The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Friday, June 11, 2004

Welcome to yet another edition of... HALF-ASS! the stunt show that showcases Cary Coatney at his literally best with unpublished manuscripts and drafts in progress.

I apologize for the adrupt post that was previously published - sometimes I feel that I leave my 'verbal advantage' pills at home and sometimes I prematurely press the publish button without a grain of thought whatsoever. Now, with this blog getting some notice, I should exercise some kind of cautionary fact check or a spell check for that matter.

Here, let me make it up to you:

What follows next is the unedited version of my page 31 essay or editorial, take your pick of what will be appearing in my new Deposit Man book. It has taken me a couple of weeks of fact checking and spell checking for that matter to make somewhat 'half ass' professional or presentable. It clocked in at a half page too long - so a lot of this was cut to make it on page using the smallest font possible and utilizing two columns on a Microsoft word program and was cut and pastes from a Yahoo file.

Do I have to tell you everything? Must all my secrets of the craft be purged for public consumption?

But I'm happy with it, and that's all I give a shit about at the moment-

So with warts and all:


That Jesus Christ- I swear, sometimes I think, he's more trouble than his box office net is worth.

In the seven or eight months since our last outing- last issue to be precise, we have since become bombarded with the febrile assorted images of Iraqi prisoner orgies and spectacular pay per view be-headings (that is, if you're a credit card paying IP subscriber) - we have capitulated, or rather resigned to the Christian right wing consensus that our whipping boy Jesus Howard Christ is the one calling the shots around here just slightly ahead of the velvet rope that Bush, Cheney, Rummie, and Ashcroft (it's almost like the new incarnation of the Marx Brothers, doesn't it?) are standing behind waiting to get into the Studio 700 Club so they can dance to their promulgated hearts content in fixing a little addendum here, a little article there to this nation's Constitution or Bill of Rights - and maybe not giving a second thought to concocting such meaningless drivel like the Geneva Convention where we revise the part to apply electrodes to droopy testicles (that are tattooed property of Mohammad) in prisons far, far away in the Middle East galaxy or somewhere off the butt-fuck shore on the Cayman Islands- while our Holy woody head cases make Jesus Christ a nationwide movie star. Or are they merely showing their faces at the club to take advantage of the fried chickenhawk special?

And it's all fucking Mel Gibson's fault, too.

So where the fuck is Allah's multimillion dollar deal? Why isn't his side of the story being talked over cellphones conversations over a Joel Silver or Michael Bay spinach salad power lunch over at the studio's commissary? These destitutes, who pose such a major threat to us, need some capitol compensation too..especially when they're the ones who are supplying all the non-existant wage extras.

Each day, I find it harder and harder to fathom that I'm living the good life in a country that is essentially run by...evil arch-villains. Oh, I have not the whimsical doubt in my mind that they have the more fanatical styled madmen running around amok chopping off Nick Berg heads of lettuce and serving it all up neatly in a Falafel wrap like it's out of style(but then again, we are the ones sneaking in with the hidden cameras to film the prisoner pile -up orgies, that we are led to believe to be far more deadlier than the WMD truckloads we are supposedly on the prowl for- but the Republican porn industry has to eat too, you know.). But now, it's hard to dispute with the rest of the world, that, with chopped off hands down, we are the most despicable, the most clandestine group of smut peddlers the free world has ever known.WE even have Amnesty International up our cattle prodded asses- an organization even as I remember being a young adult was a cause that I used to donate my support to. (man, and I bet that Bruce Springsteen and Peter Gabriel are both ashamed of me right now). This is proof in the pudding that this is the over blown crap we get when we are heartlessly scrupulous enough in trying to install our beliefs, our culture, and our way of government to a bunch of people who couldn't give two shits about us. Once again, it's trying to trade up one fairy tale for another. Don't some of you feel the bile from the forces of evil marshalling against you?

Some on the righteous side will loudly proclaim that we're merely occupiers and not the aggressors, right? Well, try this analogy: What if you were woken up by the sound of a burglar in your house? Wouldn't you do anything.. and I mean anything to protect your house and your family from getting ransacked? And you should keep in mind, most of these Iraqi folks can't afford anything past a steady diet of wish-beans and wonder bread- (i.e; they wish they had beans for dinner and they wonder where the bread is at) Well- this is what we are doing to this air force and naval defenseless (although in some cases, very clever at suicide bombing- talk about a real good game of dodgeball! ) country - we are burglarizing their property - AND NO ONE KNOWS THE REAL REASON WHY IF BUSH KEEPS CHANGING THE REASON WHY EVERY FIVE FUCKING SECONDS! Face it- there's no two ways about it- we are the fifteen stone footers in their guest house gulags, aka what used to be called Saddam Pee Wee Hussein's Playhouse.

