Hell Bus

In cyberspace, no one can hear you scream

2010-12-20T20:51:00.003-05:00

Many moons ago, and old boyfriend gave me a little mental nugget of joy.

We were watching the movie, "Alien," and it came to the scene where Ripley has set the self-destruct countdown on the ship and is frantically making her way to the shuttle when she rounds the corner and BAM! There's Mr. Alien.

The visual isn't of importance. It was the music that was so profound. The boyfriend said that he referred to this music as the 'ex-girlfriend' theme. His thought was if he was ever out in public and saw an ex-girlfriend from a distance, this would be the music playing in his head.

I now give you the "Ex Theme."

I know you're laughing now. You can see it, too, can't ya? I've shared this nugget of joy with the Spouse and now we can never watch that same scene without bursting into laughter.

Altho the boyfriend and I went out separate ways long time ago, I held onto that hilarious concept of the 'Ex Theme." Really, it could be played in your head for anyone, be it an ex-boyfriend, ex-co-worker, ex-neighbor... any unsavory character from your past that you feared encountering again.

Well, after nearly 20 years of waiting, I finally had that moment in my life when I heard the 'Ex Theme' play for real.

A couple of weeks ago I get a Friend Request on Facebook from someone I don't recognize immediately. The fact that they used an off-the-wall name didn't help. Curious, I look up the profile of "Okinawa iTunesfan" (not the real name, but pretty damn close) and am still unsure of who this person is. They live in a neighboring state, we have no mutual friends, and the profile picture is an old 70s photo of Freddie Mercury.

Questions abound. Who is this person?

It's about this time I notice I have a message on Facebook. I go it and lo and behold it's from this Okinawa iTunesfan. I read the message, which is along the lines of, "Hey, we were absolute bestest friends in high school. We used to write notes to each other and your nickname was this and my nickname was that. We have so much to talk about! --Gloria Merkin(not her real name)."

That's when I recognized who it was. Cue the music.

"NO!! OH GOD NO!! NOT YOU!! ANYONE BUT YOU!! I thought I had successfully escaped you forever! Oh shit, you found me! SONOFABITCH!!"

Yes, back in high school we WERE bestest friends. Yall know how teenage girls are. We shared everything. We talked about everything. We did everything together. We were there for each other in times of teenage girl drama.

Then the summer before senior year an old flame of mine walked back into my life. He used his charm and won my little naive heart over again. I was so excited and I told Gloria all about it. She was excited for me. The old flame asked me out on a date and I wanted my bestest friend to meet us so she could see this fabulous boyfriend of mine. And it was a fun night. We all three had a great time hanging out together. And I came home happy and head over heels in love.

Little did I know that during the evening, while I was on a bathroom break, Gloria and Old Flame exchanged phone numbers.

Long story short, I find out later that the two of them met up, ended up in the back of his car and, well, nature took its course. Needless to say, I dropped him like a hot skillet and tore her a new asshole over the phone.

But the bitch didn't get it. She continued to call me, apologized, and proceeded to act like nothing had ever happened. Not only did this bitch not get it, but when she called, she would go on and on and on about herself. I swear, I could lay the phone down, go to the bathroom or do some errand, come back and the bitch would still be going. I am NOT making that up.

(If you're wondering why I even answered the phone in the first place, let alone talk to her... well, I was young and stupid and couldn't be intentionally mean. Don't worry, things have changed. I've grown a backbone since then)

Years later, after I have moved out of my parents' house, the crazy bitch would still call trying to track me down. My mom, bless her heart, did an excellent job of deflecting her calls and never giving out any info on me. These calls got fewer and further apart until finally they stopped altogether.

But now we have the internet and Facebook, which makes finding people bonehead simple. And unfortunately, this bonehead Gloria found me.

So I ignored the friend request. And when Facebook asked me if I'd like to not only ignore this request but make it impossible for this person to never request my friendship again, I was only too glad to click that button.

There. Done. Shew. Catastrophe avoided.

Until 3 days later.

No friendship request (that button worked). Instead there's another message:

"Hey!!!! Wish I could talk to you again!! It's been about twenty years, and we have alot to catch up on! Please accept my friend request.... I'd LOVE to chatter with you again! Gloria"

Cue the music again.

"AAAHHHH!!!! GOD DAMN!!!! NO!! Jesus Fucking Christ did you NOT get the hint? Ya know, the Old Flame found me a while back and requested my friendship - WHICH I IGNORED - and even HE got the hint and left my ass alone! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you still that batshit crazy?!"

So now I had to bring out the big guns and do something I hoped I would never have to do - block somebody.

Let me tell ya, that there block feature is nice. So nice I had to mention it in my Facebook status that very day. Couple of hours later I get an email from an old high school friend (a nice one, not a fucking-your-boyfriend-behind-your-back type) that says, "Oh, god, was it Gloria Merkin?!"

Apparently, I wasn't the only victim of her crazed former friend search. My poor pal had accepted her friendship was now being driven insane by constant messages, pokes and chat box pop-ups. "And by the way, " my friend continued, "Gloria says 'Hi' and hopes you'll accept her friendship."

Cue that fucking music one more time!

But the dust has settled and I think I'm safe here behind my wall of Facebook blockage. I have since warned family and close friends to beware the crazy bitch Okinawa iTunesfan because I'm sure she's still on the hunt. And hopefully, the next time I hear the 'Ex Theme,' it'll just be Ripley hiding from Mr. Alien.

What I did on my summer vacation

2010-12-14T14:13:00.005-05:00

Some of you may have noticed I have two online names: Duranfan and Hollygoyle. Duranfan is a holdover from my old Spymac days, but Hollygoyle is really more ‘me.’ My closest friends and my haunt peeps know of my obsession for gargoyles, combined with my elaborate get-up (see above) that I’ve used many a time to scare the absolute bejeezus out of people.

Well, Hollygoyle will exist forever, but she may be a little shorter in the future. My stilt-walking days are over. *heavy sigh*

On the night of July 31st, there was a horror film convention in town, complete with movie stars, movie showings, vendors and, of course, a costume contest. So guess who got all dolled up to try to win a prize (and to do a little PR for the Haunted House). Go on, guess...

The venue was hot (air conditioning was terribly inadequate) but I held it together as I bounced around the place. The Spouse stayed at my side, clearing a path and keeping on eye on me. By the time the costume contest rolled around, I was doing great. Good friend Bobafett had joined us. I had my photo taken with strangers numerous times and was really wowing the crowd.

At one point I was seated on a barstool when another admirer came up and asked for a photo. I’m gonna slow things down here so yall get the full impact of what’s about to happen...

I go to stand up and suddenly my right legs is rapidly sliding out from underneath me. I basically go down doing the splits sideways, and as I do, I feel/hear something in my left knee give a wet crackle.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. I sit there on my ass for a few seconds and assess the situation. My first thought was I had dislocated my left knee cap again (slipped on a tile floor back in ‘89). But when I went to feel the leg, the knee cap was in place. And it didn’t hurt (dislocated knee caps are a pain you don’t forget). It felt weird but I was surprised at how little pain I was feeling. The Spouse and Bobafett dive down and, per my frantic instructions, start taking off my stilts (note: these babies are thoroughly strapped to my feet and around my knees so this takes a few minutes).

While they’re doing this I want to know why the hell I fell. I look over to my right and that’s when I see a glossy flyer laying on the carpet.

Fuck. Six years of being on these things with no problems and I get taken out with a goddamn piece of paper.

By now my boys have removed my stilts and have hauled my up by my armpits. I’m standing upright, still not in any major pain. I go to put weight on the left leg and it just collapses.

Shit, this is not good. This is so not good.

The Spouse and Bobafett carry all my stuff out to the car and bring it up to the front entrance. I sit on my barstool, swinging my injured leg back and forth. It’s bending fine and I’m still not feeling much pain, but something is definitely wrong.

Fast forward to the local hospital ER. This is where it gets even weirder. I peeled my latex facial appliance off in the car and wipe off as much of my make-up as I can on the way there. And I manage to get out of the costume (I had regular clothes underneath). But I still have my theatrical cat-eye lenses in. I can’t take them out because A) I have nothing to put them in and B) they’re in my prescription and I’m blind without them. Luckily, the late night staff at the ER did an excellent job of pretending not to notice my eyes. But I’m sure my accident story was one of the best they’ve seen and heard in a long time.

So... x-ray is done and shows no breakage. I’m told that I’ve sprained my knee and possibly torn my ACL, MCL or meniscus. I’m sent home with a lovely blue knee brace slapped on my leg (third time in my life I’ve had to wear one of these damn things), some crutches (which I refuse to use) and a recommendation to an orthopedist.

Oh, did I mention I went back to the horror film festival the next day? Found out that if I had not fallen, I would’ve won the contest. Son of a bitch.

Orthopedist appointment a couple days later. More x-rays taken. Again told that I’ve possibly torn my ACL, MCL or meniscus. Need to schedule an MRI to be sure. Yay. But wait, it gets better...

The doctor says he wants use a needle to drain the fluid off my very swollen knee. Then he proceeds to show me a needle that looks like it came from an old Warner Brothers cartoon. I nearly pass out and tell him, “Look, that fact that you just said ‘needle’ and ‘knee’ in the same sentence, and you’re coming at me with something that is cartoonishly large has me more than freaked out right now.”

But I gotta tell ya, that man was amazing. I never felt a thing and my knee was much smaller when I left.

Ok, back to the progress... MRI a few days later. Doctor follow up a couple days after that. Those of you putting you money on the MCL or meniscus... sorry, you lose. But those of you betting on the ACL, bingo. You can collect at the window. Complete ACL tear. Complete. As in off the freakin’ bone. Guess that was that wet crackle I felt. He also says I have some bone spurs on the back of left knee cap and asks if I had injured it before? Remember that little mishap back in ‘89? Yeah, that one...

Are we talking surgery? Yes we are, friends and neighbors. But it’s actually gonna be kinda neat. I’m gonna be getting zombie parts. Cadaver tendon!

But it’s right in the middle of this surgery conversation that I remember we’re currently in mid-August. Haunted House starts in 7 weeks. This could be bad. So I explain to the doctor, “I’ve got this major event I’m in charge of that operates every Friday and Saturday night in October that I have GOT to be there for, and I have GOT to be on my feet all night so I need these legs. Either you pop me back in that brace until November 1st or we get this done ASAP.”

He says, “What are you doing Thursday?”

Three days later my ass is in a freezing cold operating room with the Beatles blaring in the background while a bunch of surgeons, nurses and other medical folk bounce around me all perky and loud. I wake up an hour and a half later with my left leg totally numb, all wrapped up with a new piece of tissue they harvested off some dead person (my profound thanks to said dead person).

I go home the next day with some super duper pain killers (which ended up making me terribly sick). For the next three days I’m a complete invalid but the Spouse was absolutely wonderful in taking care of me, even patiently waiting for me to finishing puking in a waste can so he could replace the liner each time.

Monday morning I go back to work. Yup, crutches and all.

But here it is nearly Christmas and things are just peachy. I had an amazing physical therapist who got me off the crutches sooner than expected. I hobbled around at work and drove around town as usualy. And yes, I got thru Haunted House with no problems. Hell, the more I walked around on those nights the better my leg felt. My stilt-walking days may be over, but I still have many years left to scare people. Hollygoyle lives on.

My scars are pretty small and I have two permanent screws in my knee, but it’s all good. I got zombie parts! So when the zombie apocalypse finally happens, my ass is immune.

Let's See What Madame Ruby Sees...

2010-05-12T19:00:00.002-05:00

Another Haunt Trade Show has come and gone and we all came back home excited and inspired. Work has already begun on our little spooky house and I'm diving right in with floorplans, themes, rooms, costumes, set designs and promotional stuff.

Along with being part of the creative force behind our Haunt, and having a personal collection of occult related books, skulls, Dia de los Muertos paraphernalia and other dead things, I have one other unusual talent I probably haven't told yall about.

I read Tarot cards. I've been reading them for over 20 years.

When I was 17 my mother got herself a deck and we were both fascinated with them, doing readings for each other on a near daily basis. Soon afterward I read in one of my books that in order to take Tarot card reading seriously, one should have their own personal deck and treat it with great regard and respect. So I purchased my first deck, the famous Rider Waite Deck.

Over the years I have picked up another 5 decks, the most recent purchase at the above-mentioned Haunt Trade Show. One of my team alerted me to a booth for Monolith Graphics that had a Tarot deck for sale. Lucky for me they had a whole slew of them for cash-and-carry. This Gothic Tarot deck is absolutely beautiful and I was thrilled to get my own along with the compendium book. Whenever I get a new deck, I always get the compenium, read it, study it and program it in my head for future reference.

So out of my 6 decks, I have 4 that I like to use: the Rider Waite, the Alice in Wonderland deck, the Halloween deck and my most recent purchase. So whenever I do readings, I bring those 4 with me and let my 'customers' pick the deck that appeals to them the most.

Yes, I've done readings for private parties... anything from a high school fund-raiser to a corporate Christmas Party. And I've made some decent money doing it, too. I also do free readings for friends.

Now I always tell folks up front that I am NOT psychic. I don't foretell the future, I don't 'see' things and nothing I say is set in stone. Everyone is in control of their own destiny and everything in life is subject to change. Folks can simply take what I have to say as advice or pure entertainment. It doesn't hurt my feelings if people don't believe in this stuff. But I do think it takes some courage to sit down at my table and shuffle those cards.

And I've had all type of life forms sit down with me. A few years ago I was doing readings for a fund-raising event and I had two women, a mother and a daughter, sit down together at my table. They were kinda rough, loud and boisterous but I took in stride. Until one of them didn't like the 'result' of her reading and wanted another one.

I told her as politely as possible that I don't make this up. She is the one who shuffles the cards. I just lay them out in a pattern and tell her what the picture on each card means.

But no, that was NOT a good enough answer. So I gave her another reading. Once again, the 'result' was a rather negative final card.

(Normally, when I get a layout that ends up with a negative result, I remind the person of my earlier statement: nothing is set in stone, we are all in control of our own lives and if anything, take this as a warning to be on your guard. Now that you know what to look out for, hope for the best but prepare for the worst.)

Well, she was still not pleased with her reading nor my answer to the negative final card and demanded (yes, DEMANDED) a third reading, saying "I'm gonna do this until I get one I LIKE!"

No, we were stopping at 3 whether Ms. Arrogant Bitch likes it or not. I was doings readings that night for free since it was a charity event and I was NOT gonna sit there and be her personal Ms. Cleo.

So I did one more reading. Quick. Blunt. No emotion. Not rude, but not my usual pleasant self either. This time we got a positive ending and she was happy and left. But I thought to myself, "You know, you just got two negative readings in a row. If I were you I'd consider that a sign."

Needless to say, that forced me to adopt a new rule: One reading per person. No exceptions.

Besides that one rude encounter, I had another unusual situation a couple of years ago. At a 'Ghostly Sleepover' at the Mansion, I had one lady sit down for a reading. She was very quiet and somewhat shy. As I began the reading, I noticed she had a nervous twitch and kept quickly turning her head to one side.

You have no idea how hard it was to not only keep a straight face, but to remain nice, polite and not get distracted while this woman was spazzing out on me. Her twitch occurred about every 30 seconds. That was probably the toughest reading I ever had to do. But I made it to the end and she was happy with her reading.

One thing I don't do is ask a lot of questions. If people want to kept their questions or thoughts private, that's perfectly fine with me. I let them decide what or how much they want to tell me.

At one corporate event a man sat down at my table with a skeptical and dismissive attitude. He was here on his wife's request. I gave him my usual opening speech and then let him loose on the cards.

I laid them out and started describing the images and what they meant. The ones representing his 'current situation' showed things murky and unpleasant. They continued to show his unhappiness where he was in life, not getting along with someone and his desire to move on to other things. His final card showed him doing just that; leaving something behind and going on to something better.

While I was telling him all this his cocky attitude disappeared and his expression softened. At the end of the reading, he lowered the boom: He was unhappy here at this job, he didn't get along with his supervisor and was thinking about going to another job. So it was pretty obvious what his next move should be.

His demeanor totally changed. He smiled, shook my hand and thanked me, leaving my table with a pleasant and somewhat befuddled smile. I think he even mumbled a couple of "Wows."

It's impossible to not get emotionally involved in these readings. Most of the time I don't know these people but I get very sensitive to what the cards pictures tell me. I'm always worried about how someone will react when a reading has a bad turn. My most profound reading took place last November at yet another Ghostly Sleepover.

I had a man in his early 30s sit at my table and shuffle the deck. This disturbing reading started off with cards that showed something underhanded had just recently taken place. The cards had images of stealing, dirty dealings behind one's back, a loss of trust and a feeling of being hurt and betrayed.

Something very bad had just happened to this man.

The cards didn't get much better. I continued, as best I could, to relate to this poor man that the images were showing something had been taken from him or he had been lied to. The only glimmer of hope was the final card, which showed that the situation could heal if he and the guilty party came together and worked this problem out.

I looked at him sadly and told him I hoped that he and those involved in this awful mess would be able to heal this situation. He then told me his question and I nearly fell out of my chair.

