Glenn Gaslin's Astonishing Tales of Danger+Wonder

My New Book! The Sorcerer From California, a Wild Adventure Novel for Kids

Kinda big news: My new book The Sorcerer From California is now available in paperback and Kindle edition. It’s the first of a series I’m calling the Adventures of Moko & Zaya, and it’s based on stories that I told my son Zev when he was 5 (more on how that all came about later).

The keys to these stories were always: Cliffhangers, high adventure, and lots of monsters. We came up with so much material that I have about seven books mapped out, mining the best and strangest stuff (Kings of the Volcano is next).

Anyway, check it out. If you dig Sorcerer, please drop me a review on Amazon, cool?

Here’s what it’s all about:

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My Day With Newt Gingrich. Or Rather, His Skull

Way back in 1995, when Newt Gingrich was at the peak of his power and making a whole lot of noise in Congress, I was a (very green) newspaper reporter in Virginia. I wrote a (very silly) weekly column with my colleague Ken Baker, and it only made sense that we go to Washington D.C. to mess with Gingrich.

I’m pretty sure we couldn’t get away with this today, but here’s what happened in 1995, as it ran in The Daily Press:

* * *

THE NEWT ADVENTURES OF KEN & GLENN

We went to the nation’s capital to find Newt Gingrich. He was out of town.

We left a list of questions. He never answered them.

But we don’t mind. Really.

Empowered with a one-day-only press pass, we roamed the hallowed halls of the Capitol and acted like journalistic goofballs. We brushed shoulders with presidential candidates and D.C. reporters who take themselves way too seriously.

Our mission began with a search for Newt: the round-faced Republican Speaker of the House, the distinguished gentleman from Georgia, the great American Contractor and perhaps one of the most powerful men on planet Earth.

With notebooks in hand, we emerged from the underground Metro station and headed toward the mythical white dome of democracy.

Outside, hundreds of high school students and tourists lined up before the marble steps of the Capitol.

A tourist-handler lady told us to get in line.

“We’re with the press,” Ken explained.

She pointed us to a side door reserved for special folks like us.

We climbed three flights of spiral stairs, told three sets of armed guards that we didn’t yet have our press credentials and passed through two metal detectors before finally reaching the Senate press office.

The guys handing out press badges asked for proof that we really were reporters. We didn’t blame them.

“What are you covering today,” one of them asked.

We could have said, “We’re Newt hunting.” But that would have sounded silly. Unprofessional.

“Um, we’re hoping to cover the Foster nomination,” Ken said.

The big news of that Friday had something to do with a Senate committee hearing on whether Henry Foster should be surgeon general. A real sticky subject, shaded with moral issues like where life begins, the size of cigarette warning labels and stuff like that. So, naturally, we avoided it.

We headed toward the House side of the Capitol. That’s where Newt hangs out. Confused tourists clogged the corridors, staring at the ceilings and statues and paintings of guys in powdered wigs.

Glenn approached two loitering students and showed them a photo of Newt he had ripped out of that day’s Washington Post.

“Have you seen this guy?” he asked.

“That’s Newt … somebody, right?” one of the teen-age girls guessed.

A few yards away we spotted the office of Bob Dole, the Senate majority leader and Republican front-runner in the next presidential election. We had heard he doesn’t get along real well with Newt.

Ken peeked inside.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ken explained to a secretary who sat surrounded by pictures of Bob. “We’re looking for Speaker Gingrich’s office. Do you know where it is?”

She directed Ken “past the Rotunda” and to the right.

We knew we had found our destination when we saw a Tyrannosaurus Rex skull encased in glass. Newt keeps a full-scale model dinosaur head just outside his office.

A guard stopped us before we got too close. We said we were looking for the Newt. He pointed us down the hall to the big man’s press office. What we saw in the room was this: one guy watching C-SPAN on his computer and no fewer than 10 larger-than-life photographs of Newt Gingrich’s head.

