A JOE'S EYE VIEW: Prom Night 1973 - An Evening to Forget

A JOE'S EYE VIEW: Prom Night 1973 - An Evening to Forget

Another Nail In The Coffin of My Pathetic Love Life.

The picture on your immediate left is the place where my pitiful excuse of a love life resides. I visit there often to remind myself that no matter how hard I try, the elusive relationship I  desire is so far out of reach.

Perhaps my instincts are off kilter when it comes to women. Not just slightly off kilter mind you,but completely out of whack and in need of serious realignment. Recently I had met a women who I thought liked me as much as I did her, but instead I ended up getting the shit end of the stick. You know,business as usual for me.

Case in point: two weeks ago at the casino where work I met a female patron named Lynn to whom I felt an immediate and powerful attraction.I took one look into her soulful, brown eyes and knew I had to get to know her better. So, we discussed getting together for a cup of coffee and she gave me her number.

A few days later we talked on the phone and I became even further infatuated with Lynn; we talked about art and music during our long phone conversation. Lynn was articulate,bright and has(or supposedly has) two law degrees. We even attended the same high school;talk about co-incidence! Lynn said she found me fascinating as well. As far as I was concerned this girl was the total package: brains and looks. We decided to change our date from simply coffee and conversation to dinner and conversation to get to know each other better.

Then on Sunday I got a call from Lynn( I was home sick with a vicious head cold) who asked if we could change our date from Thursday to Friday. I agreed and she said to call her on Tuesday so we could talk some more. In the back of my mind however, something didn't seem quite right. In my past experience with women, when a women makes those kind of changes it usually means she's having second thought about going out with me.

I started suspecting that Lynn might cancel on Friday as well. I don't know why but I can sense these things. Anyway, I called her on Tuesday and got her answering machine. Again I felt something wasn't quite right. Well, I was right! When I came home from work the next day, there was a message from Lynn saying that she changed her mind about going out with me. She cobbled up some half assed excuse( I've heard this speech so many times before that I could have recited it along with her.) that I listened to for few seconds before hitting the erase button on my phone. If that miserable c**t expects me to feast on her banquet of bullshit,she has another thing coming. I may be many things, but being stupid is not one of them. I saw this coming from a mile away.

Then to simply leave a "not interested" message on my answering machine instead of talking to me personally shows cowardice on her part; not an attractive trait. As far as I'm concerned, her mealy mouthed speech was just an excuse and a feeble one at that. Proof positive the attraction was never a two way thing. I was in it by myself. Lynn either didn't like my looks or thought I was too short or whatever. So f**k her. It's on to the next one; whenever that magical day occurs.

It's my belief that Lynn called me on Sunday not knowing I was home sick and it was her intention to leave a "kiss off" speech on my answering machine at that time. When I answered the phone she then pretended to change the day of our date, preferring to dump me when she wouldn't have to deal with me person to person. One of the things I despise is a cowardly person; someone without character. Lynn is that type of person.

In closing, there is one nagging question I have about her: if Lynn really has two law degrees why is she unemployed? The legal field is always looking for people to fill key positions and yet she lives in her parents house without a job. Curious indeed.

Digital Journal Fired Me. Big Deal!

Today I received an interesting email from Digital Journal's editor, David Silverberg. He stated that my articles would no longer be accepted because of formatting problems, and his staff having to constantly correct my grammar.

Of course, this is a huge hit to my ego as a writer, but it seems strange that all of the sudden this has become an issue. Especially since I've written articles for his web site since 2007. But let me take some time to dispel a few of Siverberg's myths about the quality of my writing.

As for my formatting errors: yes a few of my articles do have them,but most of them don't. I tried to contact Silverberg about this problem and the fact is that I changed my email address over a year ago and never received a reply from him. How can I fix a problem when no one provides me with a solution? I spent a lot of time trying to remedy this and,lo and behold,I finally got it right with no help what so ever from that arrogant dick Silverberg.

As for my grammar: I never received any complaints from him or anyone on his staff until I had he unmitigated gall to ask him why I received no increase in payment for two articles that received, between the two articles, 4 "like it's" from their readers. At Digital Journal, if their readers rate an article with a "like it" vote the writer gets a certain amount of money. It's not a lot of money;in fact it's a pretty paltry sum considering the 28 articles I've contributed over the past three years.

So Davey boy, if there were any concerns why wasn't I ever contacted? Oh,that's right,I was unable for over a year to change my email address and your lame ass never contacted me. Talk about an inability to communicate! And you have the nerve to give me f**king attitude? And then,when you finally fix my email address, you fire me from your poorly paying website? Go pack sand up your ass,dildo face!

Hey Davey, if my writing was not up to your lofty standards why did you praise my article about Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton saying it" stood out for it's strong opinion and quality writing". Oh, and here's another example: you stated(your words,not mine) about my review of PIRATES 3: STAGNETTI'S REVENGE " :" Joe Vannicola gave a PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN-themed skin flick the Ebert treatment with a well written review". So now my writing sucks. No, my writing sucks because I had the nerve to ask you about payment for my articles,you smug,smarmy asshole of the highest order.

And as for his staff having to correct my supposedly bad grammar, my introductions to part one and part two of my interview with actor Dan Butler were rewritten with no explanation as to the reason why. I've never had anything else rewritten in all the time I've been with Digital Journal, so why all of the sudden was there a problem? What say you, Davey boy?

