen, and caught a break working on doctoring a script for a student film—which was called Codename when I worked on it, though I never saw a finished product so I have no idea what changes of mine were used. I knew I wanted to keep going in that vein, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it.

It was close to this time that I was introduced to a pair of movies that changed my whole world.

First came Clerks. A movie about two dipshits working at a convenience store. It’s not pretty, it’s not action packed, but the characters are real, they’re interesting, they’re . . . just like me. I didn’t quite understand the why of it, the reason these characters were so appealing to me. At first I thought it was how normal they seemed, how the whole movie was just two guys talking, but talking about stuff me and my friends talked about: Star Wars, getting laid, being annoyed at stupid people, not knowing what to do with our lives, and so on. It wouldn’t be until the night I got stoned and watched a movie that everyone I knew had been talking about for what felt like for-fucking-ever.

I saw Pulp Fiction in a small, one two-bedroom converted garage where my friend Norm lived. A group of us got together to play cards and drink microbrewery beers that we considered at the time to be some of the best beer on the planet [someone remind me to do a beer blog one day], which in reality was swill in a bottle. Pulp Fiction captured my imagination completely. It wasn’t the violence, it wasn’t how the story moved back and forth on itself, and connected the characters in a way that I’d never imagined possible. It was a world. A whole world. For the first time I understood what story really meant, and saw the possibilities laid out before me like a buffet of fucks. Characters talked about absolutely nothing while engaging in some serious, heavy shit. I realized what I’d been doing wrong! I was negligent with respect to getting to know my characters, to consider how they might speak to one another.

Thanks to Quentin Tarantino I discovered the man who would become my favourite writer, and the most influential person on my writing, through the movie Jackie Brown which is based on the novel Rum Punch. Sure, Jackie Brown is arguably one of the weakest Tarantino flicks, but the dialogue and characters still very much pop off the screen with ease. I searched high and low for a copy of the book, having seen it mentioned in the credits, and a world opened up beneath my feet and swallowed me whole.

I was hooked. This guy, this Elmore cat, he writes how people talk! His characters are vibrant, they’re alive. They’ve got the weight of decades of life behind their words. Fuck pronouns. Not always important to the point. Just in the way of what matters. He taught me to keep stripping away anything that got in the way of the point—not just in dialogue, but in the surrounding prose. Sometimes, it’s better if a character just “sat, and looked.” As far as dialogue goes, understanding speech patterns, understanding the whys of how characters speak and interact verbally with each other, there is no better writer to have lived than Elmore Leonard. His work stands on its own merits, and if you never find yourself in a Chapters or Barnes & Nobles, take a wander over to a staff member and ask them to point out some Elmore Leonard. Pick yourself up a copy of Out of Sight, Valdez is Coming, Rum Punch, Hombre, Killshot, or Fire in the Hole.

Not much of a reader? Rather watch a movie or a TV show? Pulp Fiction, 3:10 To Yuma, Killshot, Justified, Out of Sight, Be Cool, Get Shorty, or Hombre, just to name a few. This is not to say that I’ve finally figured it all out thanks to Leonard, and that I’m the world’s greatest writer—the work I’ve posted here speaks to the contrary—but he’s given me no end of valuable insight into the world of words I would have otherwise remained ignorant of to this day. I can honestly say, without having read Leonard I would have put down my pen and concentrated on the 9 to 5 instead. I write every day, working hard to better myself as a writer. Two new novels, a third on the way, and more screenplays than I care to count are all attributable to his influence. I feel a profound sense of sadness when I think I’ll never be able to walk into a book store to discover Leonard released a new book. I’m certain we’ll receive one or two collected works of unpublished material, but it just won’t be the same.

Thank, Elmore. Thank you for all the beautiful words you’ve given the world. I still fuck up, time to time, but I do what I can to elevate myself with you as the bar. One day I might finally get it. Might. Truth? Be hard. Sure not easy getting up that ladder, but it's there, and I'm on the rungs. Thank you, Elmore. Thank you so much.

October 11, 1925 - August 20, 2013

http://www.elmoreleonard.com/

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?356-Unrelated-To-A-Pandemic-A-Love-Letter-To-Leonard Reviving A Pandemic: The Beginning of The End https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?355-Reviving-A-Pandemic-The-Beginning-of-The-End Sun, 14 Jul 2013 17:06:12 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't. That said, I'm going to forego any further warnings of spoilers within the blog.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to apologize for my absence over the last few months? Has it been months since the last issue? I can't remember. Doesn't matter, I'm back and I've got a lot of ground to cover and a lot of lost time to make up for. Enough cheese, let's get to the meat.

As we await news of the release date for the season four premiere, I feel as though I’m doomed to be let down. I think about all of the hours devoted to not only listening to previous episodes, but also to analyzing dialogue in a desperate search for clues, and I can’t help but feel that the end of the show is going to fail to live up to my expectation. This is in no way a slight on Kc’s ability to spin a yarn, but I’ve got an idea in my head about how things should—as far as I’m concerned—play out. This leaves me with an empty feeling within the place where my soul would be if I believed I had one. Over the weeks, that feeling of emptiness, that void has bloomed into feelings of trepidation.

One might think it sadness for the ending of the show, but it’s more than that. I’m not sad about the show ending, in fact, the more the idea sits here with me the happier I am to see it going out on a high note. I can understand the technical obstacles that face the production, cast members moving away, marriages, etc. can make it difficult to stretch a show like this for seven or eight season. I look at this end as a blessing. It’s best to go out while the writing is strong. Really, would anyone want this to go on for another three years? Another three of waiting for Monday like it’s Friday.

How fucked up is that?

What worries me most about the end of the show isn’t whether or not my theories pan out. It isn’t whether or not my favourite characters stay alive. It isn’t even whether or not we find out what the cause of the whole mess was. No, what worries me the most is that the end of the series is going to be just like its beginning: quiet and filled with questions. I can deal with my favourite characters being killed off—even though if Scratch goes my universe will collapse on itself—but I don’t want to deal with questions that will never be answered. Unfortunately, Kc is the type of jerk that would do just that. He’s like the Joss Whedon of the audio drama world. Sure, here’s a bunch of answers, but I’m going to go ahead and hit you with a final scene that raises two questions that will drive you insane for the rest of your natural life. Not only that but when he’s asked about it you can bet that he’ll act all aloof and douchey.

That’s right, I said it.

So, what are the questions that I give a shit about? What are the sticking points for me that will determine whether or not I’m satisfied by the time Michael Swan starts reading the credits on the final episode—though I would love, absolutely LOVE to hear the cast each read their own credit *cough* *cough*? Well that’s a good question, and I’m glad you asked.

I want an answer about Scratch and Angel’s relationship, though I can assume we’ll never get to the bottom of that one.
I want to know what the hell happened to Michael’s arm. I mean, I know what happened, but I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Not that Jim is a horse.
What do the tattoos covering Ink’s body mean? Is this some kind of demon summoned from the depths of some hell dimension? I can only imagine we’ll never find out. But! never say never, I suppose . . . though I don’t believe that anyone will find a copy of “The Story Behind The Ink: A Biography” by The One With The Markings, so I’m not holding my breath.

Instead, I turn my focus to questions that seem more likely to find resolution.

Will Burt get past his survivor’s guilt?
Will Pegs and Michael live long enough to have a real life together?
Will Kelly finally get some ass? C'mon Kc . . . cut the broad some slack!
Is Riley going to come out of the closet? And I am I the only one that would be okay with her and Kelly hooking up?
Is it chemical, biological, or magical? Is Cthulhu behind it all? Was it a government experiment? Did shit just fall out of the sky? I’m going to guess that there are facets of the cause we’ll never know, but I’m sure Kc will give us a fair enough chunk to satisfy most. For better or worse, the end is nigh and nothing can stop it.

I know this edition of Surviving A Pandemic feels a little on the quick and dirty side, but it’s been a long month of working on other projects, and to be honest with you I’ve had little time to devote to anything else. Will this be the blog’s final season? Chances are high that it will be. But! there are some interesting things in the works including, but not limited to, an upcoming interview with a member of the cast that has become a dear friend. While I may not be looking forward to seeing the end of the show, I am looking forward to experiencing it with all of you.