He had just recently discovered his wife had had an affair with his friend. She had confessed but they were still in that early, raw period of 'oh, hell, what do we do now.' His hopes were diminishing of any kind of reconciliation. He had tried counseling but she wasn't making the effort.

Stunned, I pulled myself together and reiterated that this situation took TWO people to make things work out and for any healing to occur. He thanked me (he was pretty blown away, too) and I wished him the best as his left.

He and his wife (yes, she was there at the Sleepover, just not in the room where I was giving the reading) ending up leaving early because she started to feel ill. He was the only person I did a reading for that night. The rest of our Sleepover guests were wandering around the Mansion playing amateur Ghost Hunters.

I went downstairs and sat in the Main Hallway with my Mansion pals and proceeded to tell them what had just happened. We all sat there in some seriously stunned silence for a while. Someone eventully brought light to the situation by claiming, "Damn, Holly, you're GOOD." But no matter what, THAT reading will always stay with me.

But don't let that discourage any of you. I love doing readings and I have a new deck to play with. Just don't ask for more than one. I'll smack you.

Random thoughts and links, part 116

2009-09-02T16:27:00.003-05:00

Hi. Yeah, it's me. I'm still here, hanging around.

Life has not changed much. My hours are still shorter by 8 a week (altho that last couple of weeks I've been lucky - got busy, they needed me, got my 40 hours in). The Spouse's job situation has not changed. We just keep waiting and waiting... *sigh*

Luckily the Haunted House construction is zooming by. The Staff's maintenance guy has proved very valuable in his knowledge and ability to build things. I've been productive assembling 'bodies' and I've even got my dad involved. It's good to have a tool and die maker in the family. Together we've come up with some marvelous things... Oh, yeah, there will be photos later...

Also, some of you got to keep up with the Louisville flood a few weeks ago as I continuously updated on Facebook as it happened. It was a wild time watching our toilets at work literally 'fountain' water all over the place, watching the water quickly fill up the front half of our building (up to 4 inches in some spots), and watching the water rise on Broadway, gently lapping in our front door.

Everything's back to normal, well, except for my hours. Our part of the building got plaster repair, new paint, new carpet and we got moved back in last week.

I do plan on writing again. It's just with the seemingly endless job situation, my focus has been on other things. Hopefully by the time I write again things will be different.

In the meantime, here's a pile of links that have been waiting to be posted...

My, why does that shape look so familiar?

Stay busy for hours... days... and what sweet music is makes...

Bathroom humor at it's finest (and I just finished reading Stephen King's "All That You Love Will Be Carried Away.")

Have Easter all year long.

This dog is having way too much fun.

You know it's a classy stereotype when it gets its own website.

My best streak was 3.

Oh, just 10 more minutes... please?

Hey! How the hell di you get home last night? Beer Scooter!

Yeah? Well, what about you? How'd you get home? Lay-Z-Boy chair!

Well, these guys are so flexible.

Sesame Street listens to... SLAYER!

For that late night trip to the shitter.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

2009-07-17T11:14:00.003-05:00

I apologize humbly, deeply and profusely for not being here more often. It has been a very uneventful time. Well, actually kind of a depressing time. The Spouse’s job situation has not improved, only changed by having his hours cut back. Suck. And my job gets more and more questionable all the time. We haven’t just slowed down. We’ve nearly stopped. Really. Hours... days go by with nothing for us to do. Just when I think it’s going to pick back up we grind to a halt again. And my hours are about to be cut as well. Double suck.

And when I’m down I really don’t feel like writing. Plus there’s enough bad news out there that I don’t need to contribute to the growing pile. Furthermore, I don’t think ye olde faithful readers (all 15 of ya) would be interested in hearing about my personal little contribution to the pile o’ despair.

But I will tell yall about my most recent adventure. It was kinda depressing but it is improving, with some unusual side effects. And side effects can sometimes be funny, so here goes...

Oh, wait... hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

Ok, so 2 days ago I wake up at a bright and early 5:15am to a violent itching around my neck. I scratch and scratch as I shuffle off to the bathroom for early morning duty. In the mirror I see a bright red neck (no pun intended) but I’m not concerned since I just finished laying into it with my well-manicured and decorative claws of death.

But throughout the rest of the day the itching continues. All over. In the weirdest places. Intimate places. Well, not THAT intimate, but definitely places that are covered by underwear.

Sorry, excuse me... *runs to get cup of coffee*

Ok, when I get home that afternoon I’m scraping my entire torso. All over. I disrobe to discover that from my neck down to my thighs I am COVERED with red, splotchy welts. Now I’m starting to freak. I show the Spouse who is also freaked.

All thru the night my body is just tingling. I woke up the next morning with my ears and thighs on fire. The bathroom mirror shows me a space monster. My face is red, bumpy and puffy. My ears are nearly fuchsia. My torso had cleared up by my thighs, front and back, look like they caught fire and were put out with golf shoes.

I can NOT go to work like this.

I call in sick to work, then I call my doctor. She’s not in, there’s only one other doctor in the office, and he’s only there a half day and is already booked.

Triple suck. Things are not going well for the space monster.

My next plan of action to high-tail it to Walgreens for some Benedryl and Cortizone. I check in with the bathroom mirror again to find the space monster has been replaced with my own face. Since I feel fine physically (despite the itching) I decide to go to work anyway. Hopefully, there’ll be work for me to do.

Hold on... *runs to rest room to pee*

Throughout the day I notice several things: the Benedryl and Cortizone take the edge off the itch, but just barely, and the red splotches are on the move. They’ve left my ears alone and have moved to my hands, feet and lower down on my thighs. Every once in a while I’ll feel something stinging like an insect bite and look down to see a new welt literally pop up.

By 1pm I’m going insane. The urge to dive into a good, hearty, satisfying scratch is becoming unbearable. Scratching feels great but doesn’t solve the problem. And it only makes the area more red and puffy. Speaking of puffy, my hands and fingers have swollen to the point they look like a package of hot dogs.

Urgent Care Center, here I come.

Dammit. Hold on... *goes to get cup of water*

I go thru a full onslaught of questions at Urgent Care. Have you eaten or digested anything out of the ordinary? Have you come in contact with something? Have been outside in a wooded area? Have you recently acquired a new pet? Does your current pet go outside? Have you recently switched to a new detergent, soap, skin care product, or bedding?

And my answer is no to all of the above. So we’re stumped. The doctor did suggest that sometimes excessive heat might bring this on, and the night before it all started I was working at the Mansion’s Haunted House, which is the un-air-conditioned carriage house, and it was hot, and I was sweaty. But hell, it’s always hot there. And I’ve been doing this stuff for 9 years. So who knows.

But the doctor gave me a prescription for magic pills: Hydroxyzine and Methylprednisolone. 12 hours later I’m nearly back to normal. Very little itching, red splotches nearly gone. Every once in a while I get a splotch show up somewhere, but it disappears within an hour.

But apparently these magic pills have some unpleasant side effects. I’ll let you guess what they are.

Berry Scary

2009-06-02T13:14:00.003-05:00

Summer is here and that means several things for those of us in that special region of Hell known as the Ohio Valley: the bad - return of the All-98 weather (98 degrees, 98% humidity, 98 pollution index) and the good - berry season!

I loves me some berries: cherries, blueberries, blackberries, strawberries (or, as a friend calls them, “evil little sponge fruit.”) And those of us berry fiends living in this area are lucky enough to have Huber’s Orchard and Winery right across the river in Indiana.

Saturday the Spouse, my parents and I ventured up to Huber’s for some fresh strawberries, wine and other tasty food tidbits. And I discovered a new addictive snacky thing: wasabi soy nuts. Oh, my, I could eat my own weight in these hot lil’ sumbitches.

One bad thing about wasabi soy nuts. One should really eat them in moderation. They produce a large amount of gas. I was pretty much jet-propelled all weekend.

Last night after dinner, instead of snacking on the wasabi soy nuts (I was pretty tired of feeling like a leaky balloon, altho fart humor never grows old in our house) I nibbled on some fresh strawberries instead.

Now our vicious cat-beast, Gilligan, always wants to know what we’re eating. Through his curiosity we’ve discovered he likes all sorts of chips, hard candy, candy corn, dried anchovies, ham, and various cheeses, Parmesan being a favorite.

Gilligan is so fond of Parmesan he insists on sitting at the dinner table with us whenever we have pasta in order to get a smattering. I am not making this up. He’ll sit in the vacant chair between myself and the Spouse and peer longingly over the edge of the table. I’ll then dump out a small amount of Parmesan on the table in front of him. He’ll happily lap up the little cheese appetizer, then hop down and leave us to our dinner.

So when I started enjoying the strawberries last night is was only natural that Gilligan come to investigate to see if what I was eating was something he wanted as well.

No here is where it starts getting interesting. Gilligan approached the couch to sniff the plastic container of strawberries and stopped just a few inches away. He didn’t just merely stop, he jolted to a halt. He took on distant sniff and his eyes grew large and alarmed. His ear tucked back and he jumped backwards about a foot.

The Spouse and I looked at each other like, “What the hell just happened?”

I then, very gently, took one strawberry and slowly offered it to the cat. He ran and hid between the recliner like I had just started up a chainsaw. As I picked up the container to put it back in the fridge, he saw me approach and darted further into the corner to hide.

Weird. Anyway, thinking last night was just a freak thing with the cat, I tried offering him a strawberry this morning at breakfast. Now normally in the morning, Gilligan is yowling and dancing circles at our feet begging for his morning moist food treat. Even if one of us has already fed him, he’ll yowl at the other, hoping to get a second breakfast. The cat tells lies, I tell you.

Well, Gilligan certainly did NOT want strawberries for breakfast. When I showed him a single berry he got that same scared look on his face and ran out of the kitchen.

Maybe he was attacked by vicious killer strawberries in a previous cat-life. Whatever, more for me. Let’s just hope he doesn’t discover the wasabi soy nuts. Bad cat gas - now THAT’S scary.

Random thoughts and links, part 115

2009-05-15T15:01:00.003-05:00

At 7:16am this morning, at the intersection of Bardstown Road and Grinstead Drive, my beloved little Focus wagon rolled over 100,000 miles.

As much as I loved my T-bird (which became known as the Thunderchicken in its later years), the Focus has been good to me, and continues to do so. Every six months I was pouring several hundred dollars into the poor old Thunderchicken to keep it running. The Focus, however, has needed very little maintenance and it still just as nice as the day I drive it off the lot.

To here's to another 100,000 miles...

Also on the good news front, the Spouse has landed full-time employment. He's been doing two part-time jobs until now, one of which will be ending Sunday. Luckily, the other part-time job is turning into full-time.

What's even better is that there's a really good chance another, even better job is on the horizon.

It's been tough the past several months. We've had to cancel a vacation, cut out all unnecessary spending and really cut corners on regular expenses.

But it could be a lot worse. The Spouse and I both know others that are still looking for employment. Our heart goes out to them and we both keep our eyes and ears open for any leads for anyone.

In the meantime, the cold and rain seems to have left us, and there's a deck, a book, a cat and a cold drink waiting for me outside...

Links!

I couldn't have said it better. Who really want to go around the house looking like a gay Satan worshiper?

Speaking of Satan, heavy metal band names explained.

Go on. Type in your fucking zip code.

Oh hell, the donut fries look good. And I'd give soe serious cash for an Elvis donut.

Guess what we're gonna mix at the next party?

Japan really loves Obama. No, I mean REALLY loves Obama.

Damn, I wish Louisville had a subway system.

I am so getting a pair of these... as soon as somebody manufactures them.

How little kids can start smoking at an early age (this kid is sharp).

How to have fun with elevators.

And finally, the absolutely best rendition of the Star Wars theme EVER!

Get off the lawn!

2009-05-04T11:52:00.002-05:00

Well, it’s finally happened. I kinda felt it creeping up on me with little hints here and there. But I’m smart enough to recognize the signs and humble enough to admit when they’ve become overwhelming.

I’m now officially old. Which sucks.

It sucks because I am no longer one of the ‘kids.’ On this most recent Haunt Trade Show road trip, no one wanted to ride with the Curator and me. No one. Never mind the Curator and I had a hell of a fun time, hooting and hollering the whole way, bouncing from one crazy topic to another, acting like a couple of goofballs.

Oh, no. See, we’re ‘old.’ We’re no longer part of that 20-something crowd. We’re old enough to be moms, and even tho we aren’t moms, hanging out with mom-like creature is totally uncool.

It sucks because I know how old I am, but I still find myself drawn to the whole Hot Topic fashion thing. Yes, I know I’m too old for all that but dammit, I was doing all that stuff decades ago! The black hair with multi-colored streaks, the rock’n’roll t-shirts, the neon colored socks, tons of silver jewelry, clothes and shoes with multiple buckles...

1983 baby. THAT was the first time all that stuff came out. And I was riding the wave WAY before anybody else in this town was. That means 26 years before you punk-ass kids were, too.

I was Goth before Goth was cool, dammit! You emo kids with your died black hair. You see this stuff on my head? Natural. All natural. No dye job here. I even got the Lily Munster streaks coming in naturally, too.

You know that shirt that says “Natural Blonde?” I need one that says “Natural Goth.”

Being old sucks because I am no longer in touch with pop culture. I try, believe me. I hit about a dozen pop culture websites daily, trying to keep myself hip to current trends while being entertained as well. But I’m terribly out of the loop.

This morning the Spouse and I are reading the paper... now see, there ya go. Egad, we must really be old because we’re reading a fucking newspaper. Yesterday’s news delivered to your front the door (for a small price) a couple of days after it happened. Never mind we already saw most of this stuff on CNN or other various news websites - for free! We’d much rather enjoy it again in disposable paper form. Plus it’s good for swatting the cat when he’s being bad.

So, anyway, yes. We were reading our near-obsolete method of news delivery and the Spouse noticed I was well into the ‘Features’ (that’s the not-news section of the paper: comics, celebrity gossip, bridge strategies and horoscopes).

(And for that matter, WHO IN THE HELL READS THE BRIDGE STRATEGIES COLUMN?!)

Well, the Features section is just slathered with full-color photos of all the big-name celebrities that came into town for the Derby Saturday and attended all the rich-and-famous bashes. And the Spouse says, “Ya know, I have no idea who any of those people are.”

And then I realized after perusing said photos, neither do I.

Well, there’s that one actress who was really big 20 years ago, and that one woman who was on that talk show. But the rest of these people... no clue. I know their names get bounced around in the media a lot, but I couldn’t tell you who they are and what they do, least of all why they are famous in the first place.

The same goes for music. I haven’t listened to commercial radio for years. The 3 iPods I’ve gone thru killed that for me. Now I still buys a lot of new music. Well, new as in ‘I don’t own it yet,’ not new as in ‘it’s on the current top 40.’ I hit the local-owned record shops and browse their used section. And I’m always finding something nifty on iTunes, not to mention the cool and obscure out-of-print goodies I discover on the net once in a while.

But every time I see one of those “Now That’s What I Call Music” cd commercials, I find myself saying, “Who?” a lot.

Saturday afternoon, tho, was the proverbial ‘nail in the coffin’ of my youth. Saturday, as most of you may know, was the Kentucky Derby. And for those sane individuals who don’t want to wallow around drunk in the infield, staying home and having a party is the next best thing.

The folks that live across the street from us were having just such a party. And they had rented a Moon Bounce for all the kiddies. Needless to say, a large, inflated, bouncy, red, blue and yellow thing is quite the child magnet. It must have sent out one hell of signal because within a couple of hours of inflation, every kid in a 5 block area was hanging out on our street.

Which is fine. I don’t care.

But they meandered from the Moon Bounce to congregate in the street on their skateboards and scooters. Which is still fine. They’re kids, they’re having fun.

Then they started wandering from front yard to front yard. A whole slew of them. About 20 crotch-fruit ages 7-13. And they eventually worked their way over to our yard.

Which, and this may surprise you, still doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if the local street urchins play in our yard or our driveway. Hell, as long as I don’t have to play with them.

But then, a couple of the boys started a shoving match, which escalated into an even bigger shoving match, which ended up in our front flower bed, which I had just planted with flowers less than 24 hours prior. When I saw one of our solar lights get knocked over and a sneakered foot stomp into said flower bed, well... my inner ‘mom’ got really peeved.

Up went the window and out my head came. “OK, guys, I don’t mind if yall play in the yard or the driveway, but you need to stay away from the lights and the flowers.”

That got their attention. A couple of them apologized and the mob migrated to the next yard, still shoving each other.

So there you go. The third and final sign that I am officially old. I’m yelling at the neighbors’ kids to “Get off the lawn!”

A-Haunting We Will Go

2009-04-04T14:15:00.002-05:00

Good news: Last weekend a troupe of our Haunted folks ventured out to St. Louis for the Haunt Trade Show.

Bad news: Since it's only a 'Haunt' show, and not a Haunt, Halloween and Costume show, it was a lot smaller that what we seen in the past. a lot of our favorite companies were not there.

Good news: We bought some cool stuff, kept it all way under budget, and got a ton of ideas for this season.

Bad news: Prices on everything went way up, so our purchasing was limited.