I noticed when you sent me a "you're fired" email, you made sure I couldn't reply back to you. What the matter, Davey? Are you such a gutless,yellow little coward you were afraid of what I'd say? Or that it might hurt your tender feelings? Maybe you're afraid I'll drive up to Canada and stick my foot so far up your candy ass that when you open your mouth my shoe falls out? Nah,your mangy assed,pompous self isn't worth the effort. However,if this is true you should buy yourself a pair of balls for Christmas. Or in your case, Hanuka. You should even think about going back to school to learn how to properly communicate with people. And one more thing David Siverberg, you suck!


Addendum: I just had a thought. Since Digital Journal is on Face Book, shouldn't it be renamed Dildo Face Book in honor of David"Dildo Face"Silverberg.? I think it's a keeper.lol

Why Internet Dating Sucks.

MICHELLE EVANS 78, My Nigerian Sweetheart. Yeah. Right.













I'll confess, in my quest for a soul mate I've had more than my share of misadventures. The way things have been going for me, I feel as if I'm some sort of "loser magnet". And with each passing year that feeling is becoming stronger and stronger. I've dated or have been involved with alcoholics, insane woman,women saddled with more baggage than a luggage store, or who have more issues than a magazine stand and at least one welfare cheat. Am I a "loser magnet" or what?

In 2002 after I finally got onto the web, I discovered a number of Internet chat sites and dating services. I was under the somewhat naive belief I would be meeting all kinds of available women because,after all, the world wide web covered a lot of uncharted territory; somewhere out there women of my dreams was waiting for me.Hoo boy, was I in for a jumbo sized surprise. And not the pleasant kind of surprise, either.

My first Internet sweetheart(if you can call her that) was a woman named Sue(chat room non de plume: Busy Mom67) whom I met while surfing AOL's chatrooms. After a brief cyber encounter, I called her on the phone and our conversation began at twelve noon and lasted until between eight or ten that night;if memory serves me right. We both agreed there was a connection and after a week of long, heartfelt talks we decided to meet at a mall near Philadelphia since she lived in Hellertown, Pa and I lived in Newark, Delaware.

Upon our first encounter, I presented Sue with a bouquet of roses as a token of my affection. As we conversed over lunch at an local restaurant Sue suddenly got a call on her cell phone. Sue told me that she had to go home immediately but never said what the reason was. Being the sensitive soul that I am, I said I understood and we promised we'd meet again.

Well(you knew there was a "well" coming up didn't you?), she made and then proceeded to cancel each and every meeting we were supposed to have over the next few months. Now, I'm a patient guy, but after half a year of this asinine horseshit I finally asked if Sue was interested in me or not. Sue said that we lived too far away from each other(two hours to be exact) and that she wasn't sure how she felt about me. When I reminded Sue about her claims of having feelings for me, she replied," They're just words."

Let me tell you, I felt like I'd just been kicked in the teeth. Sue had been stringing me along me for the entire time, so I immediately stopped all communications with her. It's a shit shame the way some people play with your heart and then cut you loose after they've had their fun. Oh well, at least she never asked me for any money.

Which brings me to someone I made the acquaintance of on Yahoo who goes by the moniker of Michelle Even78. This was a few months ago, but the relevance will soon be made clear to you.I began an IM correspondence around November of last year with this person who from the get go acted as if she were my girlfriend and that we were destined to be together.

Now here's where things get kinda sticky. First off, Michelle claimed to be an American living in Nigeria where she made a living as an interior decorator. She also told me she was from Baltimore, but was currently working on a decorating project and would be returning to America when the assignment was over.

There was something about her that didn't quite gel as far as I'm concerned. From the get go I smelled the proverbial rat, so I mentioned how much I liked Baltimore's Inner Harbor. She stopped IMing me for the evening. Still, I kept corresponding with her just to see how far Michelle was willing to go with her deception.

Although Michelle sent me her picture I don't think, in fact I'm damn sure, that she's not the woman in the picture. You see, when I downloaded her picture into the "my pictures" page, there in the corner of her photo was a caption that read: Computer Models. So Michelle is probably grossly overweight and homelier than a beat up shoe or she just might be a guy. The mind boggles as the stomach turns.

During one of our IM conversations, Michelle mentioned that her birthday was coming up and she needed $400.00 for a dress. She wanted me to send her the money, even though we barely knew each other. Thus began a weekly ritual of Michelle asking me for various amounts of money. During the Christmas holidays she asked me to send her $750.00 for plane fare in order for her to come and visit me.

Now, maybe it's just me, but don't interior decorators make a lot of money? Here she is constantly crying poor mouth which leads me to believe that Michelle is either a world class liar or is the most incompetent interior decorator in the world whom no one would hire even as a joke(personally, I suspect the former). As far as her wanting me to finance her visit, I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts if I had sent Michelle the money, once the cash reached her grubby little paws she would have disappeared like a thief in the night. And I would have been $750.00 poorer.

In hopes of squelching Michelle's constant wheedling me to send her cash , I pretended to be flat busted broke. Of course I'm not, but I hoped this would encourage her to stop asking me.You know, you can't get blood from a stone. But she kept trying. Oh boy, did she keep trying.

