Slidewell's New Writeups

Where Have All the Giant Radioactive Lizards Gone? (idea)

2005-09-02T18:33:07Z

Power Surge
"the Scourge of Injustice"

Secret Satellite #9

Stratosphere, Planet Earth

www.powersurge.com

EXPERIENCE: For over 25 years, have maintained a constant vigil to protect the good citizens of Colossal City, serving as guardian and hero. Well-versed in creative deconstruction of city infrastructure to foil wrongdoers.

SPECIAL SKILLS: Possesses the strength of one hundred men, telescopic vision, and limited powers of levitation.

HONORS: Received a bronze plaque from the mayor of Colossal City for rescuing his wife four times: two separate occasions of extracting her from the clutches of one highly-deranged mad scientist, sweeping her away from one collapsing dam, and absorbing the blows of an emotionally distraught admirer at a

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Latex. High heels. Knives. (idea)

2005-08-05T21:59:33Z

Shifting uncomfortably in his thin paper gown, he picks up the People magazine and thumbs through it for the third time. The pages pass before his eyes, but nothing registers. His bare butt sticks to the paper as he slides off the table and goes over to the window. Through the blinds he can see the loading dock of the medical center. Two men sit with their legs dangling from the dock, smoking. A woman in a dress the color of tomato soup passes by. Pressing his head against the window glass, he exhales through tightly pursed lips, emitting a flatulent sound. The window fogs from his breath. Turning from the window, his eyes fall on a box of examination gloves. Latex. Touching the gloves leaves a fine powdery residue on his fingers, which he nervously wipes on his paper smock. He glances at his watch. Looking up, he catches his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. Standing before the mirror, he bends over, turns, and observes himself from between his legs. He peers around…

Last Rays of the Old Dying Sun (thing)

2005-07-18T03:42:36Z

September 18th, 1970. American rock star Jimi Hendrix ~~was pronounced dead~~ narrowly escaped death after overdosing on barbiturates. Rescue workers performed an emergency tracheotomy on Hendrix, successfully reviving him . . .

After his brush with death in London, Hendrix eagerly returned to New York in early October of 1970 to resume work on his highly anticipated fourth LP, First Rays of the New Rising Sun. Still recovering from recent throat surgery, performed to correct damage from his life-saving emergency tracheotomy, Hendrix threw himself into completing the ambitious double LP collection. Despite his frustration with his own vocal performances, forced as he was to accept all the vocal takes as finished he had laid down prior to his London misadventure, he was determined to explore every musical idea his fertile mind produced, building up endless layers of guitar overdubs, each new pass inspiring new ideas to be revisited upon otherwise completed tracks.

In…

Bubbles and the Doctor Seize the Day (person)

2005-06-13T02:42:00Z

"Those birds. They sound like they're right in the house . . ." Carole opens an eye. She's not in the house. She's on the patio, on the chaise lounge. Cold pink dawn silhouettes the trees. She's got the wine stained tablecloth wrapped around her. "God, I slept out here all night!" She swings her feet around to the ground, upending an empty wine bottle, sending it clattering across the bricks. The blood rushes to her head and her temples throb. She feels clammy in the damp morning air. "Oh, this is not good." Getting up slowly, she shuffles into the house. Making an effort to compose herself, she smoothes her hair and arches her back. "All right, just a little hung over. Some aspirin and a shower'll do wonders."

The trip up the stairs takes more out of her than she expects. Standing over the sink, she takes a few deep breaths. Glancing up in the mirror, she catches a revealing glimpse of herself. "Definitely not good." Opening the medicine cabinet, she fumbles for the…

Modern Sounds In Country & Western Music Vol 1 (thing)

2005-06-06T03:44:05Z

This album is, apart from its brilliant commercial marketing strategy, is nothing less than a travesty in the remarkable career of Ray Charles. I could go on and on praising his superb and deeply emotional vocal interpretations of country and western material that, for the most part, I hold great affection. However, the musical arrangements and performances of the stiff and utterly soulless background musicians and singers leave me drowning in my own tears. Any comparison of these renditions, compared to the classic earthy and vital material he recorded for Atlantic Records is laughable.

This assessment has nothing to do with country music per se. Good country session musicians have created a legacy of heartfelt emotion and deep soulfulness behind all the greats of country music. The band behind Ray on this, and the subsequent Vol. 2, are strictly HOLLYWOOD. Professional, but without substance.

I in no way begrudge Ray's attempt at garnering a larger audience, which he…

The Doctor and the Naked Glory (person)

2005-05-29T04:56:24Z

"Pour me another splash, will you, dear?"

Bubbles leans over and slowly fills her mother's glass. Looking up, she awaits a "when" signal, but her mother is looking away, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought. Filling the glass, Bubbles sets the bottle down and leans back. Carole, blinking, returns from her reverie. Bringing the glass to her lips, she takes a measured sip. A serious look crosses her face. Straightening up, she smoothes the legs of her pressed jeans, tugs at the sleeves of her blouse, adjusts her pearls and settles back. With a little sigh, she begins.

"So, how did I come to call you Agharta? No, it wasn't the silly subterranean city that inspired it. It was the music. He played it—your father—the night we . . . were together. I found it mysterious, challenging, and uncompromising. I asked him, 'What is this music?' He picked up a pen and scratched Agharta on a scrap of paper. I woke in the morning, knowing that our moment…