Good news: This was one of the few trips that I did NOT feel the urge to kill anyone after it was over. Everyone had a good time, was well-behaved and no one pissed me off.

More good news: The drive was nice, traffic getting into St. Louis was a breeze, our hotel was very posh and literally right across the street from the Convention Center.

Bad news: One of our drivers had a brain fart on the way home and, well, had some bad car-karma (locked auto, something about driving off with a gas pump...)

Good news: Like I said, we have a ton of great ideas for this year's Haunt.

Bad news: We need a bigger house. We have so many ideas that we don't have the space for all of them.

Good news: We have a lot of costumes, sets and construction projects to get started on, and we have help coming from various sources. Let's just say it's good to have a spouse who's an avid gardener and a dad who into the tool and die trade.

And videos? Yes, we have them...

Old people and their walkers:

Talk about driving someone up the walls:

Happy Bat. Happy Bat is hungry:

Death has come for you all, and is staying for the all-you-can-eat buffet:

How not to lose your head. And that horse could use a sandwich:

C'mon, stink!

2009-03-23T17:18:00.005-05:00

"Road kill has its seasons just like anything.
It's possums in the autumn and it's farm cats in the spring."

It's apparent that when Tom Waits wrote that, he hadn't traveled to Kentucky yet. But I think Mr. Loudon Wainwright the Third got it right when he wrote this one.

You can definitely tell that warmer weather is upon us, friends and neighbors, by the number of flattened, furry, formerly live things paving the roads. And it's not just the aroma of blooming trees and budding flowers that announces spring's arrival, nor is it the scent of fresh-cut grass or even a charcoal grill.

Oh, no. It's skunk. Dead skunk. Dead, flat, crispy, flakey, stinky skunk.

Oh, sure, you'll see your roadkill squirrel with its paper-thin body now one with the pavement with its fluffy tail still flappin' in the breeze as cars whiz by. And there's the occasional possum that's a large grey lump with its rat-like tail stretched across the road. And, the ever-tragic dog or cat that was once someone's beloved pet.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, can out-do the absolute stench of skunk.

And unfortunately, our little neck of the woods has become Skunk Central. That means the roadkill is unfathomable. The streets are practically carpeted with the damn things, like little smelly throw rugs all over the place.

I'm not sure why our burb is the Mecca in which all skunks must dwell. Perhaps it's a spiritual thing. Maybe the breeding is just too good here. We must have better tasting garbage than other areas in town because the Spouse and I noticed it shortly after we moved into our house almost 5 years ago. Seems that J-town and Fern Creek is THE place to live and work for skunks.

One night last fall friend Nicograph was visiting and the three of us were lounging on our deck. We had mentioned to her about the wildlife we see scampering in the area and how we seemed blessed with skunks. At that moment, Fate intervened to prove our point and we caught that strong, acidic and familiar scent. Needless to say, Nicograph was impressed. To the Spouse and I, it was old hat.

So the Spouse and I have a saying: "Welcome to J-town! Here's your free skunk." Seriously, we have plenty to go around and we'd appreciate it if you took one home with you to help control our population.

Just this morning, at a dark and early 6am, I'm walking down the driveway to grab our newspaper and lo and behold, there's a skunk just a-waddlin' across the cul de sac. His fat little striped body was just rolling along with his tail up like a damn flagpole.

Now we have killer bunnies that greet the sunrise in our front yard all the time (I'm serious, these fuckers are HUGE). We have a plethora of neurotic squirrels that are constantly scampering around on our roof. We have possums that sneak around in our backyard and even a few foxes that stare at us as we drive out of the neighborhood on our way to work. Hell, we even have hawks and falcons fly around all the time.

Oh, yeah. And we had those raccoons shitting on our deck last year.

But dammit, the skunks are taking over. Don't get me wrong, I love animals and I hate to see anything squished on the road, but hell, every spring you can't even open your windows for the stench.

So all you deer hunters, howz about this year you try hunting something different. We guarantee you won't go home empty-handed.

Hodge Podge and Malarkey

2009-03-14T09:00:00.003-05:00

So it's been a long, uneventful month. The Spouse is still looking for work. Right now he's got one part-time thing going with a second part-time thing coming in the next week or so. We're being very frugal right now so we're still keeping our head above water.

In the meantime, all those gift cards we got during the holidays have been very handy, allowing us to go out and shop and have a nice meal or two. And one guy at work that I do free design stuff on the side for landed us a pair of tickets to the car show, so that fun excursion has helped break up this dull end of winter.

Good friend GC did us a huge favor and fixed a sudden leak in our kitchen sink. I come home to see the kitchen floor covered in everything that lived under the sink and have the Spouse tell me we have a leak in the faucet. So I get down there and tinker and end up creating a second leak on the incoming water line. Now not only am I pissed at myself for not leaving well-enough alone, I go into full panic mode and insist that the Spouse call GC to see about fixing it.

Well, bless his heart, he came out to our house and gave it a look. He tightened up one little bolt that stopped one leak, then he and the Spouse heded over to Home Depot (using another gift card - yay!) to get a repair kit for the second leak.

Needless to say, e are eternally grateful. Once we get back in a stable financial situation, we'll be taking GC and his lady MF out for a nice dinner somewhere.

One thing we didn't have a gift card for was dental treatment. I maxed out my insurance benefits this January getting my teeth resurfaced. Altho my teeth looked fine before, I'm a terrible teeth-grinder in my sleep and, over a period of several years, had managed to grind all of my front teeth flat. I didn't realize how bad it was until the resurfacing was done.

Wow, I have teeth again. With points. Zowie.

But in order to keep my tense self from committing the same dental crime again, I got a Night Guard to prevent the grinding. Now I was expecting some big hunk of rubber thing like what boxers wear. Instead I got this:
Yeah, it's that tiny. And it cost $400. And no, insurance didn't cover it. But it does prevent me from grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw in my sleep. So no more sore jaws or migraines in the morning.

One thing I am looking forward to is this year's Halloween Trade Show. We didn't get to go to last years since they moved it to Las Vegas. And when you're working with an all volunteer, non-profit group, air fare for even one person was just not in our budget.

But this year it came back to the midwest and is in St. Louis later this month. Apparently, the show promoters lost their ass last year since the majority of Haunts and props and effects manufcturers are on the east coast and in the midwest. Seems like a lot of us haunt people are in the same boat (or coffin). Attendance must have sucked.

This year we have about a dozen people going. And I'm really impressed with the ideas the crew has come up with so far. This year's theme could be the creepiest one yet so I'm excited about all the design possibilities. I've been listening to Doomed Radio on iTunes and have discovered some very interesting stuff. I mean some really fucked up stuff. Stuff that actually freaks ME out. We're talking damn disturbing.

One thing I've never liked about other Haunts is when they use music as a background soundtrack. Once I hear music, I don't feel like I'm in a Haunted Place, I feel like I'm on a cheap movie set. My philosophy is this: in real life, if you and your buddies were to go exploring in an old, abandoned building that was reputed to be haunted, you wouldn't hear an orchestra or a death metal band playing all around you. You'd hear pipes banging, water dripping, creaks, hisses and maybe a moan or whisper.

So, thanks to the internet (have I mentioned lately how much I love this internet?) I've found some insane stuff for this year's Haunt soundtrack. Hours worth.

But that's it really. That's all that's going on. I apologize for not being here more often. Just haven't felt inspired. The Writing Fairy is holding out on me again. But I'll be back with photos and stories from the Halloween Trade Show. In the meantime, I leave you with this heart-warming and uplifting piece:

Lux is dead, and I'm not feeling too good myself.

2009-02-05T13:19:00.004-05:00

Damn.

It’s been a hell of a week.

I’ve purposely disappeared from the interwebs for a while since the Spouse lost his job.

Yeah, you read that right. The Spouse is one of many victims of the shitty economy. We both know quite a few people who are unemployed. We were really hoping that it wouldn’t happen to us, but it did.

I hate being unemployed, and I hate it when I hear of someone else being unemployed. I’ve been there so many damn times the unemployment office knew me on a first name basis for a while. For several years, I had a curse of shutting down businesses or forcing them to pack up and move to other states.

Therefor, when I hear of anyone I know getting shit-canned, my heart sinks and my stomach lurches. So when it happened to the Spouse, it was even worse. Multiply those heart and stomach things by 10.

But in a way it was kind of a relief. The Spouse’s job had become toxic and it seemed like every month or so they were letting someone else go. We were worried that the Spouse’s turn might be coming next. Well, unfortunately, we were right.

Now every time we get slow at my job, I almost go into panic mode. Hell, I’d be willing to empty garbage cans and sweep floor if it means keeping my job.

So I haven’t exactly been my usual happy, cynical, sarcastic, lovable self. I didn’t want to talk about it and just wanted to crawl into a cave and disappear. And, dear readers (all 5 of ya) I didn’t want that evil spreading its gnarly fingers thru the interwebs onto your monitor and into your brains.

Plus I see this morning that Lux Interior of The Cramps died. Fuck. That fucking sucks. I liked The Cramps. I regret I never got to see them perform live. Damn.

I find myself saying fuck and damn a lot lately.

Oh, and that mega-ice storm that goose-stepped thru Kentucky last week? I guess I should count our blessings in that we were some of the few folks who didn’t lose power. But our backyard looks like the military has been testing missiles in it. We have one, ONE, full size tree in our backyard that lost a couple of branches. But all of our surrounding neighbors have a fuck-ton of trees, so guess where most of them landed?
Looks like we’ll be having a little chainsaw party this weekend.

On the note of counting those blessings, the Spouse, bless his heart, jumped right into job hunting immediately and has been busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest making calls, sending emails and posting resumes. And his work has paid off already. He’s got a temp job lined up to start Monday. It’s a hell of a pay cut, but dammit, it’s a JOB.

In the meantime we’re gonna cut out all unnecessary spending and start tightening out budget belts on everything else. Guess I’ll go back to being a coupon-cutting fanatic.

So to all of you poor unemployed slobs, my heart goes out to you and I hope things get better for everyone. And to you, Lux, you crazy, sexy, wild, psychobilly son-of-a-bitch, we’ll miss you terribly. Say hi to Elvis for me, ‘kay?

Random thoughts and links, part 114

2009-01-20T16:03:00.003-05:00

Well, well, well, it HAS been a long time, hasn't it? Last time we had a chat I was still bloody and freaked out after an SUV nearly ran over me in my own place of employment.

But I healed up nicely. The cuts on my forehead are gone and the cuts on my ankle are getting there. I lost a few trinkets that once decorated my desk, not to mention a good pair of knee highs, but I can deal with that better than my body being crushed and broken.

Speaking of broken, they're finishing up the repair work on our building. We have windows again. The outside masonry doesn't look too hot now but that repair is also in the works. We're still waiting on replacement computers. My iMac at work has a soft LCD screen, and it sure has a purdy texture now, what with all the glass bits that went slashing across it. I have a hole about 1/16" of dead pixels that makes working in Photoshop a real bitch, but I'm managing.

In the meantime, I had a blast watching the Inauguration today via CNN/Facebook. It's nice to know that the rest of the planet doesn't hate out guts anymore.

Yes, you read that right. I said, "Facebook." I know, I know, I swore I wasn't gonna join any more web communities, but peer pressure from a select few wore me down. Plus, MySpace is getting so juvenile. If the assinign survey don't make me feel old, the overpowering flash ads keep crashing my browser.

I've hooked up with old Spymac pals from a couple years ago on Facegroup. (For those of you Spymac Old-Timers who didn't know, there is a Spymac Old Skool group there). And some other people from my very distant past have reached out across the lines.

Facebook has become addictive. So if you're looking for me, you know where to start.

And I have a plethora of goofy links:

I personally thought this stuff tasted like crap, but damn, the bottle is so fucking cool.

First is was the lolcats, then came the loldogs. Finally, there is... oh dear god no...

What to do when the escalator is broken (turn down your speakers... music NFSW).

And you thought that cat had problems? This dog is defective as well.

Best recycling ever. Soylent Pencils is people!

Guess what you bitches are getting from me next year?

Poetry for everyman, alive or (un)dead.

Ok, folks, everybody sing along!

Forget Prada, Chanel or whatever scent Liz Taylor is hawking these days. This is the fragrance to drive your man wild.

I know this late, but you can still enjoy a little creepy Christmas all year long.

Attention spooky people. Go here, big fun.

The most charming, dainty and sweet-natured ladies you'll ever meet. They've become my new heros.

And you think YOUR Monday was bad?

2008-12-29T17:17:00.006-05:00

Today didn't seem too unusual, nor too terribly awful. I woke up with a full and slightly hurting head from the Ohio Valley Plague, but it wasn't enough to keep me home. After two Day-Quil I was off to work.

The Spouse was nice enough to take me to lunch (since he's off this week) and I had returned to work afterwards with a full, happy belly.

It was a slow day, being the time between the December holidays, so I was just sitting in my chair, surfing the web (actually uploading photos to FaceBook) when from my left

BOOM!

I scream. Loud. My body tensed. I'm aware that something is on me, covering me. I open my eyes briefly to see a thick fog of dust. I blink and notice the cloud is dissipating and I stand up. Whatever is covering me slithers off. I look to my right and see male co-worker #1 walking away from me quickly. As I walk away from whatever just boomed I notice female co-worker on the floor in a combat crawl.

I'm still not aware of what has happened.

Male co-worker #2 comes up to me and asks, "Are you ok?" I do a quick mental inventory and note that I'm not in pain nor is my thinking muddled. I say yes and look to my left, where the boom came from.

There's a car in the window. Aimed right at me (or at least where I was sitting). The bumper is on the floor just inches from my desk. Two whole windows are gone, the metal frames badly bent. The corner column (including a shelf that held a lot of my stuff - candy dish, Chinese good fortune cat, clip art book, font books) is a disaster. The interior portion is gone. I mean GONE. The outside portion is missing about 1/3 of its bricks and cement. There're ducts and chunks of wall all over.

There are (summoning Carl Sagan) billions and billions of miniscule bits of glass everywhere. As far as 30 feet away.

My workstation is covered with shrapnel.

A couple of customer service folks come over to me to see if I'm ok. One of them says, "You better get to the bathroom. Your forehead is bleeding."

As they say this I'm aware of a warm, wet sensation on my left ankle. I look down and see multiple holes in my black hose one both feet and spot the blood on my left ankle.

"You might want to take that shirt off. You're covered in glass."

"Yeah, you'll want to take your hair down, too. You have glass in your hair."

I reach up and feel a bunch of small glass chunks on my carefully braided hair.

Fuck. What the hell just happened?

I shuffle off to the bathroom with one of the customer service gals. That's when I notice my shoes are full. Of glass. I have to dump them out on the floor before I can go anywhere.

She follows me into the bathroom and proceeds to groom me like a primate, picking off the larger, more visual chunks of glass from my head. I take off and discard my destroyed hose and take gander at my ankle. It looks like a pit bull chewed on it. Then I look in the mirror.

My forehead isn't that bad. I have about 4 or 5 very small cuts that are barely oozing blood. But I have a glittery hairstyle.

Someone had handed me an old workshirt to change into. My turtleneck and shawl are dusty with glass. My pants look awful. I roll up my pants legs to check for more wounds but don't see any more.

During this whole ordeal, I'm laughing. I'm shaken, hell, I'm freaked out, but I'm laughing. In a situaion like this, you haven't to make light of it somehow.

Once I get the old shirt on, I emerge from the bathroom to get see what the fuck just happened.

That's when I see my workstation.
Yeah, it's petty much covered with glass. But check this shit out. The iMac is still running!

But yeah, I was sitting right there. And you can see how close the car was.
See? There's the car. Now, like most people, I'm instantly picturing a drunk bastard, or some dingbat on a cellphone, or some moron strung out on drugs. But no, twas not the case. Male co-worker#2 ran out to check on the driver after checking on me. Apparently the poor bastard passed out behind the wheel. He claimed he remembers coughing real hard, and then he was in our building. Sounds like a stroke to me.

I sit down in a chair and someone brings me a paper towel for my bloody ankle. I'm dabbing my wound, cursing the whole time: "Fuck! Sonofabitch!"

You would cuss, too. Cars djust don't come flying thru your window every day. And it really starts to sink in how really fucking close this car was to mowing me down. If it had not been for the foot-and-a-half of concrete foundation around our building (which is 90% glass) I would be a lot flatter and not as pretty.

We were all walking around in a daze. People (even me) are pulling out their cell phones and taking pictures.

The police, fire and EMS were there in record time and they got that poor bastard strapped down to a gurney and hauled him outta there. They all interviewed me and my female co-worker (who whacked her bad knee on the way down to her combat crawl). I didn't need medical attention. Physically I was fine. My thinking was clear and I felt ok. I was pretty shaken, and I have a bloody ankle, but other than that I was all right.

I called the Spouse between interviews and told him the whole story. He must have said, "Holy Shit!!" a dozen times.

I get off the phone and now I wanna see the damage.
Hey, there's my workstation again, or what's left of it. See that pile of rubble on the floor? That's what hit me. There's a black chair left of center that has a black and white mass on it. That's my new hat and scarf (gift from Nicograph) and my coat, now buried under a mountain of glass.