Then the final shoe dropped: one day Michelle wanted to know what bank I used and even had the unmitigated audacity to ask me for my account number. I told her it was none of her business and that's when Michelle wrote to me" Why won't you give me your account number?" We've been together for six months." Wait one freakin' minute! Our only communication was IM messages with each other and she thinks we're in a relationship? Yeah. Sure we are.

I immediately logged off of Yahoo and removed their chat site from my computer. And with that, I once again put another notch in my loser belt. People like her I can well do without. Maybe I should just get a dog instead.

What She Says Vs. What She Means: Breaking The Code.

There's an interesting phenomenon when dealing with women: there is a code they employ where something that is said ain't exactly what it means. I've come to believe that women really believe in their heart of hearts that we men are stupid beyond human comprehension and will swallow whatever bullshit they dole out. In the interest of helping all of you guys out there, here are some helpful morsels of info you need to know to guide you through the male/female relationship jungle.

1. When she says,"It's not you,it's me."

Bullshit. Hey guys,take it from me;it is you. I discovered this little pertinent fact in a 1994 issue of Playboy magazine. In 1995, when I dated a women named Helene,(or Crazy Helene as she was christened by the people where we both worked) she dumped me saying I wasn't good enough for her(for a fuller account of the entire mess, check out my earlier post entitled "My Misadventures In Romance." At one point while she was kicking me to the curb, Helene said," It's not you, it's me." I was both pissed and yet somewhat fascinated. For her to entertain the idea for even a nano second that I'd buy her feeble assed comment showed me just how pathetically stupid she thought I was. It also pointed out to me how incredibly crafty and intelligent Helene thought herself to be. Sorry Crazy Helene, you're not that smart. Not by a long shot.


" I'll call you."

So you're talking to this woman whom you're attracted to and you ask for her phone number. She says," Give me yours and I'll give you a call." Dude, that's a no brainer. She's not gonna call you! You've been shined on. You'd have a better chance of winning money from a scratch off lottery ticket. And if you really, really think you'll hear from her, boy, expect to wait for a very looooong time. At least until eternity ends, to be exact.

Let me think about it."

Ya know, once upon a time when I was more positive type of fellow, I really thought in my heart of hearts that when a women said those very words she actually gave the matter some thought. Yeah. Right. Recently I heard that particularly phrase recited to me not once, but three times within a years time frame, so I'm now hip to the facts: the broad wants nothing to do with me when she says that. End of sentence.

It first began with woman I know at work named Dawn. She's decent looking, but to be blunt, I wouldn't be kept up nights fantasizing about her, if you get my drift. However, Dawn considers herself to be her families gift to us poor, miserable, undeserving men.

 Okey.Whatever.

Anyway, I asked her out on my birthday because I thought it would be nice to have a date while celebrating my natal day. She said," Let me think about it." Well, I didn't see her again for about a week after my birthday had passed and incident was never mentioned again.

The next time I heard those five discouraging words was when I asked someone named Sherri out a few months later. Naturally the two of us never dated, so that was that. Now, you would think I would get the message at this juncture. Oh no! Not me, Mr. Optimistic. I'm still looking for the pony in the horseshit. The only problem is that I'm up to my ass in horse dung with no pony in sight.

The third time this crap occurred was when I asked a co-worker named Connie out on a date. Again, I got that same old, shopworn expression. This time, though, I had a different reaction; I thought that maybe she was just playing hard to get and I decided to pursue her. Big, big mistake. Connie eventually told me point blank that she wasn't interested in me. It's a good thing I didn't waste too much of my precious time on the likes of her. So now the jury is in folks; "Let me think about it"actually means: "I don't want to go out with you. No way. No how."

Now that I'm armed with this knowledge, the next time I hear those words of discouragement I'll simply tuck my tail between my legs and crawl away like the dog that I am. I enjoy a challenge, but I also know what a brick wall is and I'm not going to beat my head against it.

You know, when I told someone I was going to write an article about the code females use(as opposed to simply telling us men the truth), their reaction was," Don't do that. People will think you're being angry and bitter." Hmmmm.....Let me think about that.

The 2009 Anti-Valentine's Day Hatenanny!

Welcome to my Anti-Valentine's Day Celebration where hostility and anger reign supreme. On this saccharine day of the year those of us who are lacking a significant other are forced to endure "cute couples" as they walk hand in hand,gazing at one another all google eyed with stupid,sappy expressions on their miserable love struck faces. I wanna grab a shovel and smack the both of 'em upside their slap happy heads.

People who have yet to find their "soul mate", "love of their life", "special person" (feel free to add your own sickeningly syrupy sweet phrase.That is, if you have someone in your life and then proceed to cram it up your ass with an air compressor) find Valentine's Day interminable at best and sadly depressing at worst. I intend to exorcise my demons of loneliness by railing and decrying against a day that if I had a special someone I would be celebrating with instead of ranting and raving. So in place of a Valentine's Day Hootenanny, welcome to my 2009 Anti-Valentine's Day Hatenanny. Let the hostilities begin 'cause this is season when hate turns me on! And if I'm in the same, unhappy situation next year, be prepared for another barrelful of belicose bitching from me. Crapppy Valentine's Day!

Something I Just Have To Get Off My Chest.

Recently, I changed to Blogger Beta. I didn't want to change because I'm from the school that says: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I was informed however, that everyone on Blogger would eventually be switched. Reluctantly, I made the change and was immediately sorry I did.

