Undead from Hollywood

I would like to thank Arlo for the kind introduction, and for the opportunity to write for Like You Really Care.

Of course, being the eternal pessimist that I am, with this opportunity comes a question; what do I have to offer? There are some mighty heavy hitters here at the ol' blog. I'm certainly not as funny or as hip or as tech savvy as Arlo (indeed, I am composing this on a PC. From Dell. I KNOW!) I aspire to one day approach Kelly's level of disgust. Don't even get me started on his vocabulary, and capacities for both critical and abstract thought--after all, envy is a sin, and I don't want go sinning on my very first post. And I stand in awe of Temples bohemian elan and effortless grace and charm.

So what do I have? My knowledge of the nuts-and-bolts details of necrophelia, yakuza initiation practices, and the history of piracy can certainly carry me for a post or two. And I can always write an appreciation of one of my beloved bastard art (HA!) forms (GWAR, Destroyer novels, KiSS dolls, Goth porn. That last one is not work safe, just by the way) After that, what? H.P. Lovecraft? The Church of the SubGenius? Balloon fetishists? ho-HUM!

Then, it struck me; I'm about to move to LA. I'm moving for two primary reasons: weather and money. I am about to migrate to the most shallow, appearance-obsessed, anti-intellectual spot on the face of the earth so I won't have to deal with snow anymore, and, hopefully, so I can be paid to be an actor. I am swapping my service to Bacchus for indentured servitude to Apollo in a large way. Fed up with art, I am out for the paycheck; bigger is better and biggest is best. I am an actor with neither shame nor pride. Need a poor schlub for a viagra commercial? I'm your man. Funny sidekick in a sub-Bruckheimer c-list action movie? Me, me, me! Host of a Fox network reality show? Over here!

What do you suppose is going to happen? Will I become a Raymond Chandleresque white knight, strolling untouched through the neon and palm trees, becoming harder but not meaner, eventually rediscovering art, leaving something lasting a good behind? Or, will I become a Dorian Gray, a Peer Gynt, my soul shriveled to the size of a button, a mercenary glint in my eye, my head filled with plastic surgery, jet-trash arm candy by my side, nose full of white powder? Or maybe I'll just become a bitter, crazy old man--although, I guess, that last one could happen anywhere. Anyway, I'm interested to see how it all comes out. Hopefully, you will be, too.

Of course, having the high-minded saga laid out for me frees me up to write about trivialities and crap pop culture, which are, to be quite honest, the things I really live for.

So! Who's playing Sid Meier's Pirates! ?