Osiris is a cat lover, and can be found
wandering the aisles of convenience
stores in search of Lays and Twizzlers.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?355-Reviving-A-Pandemic-The-Beginning-of-The-End Defining A Pandemic: The Elusive Perfect Chapter https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?347-Defining-A-Pandemic-The-Elusive-Perfect-Chapter Fri, 01 Feb 2013 23:24:09 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't. That said, I'm going to forego any further warnings of spoilers within the blog.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to apologize for my absence over the last few months? Has it been months since the last issue? I can't remember. Doesn't matter, I'm back and I've got a lot of ground to cover and a lot of lost time to make up for. Enough cheese, let's get to the meat.

It was recently put to the community, via Facebook and Twitter, which chapter should be submitted for consideration in an unnamed contest. What a question! There’s so many to choose from! It’s like asking someone, “Which of the following women is hottest?” and then handing them a copy of FHM’s 100 hottest women. It’s too subjective, it’s too broad a question. So we’re given the restrictions of choosing from chapters twenty-five through thirty-six—as if that’s going to make it easier to narrow it down.

You’re a mean one for doing this to me, Kc. Terribly mean.

My initial reaction was to go with one of those big moment chapters. The kind where something is revealed, something I’ve been waiting to hear for so long! That first reaction was to choose Chapter Twenty-Nine– Beyond Our Walls, the chapter that answers the burning question: Did Burt make it out alive? I considered the chapter that gives us the most human look at the most-roundly-hated character in the We’re Alive world: Chapter Thirty-One – Family Ties. The season finale makes a good case for itself as well. But in the end, one chapter stands out above the rest.

Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Thirty-First

It’s by far the most cohesive chapter in the entire series. It has one of the best performances of the series, great big ups to Kevin Flood for that. It’s a whole lot of exposition, sure, but it’s not needless. It gives you a compelling story from start to finish. Frankly, it’s the one chapter of the entire series that stands on its own in more ways than one. It would be the one, single chapter of the story that would be perfectly suited for novelization, as it is Kalani’s story in toto. Sure, it answers the question we’d all been asking: Who’s the rat? It doesn’t just tell us the who, but it tells us the why. It gives us something that the other chapters don’t give us, a complete portrait of a man’s story of survival, all in one shot. There isn’t another chapter that pulls that off. You get bits and pieces of history from characters, but nothing like twenty-seven gives us.

It also provides us with an experience that no other chapter gives us. It gives us a taste of the cast in its entirety. Each of the main characters has interaction with the chapter’s central protagonist. It gives us all the action you could ask for. It gives you a chance to experience a range of emotion. It moves not only through time, but through space, taking the listener from Hawaii to Los Angeles, from the airport to the mall, from the mall, and then from one tower to the next. You meet new and old characters in a way that feels natural, and makes sense. There’s a linear feel to the story that just feels right. It’s a single arc told from various perspectives, but the central protagonist remains constant in his voice, his choices, and his motivation. There is a simplicity to the complex nature of this episode, as much exposition as it’s giving us, at its heart it is just a story about a man who loves his daughter, and will stop at nothing to save her life. It’s a brilliant piece of writing on Kc’s part, and deserves far more recognition than it gets. He’s taken an almost convoluted bit of plot, and smoothed out the wrinkles, slowed it down, and fed it to us like a campfire tale. The pacing is beautiful; the sound design supports the story in a way that really is far more subtle than other chapters, from the sound-effects to the music—oh don’t get me started on the music!

The chapter unfolds like a great novel. It drops you into a lifeboat on the middle of the ocean with a bunch of strangers, and then pokes a hole in it. Imagine for a moment that you were given a paperback called “The Thirty-First” by a friend. You read the blurb on the back:

“Kalani is a pilot, a skill that comes in handy when the world ends. A catastrophic viral outbreak hits his home in Hawaii, forcing him and his daughter to flee the state. He manages to rescue a group of survivors, flying them into Los Angeles, only to discover that the plague has already brought the city to its knees, and when his daughter is kidnapped, and held for ransom, Kalani is forced to do anything and everything to get her back.”

Now, sit down and experience the chapter again. It’s an amazing tale of survival, treachery, loss, and redemption. The arc of the character is not only defined, but brought to resolution, a feat that no other chapter can boast. It’s an impressive piece of storytelling. I’ve sung Kevin’s praises in another blog, but there’s no harm in reiterating. His performance is pitch-perfect.

To be entirely inclusive with regard to Kalani’s complete arc, it would be necessary to include parts one and two of chapter twenty-eight into the mix, along with the last half of chapter 25. I would argue that this story would have been better served as a single ninety-eight minute drama, considering it is the only storyline that has tied up all its loose ends. See, this is where it all falls apart, because you really do need Kalani’s redemption, which I had forgotten was not included in his confessional.

That said, the story in The Thirty-First still stands on its own. Damn you for making me defeat my own argument. Sound off—if you’re still reading—and tell me which season three chapter that really defines We’re Alive, showcases its strengths, and the talents of the cast and crew?

Osiris—formerly known as Satan—
enjoys long walks on the beach, dramatic
readings of grocery lists, and Elmore Leonard.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?347-Defining-A-Pandemic-The-Elusive-Perfect-Chapter Departing From A Pandemic--Briefly https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?345-Departing-From-A-Pandemic-Briefly Mon, 26 Nov 2012 18:01:33 GMT So last night, along with 40,000+ of my fellow Canadians, I watched Paul McCartney rock the fuck out of a small Vancouver stadium. 70 years old...... So last night, along with 40,000+ of my fellow Canadians, I watched Paul McCartney rock the fuck out of a small Vancouver stadium. 70 years old... he's a fossil for certain and the majority of his catalogue was recorded long before I rocketed out of my dad's balls--and mercifully didn't end up on my mom's chest or face! It was an amazing night that didn't seem to end. The THREE HOUR set broke down like this:

Magical Mystery Tour
(The Beatles song)
Junior's Farm
(Wings song)
All My Loving
(The Beatles song)
Jet
(Wings song)
Drive My Car
(The Beatles song)
Sing the Changes
(The Fireman song)
The Night Before
(The Beatles song)
Let Me Roll It
(Wings song) ("Foxy Lady" snippet)
Paperback Writer
(The Beatles song)
The Long and Winding Road
(The Beatles song)
Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five
(Wings song)
My Valentine
Maybe I'm Amazed
I've Just Seen A Face
(The Beatles song)
And I Love Her
(The Beatles song)
Blackbird
(The Beatles song)
Here Today
Dance Tonight
Mrs. Vandebilt
(Wings song)
Eleanor Rigby
(The Beatles song)
Something
(The Beatles song) (Paul on ukulele)
Band on the Run
(Wings song)
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
(The Beatles song)
Back in the U.S.S.R.
(The Beatles song)
I've Got a Feeling
(The Beatles song)
A Day in the Life
(The Beatles song) ("Give Peace a Chance" snippet)
Let It Be
(The Beatles song)
Live and Let Die
(Wings song)
Hey Jude
(The Beatles song
Encore:
Lady Madonna
(The Beatles song)
Day Tripper
(The Beatles song)
Get Back
(The Beatles song)
Encore 2:
Yesterday
(The Beatles song)
Mull of Kintyre
(Wings song) (with the Delta Police Pipe &… more)
Helter Skelter
(The Beatles song)
Golden Slumbers
(The Beatles song)
Carry That Weight
(The Beatles song)
The End

The vibe in the building was fucking amazing. Every face I saw was light up like it was Christmas morning. I even saw tears more than a few times. People were dancing all over the place. For me the moment that made the night was singing Eleanor Ribgy with the other 40,000 present. It was my favourite song when I was growing up, and remains my all-time favourite Beatles song. It was a true bucket list moment, and when the crowd sang Give Peace A Chance I almost cried along with the two women sitting in front of me. There is something overwhelming about hearing that many people singing in unison.