I had chosen, like before, to not have the div breaks when I wrote my blog. It's something I prefer to do myself(am I a hands on guy or what?). Well, the result was all of my previous blogs looked like one giant run on sentence without any paragraphs. To my mind, this makes me look like someone who is unable to craft a paragraph which is far from the truth.

And in the case of my piece on bottom feeder lawyer Lynne Stewart, the first sentence was way up top, while the rest of my article was shoved to the bottom. I'm going to try to fix this, although it doesn't look as if I'll be able to. The point is, I'm sorry for the mess and will make damn good and sure this does not happen again because I endeavor to make my blog look as professional as possible. You know, sometimes change really sucks.

A Word About Today's Cutting Edge Comedian's

Is it just me or do most of today's new comedians rely on swearing like drunken sailors as a way for getting laughs? Now, I'm no prude;I enjoy listening to George Carlin, Richard Pryor and similar comedians who occasionally drop the F bomb. But with today's comics, the majority of their routines are crammed with vulgar,course language. It's as if the use of foul language nowadays is the routine itself.

One time while I was listening to Comcast Rhapsody Radio, there was a female comedian who dropped the F bomb( as well as the MF bomb) a number of times. I remember thinking," Is this really necessary? " I know if I ever see her name again in the "now playing" window, I'll immediately switch to another performer. She's simply too crude, too base and much too reliant on toilet humor for my tastes. Oh,I also don't think she's very funny either. However, if your idea of gut busting comedy is someone swearing endlessly; then she's the comedian for you. But not for me.

Now you're probably thinking," I bet Joe wouldn't mind if the comedian using vulgar language was a man." You know, the old double standard. Well you couldn't be more wrong. I don't care if the comic is a man or a woman; a comedy routine that relys on a stream of swear words to get laughs becomes tedious after a while, it's as if they have nothing funny to say, so vulgarity is used in place of actual wit.

Hell, it's even in video games you can download online. My friend Larry and I were in the computer room in his house while my 14 year old nephew Joe was there downloading a video game on his computer. As Larry and I were talking we heard a gruff military voice bark," Are you ready, motherf***er?" He quickly turned to his son saying," Joseph, turn it off." Larry and I couldn't believe a video game contained that kind of language. Especially a game young kids can gain access to.

Look, I employ swear words into my vocabulary at times. I'd be kidding you(and myself) if I said otherwise. But if I did that all the time nonstop , I would wonder, really wonder, about my intelligence. And while some people see the use of foul language as just words, in reality it's a lazy, easy way to communicate. It takes no effort to blurt out offensive four letter words. Maybe today's new breed of comics should go back to the old school of comedy which chooses substance over shock value.

Don't get me wrong, shock value can be funny. But used over and over again,the audience becomes inured to this and the comedian has to seek out new ways to shock and offend them. It's known as pushing the envelope. However, don't you think that these days we've pushed the envelope far enough?

Time For A Change. ( A Writers Lament.)

For that last two years I've been a contributor to the website Red Hot Planet. And I have had to put up with more than my fair share of idiotic horseshit. To put it bluntly,not only has there been a lack of any financial remuneration, but I've had my hard work extensively rewritten to the point of my particular writing style being completely eviscerated. And then,on top of that to be told I should be grateful for his improvements to my submissions.

But, let's start from the beginning: I first met Bill George in 1977 when he sold movie memorabilia from his parents home in Baltimore. Every few months I would make the trek from Delaware to Maryland to buy posters, stills, 16mm tv spots and other movie collectibles from him.During my formative years as a collector, Bill was a major source for my purchases.

It was in 1983 that Bill enlisted my help in a book he was writing called EROTICISM IN THE FANTASY CINEMA. I interviewed actresses Victoria Vetri(also a former Playmate of The Year), PJ Soles and Angelique Pettyjohn. I was paid with movie memorabilia instead of cash,something my then wife was not very happy about, but Bill painted a rosy, pie in the sky picture claiming this would be great exposure for me and that next time I would see money!

But the big fly in the ointment for me was: when the book came out my name was dumped inthe acknowledgement section where you put the names of people lent a still or a movie ad for illustration purposes.This did not sit with me at all because I provided three interviews and as such rated a byline beside the interviews.Bill gave some sort of bullshit rational which I have long since forgotten, but promised (he's a past master at making empty promises)that I would get full credit on his next book called DRIVE-IN MADNESS.

Here's a fun fact: Bill wasn't entirely sure some of the actresses I contacted would want to be featured in a book titled DRIVE-IN MADNESS, so he instructed me to tell them that the book would be titled: CHEESECAKE:BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. I wondered about the ramifications when the book was published and these actresses got a gander of the real title,which was a far cry from the one I had described to them. But Bill never thinks about such negative aspects,he's too busy chasing his dreams no matter whose toes he steps on during said chase.

To make a long story short,due to publication delays(engineered by The Imagine Publishing Company)the book never saw the light of day. Now for me this was a crushing blow because I had five complete interviews which also featured my byline next to them. This could have been a big stepping stone for me,but I guess it just wasn't meant to happen.(I tell myself that when I'm waxing philosophically.)