My cell phone and iPod suvived. They found my keys, my tote bag and my purse. And one framed picture of the Spouse. I'm hoping the rest of my stuff is in there, somewhere.

I talked to a few more cops and EMTs, then filled out the workman's comp paperwork. After a comforting hug from several folks I packed up my glass-covered belonging to go home. Hell, might as well. It's not like I'm gonna get any work done today.

I have to call in tomorrow morning to see what the skinny is on me coming in. Our IT department is supposed to move our Macs to another area and set us up temporarily.

Every time I look at these photo, I get freaked out. I keep thinking how close that car was...

Shitty gifts

2008-12-17T13:32:00.003-05:00

A week ago friend Kim sent me this link of “10 Gifts We Don’t Want.” She specifically wanted me to see number 3.

Now of course me being the weird, spooky person that I am, I nearly drooled over this fine piece of furniture (if only I had an extra $3500 laying around). And I realize that only someone like me could really appreciate the beauty of a coffin couch. So I can understand why most of the general populace wouldn’t be too keen on having a comfy coffin couch in the their family room to lounge on while watching tv.

But out of curiosity I went thru the rest of the unwanted gifts according to MSN and was baffled. Ok, sure, the Fundies are completely stupid and the gold pills are just down right ridiculous, but some of the other things intrigued me...

First off, the Life Gem. I know, I know, once again we’re dealing with something of a morbid nature. But honestly, why plant beloved Aunt Matilda in some field somewhere you have to drive to to visit, in an expensive, decorative box you’ll never see again, where her decaying hull (along with thousands of others) takes up land that could be used for farmland, housing, parks or roads; or keep her cremains in an urn sitting on top of your entertainment center where it could possibly get knocked off by a small child or the family pet, thereby spilling all over the carpet (and you know that no amount of rug shampooing will get that out).

(gawd, that was a long sentence)

Why do either of those things when you can keep part of Auntie Matilda with you forever, and maybe even pass on to generations after you. Call me goofy, but I kinda like the idea of the Life Gem.

"Say, that's a beautiful ring. What kind of stone is that?"

"Grandma."

Then there’s the wall vase in the shape of a hand. It reminds me of the hand hooks from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Apparently there’s a whole line of hand decor. How cool is that? If the hand-shaped wall doohickies are a little out of your budget there’s always the smaller and more affordable finger hooks.

But my favorite is the Poo Pourri. I read about this stuff earlier this month in BUST magazine and the gals there really liked it.

Now I know what you’re thinking... I can already hear the eeeews. But really, think about this; how many times have you been out in public, or even worse, at someone’s house, and you really REALLY have to hit the bathroom. Last night’s chili cheese dog is not sitting well and is ready to leave the building. A courtesy flush can only mask the noise, not the smell. That’s when having a handy-dandy bottle of Poo Pourri in your purse can save the day. You spritz this stuff about 4 times in the water of the crapper before going. It supposedly creates a barrier on the surface of the water to keep the offending odor down while adding a pleasant aroma.

What a brilliant idea! Do you know how many times I wish I’d had something like this in the past? Well, no more.

I found their website. I ordered some. A lot. So guess what some of you peeps are getting this year?

I kept one bottle for myself and I tried it out at work the other day. It was a morning after a dinner of some of the Spouse’s soon-to-be-world-famous chili. Yeah, I know that’s gross but we all poop so deal with it and bear with me...

Zowie. No stink. Nice lemony scent. Amazing. I'm impressed.

So, what would you rather get? A fruitcake, an inflatable fruitcake, squirrel underpants, a coffin couch or some Poo Pourri? Yeah, I thought so...

Have Yourself an Evil Little Christmas

2008-12-05T16:48:00.014-05:00

The other day my co-worker (not the dog-kicking, wife-slapping one referred to in the last post, but a younger, geekier one - and I mean geekier in the best sense of the word) asked me if I had heard of the Krampus or Krampusnacht.

I said no.

He was shocked and said, "You?! You've never heard of Krampus, the Christmas Demon?"

*blink blink* "The Christmas Demon... ?"

At this point I thought he was yanking my chain but he continued, "Go on. Google it."

And I did.

Wow.
Wow!
WOW!
HOLY SHIT!!
How could I, Hollygoyle, Queen of Halloween, fan of all that is spooky, collector of dark things, NOT know about the Krampus?!

Do you have any idea what this does for me as far as Christmas goes? Not that I dislike Christmas. I don't actually. I honestly kinda like the holiday season. Since I'm non-religious the whole Jesus thing doesn't appeal to me, but I can dig Winter Solstice and I love New Year's Eve.

But this... to quote Keanu Reeves... "Whoa." Christmas with a big, furry, horned demon. This might actually make listening to my third and final co-worker's endless tirade of Christmas music (5 days a week, 8 hours a day, Thanksgiving thru Christmas) tolerable.

No, I'm sorry. Scratch that. THAT is a whole different circle of hell. There is no salvation from that, except deafness.

But back to our lovely Krampus. He is, in a sense, the alter-ego of Saint Nicholas and hunts down and torments bad little children. He lives in Austria and Hungary and December 5 is his day (or night I should say). He often carries bells or chains to frighten people and a large stick or broom to 'birch' the ladies with.

Birching is basically a spanking.

I am not making this up. Go google it yourself if you don't believe me.

I don't know about yall, but I wanna party with this guy.

Why is this not a big thing here in the States yet? I read somewhere in my Krampus research that it's a dying tradition since some politically correct zealots feel it might scar the children.

And Santa Claus doesn't? Good gravy, how many photos have you seen with some precious little crotch fruit wailing and leaking out all kinds of facial fluids while being held prisoner on some old white man's lap.

Think about it... some old bearded white guy flying a bunch of reindeer (who probably eat a lot of fiber - now THERE'S a visual for ya) all night long, lurking around your family room at night while you're asleep, eating your cookies and drinking your milk (or whatever you left on the table). That's creepy. That will scar children.

Fuck the children. If they're spoiled little snipes that are misbehaving anyway they deserve a good scarring for good ol' Krampus. Krampusnacht should be for us adults. Zowie, the fun you could have! It'd be like a Mardi Gras/Halloween for December! Forget showing your boobs for beads. Wiggle you butt for a good birching! My god, I can see the T-shirt now...
Ok, that's it. NEXT year we are definitely having Krampus Night at our house. It'll be huge. Everybody's invited. We'll whip up some Gluhwein (we add Glogg, cinnamon sticks and mulling spices to ours - damn tasty) and some Christmas Crawdads, put on some horns and start swatting each other on the rump with brooms.

Sounds like a party to me. Yall coming?

From the oven, with love

2008-12-03T20:19:00.003-05:00

So this co-worker and I have this running joke. Toward the end of the day, he’ll say, “Ya know, I think I’m gonna go home... kick the dog and smack the wife.”

To which I’ll reply, “Ya know, I think I’m gonna go home... kick the cat, smack the husband and say, ‘Bitch, fix me dinner.’”

Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s a JOKE. We say this crap all the time. And our other co-workers giggle every time we do.

But, seriously, I would never kick the cat or smack to husband in order to get dinner. He loves being in the kitchen without me having to resort to violence. Seriously.

I tell, ya, there’s nothing sexier than a man in the kitchen fixing something tasty. Did I mention his sexy kitchen attire? His apron, chef and baker’s hats?

His chili is amazing. He makes a hearty chicken stew. His omelets are to die for. And he loves baking. (*eyes sparkles, eyelashes flutter*)

A few years ago I mentioned how much I loved gingerbread. This lit a fire in the Spouse’s heart that had us zipping over to a local cake and candy supply house looking for rolling pins, cookie cutters and a multitude of sprinkles.

In perusing the cookie cutters we found the traditional snowman and Christmas tree, star and reindeer. And then we found... the crawdad.

Now it could be a lobster. They both have the same shape, ya know. But considering it’s about 4 inches long, it leads one to think more of a crawdad.

We thought, why the hell not. It’s cute and different. We brought it home with the rest of our purchases and the Spouse got started baking what would soon be a much-desired traditional treat.

He found a damn skippy recipe for gingerbread cookies and the fever set in. Baking fever. And when the fever is on him, you can’t stop him. I don’t remember how many dozen he cranked out that first night. We had so many there was no way we were gonna eat them all. So we filled up a couple of food tubs each and took them to our respective places of employment.

And of course no one quite knew how to take the crawdad shaped cookies. That wasn’t a usual Christmas cookie design. We got some weird looks and a few questions. But that didn’t matter. Those cookies disappeared fast. Even the crawdads.

In years after, we stopped using the other cookie shapes. So now all gingerbread cookies that come out of our kitchen are crawdads. Christmas crawdads. And let me tell ya, these little gingerbread mudbugs are in high demand.

The week of Thanksgiving I already had a couple of co-workers ask, “Is your husband gonna make those Christmas crawdad cookies this year?”

And the good news is... yes! He’s already started. Last Wednesday night was “Ghost Hunters” night at our house and best friend Nicograph is always there. She happily got recruited into cookie decorating. The Spouse does the baking, I mix the icing and we all pitch in with sugar sprinkles, dragees and other colorful doo-dads to decorate those tasty bits of crawdad goodness.

I brought my usual food tub full of crawdads into work Monday. It was like watching a school of piranha skeletonize a cow.

But fret not, friends and neighbors, especially you local ones. The Spouse stocked up on all his ingredients before the Christmas baking droves swooped in at the grocery. There'll be plenty more crawdads coming soon.

Random thoughts and links, part 113

2008-11-10T16:49:00.005-05:00

I'm loving this new Blogger Follower thing. I'm cyber-meeting some of the most interesting life-forms (and I mean that in the best sense of the term). It's a lot like the good ol' days of Spymac.

And I really enjoyed everyone's suggestions for horror films...

Stephen: I really liked The Sixth Sense, but I have to admit... I saw the ending coming about 30 minutes into the movie. *SPOILER ALERT* In the scene where Bruce Willis' character meets his wife for their anniversary, and she slaps down the ring and says, "Happy Anniversary" rather disgustedly, I thought, "He's dead. That's why she's acting he way she is. She can't see him because he's really dead. Only the kids can see him."

Realmcovet: Heh heh heh... Red Vines... good thing you weren't eating spaghetti.

Lakelady: I have not seen Crawlspace (altho the name alone is tripping me out) nor The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake, so I'll have to add those to my list of stuff to see.

Papa: I have seen both versions of Nosferatu and I love both of them. Even the silent version has a great visual element of creepiness to it. And I've seen both versions of the Ring. Excellent ghost story!

I'll have to wave the Hammer Collection under the Spouse's nose for future gift-giving ideas ;)

--------------

In the meantime, I've been collecting a vast amount of web goodies, so here ya go...

If we don't already, we need one of these in the States.

Our wedding cake (complete with spider webs and skeleton couple topper) has nothing on these.

I love Adam and Jamie. Who else could do this is in 80 milliseconds.

This man is GENIUS!

I don't know any of these people, but after reading, you'll understand why they're here.

Great site to leave on a co-worker's desktop. Fun for the whole office!

Most user-friendly weather forecasting site EVER.

The world disasters the media WON'T be telling you about.

You know something is truly amazing when it has its own news website.

Most of you have seen this by now, right? Well, now there's a full-length video. I think I just ruptured something.

And finally, no matter how bd you might feel, no matter how bad a day you might be having, if you go here, you will be wetting your pants laughing. Promise.

Where is Duranfan? In here. With us.

2008-11-05T14:15:00.011-05:00

So, Halloween may be over for the masses, but for me it’s a year round thing. Hell, I still have two more weekends of Tarot Card readings at the Mansion for their Ghostly Sleepovers. And if you’ve ever seen our house, you would know I rule as Queen of Halloween, what with the gargoyles, skeletons and skulls all over the place, the various books on death, ghosts, witchcraft and other occult stuff, and the growing collection of horror films.

Love me some horror movies. I’m slowly building up my collection of old Hammer and American International movies, those wonderful classics starring Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee and Vincent Price. And I love the cheesy slasher flicks, too. If it has a silent, crazed, chainsaw wielding maniac, I’m all for it.

But for the most part, as much as I love these movies, they don’t scare me. I just don’t scare easily. Sure, if you sneak up behind me and yell “Boo!” I’ll probably jump and screech. I’m jumpy, just not easily scared.

So when other people say they can’t handle horror movies because they get too scared, I think to myself, “Huh. Lightweights.”

But honestly, out of all the scary movies I’ve seen (and we’re talking thousands) there’s only been three that freaked me out...

1. The Exorcist - I saw this for the first time ever when I was about 11 years old. Cut. I mean heavily edited for television. I could not sleep for weeks. I couldn’t handle being by myself and I nearly freaked out in the dark. It took me forever to get over it. It was several years later before I got to see the un-cut version. By then I was ‘cured.’ I’d gotten over my fear of the movie and could watch it repeatedly without losing it. The version we own now is the “Version You’ve Never Seen!,” complete with the infamous ‘spider walk.’ The Spouse and I love that scene so much we back it up and watch it 3 to 5 times before continuing on with the movie.
There is one aspect of the movie that does still kinda get me. It’s this face:
Damn. Yes, I know that’s the actress Eileen Dietz, but still. That face flashing on the screen for just a couple of frames is just whacked. I was so inspired by that face that I painted it on one entire wall of the Haunted House.
Yup, it’s still there, too.

2. Alien - This is one of those few movies I could watch every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of. I love the fact that it was written by Dan O’Bannon, the same guy who gave us “Return of the Dead” (“Braaaaaainssss!”) and that wonderfully bad sci-fi comedy, “Dark Star” (“Here boy, want your mouse? Nice mouse”).
When Dark Star, his pet project with fellow film student, John Carpenter, tanked, he said, “Well, if I can’t make them laugh, I’ll make them scream instead.” I don’t know about you, but I think he did a damn good job.

I saw Alien when I 10. Even at that young age I loved scary movies. I’d been watching them since I was 5 - no shit. My first horror movie was “The Sentinel,” but more on that later.

So there I was, a horror film-lovin’ 10-year-old that nearly leapt out of my seat and screamed for my parents to “TAKE ME HOME! I DON’T WANNA SEE THIS ANYMORE!!” when the famous chest-burster scene erupted on-screen.
Apparently, my reaction was very similar to the members of the cast when the scene was shot. Actor John Hurt and the crew were the only ones on set that day who know what was coming. The looks on the other actors’ faces? Those are genuine. And poor Veronica Cartwright had no clue that jet of blood was aimed right at her.
3. The Blair Witch Project - I know some people hated this film and didn’t find it scary at all. But it wigged me out something fierce. After seeing this movie opening weekend I went home by myself to my then world’s smallest 1-bedroom apartment. And every little sound got a little louder. And very little shadow got a little longer. I couldn’t sleep for several nights afterward.

So what got me in this movie that other movies don’t have? The fact that you never saw what got them. There was no chainsaw-wielding maniac, no crazed killer in a hockey mask, no diabolical torturer or spawn of Satan. All you saw was what “it” left for the victims to find and what happened to the last two survivors at the end. And even THAT is unclear.
That final scene still disturbs me. Even tho I know the actors are alive and well (and “Heather” went on to shoot a few commercials for Steak ‘N Shake) I still get weirded out those last few minutes.

Now back to my first ever horror movie. My parents took me to the drive-in to see “The Sentinel,” which is one of the many ‘demonic’ movies to come out during the 70s on the tails of “The Exorcist” and “The Omen.” The movie itself is very strange with several bizarre scenes and lots of disturbing imagery, but this scene is the one that’ll get ya.

I triple dog-dare you to watch that, by yourself, in the dark, and not wet your pants.

Take Five

2008-10-25T09:56:00.001-05:00

Thoughts from the Big Chair

2008-10-23T09:27:00.002-05:00

For the past few weekends I’ve been doing a lot of pondering. Well, there’s not much else to do, since I’m sitting on my big, furry ass, waiting for folks to plop down their money so they can snuggle up with me and get their photo taken to document the event.

Early in the evening you might find me reading a book, but once the crowds start showing up, I have more fun just people watching. Nicograph (our photographer) and the Spouse (managing the gift shop sales) keep me company and we all share in some good laughs at some of our observations.

But, like I said, I have some deep thoughts while I’m perched on my big bench, overlooking the crowd...

1. Normally I don’t like being stared at. It freaks me out. I’m terribly paranoid most of the time (ask the Spouse about my habit of locking doors) but when I’m made-up all horrible and ugly I don’t mind being looked at. So go ahead and stare. For 5 bucks you can take it a picture, it’ll last longer. But, really, look all you want. If you stare long enough I might wave, stand up and freak you and your pals out, or do a trick.

2. But don’t be obnoxious about it. If you come to our Haunted House and you’re being a jerk I already hate you. And I am the first wall of security in our establishment. So if you come in with a chip on shoulder or with an attitude I’ll be alerting the rest of our security to be looking for you. And we have two police officers on the premises that we’d love to introduce you to.

3. Don’t come in drunk and/or stoned either. I hate you, too. I just can’t comprehend the mentality that says, “Hey, let’s get drunk and go to a Haunted House!” You dumb ass. You just wasted money on something you either won’t remember or will get tossed out of because of your behavior. Smooth move, Exlax.