Never been the world's biggest Paul McCartney fan, nor the world's biggest Beatles fan... but that show was really incredible. Just to be in an atmosphere that is that positive really makes you feel just a little bit better about being on the planet. There were pyrotechnics during Live and Let Die that you were certain would bring down the house, but the show just kept going and going. There were moments when it was just Paul on the stage along with an acoustic guitar and the rest of the building to back him up, particularly during Blackbird--which was so beautiful to see and hear.

I've been to a lot of concerts over the years, from small venues to big, outdoor festivals to coffee bar acoustic sets. I've seen a lot of amazing musicians play, but by far the most positive, lifting environment I've ever experienced was last night's show. I wanted to hug everyone in that building, and I wish I could have stayed in that space forever.

Thanks Paul, and thank you Vancouver for making that night so welcoming and amazing. I love you all for it.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?345-Departing-From-A-Pandemic-Briefly Writing A Pandemic? Nope... A Totally Unrelated Novel. https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?319-Writing-A-Pandemic-Nope-A-Totally-Unrelated-Novel Thu, 07 Jun 2012 06:09:41 GMT Some of you already know--some of you, not so much--that I've been working on a novel for the last few months. I've finally come to a space where I'm ready to start revising, editing, and writing the second draft. I'd pretty much stopped working on it before my surgery, and haven't done fuck all to it since. That's about nine weeks of not even thinking about. This afternoon I started thinking about where I left things, found my ending and decided now was a good time to start chopping it up and preparing the second draft, which I will be sending to a view betas for review. I'm a good few weeks away from beta reading at this point, but I'm feeling that creative surge returning--might have something to do with being off the opioids and finally clear-headed--so, I've decided to jump back into it.

I took the time during the break to write a few short stories, and some practice pieces, two of which have appeared here in one form or another. Actually, just two forms each. Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. I knew you were all on the edges of your seats, waiting for me to let you all know. Until I'm finished the second draft, I'm going to be ignoring everything that I can use as a distraction. That means, swearing off this joint for a while. I can still be reached via Facebook, Twitter, and e-mail--because my phone is fucking evil like that--so if you really wanted to blab at me, ask me questions, or irritate me, you can do so through those mediums. It also means, no blogging--not that anyone is going to notice--and no anything else. If you see me lurking, give me shit and tell me to get back to work.

See you all in a few weeks, but until then...

Catch you all on the flip-flop.

:love:

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?319-Writing-A-Pandemic-Nope-A-Totally-Unrelated-Novel <![CDATA[Eating A Pandemic... um... I'm running out of titles]]> https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?315-Eating-A-Pandemic-um-I-m-running-out-of-titles Sat, 02 Jun 2012 07:21:46 GMT I came across this earlier tonight and had no choice but to re-post it here. All of these food related blogs and threads inspired it. Enjoy, fellow... I came across this earlier tonight and had no choice but to re-post it here. All of these food related blogs and threads inspired it. Enjoy, fellow Foodies.

Let us begin.

You will need: 1 loaf of hard crusted Italian bread, 3 ribeye steaks 1 lb mushrooms, an onion and some bacon.

hollow that bread out, bitch

Cook that shit

Don't over cook that shit. Leave your steak rare. It's gonna keep cooking for a bit in the bread.

Shove one of them bitches in the breadhole

Sauce the fuck out of that bitch

Bacon that shit, son

Cheese that shit!

Stuff in as much of the mushroom and onion mixture you can

Then jam that other bitch along inside with the juices from the pan

Sauce that shit some more!

More cheese, bitch

Put that hat on the bowl, son

Wrap that bitch in butchers paper

Foil that fucker

Put a heavy cutting board on top to squish that shit down

Now weight and wait and wait

Used 140lbs of weight and let that shit sit for 4 hours

Take weight off

Now eat the fuck out of that shit!

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?315-Eating-A-Pandemic-um-I-m-running-out-of-titles <![CDATA[Living A Pandemic: The Day The Zompocalypse Began... Lock & Load Bitches]]> https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?310-Living-A-Pandemic-The-Day-The-Zompocalypse-Began-Lock-amp-Load-Bitches Tue, 29 May 2012 04:44:48 GMT ---Quote (Originally by Osiris)--- http://www.wsvn.com/news/articles/local/21007585058418/new-details-emerge-in-causeway-police-involved-shooting/ ...

Originally Posted by Osiris

http://www.wsvn.com/news/articles/local/21007585058418/new-details-emerge-in-causeway-police-involved-shooting/

Welps... see you all in hell, everyone! It's been great. :love:

UPDATED:

5/16: McArthur High School HazMat Situation: Students, Teachers Decontaminated After Breaking Out In Rash: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/0...n_1521764.html
5/19: No confirmation on chemical at Fort Lauderdale International Airport: http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/termina...n-hazmat-scare
5/21: Police: Man bites woman in Westchester: http://www.mysuburbanlife.com/westch...in-Westchester
5/23: I-285 reopens after hazmat incident: http://www.wesh.com/r/31112110/detail.html
5/23: Man Bites Cousin's Nose Off: http://www.nbcsandiego.com/news/loca...153100125.html
5/24: Second Broward school reports mystery rash: http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/05/2...l-reports.html
5/25: Hazmat Called After Kids Exposed To Pesticide On Bus: Hazmat, EMS Respond To Lake County, FL School: http://www.wesh.com/r/31112110/detail.html
5/25: 'Disoriented' passenger subdued on flight in Miami: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/05/25...iami-arrested/
5/26: Naked Man Allegedly Eating Victim's Face Shot And Killed By Miami Police: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/0...n_1548359.html
5/26: Florida Doctor Spits Blood at Highway Patrolmen After DUI Arrest: http://abcnews.go.com/US/florida-doc...2#.T8RTR8WkySo
5/27: Georgia contractor bites Lowe's employees, resists arrest: http://columbus.wtvm.com/news/crime/...resists-arrest

It's been wonderful knowing you all. :love:

Not normally something that I would blog about, but it just seems too coincidental. Good luck, Britt. Hope Costco works out for you. I might drop in to borrow some TP. Everyone else... well... most of you are going to die, I'm sorry to say. It's been a slice.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?310-Living-A-Pandemic-The-Day-The-Zompocalypse-Began-Lock-amp-Load-Bitches Butchering A Pandemic: Prose Physiotherapy https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?302-Butchering-A-Pandemic-Prose-Physiotherapy Wed, 23 May 2012 12:10:11 GMT Well, this isn’t exactly May 16th. If you’re following this blog at all, you’ll have noted its irregularity, a long time ago. I apologize for that.... Well, this isn’t exactly May 16^th. If you’re following this blog at all, you’ll have noted its irregularity, a long time ago. I apologize for that. I had been planning to do something to be released the day I went into hospital, but… shit happens. You'll also be likely to take note that this is a much shorter entry than the previous ones. Well, it's 5:00 AM and I'm battling insomnia, writing episode recaps for the wiki, popping pills and trying not to snack. You get what you get. Anyway, let’s jump in our trusty old "Way Back Machine" and pay a visit to Osiris on the morning of May 15 to find out what went wrong, why you're reading this, and what, if anything, it has to do with We're Alive.

Sidebar: If I really did have a time machine, I would go back to the first sunrise over the Fraser Valley that ever was, sit down, blast a fat cannon, and listen to Led Zeppelin's When The Levee Breaks, which is possibly, one of the most amazing songs ever recorded to listen to when you're trippin' balls.

P.S.A. Kids, don't do what Uncle Osi does. Drugs are bad. They don't make you cooler, funnier, or bad-ass. They make you stupid, uncool, and a big loser. They can destroy your life in ways you couldn't possibly imagine.

Tuesday, 15 May, 2012, 5:32 AM

I’m still awake, unable to sleep all night. While I’m not consciously aware of it, I’m guessing that part of me is starting to get nervous about the surgery I’m book for on Wednesday morning. I decided that I should stop tossing and turning in bed and just give it, get up, and go get a cup of a coffee. It’s a beautiful morning and the sun is warm and bright already, so I decide to take a walk, listen to some music, and enjoy the last bit of sun that I’ll be able to for at least a week. Apparently, I’m going to be bed-ridden for somewhere close to four days within the next thirty hours. One thing that I love is a brisk walk first thing in the morning, and tired or not, this morning would be no exception. It was quiet as far as foot traffic goes, but there were the usual suspects out on the road, on their way to work. I had taken a few pills about a half an hour before getting out of bed for the last time, and they were slowly working their way into my system, leaving me with the slightly drunk feeling that I had become quite familiar with over the last few weeks.