The biggest one would have fit nicely on the body of a towering, flesh-eating reptile.

The guy at the computer, Robert George, explained that he writes all of Newt’s newspaper opinion pieces and that nobody important was in the office that day.

Newt, he told us, had flown to New York to meet with “the editorial board of either Time magazine or The New York Times, I forget.”

Luckily, we had already written our 10 questions down. We handed the sealed envelope to a terse Newt press aide named John Cox.

And then we took some photos with the enormous Newt head.

Just when we thought we were annoying the busy staffer, John asked us if we’d like to see the balcony outside the speaker’s office. Newt does a lot of work out there, he said.

“We got new cushions,” John said of the lawn furniture set near Newt’s office window.

Glenn asked if we could lounge in the Gingrichian seats.

“You don’t want to sit in Newt’s chairs. They still have plastic on them,” John replied.

Newt staffers also spend time on the balcony, he said. John then told us the closest thing to a scoop we got all day. “The day before St. Patrick’s Day, the Prime Minister of Ireland sent a keg of Guinness for the president and Newt and the ambassadors - and they barely tapped it,” he said. “Needless to say, we, uh, finished it off.”

Questions we left for Newt:

  • How much can you bench press?
  • Do you use hair spray? If so, what brand?
  • Were you psyched when you heard Connie Chung was fired (considering that she slimeballed your mom)?
  • Why do you kiss up to people who call FBI and ATF agents jackbooted thugs?
  • What does jackbooted mean? And is it a good thing?
  • Why do the rich seem to get richer and the poor, poorer?
  • Which world religion is the one true faith?
  • Does Green Day rock? Or are they just a bunch of posers?
  • If you could be president of any world nation - except the United States - which one would it be?
  • O.J.? Guilty?

The Response (left on Ken’s voice mail)

“Hi, Ken. This is Robert George from Newt Gingrich’s office. I think we met on Friday when you and Glenn visited. I called you to let you know that unfortunately the Speaker won’t be able to respond to your questionnaire. We appreciate your dropping it by. He’s going to be out of town most of the next couple of weeks. Time constraints just don’t quite fit it in.”

Bonus! The column mug that ran with it:

Top 10 Movies I Saw This Year With a First Grader

Every movie I saw in a theater this year, I saw with a 6-year-old.

Normally, I see everything that comes out. Or, at least, a lot of things that come out. It’s often my job to do so, and it’s always a passion. Not this year. Not with a baby in the house and the schedule I’ve been keeping.

Still, I had a strangely great year at the movies. And with that restriction in mind, here are my Top 10 Movies of 2011*, all of which I saw with Zev:

  1. Super 8: A movie actually about kids, not just for them.
  2. The Adventures of Tintin: Only thing on here I need to see again in the theaters.
  3. Rango: Soooo terrifically weird.
  4. Captain America: Great musical number, great chase scenes, just the right tone.
  5. Real Steel: Zev stood on his chair and cheered, you can’t beat that.
  6. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2: Second best of the whole series, actually slowed down to spend some time with the plot.
  7. The Muppets: Too much nostalgia, but the songs make it.
  8. Cars 2: I think I’m alone (among adults) in loving this, but so what.
  9. Thor: At least I get to see a Natalie Portman movie.
  10. * Keeping this spot open, since I haven’t yet seen Hugo and have a feeling that’s going to be a winner.

What was your No. 1?

Got a new creation over on Monsters With Issues: monsterswithissues: Pinkfingers will mess you up. Big time. And he won’t even feel bad about it or nothing, so don’t you think about doing or saying whatever you were about to do or say to Pinkfingers. Just don’t. Because, in case you were too dim to pay attention the first time, he will seriously and legitimately mess you up. Without remorse, without fear of reprisal, without a shred of humanity or pity or restraint.  Don’t laugh. Stop it. Pinkfingers is serious about this. He’ll do it. Guy’s gonna mess you up. Bigger than big time, even. Giant time. Gargantuan time. You get the idea. Or you better. Because otherwise, well, you know what happens otherwise.