4. Another thing about the drunks and stoners... Do you realize how bad you smell? I notice these things, especially when you slam yourself next to me for a photo. I’m nearly dying from the fumes. I could easily get a buzz just from your aroma alone.

5. Yes, I AM real. Yes, I can hear you. And yes, I talk. Feel free to talk to me and ask questions. Just don’t be a putz about it. If you are polite, genuinely curious and friendly, I’ll chatter with you as long as you’re in line waiting to get into the House. But if you’re being an asshole the most you’ll get out of me is a shake of the head. I don’t communicate with morons. I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person.

6. Like I said, I AM real. And, if you ask first, you can touch me. You can touch my ‘face,’ you can shake my hand, you can feel my fur or touch my wings. (I tell ya, I haven’t had this much physical action since my younger, single gal days.) But do NOT grab me, try to pull off my ‘face’ (it’s glued onto my real face) or pinch my fingers. Some little tween girl did that last week and I wanted to kill her.

7. I am NOT ‘Jeepers Creepers.’ I started this costume years before that damn movie was released. Don’t get me wrong, I love that movie. But I am NOT the creature from that film. I barely even resemble that thing. And we don’t do famous movie characters at our House. Go somewhere else for that stuff. All of our stuff is original. Nicograph and I got so tired of hearing ‘Jeepers Creepers’ that she made me a sign last weekend that says, “I am NOT Jeepers Creepers! I am a GARGOYLE! Get it right!” I haven’t used it yet, but I may have to.

Oh, well, it could be worse. At least I’m not hearing ‘the flying monkey from The Wizard of Oz’ any more.

8. Our volunteers are wonderful. I can’t say that enough. So many of them check on me all night, making sure I’m ok and well-hydrated. These folks are bringing me soft drinks all night long. And since I’ve turned Directorship over to my protege, B, things have gone very well and I personally have been a lot less stressed. Which is a good thing. The Spouse is happy.

So one more weekend and then it’s a wrap. And I can look forward to Halloween Night in our neighborhood. And then I can take a much needed rest from spooking.

Except we have not one, not two, but THREE (yes, three) Ghostly Sleepovers in the Mansion for the first three Saturdays in November. Which means I’m pulling three all-nighters doing Tarot Card readings for our ghost-hunting guests.

Yeah, Halloween really is an all-year event for me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Say cheese!

2008-10-20T12:15:00.003-05:00

One of the biggest challenges in the Haunt business is coming up with new ideas every season. Some haunts keep the same rooms and props every year because they are so popular. Our organization, however, tries to keep our house full of fresh, new things. Sure, we’ve had some favorites we might have used a couple years in a row, and there have also been a few old things we dug out of the closet and gave a fresh coat of paint to, but for the most part we try to offer something different every year.

One of our most successful concepts was the Casket Ride. We took a real casket (a nice looking black one with gold trim, I might add), ripped out the metal spring and added padding and a removable lining, propped that sucker on a long, inclined ramp with industrial rollers and viola. A ride to die for, literally.

We even had a camera mounted over the Loading Zone so that people waiting in line could watch some poor bastard lay down in the coffin, the lid get closed, and the coffin roll off camera. That alone had some folks dampening their drawers.

This year we were inspired by a get-up that occurs at a lot of amusement parks. As soon as you walk in the entrance, some employee and a goober in a big, floppy character costume approach you and your group, snap a picture and hand you a ticket with a number on it. At the end of the day, you report to a booth and, lo and behold, there’s you and your crew with the floppy-costumed critter available in 8 X 10, wallet size and keychain size.

So it if works for them, maybe it’ll work for us. But instead of a cute, furry thing, we could have, say, and evil furry thing.

We honestly had no idea if this would even work, but we will willing to give it a try. The staff got hold of a halfway decent printer and stocked up on ink cartridges and photo paper. Nicograph (who’s been helping out at the Haunted House for quite a few years now) brought her digital camera, tripod, laptop and fabric for a backdrop.

And I brought myself, some furry legs and some big-ass wings.

We just found our next big money maker. We’re averaging about a dozen a night. And that number increases every weekend.

For 5 bucks, you and your pals can get your photo made with yours truly. So, in a sense, I’ve become a twisted version of a mall Santa.

Yes, people are more than willing to plop either themselves or their kids on my lap for a photo. Imagine using one of these for your Christmas Card this year.

So I sit on my big chair all night, eyeing the crowd ominously, while Nicograph solicits potential subjects.

Who knew we could make this much money (and have fun at the same time) and still keep our clothes on?

Best Scares, part 3

2008-10-13T09:31:00.001-05:00

As much as I love being my gargoyle alter ego, there were times back in my early days at Literally, a Haunted House that I needed a break. So once in a while I would throw on a tattered, hooded robe, make myself look sickly and slightly evil, and just wander behind groups as they ventured thru the House. I not only provided security, I got to see all the other actors in action. And I got to see customers freak out all night long.

Altho there are some tried-and-true classic scares (clowns, chainsaws, drop windows), sometimes just being silent can be way more intimidating and frightening.

And, as they always say when interviewing neighbors of a serial killer: “He was real quiet and kept to himself mostly.” It’s those quiet types you gotta watch out for.

One night I’m doing my stealth roving I notice this one woman in my current group being a general loud-mouth wise-ass. She’s crass, rude, disrespectful of our actors and a general pain in the ass. She’s blonde, aprobably in her late 30s (old enough to know better), and surprisingly not drunk. But she’s being a real bitch.

So that when I start staring. Right. At. Her. Unblinking. Eyes wide. And with those yellow cat-eye lenses, not to mention the sickly face, it’s pretty damn creepy. Hell, look at the photo. There is no sexy in that get-up.

Well, needless to say, she felt the eyes on her and glanced up to catch my unwavering gaze, and that cocky attitude went poof. I’ve never seen a face fall that fast.

As we went from room to room, I stayed behind the entire group, remaining in the background so as not to disrupt the action in each scene. But Blondie is not watching the actors. She keeps glancing at me.

And I’m not looking at anyone or anything but her. And I’m not blinking.

By the third room, she’s no longer enjoying herself. She grabs her male companion and, whispering loud enough for me to hear, says, “That thing’s looking at me.”

Blondie’s companion looks up at me but doesn’t seem to care. He’s having a good time watching the show so he doesn’t care that his girl is getting freaked out.

This continues from room to room. Blondie is getting more and more nervous, uttering “That thing’s still looking at me!” at least two more times.

And my face never changes. And I never say a word.

By the time we reach the end, Blondie is a complete mess. Once she makes it out the exit she relaxes and says to her group, “Did you guys see that thing looking at me?”

One of the nice things about being roving security is you get some decent exercise, since you’re on your feet walking all night. Another nice thing is that you are not limited to one room. Or even the House itself. You can go anywhere you want.

That includes chasing people out the door. Across the yard. Down the street.

Blondie had only a second or two of peace before I emerged from the exit, still staring at her, and started following her. Blondie broke out into a brisk walk up the street, constantly looking over her shoulder at me.

Don’t worry, friends and neighbors, the street she was on is a well-lit dead end with little traffic, so she wasn’t in danger of getting hit by a car. But getting run over by a vehicle was the last thing on her mind as she started to run. Meanwhile, I’m just walking at a leisurely pace behind her. And only her. By now her pals are howling with laughter as they watch their friend run away screaming from a slow moving spooky person.

Finally, I stopped in the middle of the road and slowly raised my right arm and pointed to her, never saying a word. It made for a nice visual.

Blondie made it home safe, sound and un-traumatized that night. How do I know this? She and her companion came back the very next week.

It’s always a compliment when you have repeat visitors in the Haunt business. It gives you that warm, sticky feeling to know you and your organization are so damn scarey that folks are willing to undergo the ordeal all over again.

So, yes, Blondie and her man came back the very next weekend. And guess who followed them thru the house again?

In the first room Blondie noticed my presence and nearly lost it. She held tenaciously to her man while nearly screaming, “It’s that thing again! It’s still looking at me!”

I’m going to give yall a few minutes to bask in this moment of great satisfaction that I, too, was experiencing....

Aaawwww, yeeeeaaahhh... This is gonna get good.

Once again, Blondie’s companions are having a great time. Once again, Blondie is a mess. Only this time the volume has been turned up to 11.

By the time we reach the exit, she’s become an Olympic sprinter. Her pals are still laughing as she dashes up the street again. And I, too, am slowly following her.

But this time I throw a little humor in the mix. Humiliation is the greatest thing to serve to someone who deserves it.

I stop in the middle of the street, just like before, but this time, in my best toddler voice, I shout, “Bye-bye, lady!”

Blondie screeches to a halt and turns around to make sure she really heard what I just said.

I put my hands to my cheeks, giggle like a little girl and go skipping (yes, skipping) back into the House.

I don’t know who was laughing harder; her friends or our staff.

I can has candee?

2008-10-05T09:45:00.001-05:00

Forget stinky, moist cat food. Forget cheezburgers. Forget even tuna.

THIS... is what the cat lives for. Caramel Apple suckers.

Just another reason why Halloween is a big deal at our house.

Best Scares, part 2

2008-10-02T09:38:00.004-05:00

One of the easiest ways to scare somebody is to pretend you are a prop. The more made-up and heavily costumed you are, the more effective this is.

Seriously... nobody expects something that’s 8 foot tall with wings to be real. Which makes this whole set-up so much fun.

Mastering the whole ‘prop-stance’ was simple. I would back up against the wall and stretch my arms out in a threatening manner and freeze. I would even find a small spot on the wall ahead of me to focus on without blinking. As people walked past me I remained frozen. I might even let them reach out and touch me to see if I was real. All I am waiting for is the right moment.

That moment is that fraction of a second where they assume I’m fake and relax. And that’s when I get them. Sometimes is a loud snarl and lunge, other times it’s a simple turn of the head with one hell of a stare down. Once they start running there’s 8 feet of sexy gargoyle right behind them, maintaining their speed.

Many a visitors’ crotches have been damped this way.

One night while in my frozen pose I observed my next group of victims. It was a mix of young guys and girls but one guy stood out in particular: ball cap on sideways, overly baggy pants with the waistband below the ass crack, wife beater shirt, walking with an over-confidently swagger like a rooster in a barnyard, complete with head bobbing... you already know the type.

This is the type I normally try to avoid. And I warn my actors of the same. When you see someone that looks like they might be trouble, avoid them and scare the rest of the group.

So I lunge and snarl at the rest of the group. But guess who screams like a little girl and nearly drops to his knees?

Baggy Pants is not as tough as his homeboy exterior portrays him.

Yes, Baggy Pants let out a wail that rivaled your average 8-year-old. Upon regaining his balance he dashed down a short hallway and stopped, cowered in the corner.

And, just like the slogan for McDonald’s, I’m lovin’ it. Looks like we have someone who needs ‘special attention.’

I lumber down the hall and loom over him, growling and breathing heavy the whole time. He’s still trembling in the corner with his arms thrown protectively over his head.

After enjoying this spectacle for a few seconds I decide to add the icing on the cake. I thrust out my right hand and, in a low, beast-like voice I say, “Shake my hand!”

Baggy Pants looks at me and shakes his head ever so slightly.

I keep my hand out and shout again, “Shake my hand!!”

Baggy Pants, still looking very rattled, shakes his head again.

Now, in my normal everyday voice I say, “I’m a GIRL! Shake my hand!”

Baggy Pants has a moment of clarity and, still looking frightened, gingerly holds out his hand. I grab it, give a few strong shakes and turn around and walk away.

Now while all of this has been happening, his buddies have been just a few feet away watching all this go down. My satisfaction comes from knowing that, once they all got outside, his buddies probably gave him grief for the rest of the night:

“Dude, you got scared by a GIRL!”

I feel pretty, oh so pretty...

2008-09-24T13:48:00.004-05:00

I’ve never been a fan of beautiful, sexy Halloween costumes. Unfortunately, the majority of costumes marketed toward women are the skank, stripper-like fantasy costumes: the sexy witch, the sexy Snow White, the sexy cop...

I’m such a snob, but they lack creativity. And for a Halloween enthusiast like me, they just won’t do.

So several years ago I wanted to create something truly horrifying. My costumes in the past (I must brag here) had been pretty damn skippy: the Bride of Frankenstein (with my real hair), the Grim Reaper (complete with scythe), a can of Raid bug spray (no kidding). But this latest one had to top them all.

I have this thing for gargoyles. I have a few concrete ones in our yard, a couple miniature ones adorn my iMac at work and there are several scattered about the house as decor. So it was only natural to give myself a good gargoyle makeover.

Gargoyle version 1 consisted of a furry body suit complete with hood and pointy ears, furry feet and gloves, hand-made bat wings and a full facial latex appliance that, once covered in black make-up, was truly frightening and completely disguised me.

Did I mention the yellow cat-eye lenses?
Yeah those, too.

This went over so well my first year at the Culbertson Haunted House I knew it was a keeper. But it needed improvement.

Gargoyle 2.0 got some new rubber wings that were much more realistic and some nice customized fangs. But that still wasn’t good enough for me.

Gargoyle 3.0 was the best. You know I’m obsessed with this costume when I spend $500 on an accessory. You know I’m even more crazy when I have to learn a new trick to use said accessory.

Extreme sport stilts.

I learned how to stay upright on these wonderful springy things in about 10 minutes. In another 10 I was walking on them. Within a couple of days I’m walking laps around the block.

The neighbors had plenty to talk about that week. Some crazy bitch on stilts bouncing down the sidewalk.

I got some fake fur and vinyl made me some leggings with hooves. I got an old black shirt and added some shreds. I found some great looking monster gloves and for the wings... well, it’s great having a dad who’s a tool and die maker. I sketched out the bare-bones of the bat wings and a few days later Dad had created a skeletal form out of aluminum rods.

After I hand-stitched on some vinyl, we had us some mighty fine, large wings. Shut on up!

Wanna see?

Yup. Eight feet of sexy gargoyle... or Girlgoyle... or Hollygoyle as I’ve come to be known.

So this year, after putting Gargoyle 3.0 into the closet for a rest, it will be resurrected as Gargoyle 3.1. New face, new eyes... aw yeah...

A gargoyle version of Best Scares Ever coming soon...

Hurricane Ike takes out New Albany. Details at 11.

2008-09-16T07:19:00.017-05:00

I witnessed the '74 tornado, and the '95 tornado, the '94 blizzard and the '95 flood. I never thought I'd witness a hurricane.

Especially living in the mid-west.

Ike lost no steam as he charged into the Ohio Valley Sunday.

We had a photo shoot scheduled at noon the Mansion for Haunted House promo pictures. Just as I pulled out of my driveway on my way over, my cell phone rings the familiar tune for Mansion people. It's "J2," one of the staff, on the other end.

"Are you still coming out today to take pictures?"

"Yeah, I just literally left my driveway."

"You DO know we've got all kinds of winds and tornadoes heading this way."

I'm looking at clear skies with bright sun and a slightly stronger-than-normal breeze. "Yeah... so? We're gonna be inside the Carriage House. We'll be fine."

"Well, just be careful coming over here."

The drive was uneventful. A little breezy, but not dangerous. The Focus weaved a little but even on the bridges I was okee dokee.

I get to the Mansion with no incidents, apart from one tree down on the opposite side of the interstate. There's a stronger gust on this side of the river but the sun is still shining. I go inside the Mansion and wait for our photographer (Nicograph) and our models to show up. One by one our people arrive unscathed.

But the wind is getting a little stronger outside.

After about 45 minutes all our models have their creepy make-up and costumes on and we're ready to start shooting. That's when one of the staff runs in to tell us we lost our tent.
We've had this tent since 1992. It has shielded Haunted House visitors, served as a dining area, housed Herb Sales and numerous other outdoor events for 16 years.
It was exciting, frightening and saddening to watch it wrap itself around those two oaks.
So now we have no tent.
And Haunted House opens in less than 2 weeks.
Shit.
While we're all marveling at the tent fiasco, my eye catches the severe angle some of the trees are being blown to. Especially one tree about 10 feet from me that is slowly separating from the ground. After several bounces, it goes right over. Right onto two vehicles. One of which is Nicograph's car.The truly amazing thing is, it was completely undamaged. Not a scratch. The other car was unharmed, too. Looks like the wires and the iron fence kept it up. People are now frantically moving their cars to open areas as we continue to watch trees and powerlines crack and fall all around, not to mention roofs and shingles flying everywhere.

We shoo our photo subjects into the Carriage House and get locked in. We have to. If we don't lock the doors the wind will rip them right off the frames. I was dumb enough to try opening a door once, just to see how the world outside looked like at the moment. I almost got blown away. One of our actors had to grab me and the door and pull us back inside.

We spend a couple of hours inside taking pictures, listened to the wind beat the living hell out of the House, hoping there's no more serious damage being done to anything outside.

By the time we finish, the wind is slowly dying down. We emerge to what looks like a war zone. A few young trees in our backyard are snapped in half or completely uprooted. Several houses and churches on the street have trees laying on their roofs or actually in the building. Looking toward one of the major bridges back to Louisville we see a semi on its side, blocking the entire east bound side.