Oh, Percocet. You’ve treated me so well, but I’ll be glad when you’re gone.

As I walked, soaking up the warmth of that glorious ball of fire in the sky, I listened to a mix of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Metric, and Timber Timbre. I let my mind wander off on its own, not terribly concerned where it was headed when something hit me. I love the movie Clue.

Clue was a terrible movie from the mid-1980s that is based on the Parker Bros. (now HASBRO) game of the same name. It’s the story of six strangers that gather together in a secluded New England mansion for a dinner party that quickly spirals out of control when it is revealed that they have been gathered together to confront the person who has been blackmailing each of them. It’s a great concept, set in the mid-1950s, with a funny cast, and some half decent performances. No, this isn’t a movie review; I’m just setting the stage here. Clue was the first movie to employ alternate endings that I had ever seen—the film was released into theaters and each theater was given all three endings that they would then run randomly from day to day—and it completely captured my imagination. I’m not sure why, but I like to think it was the idea that there was a different ending for all of the movies I had seen through my past. A different ending for Star Wars, or Tron, or The Black Hole? Mind blown. The prospect that I was missing something stuck with me for years. A burning desire to know that was finally sated by the advent of DVD, thus opening a whole new world to explore. Clue was the movie that made me consider that there was another possibility.

Now, as we’re all aware, We’re Alive hasn’t ended yet, so there isn’t an alternate ending for us to ponder. There is, however, a beginning. It was around the time that I passed by a gas station, stopped in to grab a can of Red Bull and a pack of Benson & Hedges Black—P.S.A. Please don’t smoke, kids… it’s a bad, disgusting habit that will kill you—and was circling back around toward home, that I had the thought:

What were their lives like before the outbreak? And with that, Alternate Beginnings was born.

I considered my favourite character’s origin story—at least, my version of their origin stories—as I strolled down the sidewalk, with a casual gait that belied my aching urgency to write. I decided that I would write a series of standalone, short stories that would follow my favourite characters through a random point in their past. As I walked, puffed, and sipped, I started writing my ode to Angel: One Night, In Santa Monica, in my head. It took me about fifteen minutes to get back in front of the keyboard and start hammering away. Within an hour, the story was finished—and it shows. I used the little project as a way to explore a new style, tackling a perspective that I’m not entirely comfortable with in order to stretch myself as a writer. I’m certain that some of the stories will fail miserably, some will be roundly hated, and maybe, just maybe, one or two may be well-received—dare I dream—maybe even loved.

No, I won’t be posting them here. You’ll find them in the Fan Fiction section, alongside some other entertaining stories written by other boardies. Enjoy them, hate them, or feel no emotion toward them at all. Once again, I extend an apology to Kc for butchering the collective histories for his characters that he has, no doubt already created, but I've had a blast writing them.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?302-Butchering-A-Pandemic-Prose-Physiotherapy Remembering A Pandemic: Radio of the 21st Century https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?292-Remembering-A-Pandemic-Radio-of-the-21st-Century Wed, 09 May 2012 15:00:00 GMT

If OTR [Old-Time Radio] signified the Golden Age we are surely in the Silver Age of podcasting, yet somehow, the Golden Age of podio dramas. What a strange concept. Let’s jump in the old way back machine and take a look at the birth of the audio drama, how I discovered them and what they mean to me... because I know that's what you really want to know.

The Podfather: An Acknowledgement

Paris, France, 1881. Clément Ader gave us the Théâtrophone which was essentially opera and theater performances ‘broadcast’ over telephone lines to subscribers. Sounds an awful lot like a podcast, doesn’t it? The Godfather of the modern podcast was French and not Kevin Smith [The SModfather]. Ader also worked in the field of aviation, built the first telephone network in Paris, engineered the first stereo broadcast, and made significant improvements to Bell’s telephone system. If you’re unable to find the book linked above, take a quick read through information provided by the Wonderful World of Wiki.

That ought to drive somebody crazy. Le wink.

The radio was for our grandparents and parents what television was for us as kids. It was the ‘idiot box’ that we gathered around for a few hours in the evening—usually after dinner to either endure or enjoy the entertainment emanating from within. You may recall hearing your grandfather reminisce about Jack Webb playing hard-boiled “detective” Pat Novak in Pat Novak For Hire, or your grandmother swooning as she recalls Dennis Day singing on the Jack Benny Program! I know my grandmother used to.

Discovery

Flash forward to 1990. I was thirteen years old, working on a report for my grade 8 Social Studies class. I had a small, white and grey dual cassette recorder by my head, listening to my favourite Duran Duran mix-tape. It was close to 9:30 in the evening; I remember that the sun had long since set—I would come in after it was too dark to play basketball any longer, as we did not have lighted courts in the park closest to my house. The fall air was cool; my bedroom window wide open and, without screens, my room was slowly filling with crane flies, which are loathsome creatures that God surely put on this Earth to torture me, for they resembled some horrific flying spider. Thanks, God. I often divided my time between writing, listening to music, and smashing the shit out of these intrusive insects—I have been permanently scarred by and to this day cannot sleep near an open, screen-less, window.

Due to my young age and relative inexperience with electronics—other than the toaster and TV, both of which seemed to work just fine without my involvement beyond pushing the button down or turning the dial—yes I had one of those television sets—I was unaware that tape recorders needed cleaning and regular servicing. As a result, I was crestfallen when I heard the ominous warbling of Planet Earth slowly turning evermore ominous and foreboding as the tape was wholly eaten by, what I had considered then to be, my most trusted of allies.

I was devastated and quite suddenly without music. Music that I would require to complete the task I had been so diligently working on—a project due in the morning, which had been put off for the last week and a half. I had no choice but to tune in the shit storm that was early 90s radio. After flipping through the FM band, and finding nothing that would satisfactorily take the place of my precious Duran Duran mix-tape, I switch over to AM. A band that was uncharted territory reputed to hold the secrets to the stock market, endless sports broadcasts, and religion. Talk radio. What had I done to myself? Why hadn’t I just bought a head cleaning kit when I was at the mall earlier in the day? For that matter, why hadn’t I caved in and bought that new Duran Duran tape?

Duran Duran’s 1990 release ‘Liberty’ is probably the lowest point in their career, and I am thankful that I didn’t buy that piece of shit, as I ended up using the money I would have spent on that abortion, to purchase a much needed head cleaning kit.

As I slowly surfed across the band, something caught my attention. It sounded, strange and crackly and while it was quite normal for AM to provide some of the shittiest reception available, this seemed even more lo-fi than I would have expected. The people talking sounded old, in a way I was, heretofore, unfamiliar with. I had never heard an advertisement for Jell-O before. I’d seen a lot of commercials on TV, sure, but I’d never heard one on the radio. Nor could I recall hearing Jack Benny. I needed answers, and without the luxury of a home computer, I had only one option to get to the heart of the matter: ask Dad.

Unfortunately, he was asleep. I wasn’t about to wake him up, knowing full well that he was up at 4:30 every morning to go to work. My mother was no help. She was busy on the phone long-distance to her sister (my favourite aunt, incidentally) on the other side of the country. The larger part of my extended family resides east of the Rockies, here in the Great White North, sometimes known as Snow World or Canuckistan, but more often than not, simply called Canada.

Answerless, I returned to my room, shut my window, and listened, trans-fucking-fixed for the next hour and a half as Jack Cullen’s Owl Prowl carried through to its conclusion. The tail end of the Jack Benny Show—which I had initially tuned into—gave way to a 28 minute episode of X-Minus One that would forever change my life. It was in that half hour that I was introduced to science fiction in a way I had never imagined possible: sans Lucas.