Got a new creation over on Monsters With Issues:

monsterswithissues:

Pinkfingers will mess you up. Big time. And he won’t even feel bad about it or nothing, so don’t you think about doing or saying whatever you were about to do or say to Pinkfingers. Just don’t. Because, in case you were too dim to pay attention the first time, he will seriously and legitimately mess you up. Without remorse, without fear of reprisal, without a shred of humanity or pity or restraint. 

Don’t laugh. Stop it.

Pinkfingers is serious about this. He’ll do it. Guy’s gonna mess you up. Bigger than big time, even. Giant time. Gargantuan time. You get the idea. Or you better. Because otherwise, well, you know what happens otherwise.

E! on Tumblr: We're Looking for Fall Interns!

eonline:

We’re looking for interns this Fall! You must be a college student and available to work out of Los Angeles. Here’s what we’re looking for:

Internship: E! Online Intern
Salary: Unpaid (for college credit only)

Responsibilities:

• Research stories, galleries or other editorial projects
• Pitch and write blog posts for E! Online

monsterswithissues: Dethhöp needs a friend. Do you want to be his friend? That’d be great. So great. The best. Seriously, thanks. He needs this. Especially after that last so-called buddy of his followed him down some hole and came out in thirteen pieces. And then how they found his only other friend floating in the river, missing all his bones and organs, just a floppy wet sack of skin. They’d been having so much fun together, too. I mean, wow, this is terrific. So nice of you. He’s been really broken up since last year, when his school pal from way back fell asleep hanging upside-down from a tree branch, his body pale and stiff, his eyes wide open and white as soymilk. He’s still there, too, his feet bound in thick red sap that’s dripping down his legs and attracting just the biggest flies you’ve ever seen. Anyway. Real nice of you. Guy can’t handle being so lonely. Makes him a little, you know, just a little crazy.

monsterswithissues:

Dethhöp needs a friend. Do you want to be his friend? That’d be great. So great. The best.

Seriously, thanks. He needs this. Especially after that last so-called buddy of his followed him down some hole and came out in thirteen pieces.

And then how they found his only other friend floating in the river, missing all his bones and organs, just a floppy wet sack of skin.

They’d been having so much fun together, too.

I mean, wow, this is terrific. So nice of you. He’s been really broken up since last year, when his school pal from way back fell asleep hanging upside-down from a tree branch, his body pale and stiff, his eyes wide open and white as soymilk. He’s still there, too, his feet bound in thick red sap that’s dripping down his legs and attracting just the biggest flies you’ve ever seen.

Anyway. Real nice of you. Guy can’t handle being so lonely. Makes him a little, you know, just a little crazy.

Former Child Wizard: The real Harry Potter, grown up and washed up and living among us, dishes on life as a boy wonder and the magic of comeback

A little story I did for E! Online years ago, when Chamber of Secrets first came out. It’s not on the site anymore, and we certainly don’t do stuff like this these days, so I’m reprinting it here. You know, for kicks:

Nobody at the little girl’s birthday party knows who the magician in the round glasses and pointy blue hat really is, and they wouldn’t believe it anyway. The three dozen screaming, drooling kids at this Brentwood, California backyard gala—cake for the kids, martinis for the parents—might not understand, or care, about his name, his true identity.

So the thirtysomething man with sad eyes and a thick British accent just smiles and does simple tricks in for little Rachel, who turns 5 today and wants everyone to know it. He combines two solid brass circles. He asks if this is your card, and he pulls rabbits from the most unlikely of locations.

The parents call him The Wizard Guy™, which is what it says on his business card: “Available for birthdays, bar mitvahs and everyday witchcraft.” Soon, if all goes well, they’ll be calling him by his real name, his given name, a name of legend: Harry Potter. That’s right, the Harry Potter.

“Hey, mister clown,” yells one of the kids, cake and a mean grin all over his face, “do that thing with all the handkerchiefs again.”