For some odd reason, Bill was always working for foreign horror movie magazines who paid in posters instead of money. I had an interview published in a French magazine called Mad Movies and when I received a package of stills and posters in the mail as opposed to a check, my wife was not exactly jumping up and down for joy. She always thought that Bill was more talk than action and felt I was wasting my time dealing with him. But I naively kept going down this path because I thought that Bill probably knew what he was doing. Little did I know he was flying as blindly as myself,but Bill had a talent for convincing me (as well as others ) that he knew more than he actually did.

It was in 1993 that we had a big falling out. He sent an interview I did with Producer Sam Sherman that was originally to be used in DRIVE-IN MADNESS to a French publication L'CRAN FANTASTIQUE and once again swore that I would be paid monetarily and not with a pile of paper memorabilia. Again, I put my trust in Bill(or as I've come to regard him: Three Dollar Bill ) It was at this period of his life he became editor of an American magazine(What happened? Did Bill finally run out of foreign magazines to work for?) called FEMME FATALES. He also developed quite an ego, because when I asked him to send me a copy of L'CRAN FANTASTIQUE, Bill said he was too busy and I should write to them to get it. I pestered him for a couple of weeks before he grudgingly sent one to me in the mail.

Then I waited for my payment. And waited. And waited some more till I started getting rather peeved about not receiving any financial compensation for my interview. When I called Bill, he once again stated that he was much too busy with his magazine to help me out and told me to write to the French publication myself.

Now wait a damn minute, he's the person I sent the interview to who in turn sent it out the people at L'CRAN FANTASTIQUE. Bill communicated with them,not me. So it was his responsibilty to see I got the money due to me. But, God forbid, he was too engrossed with his new pet project to give an ounch of shit about me and my problems. You see, I was in the fiscal shithouse and needed the money very badly. I ended up writing to the French people and requesting payment for my work. And if you think I ended up with a check for my endeavors, you'll also believe that the Easter Bunny visits my house every April and supplies me with endless amounts of candy. For Bill to hang me out to dry like that was unconscionable. As my friend, Bill was supposed to watch my back,not stab me in it. I felt as if he'd turned his back on me and it sucked.

I broke off contact with him for about eight years. I saw him a couple of times at some horror film conventions but kept my distance because I was still in a state of rage about the dirty deal that had been done to me and knew if I had the opportunity I'd do something he'd end up being sorry for. My anger reached a level when at one convention, in 1998, I saw him out of the corner of my eye and thought he was heading for the mens room. All I could think of was how I'd gotten ripped off as he stood on the sidelines doing zip,zilch,nada, nothing. I felt it was about time Bill got some payback, so I went in the mens room to confront him. Thankfully, he wasn't there .

But still, I was anxious to extract my pound of flesh and was extremely disappointed I wouldn't be collecting it on that day. So I spent four more years stewing in my own juices while hating Bill George, fervently wishing I could shove my foot so far up his ass, it would've taken every person who lived on his street to remove it. Or barring that, perhaps major surgery.

Anyhoo, sometimes it takes a tragedy to soften ones point of view. Bill's mother died in 2001 after a bout with cancer. When I heard about her death, that Bill was having a difficult time coping with it , I called him up because my own mother died in 1999 and I knew exactly the sort of hell he was going through. Besides, eight years had passed. I was never going to receive any money for my interview; that was ancient history. But most importantly, a friend needed my help.

So we renewed our friendship. I must admit that I like Bill. True, he has a tendency to lie or at least exaggerate. And he's not the most giving human being I've ever come across. In other words, there are times he'll do something for me but only if it benefits him. But still, he's a charming, sometimes helpless kind of a guy and one cannot help but like him.

But then in 2004, along came Red Hot Planet where egos and creative differences began rearing their ugly head once again. Bill asked me if I would do interviews for the website. This time was going to be different, I would definitely see payment and I'd be paid by the end of 2004. The trouble started when my interviews, both introductions and questions were completely rewritten without my consent. When people who had read my contributions would complement me on them, I'd be honest and say that the interviews were not mine,that they had be rewritten. I refuse to take credit for something that isn't mine. One time Bill rewrote a question I asked of an actress who was on an episode of CHARMED to read, " Did you have a blast with the cast?" Now, I would never in a million years ask such an asinine question. That's the kind of question a twenty five year old would ask, not a guy in his late forties. From there it only got worse.

When director Irvin Yeaworth (THE BLOB, THE 4D MAN and DINOSAURUS ) died, I submitted an interview I'd done with him in 1988. Bill rewrote my introduction even though he wasn't present at the interview and never met Yeaworth.Feeling angry, humiliated and heartsick over the mutilation of my work I emailed Bill and said I quit Red Hot Planet. I told him I felt my talent as a writer wasn't appreciated and that my function seemed to be limited to turning the tape recorder on and off. He emailed me back and pledged that things would change. They didn't.

The same thing happened over and over again. And I quit over and over again, and told my friends not to read the interviews because I didn't write them. Bill kept telling me I should be grateful that he improved my work,while I insisted no improvements were required. He even took one of my unaltered interviews to the webmaster(the sneaky little bastard) and showed it to him in hopes he would agree that my writing was in desperate need of Bill's special auctorial magic.He unfortunately has a puffed up,overrated opinion of his gifts as a writer. What a dick!

The webmaster ,J.B, told Bill that there was nothing wrong with my writing, that he was a control freak and should leave my interviews alone. I hoped this would be the turning point, but I still had to fight tooth and nail to keep my style from being buried by Bill's overdramatic, bombastic, didactic, purple prose.