Capturing My Imagination

In 1951, Galaxy Magazine published a short story by Fritz Leiber, a German/American science fiction writer. In 1965, X-Minus One chose that story for dramatization in their broadcast of A Pail of Air. That story completely and totally changed the way I saw science fiction. Granted, to this point I had only been exposed to science fiction through film, as my literary ventures tended to lean toward detective/mystery novels. I was a big fan of The Hardy Boys then and remain so today. Franklin W. Dixon—pen name of Canadian author Leslie McFarlane—was a big influence on me as a storyteller. A big enough influence for me to dedicate my first detective novel to, as well as naming one of the supporting—yet pivotal—characters after him.

Don’t ask where you can buy a copy; it isn’t finished… yet. Mind you, not for a lack of trying. The first draft is currently sitting at 72,000 words (I went back during a bout of writer's block and cut the first five chapters) and I'm just coming to the beginning of the second climax. I've been unable to keep my focus locked on it due to pain medication. Percocet is a wonderful thing, but it can make it very difficult to write coherently. As you are, undoubtedly, very aware of at this moment.

So, the simple act of me neglecting to take proper care of my electronics, proved to be the catalyst for the love affair with Old Time Radio Dramas that persevered the following decades. I heard them all. I loved them all.

Suspense, which produced some fantastic dramatizations includingSorry, Wrong Number starring Agnes Moorehead, and A Passage To Benares. Escape offered some brilliant adaptations like Country of the Blind by H.G. Wells. Inner Sanctum Mysteries gave us bizarre tales like Death Is A Joker. Mystery In The Air with host Peter Lorre with announcer Harry Morgan, whom some of you may remember as Colonel Sherman T. Potter from M*A*S*H, gave us unnerving visions of horror and mayhem like Edgar Allan Poe's classic The Black Cat. The Mysterious Traveler was a wonderful storyteller as The Man From Singapore depicts. Richard Diamond, Private Detective staring Dick Powell and Virginia Gregg was one of my all-time favourites. I loved that show, for obvious reasons—it was a detective comedy/drama, which was right up my alley, the episode House of Mystery stands out among the rest as being one of the funniest.

Jack and Frank: Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor

Every night, Jack Cullen would spin a bunch of records from singers and bands that I had never heard of; stuff that was well before my time and not at all to my taste. But, weekdays between 10:30 and 11:45 it was the very best of Classic Radio Drama on CKNW 98. I fell in love with radio during the fall and winter of 1990. I even grew to hate weekends! Weekends meant that I had to spend two days without hearing another thrilling episode of Suspense!, or hear the next part of episodic shows likeI Love A Mystery whose central characters—Jack Packard, Doc Long, and Reggie York—were eternally in peril and I loved the 20 episode Temple of Vampires which found the trio in some South American jungle, fighting off terror and danger with each 15 minute episode.

Old Time Radio inspired me to flex my creative muscles into areas I had not considered venturing. I’d never entertained the notion of being a writer. I had never imagined that I could be as transfixed listening to people talk as I could be by the most engaging Indiana Jones film, or the latest exploits of Joe and Frank [Hardy]. A whole world of possibilities stretched out before me.

Inspired by the stories I was listening to, I soon began to write stories of my own. Several were submitted to my English teacher for extra-credit—she was particularly fond of me after I had started whistling the theme from The Whistlerone day during class. The rest of my class thought I was on crack when the two of us started calling out the names of shows and actors from a time and medium that they were completely unaware of.

Every night—Saturday and Sunday excluded—I was recording hour after hour of the golden years of radio, slowly compiling shoebox after shoebox of 90 minute TDK, Sony, and Maxell cassette tapes. It was a labour love that was abandoned, after an incident during a move from one house to another, when my giant box of dramatized goodness vanished without a trace. I simply didn’t have the heart to begin rebuilding. Shortly afterward, CKNW changed formats, going strictly talk—assholes.

Jack Cullen finished his career on CKST in Vancouver—which is now TEAM 1040 (for those who are interested)—but his show was never the same for me. He signed off on April 27, 2002 at St. Mary's Hospital in New Westminster. Jack Cullen was 80 years old. He will be missed, and I will always remember him as the man who introduced me to my future. Rest in peace, Jack, and thank you.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope that you enjoy the links I've provided. I've enjoyed taking this trip down memory lane with you. Feel free to share your own first time with OTR! I would love to hear about it!

Osiris—once called the Prince of Darkness—
enjoys long walks on the beach, dramatic
readings of technical manuals, and having
uncomfortable conversations with strangers.

Look for the next issue of Discovering A
Pandemic, tentatively titled "Recovering
From A Pandemic: Pills! Here!" on May 16^th.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?292-Remembering-A-Pandemic-Radio-of-the-21st-Century Returning To A Pandemic: Ode To Kalani https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?291-Returning-To-A-Pandemic-Ode-To-Kalani Mon, 07 May 2012 22:50:50 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't. That said, I'm going to forego any further warnings of spoilers within the blog.

I'd also like to take a brief moment to apologize for my abscence over the last few months? Has it been months since the last issue? I can't remember. Doesn't matter, I'm back and I've got a lot of ground to cover and a lot of lost time to make up for. Enough cheese, let's get to the meat.

There are characters throughout the run of a television, podcast or series of novels, which you cannot help but find loathsome, irritating, or simply boring. Kalani is one of those characters.

For me the hatred began with his first appearance: a slumbering lump of fat with no real place in the world of peril that we all know and love. He simply doesn’t have the physical attributes one would come to rely upon when faced with situations that our heroes find themselves in. You aren’t going to be successful nearly as often as you need to be evading fast moving creatures that want to rend the flesh from your bones, when you are winded climbing a flight of stairs. It’s a terrible burden to place on those who were kind enough to provide you with food, lodging, and most importantly, safety. So when Kalani was introduced into the cast, I really felt as though he would be one of those characters that would be killed off, one or two episodes into the future. As it turned out, I was mistaken—this happens from time to time.

Kalani became a central character with a grand and sweeping arc that plumbed the depths of some very difficult questions. He served as plot device, comic relief, and martyr, all while providing listeners with some of the best voice acting in the podcast.
Voiced by Kevin Flood, Kalani’s twisting tale of deceit and treachery came to a bittersweet end, giving his life so that he might save the lives of those he betrayed. At least, that’s how I choose to see it.

There are three voice actors on the show that have turned in exceptional performances. You all know my love affair with Scratch [voiced by the amazing Jenna McCombie, who is possibly the sweetest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of communicating with], so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I rank her as probably the best voice acting since Agnes Moorehead lent her pipes to Mrs. Stevenson in the Suspense rendition of Lucille Fletcher’s Sorry, Wrong Number [circa 1943].

Second to Jenna, you would find Scott Marvin as Burt. There’s not much I need to say about Scott’s performance as the grumpiest gun store owner in the history of radio—which is a topic I’m going to be getting down and dirty with, in the next issue of Discovering a Pandemic—that would do justice to the character. You all know him, you all love him. We all miss him. There are simply too many moments, and brilliantly delivered lines to pick just one shining example.

Which leads me to Kevin. His ability to toss a line out as easily as blinking, with such subtle depth and complexity is astounding. A good actor will make you believe he is the character, but a great actor will make you forget that he’s playing a character at all—as far as I’m concerned anyway, though I’m certain there are differing schools of thought on this topic. Kevin Flood made me forget that he was playing the character of Kalani and that made it something special. Something unique.

Kevin, as Kalani, took me all over hell and back. His snide comments toward Michael and some of the other residents of The Tower, his pushy behaviour, and general flippancy with the idea of a power structure that didn’t preclude any input that wasn’t his own. It wasn’t until late in Season Two in Chapter 18 [No Place Like Home], during his adventure with Angel, that I accepted Kalani as part a bona fide Tower Resident. I cheered during that episode with as much vigour as I might at a hockey game, or a rock concert.

I found myself contemplating his final moments in The Harder They Fall for longer than I honestly believed I would have. Give that ending to any other Resident and, sure, I’ll be sad for an hour or two, but I’m not going to feel quite as empty at the thought of living through the rest of the series without hearing his voice. It pained me as much as the loss of Burt and Angel—two voices I’ve lived with longer. And then it came out.