“Get it straight, kid,” counters the magician-for-hire, calm and commanding. “I’m not a clown.”


This surly kid at Rachel’s party simply doesn’t know that his messing with Harry Potter. He hasn’t been told that the stories of a wand-wielding boy wonder—now being turned into megabucks fiction, film and action figures—are true, all true. Or as true as Hollywood biography can be, his childhood in the ’60s and ’70s spun into effects-heavy “event” flicks. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Real. The evil Voldemort? You got it. All that stuff about sucking the blood of unicorns to keep you alive? Try it sometime.

As part of a deal—a very, very bad deal—struck decades ago by his adopted family, Potter’s life story now belongs to others. Lots of others. J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and, he explains, “everyone else who’s name isn’t Harry bleedin’ Potter.”

But now, decades after defeating the ultimate evil (wait for book 7, kids) and tearing through a sex-drugs-and-magic-trick era, he’s got a comeback staged. The one-time kid sorcerer now has a reality show in the works, which explains the camera crew following him while these dozens of rowdy American children shove cake into their mouths. And he’s decided it’s time to come clean, to tell his story, to go prime-time with the truth.

Before he does, little Rachel, who turns 5 today, approaches him with a small white balloon animal in her hands.

“Excuse me, mister wizard,” she says. “My mommy said you really are magic. Is it true?”

Harry Potter, 34 years old and 6,000 miles away from home, pauses for a long moment to stare at this child. He smiles a sly smirk and reaches into his pocket to fondle an old, worn wooden wand. And then he changes his mind.

“You have no idea,” he says, turning away.

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monsterswithissues: It’s a total cliché, to be sure, but Heatwheezy needs this wormhole in his head like he needs, well, like he needs a hole in the head. Bad enough his combustible hairpiece won’t lay flat today and that he has to run this stupid meeting in an hour and his morning Peet’s was so bitter, but then to have this cosmic anomaly sprout from his temple? The worst. Oh, and then the thing warps his blueberry scone to some far corner of the universe before issuing all kinds of galactically random garbage: jets of super heated dark matter, floating tendrils of primordial starsoup, a fleet of tiny alien warships, and this huge green hand that keeps slapping him across the face and slinking back through the singularity. Wormhole? More like asshole.

monsterswithissues:

It’s a total cliché, to be sure, but Heatwheezy needs this wormhole in his head like he needs, well, like he needs a hole in the head.

Bad enough his combustible hairpiece won’t lay flat today and that he has to run this stupid meeting in an hour and his morning Peet’s was so bitter, but then to have this cosmic anomaly sprout from his temple? The worst.

Oh, and then the thing warps his blueberry scone to some far corner of the universe before issuing all kinds of galactically random garbage: jets of super heated dark matter, floating tendrils of primordial starsoup, a fleet of tiny alien warships, and this huge green hand that keeps slapping him across the face and slinking back through the singularity.

Wormhole? More like asshole.

monsterswithissues: After years of grip-fisted, rigid-fingered refusal to swing or twist or fall, to waffle or rock or bend, after a lifetime of straight-up, straight-ahead thinking and taking the unbending position, Fungalfist is suddenly seized by an urge to follow the arc of the sun. To spin and pitch, to twirl and drop and plunge, to give in, finally and at last and after all, to the gentle coaxing of gravity.As you can imagine, that doesn’t work out so well.

monsterswithissues:

After years of grip-fisted, rigid-fingered refusal to swing or twist or fall, to waffle or rock or bend, after a lifetime of straight-up, straight-ahead thinking and taking the unbending position, Fungalfist is suddenly seized by an urge to follow the arc of the sun. To spin and pitch, to twirl and drop and plunge, to give in, finally and at last and after all, to the gentle coaxing of gravity.

As you can imagine, that doesn’t work out so well.

New Thundercats series trailer. I watch a lot of Cartoon Network already, but this won’t be making the cut. If I so needed a nostalgia kick, I’d find the original.