And how can we put stock in a douchebag like Bush- who is totally unwatchable for more than five seconds? A president who doesn't even read his daily briefs every morning unless they say fucking 'Fruit of the loom on them? Five seconds of this cowboy impostor who can't own up to the fact that was born and bred in Connecticut, and not Texas as he would led us to believe and you go insane in four and three quarter of a millisecond. You don't need Al Qaida - having Bush take over every major network, including pre-empting an episode of '24 (which I consider more real life and fact based with Dennis Haysbert who plays a more believable charismatic president than this country deserves right now) just to say or to perpetuate....nothing. but to do his horrendous Porky Pig impersonation of the word Abu Gairib. Or for his own comical amusement just to bend down beneath podiums in his mock search for WMDs. But damn, we're going to 'stay the course' in bombing more innocent civilians while he interrupts our daily lives with such fucking petty bullshit and does nothing to change to own up to the accusation that he and his gaggle of thugs have just as much blood on their hands as the Al Qaida Tabernacle Boy Choir- only they possess the magic turpentine to scrub out the oil stains.

And if you dare to go off the grain with the Bush Legion programmed cult of God Fearing Nutfucks - you're instantly cow branded a traitor. From the mouths of Diebold conservative controlled automatons: You...are... unpatriotic. You...are...a anti-American. Go...take your...homosexual...significant....other....and kindly remove...yourself from our.... land of the free and open wide borders (hey guys- OVER HERE! Get your free medical insurance and schooling just for picking strawberries!) - AND GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM OUR WAL-MARTS!!
And what is so up the ass of these backward propelled nitwits concerning gay marriage? If one man wakes up to the aroma of another man's buttocks in the morning like a another heterosexual couple who wakes up to the smell of Folger's and a Shannon Wheeler comic strip - why should they all get bent out of shape over it? What is it to them ? It's not like they're the not the ones who are in the bedroom with them? More power to the gays. Let them live their fucking lives the way they want do without the scruntization of what it's supposed to say legally on a piece of paper.

You know, it's this day and age that I wish that L Ron Hubbard were still alive making stupid dollar bets with real distinguished science fiction authors on how we were all going to fall for the same trick twice for putting such a monkey face in the White House. It churns the acid up in my stomach and yet it befuddles me at the same time that this was even allowed to happen at all. What evil genius went out of way his to come up with a diabolical master plan that a previously failed president thought it was a good idea that his sperm line would even qualify for running this country when THE SON HAS FAILED AT EVERY THING HE' S EVER DONE? That fucking Doctor Doom- he always swore that he'll get his revenge on us. He has put the master plan in motion by appointing us a president who is nothing but a cheap Chevy Chase chump who does pratfalls off of two wheel bicycles and couches while choking on pretzels.

And I tell you, if we have the same Diebold voting de ja vu as the last time AND if the draft has been reinstated- I tell you, Bush's little drinking daughters and his brother's crackhead prescription forging little rugrat better be the ones leading the charge, alongside OUR sons and daughters- otherwise I'm going north to knock on Larry's door and fork over some of our ACLU spurned GOD ALMIGHTY currency for room and board.
at his place.

Is my time up yet on this ego deflating rant? Because this kind of commentary is really not my field of expertise.

Speaking of Larry, you may or may not have noticed that the artwork is looking a little different in this issue. That's because Larry has a pressing penciling engagement elsewhere and could only fit time to provide us with the layouts. Oliver Simonsen, Masekela Polee, & Alan Sinder both eagerly did fill in penciling and inking duties. I think they all did admirable jobs in keeping up with appearances, and I'm eternally grateful that they believed in continuing on with this project. I'm certain that Larry will be providing most of the artwork for next issue- for the conclusion of THE LAST GREAT GATE OF MORTALITY. You can tune in to my blog for daily updates. The countdown will begin in July when Larry's schedule frees up again.

Cary Coatney - June 7, 2004

Please I implore all your comments.



(the return of the fifteen minute break)

I have literally fifteen minutes to write this, as more movie studio journals crap pile on my desk. Yes, it's another deluge of summer time fun and I rarely have time for a social life on company hours these days.

Good news and bad news.