I honestly could not believe my ears when it was revealed that Kalani was The Rat. I was shocked, just like the rest of you, though probably in a little more denial than most. I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want the guy I had believed a true, selfless hero, was nothing more than a guilt-ridden shell of a man, with nothing left to live for. His daughter dead, the world—as he now knows it—at an end, and the lives of his friends hanging in the balance, largely due to his actions. I wanted to pitch the podcast across the room, as I have done with novels, DVDs, and Rubik’s cubes in the past.

I eventually calmed. I collected my thoughts, and quietly buried the emotions deep, beneath layers of justification and forgiveness. Then I found a thread on the board one morning. There was an explosion, chaos ensued, and arguments raged. We all know the outcome of the thread, there is no need to rehash it all here. If you missed it, be glad—it was a total shit storm of frustration and anger. Admittedly, not a shining example of my legacy, but I just cannot help being passionate about my belief in Kalani’s intentions. He did it all for his daughter. That’s all the explanation I need to forgive him for everything he’s done.

Kalani was one of the most intriguing characters—quite possibly the most complex of all The Tower Residents—on the show, voiced by one of the best voice actors I’ve heard in years. No matter how you may feel about the character, you must concede that he played a pivotal role in the arc of the We’re Alive saga, and a very large number of us fooled until the very end.

Thank you so very much for sharing your talent with all of us, Kevin. You gave life to an amazing character that I will never forget and will miss through to the final episode.

That’s it for this issue. I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Thank you! Over the next few weeks I'll be posting—hopefully—every few days, under the banner of Recovering From A Pandemic while I recover from my surgery.

Osiris—the artist formerly known as Satan—
enjoys long walks on the beach, dramatic
readings of grocery lists and pasta.

Look for the next issue Discover A Pandemic:
Radio of the 21^st Century written entirely on
both a chalkboard and Percocet. Coming soon!

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?291-Returning-To-A-Pandemic-Ode-To-Kalani Back To The Well https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?161-Back-To-The-Well Wed, 13 Jul 2011 05:07:31 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't so stop asking. You signed the waiver and now you're left with no legal recourse. You're just going to have to deal with it, I'm sorry. I talked it over with my lawyer and he said this served as a legitimate dislaimer which fully protected me from any action.

He knows his shit... I think he represents Cheetos.

Monday, July 11, 2011 9:39 am and a balmy 18 degrees already with 56% relative humidity. Lightly overcast, with a hint of something in the air. What was that something? Why wasn’t I at work? I would love to say it was because I had called in ‘We’re Alive’, but truth be told I was waiting for the next set of permits to go through for a renovation on a house in the hills of Port Moody, B.C. Permits always take the wind out of a builder’s sails – all the waiting and agonizing over schedules – leaving one with a lot of unexpected free time. Free time I was eager to do something – anything – with. Patience (not being one of my strong suits) was nearing its end as I watched the status bar creep slowly toward completion of the latest W.A. download. What would this week’s episode bring? Would Angel and Burt find a way out of their dire situation? Will there be a chopper for Kalani to escape the dangerously close horde gathering in the halls of the hospital? Why am I concerned for his safety at all? Was it because a soft spot had formed in the rock which resides in my chest? Perhaps I had grown fond of the obnoxious, self-centered, self-aggrandized… large… bastard. He had come across to me as being traitorous from the outset of his involvement in the series and it took a great deal to convince me that he was (I can only hope) a solid guy. What it took was his adventure with Angel in Chapter 18: There’s No Place Like Home (That’s 127.98.5.122 to j0be), which has become my favourite comedic moment in the whole series, thus far.

I listened intently as the final segment of the chapter played out, Burt dropping the Walkie-talkie on Kalani’s head, Angel having his ‘whoa… what do you mean we’re not getting out?’ moment, the explosion and finally Burt’s return to his old self over the rising whine of the helicopter’s engine. Guns blazing, I pictured a smile on Burt’s lips as he held back the horde long enough for Kalani to have the bird ready for take-off. My eyes closed, I was able to fully envision the scene I was hearing through a pair of green Skull Candy ear bud headphones (generally how I listen to We’re Alive), sprawled across the bed. The episode’s coda was not unexpected at all and Saul’s inevitable betrayal of Michael and Pegs was something that I had seen coming since we first learned of Lizzy’s capture and as the credits ‘rolled’ I was reminded of how quickly this season passed by. I felt like I was missing out on something. It seemed like the season had just blown past me as a race car might pass a snail on the highway – loudly and narrowly ending its life in a blur of red paint and tires – a feeling that was reinforced upon my subsequent visit to the show’s forum.

Partaking in an episode discussion thread is something I have seldom (in fact, I don’t think I ever have) do, for two good reasons. First off, I normally end up listening to the show when I get home from work in the later stages of the afternoon (P.S.T) and by that time said thread is fourteen pages long and I don’t have the patience (as recently discussed) to wade through fourteen pages of random discussion regarding events that didn’t make sense or that noise at 13:44 which seems confusing in the context of the location that Saul and Angel are currently at, or who last had the silenced pistol. Hell, I’d lose patience reading my own blog to this point.

Regardless of all this, I realized that there were some serious plot points I had missed picking up on while listening to the second season. There were an alarming number of questions that I was in no way able to even wager a guess on. I started pondering the possibility that there was a hidden season somewhere on the net that I was completely oblivious to. Maybe I was missing important facts that were only being raised by the gracious host of We’re Note Dead – the prolific and talented Brittney Brombacher – which I was missing out on completely by not catching every single episode available, thus negating my ability to:

Sleep
Eat
Leave the house without an iPod loaded down with episodes
Listen to either show without a notepad handy

To this end, I found myself going back to the start – sans pen and yellow legal pad for now – and listening to season two all over again unable to understand how I had missed elements that seemed so obvious upon a second listen, pushing me back to the well, which is where I currently find myself.

Skittles.

My train of thought – though disjointed and partially fragmented – lead me down the road of discovery that can only be attributed to a brief conversation that had taken place in a thread on the boards recently which was in regards to Ink (also known as: Bill Roberts). My mind began a series of spasms that left me wanting an ice cold beverage to hopefully help draw me back from the brink of the thought process which I was currently experiencing. A question that I was not certain I wanted an answer to: Could it be that Skittles is Bill ‘Ink’ Roberts or am I having hallucinations? It would appear as though Skittles has been closer to the ‘Biters’ – a term I’m not overly fond of, but – than anyone else we’ve met so far. It seems likely that he was bat-shit crazy before the outbreak and as such, is likely to have spent time in a mental institution. For what, I can only make assumptions. I may be stepping out on a limb, and perhaps only time will tell – or not – whether or not my suspicions are true. This is by no means a prediction – I leave that to resident oracle nikvoodoo – it is simply an under-educated guess based entirely on the fact [sic] that Cain(e?) Hospital seems a likely as any place for the outbreak to have gestated. At the very least it seems plausible that the ‘little ones’ were manufactured there, which means it is also plausible that Skittles was either involved with or witnessed some very disturbing events. Perhaps, I’m connecting dots that aren’t meant to be connected. Only time will tell.

On that note, I leave you, dear reader, to ponder the possibilities of what that might mean for the upcoming season.

Grasping at straws again,
Osiris.

-ADDENDUM-

It has recently been brought to my attention that Skittles could not possibly be Ink. Ink was (correctly I would assume) described in the news broadcast in Chapter 2.3 (020:57) as being covered head to toe in tattoos. I thought briefly of editing this blog entry, instead I have decided to let it stand as a testament to the show's complex nature. I clearly was not paying as close attention as I could or should have been and as such I now look like a dribbling idiot. Thanks for pointing that out to me, Silent Nik.

Unless he peeled off his skin.

Osiris (aka Satan) is far too often found
lurking in the forum Chat being somewhat
condescending and always sarcastic. He
enjoys long walks on the beach, dramatic
readings of grocery lists and watches far
too many movies.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?161-Back-To-The-Well Do Zombies Dream of Electric Brains? https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?150-Do-Zombies-Dream-of-Electric-Brains Mon, 27 Jun 2011 01:07:21 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't.