So much for going home that way.

We wait about another hour for the winds to die down enough that we feel safe driving and Nicograph and I head out. We both made it home ok. Nicograph came home to a centuries-old tree that crashed into her condo building and took out a couple of cars, too. Had her car been in its assigned parking spot, it would have been toast.

Looks like those New Albany trees are much more considerate.

So now there's over 200,000 people in the area with no power. Hundreds of traffic lights are still out. Driving around town is still an adventure, between dodging downed trees and people who don't know the failed-stoplight/four-way-stop rule.

The most amazing thing is... during this whole fiasco, the Mansion kept power the whole time. So did my home neighborhood. I kept calling the Spouse to check in. He said he heard trees crashing all around the neighborhood but our little cul de sac was unharmed.

Unfortunately, neither did our respective workplaces. While other people are staying hoe because of the city-wide power outage, we're stuck at work. (Note: while I was writing this at work, the power went out - yay for Blogger's autosave. We waited about two hours before the higher-ups sent us home. We have to call in tomorrow to see if we're running on juice before coming in.)

But on the good news front, the Mansion still stands without a scratch. And the centuries-old magnolia and oaks in their backyard survived. The rest of New Albany looks like a hurricane hit it.

But we don't get hurricanes. Not this far inland. No way. That's just crazy.

Best Scares, part 1

2008-09-08T19:03:00.004-05:00

It's that time of year again.

Those of you relatively new to the Hell Bus may not be familiar with my 'other' job. Since 1994 I'm been scaring the living shit out of people every autumn. For six years I did my spooking at the Haunted Hotel and I've been spooking (and managing) Literally, a Haunted House since 2000. Although I 'retired' from my Chairperson position after last season, I'm still heavily involved with this year's planning. I've been mentoring my assistant (now official Chair) and helping out with design, construction, organization, media relations... the list goes on. The staff insisted I stay on as 'co-chair.' Even tho I'm not officially running the place, it's still kinda 'my baby.' I may step away from being in charge, but I'll never give this up. It's just way too damn fun.

I have seen everything in this business we call scare. I've seen grown men cry. I've seen adults panic and quit. I've seen breakdowns, pass outs and people lose control of their stomachs, bladders and rectums.

Don't believe me? For the past two years we've kept a tally.

But there are some moments that stick out as being, well, special; the events that keep us veterans talking years after they happened. This is one of them:

During my third year at the Haunted Hotel I was working on the 2nd floor of the two-story house. Those 5 to 10 of us working the second floor would gather at the top of the stairs in between groups. We would talk, play cards, tell jokes, anything to pass the time and keep ourselves awake while we waited for the next group of people to come around the corner and head up the steps. Upon spotting the next group, we would all scatter at the speed of sound to our assigned spot and wait for the group to come thru our area. Group would come thru, booga booga booga, and we'd all run back to the top of the stairs again.

This particular night I was working in the first room on the second floor. Two guys were working the second room right next to me, so we could see each other if we leaned out of our spot.

Anyway, a group was on its way so we positioned ourselves and waited. Now for some reason, this particular group seemed to be taking an usually long time to get to my room. I waited and waited, poised and ready. Finally, after several minutes and no group, I was just about to peek around the corner to see what was up. Like I said, people have a real tendency to panic and quit, then leave thru the nearest fire exit. But I pulled back quickly as the shadowy shape of people came around the corner. I stood 'prop-still' as I observed the following:

The group consisted of 3 females. Girl Number 1 was black. I knew this because, even in the dim lighting, I could see the back of her hands since they were both covering her eyes.

Girl Number 1 is the leader, and she's hiding her face.

Girl Number 2 is a blonde white girl. Even tho she has the bravery not to cover her face, I know she's not handling this very well either because she's crying. And I don't mean a gentle weeping either. I mean a full out sobbing and wailing. She might be frantically looking around, but her arms are tightly wrapped around Girl Number 1's waist.

I have no idea what Girl Number 3 looked like because not only are her arms tightly wrapped around Girl Number 2's waist but her face is firmly buried in Girl Number 2's back.

The twisted daisy chain slowly shuffles their way into my area and I lunge with a snarl. All three of them, still tenanciously attached, slam against the opposite wall and nearly slide down, but manage to stay up on all 6 legs.

I could have really done some psychological damage at this point, considering how vulnerable these three gals were, but I'm so amused at their antics I can only stand back and watch them desperately and slowly slither along the wall into the next room.

This is where the real fun begins. I'm just gonna stand here and watch this.

Upon making it into the next room (please note, Girl Number 1 still has both hands covering her face), the three girls are so surprised by the two guys who jumped out like crazed psycho killers that they go crashing down to the floor. They are now lying on the floor, still holding on to one another's waist. Girl Number 1 still hasn't seen anything. Neither has Girl Number 3. But they are all sobbing and screaming and wiggling like a dying fish.

At this point, I'm having a hard time keeping my pants dry because I'm laughing so hard.

The psycho guys are dancing around, acting all crazy and evil, while the girls continue to writhe on the floor in a sobbing blob. After about 30 seconds of this the guys calm down. In fact, they actually break character and come to a complete halt to watch dumbfounded at this mess on the floor.

I've stopped laughing now. This is getting serious.

I hop out of my spot and walk over to the whole group. The guys and I continue to look down at the three conjoined sobbers as they continue to squirm helplessly on the floor. I bend down and say, "Ok, it's over. You saw it. Now go."

They don't move.

"Come on, it's ok. We're not gonna hurt ya. We're done. You can go now."

They won't move.

"Come on! There's more people coming behind you! You HAVE to GO!!"

Blondie is still crying and looking around at me and the other two guys like she doesn't know English. Girl Number 1 and 3 still have never seen anything. And they won't get up.

By now all three of us actors are shouting at them to get up and go. After several long moments they finally get it and somehow manage to stagger upright and bolt down the hall into total darkness, Girl Number 1 still leading with her hands over her face.

The three of us could only look at one another in total disbelief, which was quickly followed by some high fives.

"Damn, we are GOOD!"

Duranfan, the Tattooed Lady

2008-08-22T11:04:00.008-05:00

So I went and did it again. For those of you keeping count, tat number 1 is this one:
I got this when I was 23. It's located over my left boob. I drew it up real quick on a scrap piece of paper at the tattoo studio. I'd always wanted a holly spring. And it comes in handy as a second form of indentification.

Tat number 2 and 3 are these two:
These are located on my right hip. The top one I drew up myself. Since I've got some Scot/Irish/Welsh in my genetic background I wanted something Celtic. And you can barely see it, but in the open space in the center of the knot is a pale spot on my skin. It's some kind of reverse birthmark that has very little pigment. The one below it is a flash design spotted at the tattoo studio's collection. I like dragons and I'm a medieval history buff.

Tat number 4 is this one:
Like I said, I like dragons and this one was small yet sinister looking. Because this one is on the inside of my left ankle it hurt the most. The skin there is really thin. People always ask if tattoos hurt. It really depends on where on your body you get them. I dosed off during the stone dragon tattoo on my hip. Sure, you feel the sharp needle, but after a few minutes the pain endorphins kick in and you get used to it. But that ankle one really hurt. After that I said, no more."

But I was wrong. You forget the pain. And these things are addictive.

About a year ago I started pondering a fifth tattoo. I worked on a design, tweaked it, worked on it some more, printed it out and carried it in my purse for that one day I would decide to get it done. So earlier this week, I sat down for an hour and half and got number 5:
I have a feeling that I will be explaining this one more often that the others. I've been using Apple computers since the early 80s (first computer was an Apple IIe clone - the Franklin Ace 1000) and I've been a Mac Fan Girl ever since. And the black Victorian/Gothic design was just some clip art I found and pieced together. I was Goth before Goth was cool (back in 1983). The tattoo artists enhanced it with some extra elements and shading and there you have it. The spouse loves the new one and it already pondering getting a third for himself. Even my mother is pondering a second for herself. I am such a bad influence.

Photo updates

2008-08-06T18:41:00.003-05:00

Ok, so that green thing that was growing in our garden that we thought was a watermelon...

It's a pumpkin.
So it's not an alien pod. We still didn't plant it, tho. But that's ok. It's nice size and will make a swell jack-o-lantern come this October.

And remember way back when... when I said I was gonna make my Gothy Little Christmas tree and enter it into the State Fair?

Did it.

It'll be traveling to the Fairgrounds Saturday. The Fair opens next Thursday. Hopefully, I'll have a very happy update then.

Random thoughts and links, part 112

2008-07-28T20:35:00.004-05:00

So we've been munching away on the Spouse's garden harvest this summer. Plenty of yellow squash and cucumbers. And now the peppers and tomatoes are coming along...

But a few weeks ago, the Spouse noticed something odd on one of the vines. He pointed it out to me one day while we were sitting on the deck (now raccoon-poop free), admiring the garden. I ran down to the ground to discover this small round green thing growing on one particular plant.

Now all vining plants look pretty much alike. Squash, cucumbers, melons, gourds... they all have these alien-like vines that take over your yard and sprout huge, elephant ear-like leaves and large, yellow flowers. These flowers eventually turn into tasty veggie goodness.

But now we have this large, round green thing. So I was thinking it's a watermelon.

Which is really strange, since we didn't plant watermelon.

But there it is. And it's growing like big ol' cancer. It's the size of a basketball now. But something's happening.

It's turning orange.

Maybe it's a pumpkin, which would be weird, too, since we didn't plant any of those, either. I'm hoping that it's a simple a mistake as the wrong seed got tossed in the seek packet at the seed factory and that just happens to be the seed that turned into this huge fucking vine that's taking over the yard with this large, green/orange growth.

But I'm also haunted by scenes from "Invasion of he Body Snatchers."

Just a warning... if the Spouse suddenly wants me to sleep next to this thing, I'll have to kill him.

If it does not hatch into a body-snatching alien, and it does turn out to be something edible, I'll let yall know.

In the meantime, while we're watching the melon/pumpkin/pod thing continue to grow, here's da links:

Ya know, it might not be a pod monster, it could be a full-fledged demon.

Don't deny it. You know you're gonna try this the next time you're at the Mall.

I have just sucked several hours of your life away. How do you feel?

Not since Leatherface has a chainsaw been so entertaining.

But why take out zombies with a chainsaw when you could just take one out on a date?

Pole dancing gone wild. Awwwwwww yeeaaahhh...

If you're normal, you'll just giggle a little. If you wet your pants, you must be a graphic designer.

The Phantom Shitter

2008-07-04T10:38:00.003-05:00

When we last left our heroine, she and her beloved hero were battling the Plague of Locusts:

Yes, you heard that correctly. The Spouse spotted it, I turned around and saw this:

We were dumbfounded. Our deck is on the second floor. Something had walked up the stairs, chosen this particular spot right underneath our kitchen window, and emptied its bowels.

Now we knew it wasn't our cat because he stays inside (altho his 'guard cat' qualities are now questionable since he did nothing to scare off the late night poopertrator). We deduced it wasn't a neighborhood cat because the poop was too big to be cat turdlings and the nearby catnip plant was untouched. We also figured it wasn't a dog because our entire backyard is fenced in, three sides of which are a 6 foot privacy fence.

What the hell? Some woodland critter came up on our deck and shit a big pile! Possibly a possum but more likely a raccoon. But why our deck? Why not the backyard, or someone else's deck for that matter.

I guess it's because all the other backyards surrounding ours have dogs. Perhaps the critter can concentrate better on the quiet peace of our deck, making his bowel movement more satisfying. We do have a nice, clear view of the night sky. Perhaps that makes his movements border on the spiritual.

Our theory on the raccoon was proven the very next morning. It was a cool enough night to leave our windows open. While I'm getting myself ready for work I hear something rummaging around in the Spouse's compost pile. I grab a flashlight and aim it directly down from the bedroom window, only to have a little furry masked face with glowing gold eyes stare me down.

I yelled for the Spouse and we both ran for the deck. Sure enough, a large raccoon goes scampering off to the far corner of our backyard, occasionally stopping to glance over his shoulder to make sure we aren't coming after him.

There was no poop on our deck. This time.

But for the next several mornings we were greeted by a nice steamy pile of raccoon shit. Sometimes it was very seedy. Seems the critter likes mulberries.

So now we have this phantom shitter what shows up sometimes between 11pm and 5am to take a dump on our deck. We have a gate at the bottom of the deck stairs, but closing that did no good. The critter climbed right over it. We see its little muddy footprints leading up to the latest pile of shit.

I even wedged our very large grill right into the corner. Didn't stop him. He either shat next to it or even climbed thru the bottom rack, wedged his little furry raccoon ass between the grill and the exterior house wall and let loose, leaving a nice streak on the aluminum siding.

Sometimes there's been two piles. One morning there was three. Either his colon is really active or he brought friends.

"Boys, you GOTTA to try this new shittin' place! I been comin' there for about a week or two and it RAWKS!"

I've been asking around about how to repel raccoons. One answer sounded logical enough to give it a shot: coyote urine. Apparently, besides kayaks, running shoes and rock-climbing gear, you can also get coyote urine at your local sporting goods store.

So off we went to our local sporting good store (that's named after a penis) and proceeded to the hunting supplies. We asked the guy behind the counter for coyote urine and (of course) he asked what for. When we told him to ward off raccoons, his illustrious answer was:

"Well why don' yew jist shewt'm?"

Now, in my head, I said, "Oh, yeah, Cooter, that's a swell idea! We'll just stay up all night long out on our deck with a shotgun and wait for the little fucker to show up for his nightly shit and blow his little mulberry-eating ass all over our yard. Brilliant!"

But instead, the Spouse and I eloquently explain that we don't have a gun and killing the animal is not an option. We don't want to hurt him. We just want him to go away and shit somewhere else.

But 'Cooter' and his pal, 'Skeeter,' at the penis-named sporting goods store's hunting section are no help. Altho they did offer another suggestion of using a trap to catch him. We have a trap, but if he's clever enough to figure out the gate at the bottom of the deck stairs, he's probably be smart enough to avoid the trap.

Another suggestion we got came from WasabiJohn. He said when he was a kid some raccoons got into his house and after they scared the critters off his dad had to clean up the raccoon poop with ammonia. Seems the ammonia kept them from coming back.

I mentioned the ammonia plan to my mom, who then suggested bleach. So I found a metal pan, put a large sponge in it and filled it with about a quarter inch of bleach and set it at the top of the deck stairs.

Four nights in a row I've done this. Four mornings in a row the Spouse has not had to clean raccoon shit off our deck. Clorox: is there anything it can't do? Well, ok, it can't restore the finish on an '89 T-bird, but dammit, it keeps the shitty raccoons away.

And we didn't have to shewt'm.

Random thoughts and links, part 111

2008-06-06T15:36:00.004-05:00

So I had this thought the other day... Dining outside is called 'dining al fresco.' Why don't we have working al fresco?

It was earlier this week, the weather was beautiful and those of us stuck in Cube Farm Hell were lamenting our being inside instead of outside. It was then the thought came to me; why CAN'T we work outside? Just move our desktops and Macs outside, set up a large patio umbrella over us and viola. Or at least have some windows that open or install some French doors or something.

But then we'd have to deal with the natives. And the natives downtown can be quiet scary.

Speaking of scary, those space-alien looking things above have invaded our area something fierce. It's still quiet in downtown Loserville but once I venture home to exotic Fern Creek the noise is deafening. Imagine an invisible Mother Ship hovering over your house all day. After being outside for only a few minutes your eardrums start to vibrate.

And there's thousands, nay, millions of them out there. There's a constant halo of bugs hovering around all the tree tops. They've been smacking into the window as I type this. It's brutal.

So the invasion has begun; They're here, they're loud and apparently, they're tasty.

But if cicadas don't do it for ya, there's always bacon.

I did surprisingly good on this. Was it because A) most of my friends are geeks or B) I know WAY too much about serial killers?

Have fun navigating, and go green at the same time.

Cat yodeling... I'm glad to know that the Spouse and I weren't the only ones doing that...

Me want!!! Especially this one.

Nifty Mac tricks.

Forget cheaper gas or a thriving economy, this is the shit America needs.

Comfort for all of us graphic designs to know that A) other designers make mistakes and B) other designs are forced to do horrible Photoshopping, too.

Oh my, aren't Policemen interesting people?

No matter how much you hate your job, it could always be worse. Especially when caught for two angles.

Crash bang boom

2008-05-30T10:23:00.004-05:00

Fellow blogger Lena made an excellent point yesterday that everyone’s music sucks when blasted into the general atmosphere, thereby disturbing drivers, pedestrians, homeowners, children, old people and pets.

She’s right. I don’t care if you’re playing my absolute favorite musician or my absolute favorite song. If I can still hear it and feel it from more than 20 feet away, you should be shaved, sterilized and destroyed, after your sound system is shot full of holes and then set on fire.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love music. Been jamming to it since my tenure in the womb. No shit. Mom has this great story about how I was kicking to the beat when Dad put on his Stones records. Been hooked ever since. Was an addict to radio; AM in the 70s, FM in the 80s. I don’t think I got any sleep from 1982 to 1987 because of MTV. That of course was back in the day when they played music videos and not some insipid programs about overly rich 20-somethings or has-been celebrities stuck in a house together.