As for the supposed pay date of 2004, it was pushed up to 2005 which was then changed to 2006. As of this day, July 19, 2006, I haven't seen one freakin' penny for my two years of hard work. And two free movie previews , free admission to two horror movie conventions and a handful of free dvd's from a video company is hardly proper compensation.

A few months ago, Bill pushed Red Hot Planet on the backburner, where it presently languishes in cyber limbo, to embark on a new endeavor: Local Flavor magazine. Again, he enlisted my participation.And as before,(this is really getting old and tired) I've been promised money. However, Bill has gone back to his old ways and is brazenly rewriting my material while telling me I should put up with the situation because that's how it goes down in the world of publishing . Following another heated argument, he has given me his word,as usual, that as of the 4th issue of Local Flavor magazine, he won't rewrite my interviews any more.

Here's how it's going to be from this day forward: if I open the 4th issue of Flavor and it's business as usual, I'm quitting. This time my proclamation is for real as well as being etched in stone. And no placating words,no lame explanations nor any more transparent promises will sway me. My writing style is something I will no longer compromise with . I put my own individual personality, my humor and my creativity into my writing. I told Bill if he feels my work is lackluster and not up to his epicurean standards, then let me go and get someone else who won't mind when The Bard of Baltimore performs his wizardry with words on their article. I truly believe that he is attempting to put me in my place and show me who the big boss is. But I steadfastly refuse to be treated as a monkey who operates a tape recorder.I think he should f**k off and leave my writing alone.

I've let Bill know that if Local Flavor magazine does not pay me by the end of this year, I'll no longer be working for free. I'm tired of busting my ass and receiving only a pat on the back and a heart felt ," Good job , Joe." Bill once told me that it shouldn't matter if I get paid, it's the idea of getting my name out there that matters. Uh, uh. I'm not playing that ridiculous,time wasting game anymore.

As far as Red Hot Planet is concerned, if and when Bill starts it up again I won't do any more interviews until he can present me with a clear and definite timetable of when and how much I'll be paid. He can get as mad at me as he wants. There'll be no more freebies from Joe. Either cough up the cash or thanks but no thanks. And if my decision negatively impacts our friendship, then it wasn't much of a friendship to begin with. It's time for me to take a stand.

Prom Night 1973 - An Evening to Forget

A few years ago,there I was watching Howard Stern on television. I usually don't go out of my way to view Stern's program because there's nothing more pitiful than watching people willing to debase themselves on national television for their fifteen minutes,although I understand it's now been whittled down to fifteen seconds of fame. And Stern is the ring master; watching these folks make total asses of themselves as he laughs and pokes fun at them while millions of viewers laugh like a pack of hyenas along with him.

On this occasion, Stern was actually helping someone for a change. It seems this eighteen year old guy needed a date for his senior prom, so Stern made arrangements for him to escort a porno star named Houston to the affair. Now on the surface this seems highly unusual,but hey,the kid was the envy of the entire male population of his high school,not to mention his neighborhood. In addition,he got lucky that evening. Now,imagine bedding a voluptuous goddess on prom night.How great is that? Her porn star status not withstanding,of course.And as if the lucky bastard needed any more good fortune coming his way, he ended up living with her for eight months!

On my prom night I didn't get so much as a kiss. The evening,which most people remember as romantic and magical,was a stale,dull affair and was about as romantic as going to the prom with your first cousin whom you ended up taking because no one else was available . Anyhoo,as I watched this eighteen year old teenager lip locking with the stacked, blonde porno star, I thought to myself," Where was Howard Stern when I needed him?

You see, I was in a dilemma: my girlfriend Delores couldn't go with me to The Senior Prom because her father didn't like me. Well, he didn't mind me as much as he minded my appearance. I had long hair and equally long sideburns, so her father preferred she date a boy who was more clean cut .Too bad there were no Mormons living in the area.

My best friend Larry and the girl he was dating, Rosemary, heard about my plight and decided to fix me up with her friend Anita. Seeing as how I surely did not relish showing up stag at The Senior Prom, I readily agreed because Anita was considered a total fox by the male populace of St. Marks. Guys I knew and even total strangers would come up to me in the hallway to pat me on the back and call me a "Lucky dog". As you can imagine, this did wonders for my ego.

Then a short time later, Delores called to let me know that her father had relented and that she could go with me to the prom. This was definitely good news for me. However,when I told Larry and Rosemary about the change of plans they told me Anita had rented a gown and that I had to take her. I countered back that Delores was my girlfriend while I had spoken to Anita a total of three times. But they insisted, so I backed down and broke the bad news to Delores who was surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. Considering the lousy time I had,in hindsight I should have stuck to my guns and insisted on going with my girlfriend instead.

Though out this entire debacle, in the back of my mind I suspected that Rosemary and Anita were merely using the two of us as convenient escorts. Especially when it came to the supposed relationship between Larry and Rosemary. Larry felt that she was his girlfriend,but the way Rosemary acted towards him I really had my doubts. The defining moment for me was when Larry and I went to an outdoor rock concert at Rodney Square. He was going to meet her there and yet despite a rather lengthy search Larry never did find her. When we bumped into her friend Phyllis, she said that Rosemary didn't come to the concert.