Perhaps, if they were android zombies – which is really all zombies are – automatons, single-minded unto the bitterest of ends. Or are they? Does the horde of undead creatures – stalking you in their ceaseless manner – have a soul? Are they conscious of their actions? Do zombies have consciousness? Do the zombies dream? Are zombies introspective – a mind able to examine its own context? The questions seem to spiral out, ever growing in their complexity and relevance [perhaps not relevance]. There is a deeper question perplexing me right now, however and it is one that frightened me as I lay across my bed typing this:

Are the zombies communicating and acting through a group consciousness and if so, does this consciousness have an effect on the ‘living’? If so, this would explain the feelings survivors have had as they explore areas closer and closer to Ground Zero. Can a consciousness be birthed into an area in which it remains, polluting its surroundings with its very essence, as a spirit tethered to a personal object might linger? Such an idea would make sense in the context of a zombie being a ‘shell’ of its former self – a vessel that shambles on, long after its passenger has departed the mortal realm for pastures unknown. It was a startling revelation – for me at least.

This may go far in helping me understand some of my favourite zombie films of past decades. I had always wondered why the zombies seemed to shuffle – unnervingly an understatement at best – from everywhere at once to a single location, terrifying the occupants of said location for hours or weeks on end. Makes a little more sense than ’It was in the script’ and explains some of the behaviours that a horde exhibits. I had considered this for some time as other questions surfaced while watching some of my favourite zombie flicks. Do zombies breathe? This is a difficult question to answer as they moan, groan and occasionally bellow, yet they can wander around underwater endlessly snacking on… well that raises another question about zombie sharks that I do not want to get into here. I came to the conclusion that zombies do not breathe unless they are emitting sound. Is this a process left over from the previous life? Is it the brain’s unconscious desire to continue to babble on as it always has? Under the assumption that zombies do not breathe unless they are warning you of your impending doom, much like the jock taunting the nerd he is about to pummel and stuff into a locker, we can safely say that zombies don’t ‘smell’ living flesh. Alright, bear with me here…

So if the zombies do not smell the living, how is it they come from miles around, surrounding those two lonely survivors who are holed up in a farmhouse 200 miles from even the nearest gas station? Did they hear the feint weeping and whimpering? Are they simply wandering aimless and unthinking? Or is it possible this is a hundredth monkey moment with terrifying consequences? Granted this isn’t 1952 and we’re not all on Koshima, but the principle could be very similar. A moment of collective conscious understanding, learning – communing as it were – which lead the horde in a single purpose to one location: a lone farmhouse in Northern Saskatchewan, Canada. Honestly, what self-respecting zombie would be caught dead outside of Fond Du Lac? I’ll tell you… none of them. In fact, I cannot honestly believe that a zombie apocalypse would affect Saskatchewan at all. I mean… who would?

Getting side-tracked now.

Does this hundredth monkey moment explain why Big Daddy [Romero’s Land of the Dead] had presence of mind to use weapons and employ tactics to get to the collective’s prey? Or the fact that Bill Hinzman’s Cemetery Zombie [Romero’s Night of the Living Dead] was the first and only Zed to use a tool in the original masterpiece and Grandfather of the modern zombie. A hundredth zombie supports these questions… loosely.
Perhaps this blog is a little left of centre, if we designate centre as being the We’re Alive ‘verse. However, this answers a question that has perplexed me for some time: Why does Ground Zero have an effect on the living? My answer is simple:

That is the source of the infestation, the abortion that is zombie-kind and as such the epicentre of the collective consciousness that connects all Zeds to each other. Exposure to it may be similar to exposing yourself to energy surrounding a haunted house, or an unusually high electromagnetic field. Perhaps it unbalances our ‘Qi’ or ‘Prana’ causing sickness. Our own consciousness is rubbing against the Zed’s communal tether, its own ‘Prana’. Long enough exposure may… well… I guess that’s another question, now isn’t it?

To be continued?

-ADDENDUM-

The thought of zombie androids makes me laugh and shiver all at once.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?150-Do-Zombies-Dream-of-Electric-Brains Down The Rabbit Hole I. https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?146-Down-The-Rabbit-Hole-I Sat, 18 Jun 2011 00:43:58 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could... DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't.

When the show first caught my attention, I let myself fall into the swirling plot, allowing myself to drift with the current with the hope that it knows where it is taking me. Everything had been simple, straight forward and exciting. Of late, I have found myself wondering: Where is all this leading me? Why is she pregnant? Is there a reason shit went down in Inglewood or was it simply a comfortable scapegoat for the writers? Who the bloody hell is Paul?

These are questions I wish I had not asked myself. Why did all this happen in the first place? Armchair theorists are abundant as well as the oblivious-to-all-but-clicks-and-whistles (I include myself in the latter). Having read many of them, I can honestly say that the majority of the We’re Alive Forums members are intelligent, thoughtful and entertaining. The volumes of theories spread throughout the boards are dizzying. I find myself clicking the little ‘X’ before getting too far through most threads, not out of boredom or disinterest – quite the opposite, in fact. As with the Voodoo Lounge there are times which I have no desire to look in directions in which my mind is not already focused. As such, I had made a promise to myself at the beginning of the writing process for ‘Discovering A Pandemic’ that it would not degrade into rambling dissertation of mine own theories, rather would remain what it was conceived as – thoughts on my journey through the story.

To this end, I wonder where to draw the line? Part of discovering the story is posing the questions raised during the show. If I were to pose my questions to you, does it have an influence on your reaction to the next part of the story? Can I even remember far enough back through the sweeping arcs to sort out what questions or thoughts came to mind as I listened to the early episodes for the first time?

Sure – there are a hundred or so thoughts I'm able to recall, the most prominent would undoubtedly be ‘Will there be longer episodes in the future? Twelve minutes simply is not enough.’

I consider how your theories affect my enjoyment of the following episodes, as I’ve found myself waiting for the inevitable reveal of The Rat, The Assassin, The First Born and Patient Zero. I wonder how much of that is my overactive imagination and how much of it is caused by the overactive imaginations of those surrounding me. I find myself wondering when events will occur and becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing episode that my questions are not answered. Damn you, KC, give us a massive hint about The Rat in the Finale… please.

Consternation.

Inevitably there will be an episode when my pressing questions – our collective questions – will be answered much to either our amazement or bemusement. Perhaps, we will have a reprieve from some of the nagging questions of the last two years, though if season one were an indication of the rest of the series… we are likely to be left with far more questions than answers. It certainly seems to fit with KC’s Modus Operandi – giving us a finale which will surely leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth and an empty spot in my play list throughout the summer months. Something I’m not entirely excited at the prospect of. Nor am I entirely enthused at the idea of Scratch-less months.

Sigh.

So, I bring to a close yet another rambling entry – senseless and dis-interesting as it may be, with these final thoughts:

Your thoughts force my own to churn and smoulder. Your passion for the show reflects my own. We are the fans, and we demand answers.

For now, we’re still here.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?146-Down-The-Rabbit-Hole-I Discovering A Pandemic II: Scratch, Queen of Chaos https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?129-Discovering-A-Pandemic-II-Scratch-Queen-of-Chaos Thu, 02 Jun 2011 17:06:42 GMT DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could...

DISCLAIMER: The following blog may contain material some may consider to be spoiler worthy. It is recommended that you read at your own risk. I could claim responsibility for you not paying attention to this warning, but I won't.

Back up! Back up now! Back up, bitch! I’ll shoot!

These words seared an inky, black welt into my heart, and left me shivering with the anticipation of more. In those brief few moments, she captured both my attention and imagination. Who was she? Why is she so frigging angry? Questions piled on top of questions as the episodes wore on, giving me glimpses of this inspiring figure that came out of nowhere, like a freight train. I was left wanting and bewitched.

Perhaps the show had managed to capture my attention by this stage of the game, but it was the emergence of Scratch that solidified my undying affection for the cast, creators, and eventually the fans. Had the character not been given those words in particular to speak… we would not be having this conversation. And by that I mean I would not be typing and you would not be reading. Or maybe you are not and I am merely wasting my time. I found myself eager for the next chapter, not to hear what happened next, no. Rather, to hear that soothing voice drift past my ears. That’s right… I said it. Her voice makes me sleepy.

