I’ve been scarce as fuck lately, I know. Been busy with work, but barring a few script projects over the next few weeks, I’m about to get freed up. This is good, as I really miss taking pictures of nonsense and writing about it.

EPIX’s “Big Bloody Valentine” marathon is on tonight, and that promo we built is all over it. (A few versions of it, actually, plus bumpers.) I almost never get the chance to see my stuff on air, so even after all these years, it’s still so goofily magical.

I’m watching Slumber Party Massacre as we speak:

I only tell you guys about a fraction of the “real work” I do, because most of it is uninteresting, or because the clients involved might not be keen on a behind-the-curtain view. With Big Bloody Valentine, I had to, and not just because we did a nice job on the promo. I’m so thrilled to have some loose tie to this awesome concept of a Valentine’s Day slasher marathon. I’m misty at the thought of even a few dozen horror geeks surviving the “holiday” with this.

I used to love these weirdo all-night marathons. I still do, but they were especially great back when my social life was limited to exchanging pissy faces with the freak in the mirror. There was some detached form of camaraderie to ‘em. The thought that someone out there with similarly odd interests was watching the same stuff at the same ungodly hour just felt so strangely great.

In other news: Yes, the photo above is of my newly renovated office, which looks…surprisingly similar to my old office. Just with a television, and less dust. I’ll give you the full tour when I finish organizing everything, but suffice to say, it’s evolving into an inspiring little box that would double nicely as a psychopathic fifteen-year-old’s bedroom. 

We just completed this promo for EPIX’s 2012 “Big Bloody Valentine” marathon. It’s romantic and gross.

I hate it when I watch something, fall in love with it, look up more info, and find out that the people involved with its creation and/or execution are DEAD DEAD DEAD.

This happens to me a lot. I guess it isn’t surprising since I tend to watch movies and TV shows that are nearly as old as I am.

Accepting the logical inevitability doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I prefer to believe that everyone lives past 90. When Wikipedia or IMDB shatter that illusion, I get sad. Not cry in the corner sad, or even sit on the couch in quiet contemplation of a universe built on cruelty sad. But still…sad.

Wah.

2012 is brand spanking new, and it’s already happened to me three times this year.

First was Alaina Reed. She’s dead and I wish she wasn’t.

She played “Rose” on 227. I’ve been watching ludicrous amounts of 227 lately, to the point where I’d estimate my DVR library at 93% 227 and 7% everything else. Reed wasn’t the star of the show, but she was an important cog. The natural liaison between sultry Sandra and wicked Mawwwy.

Reed died in 2009. She was 63. You may know her better from Sesame Street.

…which shared a front stoop with 227.

Not kidding, look it up.

Just don’t look anything else up. Then you’ll find out that the woman who played Pearl is dead, too.

Next was Robin Stille. She was a doozy.

I’ve grown crazy fond of Slumber Party Massacre, a 1982 attempt to cash-in on the “slasher film” hot streak. 

Stille played “Val,” the not-at-all-slutty hero with the great face and sweet voice. Val was an insta-crush situation for me, and I did not jump for joy upon learning that the girl who played her committed suicide in ‘96, at age 34. Damn it.

Apparently, Stille was depressed over her stunted career and subsequent alcoholism. The weird thing is, when I saw her in Slumber Party Massacre, I thought she was way too awesome to be in a movie like that. Figured it was an early hiccup in a much bigger career.

Nope. Slumber Party Massacre wasn’t Stille’s last role, but it was her biggest.

Blows. She was too cool.

Finally – and this is the one that may break my habit of IMDB’ing – Josh Ryan Evans, who played “Young Grinch” in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. (…in an enormously long flashback sequence, explaining why the adult-form Jim Carrey Grinch was such a bastard.)

Evans had a type of dwarfism and died at age 20, in 2002 – just a few years after playing the tiny Grinch I loved so much. You haven’t experienced true glee until you’ve seen Young Grinch flip out and hurl chunks of metal at his classmates.

I’ve decided to never look up an actor again. From now on, everyone is still alive. Even if I’m watching a sci-fi movie about giant spiders from 1953. They’re all still kicking. They’re all enjoying their grandchildren, or at least working the autograph circuit.

I will be less informed, but happier.