One night,the three of us went over to New Jersey to a nightclub called The Crescendo. At that time,the drinking age in New Jersey was eighteen,so a horde of thirsty eighteen year old Delawareans descended upon the clubs in that area to imbibe vast quantities of alcoholic beverages before toddling drunkenly back to their home state. When Rosemary and I talked about the outdoor rock concert that she supposedly did not attend,she mentioned one of the bands and how good their rendition of Wars" Cisco Kid" was. It became clear Rosemary was there after all. Why she hid from him that day I'll never know.I suspected she was seeing someone else on the side, but I never told Larry(until many years later)because I knew this would completely crush him.

So I went through with the charade although I knew I wouldn't have a very good time. I wouldn't be slow dancing with my girlfriend at the prom and then at the end go to the beach to watch the sun come up. I'd be hanging out with a girl I barely knew and at the end,if we went to the beach, she would probably hang out with her friends while I sat on my hands wishing I were elsewhere.

During the fiasco I jokingly refer to as my senior prom, which was held at the elegant Mendenhall Inn, Rosemary and Anita told me while Larry was in the mens room that they were going to see if the two of them could score some pot. Rosemary asked me not to tell this to Larry because he'd disapprove. And with that they left me to sit at our table eating the remainder of my dinner.

The entire evening started to take on the makings of a tv sitcom. Larry came back from the restroom and asked where the girls were. I said they left to talk to some friends and he went to look for them;he wanted to make sure that our little group was together. Anita came back on two occasions and we danced to a couple of fast songs before she left to rejoin Rosemary in their quest for the sacred weed. Larry returned and asked if they had come back. I replied Anita did and left, but Rosemary hadn't. He once again went in search of the girls and I returned to stare at my empty plate.

It was at this juncture that I began thinking about the good time I was having. I looked from the table where I was sitting at out towards the courtyard and saw a couple slow dancing in the moonlight.That should've been me and Delores. This was supposed  be a wonderfully romantic evening with my girlfriend, not me sitting by my lonesome at a table waiting for Rosemary and Anita to do a drug deal while Larry wandered around the restaurant looking for them. Yeah, I was having a whole barrel of fun.

After the three wanderers finally returned,we went upstairs to get our pictures taken(did I really want any sort of reminder of this farce of an evening?). Across from the room where the photographer had his equipment set up was a refrigerator where the white wine was kept.The four of us found out that some of the other females were sneaking bottle of wine under their gowns,so we decided to do the same. As far as I was concerned this dreadful night needed all the help it could possibly get.

Our little quartet then decided to leave the restaurant and find some place to drink the purloined wine, then we'd go bowling. Why we ended up in bowling alley is something at this late date I simply cannot for the life of me fathom.I can imagine the looks on the other bowlers faces as they watched four people dressed to the nines in tuxedos and evening gowns throwing bowling balls as part of the evenings festivities.

Anyway, before leaving , I ran back to our table where the waiters were serving desert(a slice of ice cream covered with a halved peach) and gobbled it down. The way I figured it was, since I was having an incredibly lousy evening the least I deserved was desert. Although was all is said and done, I would have enjoyed it much more if the ice cream and peach treat had been eaten slowly, as opposed to being inhaled.

The following day Larry, Rosemary, Anita and myself hung out for a while before the lackluster affair came to a welcome end. I never saw Anita again after that and to be honest,if I never see her for the rest of my life I'll die a happy man. As for that sorry excuse for a senior prom,I sometimes think back on the dark,dank,sham of an evening,like once every ten years, and wish I'd stayed home. I would've saved money, plus there was probably something good on TV  that night.

Postscript: A year after graduation,I worked for a truck driving school putting up application standees in business's. On one of my travels I was in the same area where The Mendenhall Inn was located, so I stopped in to see if they'd allow me to place a standee in their establishment.The manager politely declined and while we were conversing,I mentioned that I went to St.Marks and that our school held it's prom there in 1973. The manager informed me that was the year many bottles of wine had been stolen from the upstairs refrigerator,so they stopped holding senior proms at their restaurant.

Why I Quit Union Local 27.

At first, I believed in Local 27, The United Food Workers Union. I bought into the many promises the union reps made to me and the other members. But the day came when these promises were not kept, their honeyed words turned to vinegar and I became angry, causing me to tender my resignation from this empty, ineffective and impotent organization.

I'd resisted joining for two years because the place I work at(Delaware Park) was an open shop. I honestly didn't feel the need to join. Then one day, I was at home hanging out when a union rep showed up at my door(how did we survive before Map Quest?). At first, I was dubious about this stranger in my home trying to enlist me into the union until he said," I understand the slot attendants are going to be doing taxables.(taxables are jackpots exceeding $1,199.95) Well, we think this is managers work and we're going to see to it that you either get more money or you don't do them." That did the trick for me; I joined immediately. The upshot of the story is, we ended up doing taxable jackpots anyway despite the reps promise.

About a month later, I saw this gentleman at Delaware Park playing the slots during my shift. He noticed me and flashing a winning smile called out," Hey Joe, How's it going. "I walked up to to him replying in a rather unfriendly tone of voice," Let me tell you about it..." and proceeded to inform him about how after his promise to me, the slot attendants were doing taxable's. Mister Pass The Buck held up his hands in a defensive manner and quickly stated," All I do is just sign members up."