What?

To date, I have spent a great deal of time considering Scratch as a plot device, superfluous character, and as a central character. I have come to the following conclusions:

An obvious category to place [her] in would be that of a plot device. Much like losing water, food or ammunition, the introduction of the character as a plot device provides the ‘central’ characters with a place to direct their energy and actions that is slightly more comfortable and easier to relate to than a mindless horde. Granted zombies are somewhat easier to understand on the surface as they have but one desire, and that desire is well known. However, it could be considered more comfortable to give the Residents an intelligent adversary as it is easier to relate to a living, functional human. Ask yourself, is there any among us who can place their self into the shoes of one of these creatures and truly come to terms with its base desire? Is it as easy as looking at the world through Scratched lenses for a few minutes and understanding that she is simply trying to survive too, the only way she knows how? I believe that it is. As such, she lends herself as the perfect device to explain anyway any mystifying zombie activity should the need arise, though best utilized in the most generic of terms, i.e. a tool of conflict, she also makes for a wonderful, ever lurking threat. If they manage to somehow find, a way to destroy every last zombie in the city, there will still be a threat. A very real, very… angry threat that, even if the residents were able to flee the city would always remain. Do you really think that Latch’s death will not go avenged?

As a superfluous character; a background or noise in the distance, the idea of Scratch loses cohesion and falls to pieces. A character as rich in both depth and performance would be meaningless as anything but a plot device or central (recurring) character with a fully developed arc. A character with as much depth and energy possesses the ability to make an emotional connection with both the listening audience as well as other characters in the story, which makes me wonder about her comments to Angel with the ever widening gyre of Scratch’s persona slipping farther into focus. I’m not going to expound on my theory as to their relationship or what I see for them in future Chapters with this platform, at least not at this time.

Though I do wonder.

I feel that Scratch would be an appropriate central character in a broader format. As it stands now, there is only so much room for ‘leads’ in the sweeping arcs the writers are creating for the show. The focus of the show is the Residents. Looping off into the stories of the supporting cast still based in the world of the Residents. This makes sense when considering that the story seems to be told in the past tense through recounts in the journals. Our only real interaction with characters outside of that ‘realm’ comes when a Resident is present, keeping the focus where it needs to be. While I would like to hear an episode through ‘eyes of Scratch’ (much like the episodes told from say... the perspective of Datu) it seems highly unlikely. To do so may well humanize Scratch to a point where she becomes pitiful rather than parlous.

Sympathy for the devil? Great tune.

And so, I am left to my own devices, creating my own Scratch reality as I often find myself wondering ‘What’s that crazy lady up to?’ while listening. I always seem to be on edge, waiting for her to pop up and wreak havoc on the Residents. She is a character that thrives on chaos and disaster, beautifully portrayed, and [for me] incredibly sympathetic. In creating a wonderfully dynamic, entertaining character, Kc has surpassed my expectations. I thank you, Kc.

For bringing the character to life in a way which seems incomprehensible now for any other to have achieved, I give my appreciation, respect and admiration to Jenna. Thank you so very much. I remain a fan with undying loyalty until the curtain falls.

Long live the Queen.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?129-Discovering-A-Pandemic-II-Scratch-Queen-of-Chaos To Blog, Thanks For Everything? https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?125-To-Blog-Thanks-For-Everything Thu, 26 May 2011 19:47:43 GMT A one time only event, in an open letter format. No spoilers. Tipping the balance of the body’s biochemical makeup is difficult enough; to...
A one time only event, in an open letter format. No spoilers.

Tipping the balance of the body’s biochemical makeup is difficult enough; to achieve that on an internet forum can be far more tedious, and dangerous. I pried a copy of Unbroken, a wonderful story by Seabisuit author Laura Hillenbrand from my iron grasp, eyes bleary and mouth slightly dry from lack of fluids, I found myself sitting on my laptop staring with woeful eyes at a blank screen painfully titled Document1.

Shit, how’d that happen? What had I sat down to write? Was this habitual and nothing more? Was it the little yellow things I'd swallowed an hour ago? Where was the next blog going to come from?

Scattered thoughts, yeah this is helpful.

I had to write something this week. Ideas had been piling up on the notepad I keep on my bedside table for the moments when I wake in the middle of the night to a cold, sweat soaked, wide-eyed, heart pounding moment of shock in the darkness having had ‘that dream’. You know the kind, the ones that spawn your greatest ideas, your best works of fiction or art. Lately it has been filling up with ideas for this ‘thing’ that some call a blog. Others would call it the ramblings of a sociopath. I call it therapy.

To that end, I found myself wandering away from the blank canvas and crawling aimlessly across the endless sea of information that is the internet, in search of distraction and as per usual, found myself in the forum chatbox having a conversation with **** and *******. The details of the conversation elude me at the moment of writing this; I’m not likely to go back and edit if I remember at a later time so let’s just keep pushing forward here, but an idea suddenly struck me. With the number of active users on the board, the fact that the forum has been set up in support of a ‘radio drama styled podcast’ it only seemed fitting that there should be another facet to give to the public at large. I was about to open my… well… fingers and say something when it dawned on me that ‘No, there’s already a podcast about a podcast’. I bit my ‘opposable tongues’ and let the thought drift from my mind. I sat in silence for a few moments, watching the colours drift across the screen. Something snapped in the back of my head and for reasons undisclosed I had to run screaming from the constant stream of bright letters, find a dark corner and hide there for a brief period of time.

P.S.A. I do not condone the use of illegal narcotics.

After calming myself down with a bag of cold snap peas and a small container of hummus I made my way slowly back to the laptop that had been leering at me from the bedside table for the last half hour; though I’m not certain how much time had passed. I sat down, trying to find my footing in the conversation that had carried on in my absence. The colours hurt less now and I found it easier to focus my mind to more than ‘Hey those are pretty letters’, enough to catch a glimmer of what I had experienced earlier in the afternoon. The board needed something else, something… its own. Sure, there’s a podcast about a podcast with its own celebrity (Britt is amazingly funny and Greg is admittedly growing on me, much like any other fungus), but there has to be more to life than talk. And so, I wandered quietly behind the rows, letting my thoughts continue to drift where the winds of creativity willed them. I found myself staring at a thread titled ‘What Are You Listening To Right Now?’ and like a bolt from the heavens, it struck me… all 50,000 volts at once. As such, the seeds were planted and I mentioned something in the chatbox. Several hours later, four shows had been ‘planned’ and a letter had been drafted and sent ‘To Those It May Concern:’

All that build up to... this? Really?

During the ‘planning stage’, an idea for an All-Male Bromance show had surfaced, which caused distress in one of the forums visible minorities. The infinite sausage party that is your average internet based forum once again reared its partially shaven face and flexed its might in the general direction of the eleven women that use the world wide web. ‘Sexism!’ cried Datu. One that I found I could ignore no more than I might ignore the sounds of a crying child. I had to stand in defiance of the status quo and lend my strength to the cause. I tucked in my shirt, checked my nails and slipped into my best Sunday pencil skirt. The one I wear to church with my grandmother. The sisterhood grew in force that day and eventually I lost interest and started drinking. That’s sort of where my story runs out of steam.

The point of this? To pose the questions to you, earnest reader: Must we continue to embody the spirit of gender inequality in all facets of our lives simply to have something that is ‘just for us’? Is it not just another forum of bigotry that mankind has worked so hard to abolish? We freed the slaves, gave women the right to vote, drive and work… are there not enough men only social clubs in the world? Must we compound that by finding ways to segregate every aspect of the social experience?

I say ‘No, we have drawn enough lines between us.’ I say, 'We women, are just as valid as you men. The revolution WILL be televised and our voices will be heard.' I for one will be listening intently to my new gender's voices with an open ear and welcoming their input with a loving embrace. We all deserve a voice.

Love,
Julie Newmar.

P.S. I'm still wearing the pantyhose, heels and angora sweater. I know it seems strange, but it makes me feel comfortable. Don't judge me.

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]]> Osiris https://www.forum.werealive.com/entry.php?125-To-Blog-Thanks-For-Everything