The bad news is that the Skate Jesus forum is ka-put. Gone like a puff of smoke off of Delphiforums. That saddens me- even though I consider myself a auteur of mischief and literally came on board only to piss off of what I considered 'local LA posting losers' - I'm sore to admit that at least they all had unique personalities. The only little time I do have time to socialize on the delphiforums is on Heidi MacDonald 's World of Superlime Jumping Station. I'll miss the skaters - but at least I'll see some of the participants down at San Diego next month and say hi to them - if I have a table that is.

The biggest news I have for all of you Purple Platformers is that now you can POST COMMENTS on this blog to every stupid thing I have to say.

The only unforgivable Reagan thing I will do in his memory is to check out the 41 lobby card display that they will have in a theater for all of us studio employee to ooh and ahhh at. Maybe I will stumble on some Catwoman pick ups that I saw the other day. I didn't see any of the major stars except that they were shooting some Asian girl doing some hoop jumps with a basketball ON A TRAMPOLINE. She wasn't quite getting it from what I could see. Didn't have time to catch her name as I was in a hurry to go play my lottery tickets (hey, I won 10 bucks, what more can I say) but I did see lounge chairs with the names Halle Berry and Benjamin Bratt embrossed on them.

We're shooting mostly features and mini series right now, The Wizard of Earthsea and Ocean's Twelve are particular stand outs.

My other big happy annoucement is that MARILLION is finally coming back to the states after a seven year absence.

I will be posting later today- A HALF ASS segment of my unedited essay that will be appearing in the new Deposit Man book.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

NO MORE DEAD CATS AND DOGS IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD Part Two of Cary Coatney's June Lazy Ass Weekend

Yeah, so yesterday I left off on a early Saturday afternoon. Having being reunited at TOWER Records with a long lost audio recorded friend in the remastered edition of Jethro Tull's 1980 A album which was the only Tull album to feature "special guest star " Eddie Jobson who used to play 'in his teens', electric violin and keyboards for UK, King Crimson, & Roxy Music. Eddie Jobson was one of my all time prog giant keyboard heroes when I was in high school and this album flooded back memories of how I s much I was a rebel against the punk/heavy metal movement that subjugated most of the minds of those I attended high school with in Parsippany, New Jersey. I was into complicated melodies, off-kilter time signatures, and thought provoking song lyrics that were recited with a plethora of integrity. So bands like Jethro Tull, Yes, Genesis, Styx(?) (if you're talking about the Grand Illusion and Pieces of Eight - everything else after that- GAAAAAKKKK!) & Emerson, Lake, & Palmer was stuff I would bring to appease class discussion with my Music Theory or Appreciation class instructors- because between all the loud guitars, bombastic synthesizers, and thunderous drums - there was technique worth debating about. But Eddie Jobson along with his magical multi timbre Yamaha CS 80 polyphonic synthesizer and his transparent electric violin were the most fond memories whilst in my hormonal scaled back years- so this was definitely a impulse buy for me- and another incentive that clinched my ATM to practically leap out of my wallet was the rare treat of adding a additional DVD of the 1980 A Tour which I believe has never seen the light of day on these American shores. HOWEVER - as usual, TOWER records prices have sky rocketed drastically pass the brink of infinity over the years (Best Buy and Fry's have pushed the once great chain into a corner of bankruptcy) - so I had to turn my back on the $26 dollar price because I know, I just know, I can get this wayyyyyy cheaper over at the.....oasis of every apprecative musical genre - where everything is represented in equality- AMOEBA Records - located over on Sunset in Hollywood. This is my very own special bazaar of where I know where I can drop $50 on two new releases @ Tower and can walk out with 3 or 4 at the very same price. Lo and behold, there it was... @ 17.00. Nine whole bucks difference right there. And in addition to that same $50, I picked up the latest Tomas Bodin (Flower Kings keyboard player and whose last album, Pinup Guru was the inspiration for the name of this blog- never got around to admitting that, didn't I?) and the brand new Tiles album, Window Dressing - both on that mighty prog rock record label from Germany, Insideout Music. Anyway before I get off in too much of a rant- Eddie's CS-80 and stabbing piano chords really shines on tracks such as Flyingdale Flyer and Black Sunday.

