- Write an e-mail to Rondo administrator David Colton at: firstname.lastname@example.org
- In the e-mail field, write: Best Fan Event - Tribute to Forrest J Ackerman
- Include your name!
- Hit "SEND" - You're done!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
- 15. BEST HORROR BLOG - The Drunken Severed Head (Max Cheney's Unique blog about it all)
JM: I should have known it would have something to do with cats and Disney. How has your blog evolved since that very first post? Has it lived up to or exceeded your expectations?
JM: The popularity of your blog has helped to make you a beloved figure in genre fandom. Well, that and your loveliness as a human being. How has that affected you?
JM: Adults? Never heard of em'. Y'know, receiving the Rondo for "Monster Kid" last year was an honor I'll treasure forever. What would winning the Rondo Award mean to you?
JM: Ha! Straight, gay, animal, vegetable, teamster, blob - no matter. EVERYBODY loves Monster-Sis Jovanka (maybe this year's Monster Kid! Nudge-nudge). Assuming that "blog-master" isn't the end-all to your ambitions in the genre, what are some of your dreams for the future?
JM: Ah, Shakespeare! The man who wrote King Lear! I dunno if King Lear ever wrote back...(thanks Uncle 4e) So, where do you think blogs (including yours) are headed in the future?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I am kneeling down before a shadowy Buddha. I am in a temple, so I assume there is a Buddha at the other end of it. So dark and cool in the deepest part of shade. Vapor of ancient wood planks seep up to me through amber, knee-polished shellac.
Minutes before, the temple was closed. But children on rollerblades circled me in a frenetic cluster of broken hellos and, "where you from?". They buzzed me with smiles then quickly disappeared like a hand full of seeds thrown into tall grass. Then, a tentacle of poppy-colored robe lilts around a corner on a breeze, preceding a gentle man. Butterscotch skin, stark against the orange fabric. Not really butterscotch. More the color of where milk meets tea. I look at the dots where a shaved hairline or eyebrow might have once been. He stands, haloed by the black silhouette of the alleged Buddha. Light at the end of a tunnel smile, he unlocks the double-door chain that falls to the sidewalk with a pleasant, haphazard melody. A clatter made profound by place and moment.