BONUS SONNET: In Which I Shamelessly Shill For My Friends (And Wish A Belated Happy Birthday)

He's full of it, and newly twenty-one,
Brent Weichsel, and he's ready to unleash
Filmmaking fury on us ere he's done.
His birthday yesterday, today's release
Of Sigler's newest book seems poised to stretch
His celebrations further. Have a look:
Brent's entry in Scott's contest ought to fetch
Him much attention. As for this new book,
I'm psyched as hell to get it. Want it NOW!
Meanwhile, wish Brent belated birthday love.
I'm sure he's quite hung over, bleary eyed,
And wond'ring what that yellow thing above
Him thinks it must avenge on him. Don't hide,
Dear Brent; it's just the sun. Now seize the day,
And may more viewings soon be on their way!

Bacon-Con II: Electric Boogaloo

I do declare: it is not Balticon
Unless a pork-stuffed luncheon makes the scene.
Last year a BLT bestowed upon
Mur Lafferty, with extra B -- I mean
Way extra. "No pigs left" quoth Brent -- had its
Turn in the spolight. This year Arioch,
Called Morningstar, inspired me to fits
Of tweeting how his huge hot dog did rock
(Avast your gutter-thinking. I engage
Here in no metaphor). That frankfurter,
The longest, fattest I have seen this age,
Astonished all, I really do assure
You. But I'm very deeply puzzled that
The Fiendmaster quoth "something something cat."

In Which I Take Deep Blue Through His Snowy Predawn Paces

I'm not the first to ride my bike in snow --
I'm sure in China it's done ev'ry day --
But still I feel that I've the right to crow
A little bit. I knew that I could stay
At home a little longer and just drive
To work this morning; everybody does.
That doesn't jibe, though with my mojo, style,
Or mental illness (names vary): I was
Determined to keep pedaling and know
That once I wimped out one day I was done.
So off I went, a cycling Eskimo,
And truly, I must say that I had fun,
My teeth set in a grin few could surpass.
No wonder Brent said that I'm #purebadass!

In Which A Gonzo Film Appreciation Society Goes On A Brief Hiatus

As all good things at some point will mutate
So #filmswithbrent must do, sadly, as well.
Our head-man think's he's got to go create
And learn Down Under. Sure he will excel,
But time zones are a challenge even now,
As Wyoming and Pennsylvania
And California, Oregon allow
Just barely what we do. Look we to the
Future of our film-watching and we must
Now figure in Australia! This we will
Once Brent is settled in and got the dust
Of travel off him, we'll resume the thrill
That is live-tweeting good films, for all love,
Until then we must keep the thought thereof.

In Which I Shamelessly Plug An Adventure In Criticism, or #FilmsWithBrent: The Sonnet

It started when Brent put Blade Runner on

(Conceptually it seems so long ago,

Can it have been just short weeks have gone?).

I said I'd watch it too, caught up fast, and lo!

Though Brent's in Pennsylvania and I'm not

We dug the film together and we shared

Our exhaltations in our tweets, thought

This should be a reg'lar thing. Now, don't be scared;

This isn't MST3K redux.

We're working with the films we love the most,

And unlike there, we've endless room for you.

At 10 P.M. on Wednesday nights, our host

And I don our best film geek hats. This round

It's Fight Club. Could it e'er get more profound?

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Bluff My Way Through Some Chat Show Aftermath

Ostensibly we gathered round to talk

On art and commerce and just what went wrong

With Fincher's Alien 3. It did rock

Though we digressed a bit as five quite strong

Artistic types will do. Then came a thought:

Since Ridley Scott is who's been picked to helm

A prequel Alien, who really ought

To take Sigourney Weaver's role? A realm

Of possibilities occured: J Roth Cornet?

Ann Hathaway? I won't embarrass Brent

By saying who he picked; you'll hear it yet

When CUT goes live. Then Tim Coyne went

With Minka Kelly, who I'd never think(a)

But sure, by all means, go link(a) with Minka.

SONNET DARE: In Which A Hapless Survivor Is Prepared For A New Role

I've e'er been strong, as sleepers these days go.
A brass band or jet plane could n'er wake me.
It's no suprise, then, that I missed the woe
And violence when Skynet did decree
Extermination of all humankind
(Or was that Davros? I sometimes mix up
My robot overlords). I am confined
Now to a cell, where I am forced to sup
On funky meats and get no exercise.
I'm gaining weight and getting soft like veal.
I'm quite confused. I really don't surmise
That I am meant to be a fancy meal.
Robots don't eat, though they do like a show.
What's this? OK, "Solo! Hay lapa no?"

In Which The Biomechanical Filmmaker Is Congratulated Twice Over

Oh no, I say, perhaps we'd all best run --
Though he could catch us on his motorbike --
Brent Weichsel now is twenty, having fun,
And he just got some news I'd also like
To share here with my readers, who should know
Already of his film work from his site,
The news that it has reached a great plateau
Of recognition. I am pleased to write:
A Parsec nomination now is his!
His podcast on filmmaking is a must
For anyone with int'rest in that biz
Or in how art is conjured from the dust
Of basements or the mental rubbish bin.
Underdevelopment is for the win!

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Realize That Balticon Is A Bit Of A Misnomer

I spent this weekend, nose against the glass
(Entirely in a sad, virt'ual way)
As folks from far and near converged en masse
On Baltimore to pass the time of day
With Charles Stross and others I admire.
O Balticon! I'd love so to be there.
The internet permits me to inquire
As to the doings, who and what and where
The action is. I'm somewhat puzzled, though.
The folks I know keep sending photographs
Of mostly-bacon BLTs. I know
They're taking these in quest of some cheap laughs.
I'm laughing, too, but mostly at my game.
Won't Bacon-Con be a much better name?

BONUS BONUS SONNET: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Meus Equus Parvus

Miss Ribken, O my wise and gentle friend,

Who was so kind this morning as to share,

This madness, Horsey Planet, to no end

But generosity! T'was most unfair

Of me to repay such as such I did.

My tweeting fingers sometimes, on their own

Share naughtiness from deep within my id,

Which id loves now and then to hear a groan

Of anguish at a pun or inside joke.

I hope Brent Weichsel's mash-up was a cure

For earworm torment. I know I provoke

A further dose of wrath, in fact I'm sure,

By naming here the song for readers: it's

"My Little Pony." May it cause no fits.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Share My Awe At A Student Filmmaker

The other day, while I was geeking out

On Herschel/Planck's launch, and on Atlantis'

Fine work on Hubble, also did I shout

My love of Henry Purcell and of bits

Of choral, churchy music that he wrote.

Conflated in my mind at once were these.

I said so, then I casually did float

The notion that a mash of them would please.

Brent Weichsel, budding auteur, took the dare,

And tossed off this as quick as kiss-my-hand.

You might well profit from his other fare.

His latest, Battle Not is soon to land

Upon his site and elsewhere. I am sure

His name and work won't too long be obscure.