So approximately at 5 PM, I decided to hop back on the bus back to UCLA. I like going up and down on Sunset and checking out all the crazy billboards advertising the latest movie, tv, and fashion accessories - but as soon as we passed the Beverly Hills Hotel, we got caught into this insane late afternoon traffic mess just a few block before making a left turn on Hilgard Ave. When I finally got off the bus, I was baffled by the sight of helicopters hovering above all the Bel Air mansions and there was this uncanny sight of people running around waving flags at other people in cars - urging them to honk their horns. I thought they were merely refugees from the Federal Building which I believe of where I heard about a massive g anti-Bush protest was taking place- so I didn't think much to ask what was going on- I MERELY ASSUMED that I knew what was going on. Little did I know, that the next day my proverbial drawstring pants would once again be pulled down around my ankles in the face of anal retentive history.

So basically, I ended up finishing Saturday night with the DVD rentals of Veronica Guerrin and the House of Sand and Fog. The latter one, I cannot believe I passed up on in the theaters. It is an exquisite film - real involving characters and situations (especially with my recent move- something that I could really identify with) and some issues raised that wind up haunting you long after the movie is over. Here's the obligatory one sentence synopsis: Young girl (ivory soap beauty Jennifer Connolly) is kicked out by her inherited home by a property tax snafu and is taken over by auction by a Farsi speaking family who are out to profit on the property - much catastrophe and chaos ensue. Jennifer Connolly is luscious beyond compare - she so reminds of a current girl I'm currently infatuated with who writes club and restaurant reviews the whole country over via a website who springs to send her to these swinging spots. I've known her for over three years but we only get to see each other so very seldomly these days. The last time I saw her was when I invited her to see the Matrix: Revolutions movie on the lot- and that was last November. She has a lot of journalist friends, so I guess she has to socilize in their circles- because everytime I think I can get time to see her - she's always busy on assignment. Sometime during last week, she e-mailed me asking if we could get together and meet over at Jumbo's Clown room - but NOW I'm busy spending money trying to get the new Deposit Man book out.

So Sunday morning- I got up around 10:30 and I swore I was going to get busy typing some corrections on some story proposals and fix up some old scripts I have lying dormant on my old hard drive- but I opted instead to watch some Jonny Quest episodes on DVD and went up to the nearby 7/11 to pick up the Sunday paper and some donuts.

And there it was- the BIG ASS HEADLINES

Ronald Reagan dead - at 93.

Whoa- so it finally happened. Never thought I'd actually live to see the day. I mean, he's been dying for what- the last 10 years?

So where did this happen? Probably over at his Simi Valley Ranch, right?

No - the Los Angeles Times says: Bel Air. Around 1 PM .

Gotta be shittin' me.

And the Times also tells me: that they started to move his body to a Santa Monica Funeral home at approximately 5 PM.

Which jettisons everything into reverse flashback mode - the helicopters, the traffic jams, and the nutjobs waving the tiny little Japanese made flags. I was there all that time while history was flashing before my eyes- and I didn't find out what had happened until the very next day.

You know, this sort reminds me of a little conversation I had one time with Pulse! comics journalist, Heidi MacDonald and it was about what it's like to move from California to New York just for the sake of keeping her job - (she used to be a comics editor for the teen /young adults digest magazine, Disney Adventures that used to be produced in Burbank). I recall her telling me that she was so happy to migrate out of LA due to the riots and it was the earthquake of 94 that clinched the deal for her. All that mayhem- who needs it, huh? But then it's a bit of ironic - that she settles in New York and the biggest earth shattering catastrophe of all time - i.e; the terrorist attack of 9/11 just happens to occur within earshot of where she lives. And I'm thinking, wow- what a sense to be within close proximity of something that will go down throughout history - how can some be so fortunate (and dropping bricks in their pants at the same time)- to bear witness to such a historical event - and then, all of a sudden POOF! There I was, smack dab in the middle of a over blown, a all-conservative perpetual mind assimulating event! Ninety-three year old president drops dead- and the nation is shocked - SHOCKED that he's dead. What the fuck is the big surprise about all this? That a guy who's close to a hundred years old, who can't even remember where the last pee stain in his boxer shorts came from, keel over like a dead sparrow dropping off a branch of a tree?
I don't get it. Where where these so called mourning patriots when Nixon's body crumbled into dust?

And all I can do is scoff at these three to four hour long ass lines I see on the tv just waiting around to see and touch a flag drapped casket like as if we were all living in communist Russia.


And to conclude such a lovely weekend- Monday morning, out the starting gate of my apartment complex, I walk not more than half a block- and there's someone's lousy cat WITH A COLLAR AND NAME TAG , lying sprawled out on the sidewalk with it's skull crushed in- obviously landed there by the propulsion from whatever drunk slimeball swerving vehicle that had hit it.

Great. I must be cursed with living on Pet Cemetary Drive.

Why can't these people pick up after their pets?