I’m on my third iPod that’s filled with nearly 9000 songs and over 330 music videos. iTunes, Amazon and ear-X-tacy get a LOT of my money. Plus I’m constantly finding some oddball, out-of-production musical gems scattered around the net. So I have a lot of weird stuff on there.

I listen to it in the car, at home and at work. But I have a rule that if EVER something really awful, disturbing or unpleasant comes outta that thing, all someone has to do is speak up and I will gladly turn it down and/or skip ahead to the next song. I do NOT want to become a nuisance like the punk-ass troglodytes and their boom cars.

Ever since I moved out on my own I’ve had to deal with the stereo morons. Every apartment, every house, I’ve had to complain to someone about their fucking stereo blaring thru the floor, the ceiling, the wall or rattling the building off its foundation.

I was hoping that would stop once the Spouse and I bought our house in a nice, respectable neighborhood. And for the past 3 or so years it’s been peaceful. Until yesterday.

About a year ago some people moved into a house on the corner of our street. All seemed quiet until a few month ago when there seemed to be an increase in traffic and the number of vehicles parked in their driveway and in front of their house. My paranoia kicked in and I’ve been watching the activity down there. And that’s when I noticed to boom cars. Up until now, the cars would turn the boom down as they entered the street. And I can live with that.

But last night about 8 the Spouse and I were parked on the couch, reading our respective books when the booming started: BOOM da da boom. BOOM da da boom. In my head I sighed and trying to relax and stay focused on my reading while taking quick glances outside to see what was going on down there. There were four cars currently parked, one of which is a junker that never leaves. The second was a truck I had never seen before and a teen boy standing on the driver’s side talking to someone inside. The other two cars are in the driveway, one of which has its trunk and doors open.

Fuck. Great. Somebody down there has decided to serenade the entire neighborhood with their personal selection of melodies about bangin’ ho’s and poppin’ bro’s.

It wasn’t that loud. I mean no one is on the street, shaking their fist and yelling. The neighborhood Scooter Brigade of children are playing nonchalantly. The houses aren’t rattling off their foundation. But I can still hear it. And feel it.

Fifteen minutes pass and I’ve barely read a page. I get up and go to the bathroom. Even with the door closed I can still hear it. Fuck. I go to the office and sit in front of the iMac to check email. I can still hear it. Damn. I go back to the living room and try to read again. And I can still hear it. It’s now been going on for 45 minutes when I snap.

“All right. That’s it.” I storm off to the bedroom to grab some shoes and while I’m back there I can still hear it. That just adds fuel to my growing anger inferno. As I charge by the Spouse on my way out the front door I say, “Keep a look out and make sure I don’t get my ass shot while I’m down there.”

I blast across the front yard and onto the street. Two little girls from the Scooter Brigade see me and yell, “Hi! Hey, where are you going?” I didn’t even answer. My radar turns on as I stomp towards the guilty house and quickly deduces that the noise is not coming from the truck with the teenager standing next to it, but instead focuses in on the car with the open trunk and doors. Standing next to the car is an older lady talking to a pair of legs sticking out of the trunk.

I am now rethinking my action as I see the sweet, grandmotherly face of the woman. I’m starting to feel ever so slightly stupid.

“Excuse me, but could yall turn that down just a smidge? We can hear it down the street,” I say in my most pleasant voice with a smile on my face.

She looks at me and then calls to the legs sticking out of the trunk. I’m expecting another teenager, an obnoxious one at that. Instead I get a kindly, older man with a smiling face emerging from the trunk.

As they couple explain that they’re working on the car and are very friendly and polite about turning it down, I now feel like a fool. I’m trying my best to smile and act like it’s nothing major. My anger has cooled to the temp of your average Otter Pop®. We all smile as he agrees to turn it down and I thank him profusely. I quickly walk back to our house, much to the amusement of the two Scooter Brigade girls. One of them shouts, “Wow! You sure do walk fast!” I smile, say ‘thank you’ and dart back in the house.

The Spouse is happy I didn’t get my ass shot off.

I sat on the floor and said, “Well, that’s taken care of.” Then I proceeded to tell him all about the nice older couple who live there, and how friendly and pleasant they were, and how they’ve instructed their kids to turn the music down or off when they come home. And how stupid I feel for blowing up over it when it wasn’t anything like what I thought it was going to be.

But the Spouse was supportive and understanding, even if I have become the ‘crazy lady down the street who hates loud music.’ And at least the neighborhood was quiet for the rest of the night.

Four!

2008-05-28T14:49:00.003-05:00

Things have FINALLY calmed down at work. For the past three weeks I’ve been driven completely batshit crazy by an unusual overflow of work, not to mention constantly harassed by the sales gurus needing their stuff NOW.

Needless to say, I’ve been in a very fowl mood. Alcohol helps, but not always. Whoever created that crazy rule about not drinking at work obviously NEVER worked in printing. But I digress...

I’m enjoying being able to breathe at a normal rate, not having to prairie dog and hide every time I see a sales slug approaching my desk, and getting more than one bathroom break a day. My day was further brightened when I received one of those silly little surveys from Nicograph. It’s brainless, it’s a waste of time, and it gives me a chances to blather about myself.

Four places that I go over and over:

Barnes & Noble - The Spouse and I call it “book therapy.” I could stay in there for days.

Book & Music Exchange - A great little local used shop that carries books, videos, DVDs and videos games. The guys who work there are a riot

Work - Da job. 5 days a week.

Gatlinburg - A once a year thing. We have our favorite shops, favorite restaurant (Best Italian) and even our favorite hotel. We already have our room reserved for next year.

Four of my favorite places to eat:

Shogun - It’s sushi and it’s closer to our house than Sapporo. And the sushi bar guys know us very well.

Ramsi's - Wonderful international food. Haven’t found anything on the menu I don’t like.

Panera - Not your ordinary soup-and-sandwich place. They have some tasty goods in the bakery and a broccoli cheddar soup in a bread bowl to die for.

Vietnam Kitchen - One of Loserville’s best kept secrets. It’s practically a hole in the wall with maybe a dozen tables. Delicious food. You know it’s good when the local Vietnamese frequent the place.

Four places I would rather be right now:

On my deck - Now that the weather has finally warmed up I’ve been taking full advantage of the patio table, chairs and umbrella. This holiday weekend I spent nearly all three days our there with a drink in one hand and a book in the other. And, dare I say, I actually got a little color on my normally pasty flesh.

Barnes & Noble - As mentioned before, book therapy is always good for the soul.

At the sushi bar at Shogun - I could eat sushi every day and never get tired of it.

On a cruise ship to anywhere - I don’t care it was Hawaii or Alaska, the Caribbean or Europe. I would so love to feel the waves gently rock the ship as we ventured to some exotic place.

Four TV shows I watch all the time:

Ghost Hunters - Yall know how much I love spooky shit. The entire world must come to a halt when a new episode airs. I love the show so much I already have the book.

Dirty Jobs - The Spouse suspects I have a crush on Mike Rowe (he does have a nice voice) but I really do love watching that poor slob deal with some of the most god-awful, gross, vomit-inducing situations.

UFC Fight Night - As mentioned in a previous blog, I’m hooked on watching to men beat the living shit out of each other. And, forgive me, I recently bought a Tapout shirt while in Gatlinburg.

HBO Boxing After Dark - See above. This has become a Saturday night ritual. If a Saturday goes by without a fight, the Spouse and I are depressed.

So, what are YOUR fours?

Stay tuned for this important announcement

2008-05-21T06:28:00.004-05:00

Just to let everyone know, I am not joining any more membership websites (I.E. WAYN, Facebook, LouisvilleMojo, etc.) I am here and on MySpace and that's it. No more.

I am not joining any forums, no matter how cool the website or who operates it.

I am not adding any quiz applications to my profile, here or at MySpace, nor am I buying anybody as a pet. Nor do I care "how much I am worth" or "how much you are worth."

I do not do any form of online chat (I.E. iChat, AOL Messenger, MySpace Chat, etc.) so don't bother with the invites.

No offense to anyone who wants to do that stuff on their own, and no offense to those who have sent me various invites to do so.

I'm just tired of getting inundated with spam from all these unnecessary websites and other silly doo dads.

If you wish to contact me, you can do so here or via MySpace. If you're looking for my email, it's VERY easy to find (pretend you want to volunteer at my Haunted House, visit their website - in the column on the right - and look for the contact info).

Thank you for your time. Carry on...

Danger: Radioactive Toxic Waste

2008-05-13T08:44:00.000-05:00

The Spouse and I grumble a lot about getting older. We find ourselves saying, “It sucks getting old” a lot. And it does. The body aches, the loss of energy, the greying hair, the weight gain... *heavy sigh*

But, there are some benefits to getting old (besides cheaper car insurance). The main one, I feel, is not having to deal with “high school drama.” You remember the crap that used to go on when you were in high school and college? Fighting about who you can be friends with, what guy/girl you’re allowed to date, what clothes your social group wants you to wear, and the ever-popular two girls fighting over the same guy (or vice versa).

I was so glad when I got out of high school and was able to leave all that behind. But even in my late 30s I’m amazed at the number of people around me who are old enough to know better who still are playing these stupid games and behaving like they’re 15. And we’re talking a wide array of people: close friends, not-so-close friends, acquaintances, co-workers... *another heavy sigh*

The problem is that I sometimes get pulled into this shit. I do my best to stay away from toxic people like this but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Maybe I’m gifted in that my intuition is better than everybody else. I seem to be able to spot ‘problem people’ and can avoid any attachment to them by simply ducking out.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be flashing red lights and warning bells, but my “creep” and “bad news” radars work fanastic. I can see something wonky about someone and then consciously make the decision not to get any closer. I don’t want to reach out and help. I don’t want to be a hero and fix their problem. I don’t need closure or any kind of finality. I just smile and walk away. Quickly. I pride myself on the fact that I’ve never been in abusive relationship and have exited toxic, codependent friendships quickly with little or no damage.

In the past few months I’ve watched certain people (and ‘people’ is very plural here) do the dumbest shit and get themselves in the worst situations. I read about it in their blogs, I hear about it in their phone calls, I watch it happen at work, out in public and at various social gatherings. I feel like a parent watching their child spiral down, wanting so badly to just shake the hell out of them while shouting, “What the hell are you doing?! What are ya, STUPID?!”

How come I can see disaster coming and they can’t? *yet another heavy sigh*

I’m not perfect, nor do I have a perfect life. I have trauma and stress just like anybody. I just do my best not to drag people down into my pit of despair. And I try not to stay down there too long and have to rely on people to come to my rescue. I do not elaborate about my personal problems on the web, on late-night phone calls or to total strangers I meet in public. That’s private, it’s none of your business, so go away.

Some people seem to thrive on bad news, and they want everybody to know about it. Maybe it’s the only exciting thing in their life. But FUCK... the constant negativity gets OLD after a while. Hearing the same bad news over and over and over...

So, needless to say, I’m staying away from these people. I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want to get pulled into something that’s gonna leave me covered in the same radioactive muck that these poor boneheads keep stirring up.

Speaking of high school, I have a 20 year reunion coming up next month. Now I went to my 10th and had a good time. I didn’t go to reunite with old friends. I went to thumb my nose at them and say, “See? You DIDN’T keep me down, assholes.” The only people I graduated with that I care about are WasabiJohn and AmandaJo. The rest of them can go suck eggs. Seriously. High school was traumatic for me. Those naive bastards that always say, “These are the best years of your life” are fucking morons who didn’t live past 20.

At first I wanted to go, but I’ve been really thinking about it. Do I REALLY want to go? There isn’t anybody there I want to see. I get to see WasabiJohn and AmandaJo whenever I want. I don’t need this particular social event to do it.

Granted, all those people are 20 years older and hopefully not the same snobby little shits they were back then. But still, do I really want to see them again? For what purpose?

I think I’ll pass (unless WasabiJohn or AmandaJo talks me into it). I seem to have plenty of toxic situations I’m successfully avoiding. I don’t need any more.

Just read it, dammit!

2008-04-21T13:27:00.004-05:00

Anytime someone starts talking about books I get excited. So when the brother-in-law on the other side of the pond posted his “just read it, dammit” list, I was inspired (and I stole his title - thanks Steve).

Now normally on these “Books You Should Read Before You Die” lists, the Bible makes it to the top three. Well, it won’t make mine. Not only because I’m not a religious person but because it’s dreadful reading. The language is antiquated and rambling and the stories are downright silly. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good fantasy novel, just as long as it's tasteful and has a plot that makes sense.

You also won’t see any Shakespeare on this list, even tho I do like Shakespeare (Macbeth is my favorite). Once again we’re talking about antiquated language that, unless you’re a professor on the subject or just a junkie for old drama, is difficult to stay with.

Then there’s the good old ‘required reading’ (forced reading more like) from high school and college. Very few of those remain on my bookshelves. The majority of the drudgery we had to read drained my soul and destroyed my will to live (Hemingway, Dickens, Knowles...).

I’ve also read some notoriously scandalous books in recent years, more or less to just be able to say I’ve read them. And a lot of them were dreadful: Marquis de Sade, Henry Miller, J.D. Salinger... Awful! Gah! I wanted to like them, really. I hung in there till the very last page but man, did they ever suck.

But anyway, onto my list. I don’t expect these books to change anyone’s life (altho a couple of them did it for me). In fact, I expect at least one or two people to shout, “What the hell? You liked THAT?!” That’s ok. I’m here to debate... once you’ve read the book(s) in question.

So here goes. Get busy:

A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking: I’ve read this one twice and I need to pick it up again. Whether or not you’re a Big Bang Theory fan, Hawking’s other points are enlightening. He’s the only person (author or instructor) who explained quantum physics in a way I could understand. I remember finishing the chapter and thinking, “Wow, that makes perfect sense.” I couldn’t explain it to you now, but when I saw it in print, it was an epiphany.

The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer: Yes, I can hear the collective whine from some of you. And yes, the language it a little difficult to pick up. Go for the modern translation. I loved this book for simply showing how greedy, crude, pompous and perverted people in the Middle Ages really were. Where else but a present day sitcom can you find such wonderful dirty jokes and slamming insults.

A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess: Forget you saw the Kubrick movie (altho it is a classic). And make sure when you read this you A) have a copy that has the Russian/slang dictionary and B) the missing 21st chapter. The first time I read this it only had 20 chapters and ends pretty much like the film. The second time I read it I happened upon a new edition with the 21st chapter. That last chapter changes the whole perspective of the book. As disturbing as the rest of the novel is, this last chapter helps you understand Alex’s mental workings and, dare I say it, offers a little optimism.

The Crucible - Arthur Miller: Every time I read this one or see it performed on stage it chills my very soul. In all honestly, it has nothing to do with witchcraft. Just drop in any fringe-of-society behavior in its place and see where this takes society.

Frankenstein - Mary Shelly and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep - Philip K. Dick: Why do I place these two together? Because basically they’re the same story (especially if you’re familiar with the film version of ‘Android’ - Blade Runner); Man creates Wonderful Thing. Wonderful Thing becomes a monster in society’s eyes. Wonderful Thing wishes to know its Creator. Wonderful Thing never asked to be created, but now wants respect/life/partner. Creator/Man must destroy Wonderful Thing before it destroys Him.

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl - Harriet Jacobs: I only discovered this book recently. Forget Tess of the Dubervilles. THIS should be required reading. A real eye-opening personal account of being a female slave trying to survive and eventually find freedom.

The Skeptical Feminist: Discovering the Virgin, Mother and Crane - Barbara Walker: Here’s one that definitely changed my life. Altho my opinions on the whole ‘Goddess’ thing aren’t the same as they were after finishing this book back in the early 90s, her account of growing up in a church-going family and on how women are treated and perceived in general was eye-opening. Every woman (and a few men) should read this, regardless of their religious affiliation, if only to open a few more minds and empower a few more women to stop following the tired, old crap they’ve been spoon fed since birth.

The Talisman - Stephen King and Peter Straub: So many people classify King as a horror writer. What he truly succeeds at is showing the susceptibility of human nature and our vulnerability to blindly follow the crowd, no matter how batshit crazy they are (see The Stand, The Mist, Needful Things, Insomnia...) He is also a master at character development. The people he writes about become living, breathing human beings. And when one of them dies it’s devastating.

I’ve read this fantasy (not horror - a unbeaten path for both authors) 3 times and plan on reading it a few more. And every time I get to the point where a certain character dies, I’m a blubbery mess. The last time I read The Talisman was about 5 years ago. I just happen to be in the company breakroom during lunch when I got to the dreaded point when this wonderful character dies. And I was petrified someone was going to see the tears sneaking out of my eyes and ask what was wrong. And then I would have to explain that it was just a book...

And see? I DIDN't mention Beowulf! So nyeh. But I still like it.

Put your head between your knees...

2008-04-18T09:34:00.002-05:00

...and kiss your ass goodbye! The end is here!

Ok, it’s not that bad, but we just had an earthquake today. Whoo hoo! What a ride!