Here I had become a member based on a promise and I'd just been lied to. Despite this unhappy unfolding of events, I remained a member of Local 27. I was convinced that at the time of the union contract renewal, they would step up to the plate and do right by us. I kept this hope alive for a year and a half. I might as well have believed in The Easter Bunny when all was said and done.

During the year and a half, our union rep, Henry, would come by and check on us, oh, once in a blue moon. Sometimes I wondered if the union was cognizant that our chapter existed at all; that's how infrequently we would see him. But as soon as our contract was being renegotiated, Henry suddenly decided to show up and visit us with a frequency never before demonstrated.

During these meetings at the union hall ,Henry made another slew of promises and even though I'd been lied to before, again, I believed him. The slot attendants were becoming increasingly dissatisfied because of the installation of ticket slot machines, our tips were decreasing and our paychecks were $30.00-$40.00 less(the amount would decrease even more in the coming months.). We were told they'd fight to get our hourly rate increased by $2.00 an hour.

Another promise made concerned blackout days. Blackout days are the days where a slot attendant can't take the day off, unless the person calls out sick. These particular days are considered Delaware Parks busiest times, hence the term blackout days. Well, Henry announced that he thought blackout days were unfair and the union would do something about it.

Then came the day all of us union members looked forward to with anticipation :the new contract. Despite the fact that none of the slot attendants were allowed to attend the negotiation meetings, many of us assumed that the person representing our group fought like a pit bull to get more money, in addition to a better contract. In reality, the rep rolled over like a floppy eared puppy and eagerly accepted whatever scraps Delaware Parks owner doled out to them. Not only didn't we get the raise,  it was the slot techs who received a very nice two dollar an hour pay hike instead.

This was particularly galling since out of the entire tech department only two of them belong to the union. The blackout days remained in effect. However, we got an extra ten minutes added to our break(Hallelujah! Saints be praised!). And, it is in our contract that if Delaware Park doesn't need as many slot attendants in the future, instead of being laid off the employees will be given other positions; i.e housekeeping or some other low level, low paying, menial position.

Oh, and we were told another lie: Henry said," You'll still receive the same rate of pay." I immediately countered with," Bullshit, Henry. We 'll lose our seniority and be paid whatever the starting rate in that department is." His mealy-mouthed response was," At least you'll still be working."

I can just see in now: I'll be making a whopping $8.50 an hour. I will then go to my car loan company and say," Could you please lower my monthly car payments? My weekly paycheck is much lower than it used to be." I'll also give the same speech to the cable company, car insurance, gas and electric, ect. And I'm sure, I mean really sure, as sure as I'm writing at this very moment that they'll all say in unison," Okay, Joe. We understand. You can pay us less." Yeah. Right. And then I'll hit the Powerball for one hundred million while I'm at it, too.

As you can imagine, the roomful of union members was hardly beside themselves with glee. Actually, it was more like an angry lynch mob. Now, just take a moment to think about whom we wanted to lynch. If you guessed the union reps, then put a little gold star next to your name ;you earned it. Anyhoo, there was a whole lot of grumbling going on and the entire room was going to turn this feeble joke of a contract down cold. We were ready to rumble!

Now, you're probably thinking that our fearless union leader was readying to rally to our defense, that this fighter of the working man would go back to the bargaining table and tell Delaware Parks owner that this paltry contract was unacceptable and we wanted more! I wish.

What our representative said was(now get a load of this)," I could go back to the bargaining table, but he won't give you anything more. This is the best you're going to get."  Yes, my friends, Union 27 unhesitatingly threw us under the bus. There was nothing we could do about it.

I was totally and completely disillusioned. Plus, I was mighty pissed about the entire debacle. Add to that a case of intestinal virus, and the day after our crappy excuse of a union contract was pushed through I went to the union hall to resign, filled with disgust. I was given a phone number of the main office which when I contacted them, I was informed that it would take a a year before my resignation would be in effect. Naturally, I didn't like this answer. So I did a little research and found out that if I went right to the human resource department with a note stating that I wanted out of the union, it would take only two weeks. Local 27 lied again! Because in exactly two weeks I no longer had the union extracting $5.75 a week from my hard earned paycheck and getting nothing but hollow words in return.

What galled me the most was the fact that I actually believed in this union. For a year and a half I thumped the tub in their defense, because I bought into their shallow, meaningless promises hook, line and sinker. I think I was as angry at myself for my naivete as I was was for the unions outright dishonesty so they could continue to keep fattening their organization with our weekly union dues.
Although the story doesn't end very happily for us union members, Henry wound up with a fat payday; his reward for embedding the useless, worthless Local 27 into the fabric of Delaware Park for another four years. Following his windfall, he retired with the sizable bonus in hand.

It was Local 27 who ended up the winner in the union contract negotiations while the members they were hired to represent came out of it the losers. And let me assure you, I'm one sore loser. Recently, Henry's replacement came around Delaware Park shaking hands and introducing himself to the employees. I wouldn't give him the time of day; that's how angry I am at that lazy, lackadaisical, do nothing but fatten their pockets with our weekly dues union.

Let me be blunt, most of the union members at Delaware Park think that Local 27 is as useful as tits on a bull. But they have no other union, albeit, a stronger, better union, to take  Local 27's place. Delaware Park's employee's need the kind of union that's like a mighty lion; ready to defend it's members, instead of  paying good money every week to support a fat, old lion with neither claws or teeth.