Tuesday, June 08, 2004


Hey, there's nothing like a weekend of non accomplishment to get things rolling before a deadline.

I did nothing over the weekend but lie around on my fat ass watching TV or listening to prog. I don't know what came over me but...

Well, at least it did have its' privileges- or moments of unqueasiness - no matter how you slice it.

Kicking off last Friday night- wouldja' believe I was sitting at my desk at work until 7:45 PM on a time in the evening where a single guy my age is supposed to have tied on their third Micheloeb at Happy Hour or are struggling unsuccessfully to slip on their Trojan condom for that hot piece of ass that you usually drunkingly pick up at a bar? But not me, no siree, I was struggling for perfection. Knowing that I was going to have to wake up early for my employee screening of Tim Hunter 3, I figure I would make a early night of it. So, I went and took a different route home. Thought it would be a slight change of pace if I took a short cut through the 'ghetto' area or the Tijuanaville portion of Van Nuys.

What a shithead mistake that was.

To start off such a wonderful weekend, walking down Hazeltine Ave after getting off at Victory and seeing that the next couple of blocks before I get to my undesirable new apartment is mostly occupied by hispanics- and hoping here that no one notices me sauntering around with a knapsack on my back in the evening time and wishing they would pick up their chihuahua roadkills off the street.

There's nothing more gut wrenching than seeing a dead dog or cat lying on the sidewalk after it takes a fatal ferris wheel spin on Mr. Goodyear's treads. It just sends a trickle up my spine.

Anyway, moving along until I finally reached my place after 9 PM- I called Alan Sinder and invited him and his new Japanese wife to the Tim Hunter 3 screening after my favorite little favorite cracker from Culver City called to cancel. I'm a very understanding fuck buddy - Like who would want to get up early on Friday nite after a all night binge of drinking and fucking to go see a nearly three hour movie anyway? I can sympathize. No harm done. So it was time to check out this new show on the USA network called Touching Evil. Couldn't understand or get into the premise, so I watched a episode of Farscape instead and set up my alarm for 6:30 AM. I just found out today that the best science fiction show in the world is coming back on the Sci-Fi channel for a special mini-series called Peacekeeper Wars. I'm so fucking stoked about it.

I don't know what it is about these Harry Potter films. They just don't press my buttons as they do everyone else. It's just the bile in my throat, knowing that J.K. Rowlings is capitalizing on a concept and a idea already developed years earlier by Neil Gaiman and she's even admitted to it to the press. I'm surprised that Harry's girlfried doesn't call herself Molly in the movie. It just fucking agitates me and I tend to be really biased while I'm watching these movies to the point where they actually put me on the snooze button. The only other movie that was successful in accomplishing this was that piece of shit remake of Solaris that George Clooney made a couple of years back. And what the fuck was up with those Dementor characters? It was like another idea lifted from the Lord of The Rings with the Dark Wraiths. Could someone please explain the difference between the two to me? e-mail me @ and the first logical response wins a free copy of the new Deposit Man book. I can't make any promises beyond that. Also I was under the impression that this picked up from the last film and that they were running from Kenneth Braugh who I thought escaped from an insane asylum. Imagine my surprise when I discoverd that it was Gary Oldman playing some other locked up guy called Serious Black.

After the snooze fest- Alan took his wife to a Chinese restaurant called P.F. Chang's over at the Sherman Oaks Galleria. I declined because I didn't have any available cash on me (and I was overloaded on free popcorn and soda) and I wasn't in the mood to max out any of my credit cards- so I went to Tower Records in the case that I could get something and at least take it off my ATM card. Sure enough there were a few things I was on the prowl for but came across something totally unexpected. Something I totally I remember cherishing way back in 1980 now back in stock, fully remastered.

Jethro Tull's the 'A' album. With special guest star, Eddie Jobson on keyboards and violins.

I'll pick up from where I leave off with this tomorrow and go into the exact detail of how I inadvertingly failed to witness a 'historical event' that happened underneath my nose and didn't realize it until the very next day.

In the meantime, sorry to hear about the passing of Kate Worley, the creator of Omaha The Cat Dancer. I learned alot from reading those fun explicit, but humane tales in all those collections I used to have down in San Diego. Her tales shaped my outlook in life in general.


14 pages in the can penciled, inked, and dialogued. Oliver and I meet this Saturday to GET A LOT DONE.

Alan will be stopping over my place to drop off the last three pages.

Brenner has given us the deadline of June 22nd to hand everything in.

Putting the finishing touches on my page 31 editorial.