I get up at 5:15am during the week, so I had been up and around for about 25 minutes when the house shifted. It felt like I was back on the cruise ship again. It shifted enough to wake up the cat but not the Spouse. Gilligan and I looked at each other with wide eyes as the house continued to vibrate.

His attention was then drawn to a noise coming from the living room down the hall. I went there and heard metal clanging. I turned on the light to see a few of our swords waving back and forth and clanging against the wall. I knew what was happening. I was just chanting to myself, “Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall.” I could just see a few of these things putting on a hell of a show as the teetered off the wall and punctured furniture and electronics.

The whole thing lasted about 30 to 45 seconds. As soon as the house and swords stopped moving I ran back to the bedroom, grabbed the Spouse’s foot and said, “Guess what dear, you just slept thru an earthquake!”

That man can sleep thru anything.

This wasn’t my first earthquake, tho. It’s actually my third.

My first was in July of 1982. That was the first time in my life I seriously thought the world was coming to an end. The night before we had some downright devastating thunderstorms rip thru our area. Not only did it dump torrential rains and stir up a few tornadoes, but we got hailstones the size of golf balls which did a number on my dad’s cars and our roof. The cars looked like a bad case of acne and the roof and ceiling caved in on the dog. Fret not, the dog was ok (a little wet and sooty, tho) but the hallway was a mess of water, wet plaster and black crud from the roof. Needless to say, we grabbed the wet, dirty dog and spent most of the night in the basement.

So the next day, as we’re recuperating from the previous night’s onslaught, I feel a rumble. I was sitting in my room and felt the floor moving under my butt. I totally freaked out when an already unstable bookcase behind me started swaying back and forth (please note, I’m barely 12 years old). I ran to my parents room and the three of us sat there and waited it out. It only lasted about 1 minute but it was an eternity to an already scared and exhausted kid. The now dry dog was ready to have a stroke.

We had another one back in the spring of 2002. I had gone home from work sick that day and was crashed on my couch in the world’s smallest 1-bedroom apartment in Hikes Point. I was woken up by the building shaking and the swords (once again, the swords that have been with me for a long time and keep moving from home to home) clanging directly over my unhealthy body on the couch. All I could think in my painkiller-induced stupor was, “I hope whatever motherfucker is moving the couch up the building’s steps hurries the fuck up!!”

It was an hour later (after the painkillers did their job) that I happened to check the local news and discover it wasn’t some fat bastard moving furniture.

So the experts and doomsayers have been predicting a queen-mother earthquake for us for decades now. Altho this one wasn’t nearly the disaster it could have been, it was enough to shake the facade off one building downtown.

When the big one does hit, Kentucky is just gonna drop about 150-200 feet straight down, since we sit on a huge network of caves and limestone. I only hope it happens after I’m dead and cremated.

Quality, wholesome entertainment

2008-04-09T16:29:00.005-05:00

Dear readers (all 6 of ya), forgive me. I have a confession to make.

Now I watch a lot of TV. I'll watch rotten made-for Sci-Fi Channel movies, slasher films and other mindless blood and gore fests. I'll occasionally venture into cartoons and silly stuff (SiTV has a great show called Circumsized Cinema - no, it's NOT what you think).

But I also watch educational stuff. I love the History Channels, the Travel Channel, TLC and Discovery. I've gotten hooked on Dirty Jobs, Mythbusters, and Bizarre Foods.

I don't watch sitcoms nor do I watch chic flicks. I don't watch sports, either. Never been a sports fan. But, gods help me, that's changed.

I'm now addicted to boxing and UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship). And it's all the spouse's fault.

I never had one iota of interest in watching two men beat each other up, no matter what shape the ring. But a few years ago the spouse and I caught a UFC show by accident and we were hooked. We couldn't leave the television. We had to sit there and watch dozens of guys get bloody, broken and sometimes unconscious. And we loved it.

Then there was boxing. Been married 5 years to this man and just discovered in the past year that he likes boxing. I tried not to watch, really. I'd sit there on the couch with him, book in hand, trying desperately to concentrate on what I was reading and not look at the tv screen.

Nope. Not happening. Big case of fail.

So now on Friday nights it's Boxing on ESPN for us. Then on the occasional Saturday night there's Boxing After Dark on HBO.

I don't really keep up with the boxers themselves (altho I found the whole Oscar de la Hoya in drag pretty damn funny). The Spouse has to remind me who's who and whether we've seen them fight before.

But back to the UFC. This is almost as redneck as professional wrestling and NASCAR. Now, granted, this isn't a bunch of huge, overweight guys in wacky costumes with crazy personas who shout cliche' catchphrases that'll end up airbrushed on millions of t-shirts, then spend several minutes bouncing around on a trampoline with the occasional toss of a chair. Nor is this a bunch of men from 4 or 5 families, driving around and around in a circle a few hundred times at 120 miles an hour with the occasional crash and car fire.

Instead you have 3 rounds of 5 minutes each of two very ripped men beating the living shit out of each other. It's a combination of wrestling (the Olympic kind, not the funny tights and costume kind) and mixed Martials Arts (Ju Jitsu, Judo, Karate, kickboxing, etc.). It's brutal. It's violent. It's disturbing.

And we love it.

We were watching UFC Fight Night last night and saw one match end in 8 seconds. No shit. Guy A landed one good punch to Guy B and that's all she wrote. But other matches went the full time with both guys looking like a side of freshly slaughtered beef at the end.

You see deep facial lacerations and swollen eyes. There's blood speckling the mat and the guys' shorts. Once in a while you might see a broken limb. One time a guy got hit so hard he went into an immediate seizure.

I told you, this shit is brutal.

And I'm watching it. Willingly. What the hell is wrong with me?

I think seeing Fight Club probably didn't help. The first time I watched the movie I didn't like it. It was too much of a 'guy film.' Needless to say, the Spouse loves it.

But on my second viewing I developed an appreciation for the movie. It's not just a film about a guy who starts a club where men fight each other. This guy is totally batshit crazy. And I love the dialogue. So I bought the book (haven't read it yet, but it's on my 'to read' list).

But does reading the book Fight Club justify my enthusiastic watching of boxing and UFC? Please say it does. That way I don't feel like such a redneck piece of whitetrash.

Random thoughts and links, part 110

2008-03-20T17:04:00.003-05:00

In case some of you didn't notice, spring official started today. After battling the weather roller coaster we locals were treated to a full day of sun and relatively tolerable temperature today. Since March 7 we've seen 18 inches of snow, followed by a quick meltdown with a side-order of steady rain which resulted in a nice case of flooding.

We have a saying 'round these here parts: "Don't like the weather? Stick around, it'll change." March thru May are the most fun times for weather in Loserville. You can get sun, rain, snow and tornados and, if you're lucky, all in the same day. Last year brought a new annual late winter/early spring event: Thunder Snow. And no, I am NOT making that up. For the past two years in February or March we've had big 'o fat snow falling while thunder has gently shook our houses.

But for now all is calm. And I'm feeling like that there dog as I watch the sun dry up the bog in our backyard. It's been a rotten winter. And it hasn't affected just me. According to MoodyOrNot, it's been pretty crappy for everybody. Last week and last Tuesday were particularly bad.

But if the Spring Weather Fairies have not blessed your locale, here's some goofy web shit to keep you happy.

First question: Who the hell created this? Second question: Who the fuck bought it?!

Roses are read, violets are blue, I'm a Schizophrenic, and so am I. (This one is especially good.)

Now this is a business franchise we need here in Loseville. They would be getting a lot of my money.

When your leg just isn't good enough anymore...

You want ME to babysit your kids? Sure! Guess what we're doing tonight while Mommy and Daddy are gone? We're coloring!

Boredom at work shall never rear its ugly head again.

This dog fuckin' RAWKS!!

Typography as entertainment (graphic designers will love this.)

Cruise control

2008-02-28T13:36:00.002-05:00

Yes, we’re back. Actually got back a week ago but I’ve been too lazy to report.

In case you’ve missed it, the Spouse and I embarked on a 5-day cruise to Mexico. Wonderful trip, despite an unusual set-back. We’re ready to go again. Hell, we’re already recruiting folks to go with us on our next one.

But, anyway, a few notes on this, our first cruise:

1. The drive from Loserville to Mobile, AL, is a long one, no matter how fast you drive. 10 hours. But most of the scenery is nice... well, except for Alabama. Alabama is one flat, boring state, scenic-wise. Nothing but pine trees and the occasional trailer park/shanty house. But the roadsigns are priceless. As seen in Kentucky: “Used Cows.” Also, “HELL IS REAL!” conveniently located on the opposite side of the interstate from Lion’s Den Adult Superstore. And, as seen in Alabama (along that same theme) “Go to church! Or the devil will GET YOU!” This sign was nicely adorned with a little red figure menacingly holding a pitchfork.

2. I was surprised at how efficiently they get your butt on board. Yeah, there was some line-waiting, but still, all went smoothly. And you get this nifty credit card that you use instead of cash (the only place you need actual real money is at the casino - yes, they have a casino, too - and on any of your ports-of-call). You use this card for duty-free shop purchases and alcohol. Imagine, no need to carry a purse or wallet wherever you go.

3. Speaking of drinks, you can really get one of those foo foo cocktails the moment you get on board. When you’re out on deck there’s always a few waiters/waitresses hustling the drink of the day. They are very damn tempting but very tasty. And can get pricey, especially the ones that come in overly decorative containers. I got ass-raped for one that came in a coconut shell with a flip-top lid and not one but TWO cocktail umbrellas.

4. The food at the buffet was average but the food at the nightly dinner was exquisite: escargot, gespacho, lobster... And it’s unlimited. You’ve already paid for it with your initial cruise purchase. Go ahead, get TWO lobster entrees if you want. Our two waiters we had very night were fantastic. We loved them. The fine dining restaurants also have a nightly Midnight Buffet. We tried the Chocolate Buffet one night and left stuffed. The first half of the buffet contained some beautiful ice sculptures and lots of finger foods. The second half had desserts that were so beautiful you didn’t want to eat them. But my, they were damn good.

5. There is always a photographer or videographer bouncing around the ship (as soon as you get on board, every night at dinner, when you get at your port-of-call, etc.). Your photo will be taken A LOT. And, if you enter any embarrassing contests it will be filmed. And shown over and over and over and over on the cruise ship’s access channel on your stateroom TV. The Spouse entered the Men’s Hairy Chest contest and came in 2nd (the old, flabby guy who got 1st place won because of sympathy vote). For the rest of the cruise we couldn’t go anywhere without several strangers coming up to the Spouse and saying, “Dude, you shoulda won that contest!” Oh well, he got a plastic trophy out of it.

6. Some people have trouble with motion sickness. I am usually one of those dizzy freaks who gets queasy but surprisingly, I found the rocking motion of the ship the exact opposite. Every night I fell asleep instantly while being gently rocked. I wish there was a way to incorporate that kind of mechanism into our bed at home (without that sounding perverted).

7. Speaking of the ship rocking, it’s taken me a while to get my land legs back. For several days after returning, I found myself slightly swaying back and forth, trying to compensate for the ship’s movement even tho we weren’t on the ship anymore.

8. We encountered some very nice people and a few weird ones. You’ll meet every type of human on a cruise ship.

9. No matter how healthy you may try to be, there’s always the chance for a weird medical emergency. We left Mobile Saturday at 4pm. During the middle of the night the ship did a 180 and headed back to Mobile due to one poor bastard with a medical emergency. Unfortunately this caused us to lose time and one of our ports-of-call. We encountered one passenger who somehow found out that the medical-emergency person had an aneurysm. (Hope they had travel insurance. Hope they survived.)

10. Cozumel, Mexico, is very pretty, but a bit over-commercialized. If you’re looking for inexpensive gold, silver, diamonds or tanzanite, this is your place. And the locals are very friendly and very aggressive because they want your American dollars (yes, they take American moolah - 1$=10.50 Pesos). You’ll hear, “Hello! Welcome! Come in! Come in!” a lot. The shops that carry more traditional Mexican stuff had sales gals dressed in the traditional white cotton dresses with colorful embroidery who will act like your personal shopper. If you pick something up they will gladly carry all of your stuff to the counter.

11. Ok, this is slightly embarrassing, but I’ve never done a tequila shot. Honest. So what better place to get my cherry popped than at Pancho’s Backyard Cafe and Tequila Bar. Mexican shot glasses are scary. They are twice the height of ordinary shot glasses and they fill them to the rim. The stuff we had was very clear and had a light, clean taste. And it burned like hell. But the margaritas chased them down with no problem.

12. Sunscreen. Even if you think you don’t need it. Don’t be fooled by heavy clouds. I’m still molting. I’m leaving a cloud of white dust everywhere I go.

13. Can you afford this? Absolutely. I’m still amazed at how cheap this whole thing was. For a small but very nice stateroom, unlimited food, all kinds of activities on board (trivia, bingo, various nightclubs, casino, main theatre entertainment, multiple decks, pools, mini golf...) and very pleasant crew and staff, you can’t beat it.

So, anybody interested? We’re talking about doing another cruise this time next year...

Random thoughts and links, part 109

2008-02-13T20:44:00.003-05:00

See? See right there? I'm NOT crazy. There really IS such a thing as Chocolate Pasta.

Way back in 1996, while on a trip to Atlanta for a piping and drumming workshop, my pals and I grabbed some dinner at a mall food court near our hotel. In this same mall was a candy shop that, along with the usual crappy, run-of-the-mill candy, had not only gourmet chocolate (like Godiva and Joseph Schmidt) but chocolate pasta.

Blown away by the concept of chocolate pasta, I bought a package to take home. I cooked it and, although I can't remember what I topped it with, I remember being impressed with it.

I've been looking for it for almost 12 years. I've checked chocolatiers and candy shops, international groceries and gourmet food markets. Most of the time I get a strange look when I ask for Chocolate Pasta. One time in a Kansas City gourmet shop I actually go the answer, "Oh, we stopped carrying that a while back." Oh, well, at least they had heard of it.

So a couple of weeks ago, just out of the blue, my brain brought up the old memories of chocolate pasta. So I sat myself down in front of the Mac and googled it. Now mind you, I've done this several times in the pst and come up with nothing.

But this time I struck gold. I found it. The same stuff I had found all those years ago. And Amazon was selling it. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love the internet?)

Viola! Two packages land on my doorstep a couple of days ago. And I now have a contact to get more!

I am most happy.

Speaking of travel, the Spouse and I will be hitting the road Friday down to Mobile where we'll catch us a big-ass boat on its way to a couple spots in Mexico. So while we're getting away from the ice and snow, here's some things to keep yall busy:

Who said dog shit isn't funny?

The holidays may be over, but there's always next year.

I can has day job?

Just in time for Valentine's Day... if you honestly, seriously, cannot bare the thought of being separated from your one true love...

Or, ladies, if you want to really surprise your sweetie, your "carpet" can now match your "drapes." (Stolen from Kim ;) )

But if Valentine's Day has you lonely and bitter, you can always sit around and contemplate your own mortality, artistically any way.

Or, let's say, you've been jilted recently. You could send your false love a gift that says how you really feel.

And for those poor gals who keep ending up the bridesmaid and never the bride, sister, we have a place for you.

2 hours of your life you're never getting back

2008-01-29T10:03:00.000-05:00

God, movies suck right now. I mean really suck. We’re talking massive amounts of negative pressure. Huge cratefuls of suck.

Don’t believe me? Go to Apple movie trailers and look. You’ll see that Hollywood is completely out of ideas.

Example:

The Spouse and I have discussed the absolutely puke-inducing trend in comedies right now. We call them the BBBF movies; Boobs, Butts, Beer and Farts. Ever since “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” nearly every comedy that comes out is geared toward males age 13-30 and features nothing but beer and fart jokes, offset with overly-sexed and completely unrealistic babes with large tits and extra curvy butts, who surprisingly, find themselves attracted to these juvenile, overweight, unhygienic clods.

Yeah, and monkeys are flying outta my ass.

So if you go and peruse Apple movie trailers you will find no less than 12 of these BBBF turds.

Another example of rotten movies is the trend of “Let’s make a movie based on this totally awesome toy/cartoon/comic book/video game!” Example? Yup, five of them on that page. And that’s only the ones with current trailers. Should we even venture into the vomit bags that were released last year (Transformers, Ghost Rider, Bratz...)?

Then there’s the remakes. There’s 3 on the website right now but it seems like very few weeks a classic film is being ass-raped into a pop-culture trash-fest of a remake (Rollerball, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I Am Legend, Halloween...).

Speaking of hip-hop teen pop culture, there’s the other trend of the trendy teens/bad high school kids and the great dance contest/car race. You want examples? Yo! The Fast and the Furious, Bring It On, How She Move... Let’s face it. All of these are just remakes of Breakin’ Too: Electric Bugaloo.

One more trend we’ve noticed is the Harrison Ford “I have to save my family!” movie (Firewall, Air Force One) and the George Clooney running from something movie (Burn After Reading, Syriana, O Brother Where Art Thou, Michael Clayton). Altho both men are fine actors and have turned out some incredible films, both can always fall back on those two themes and at least get their Hollywood mansion mortgage paid.

Now I should point out that not all of the trailers out right now are full of suckage. There’s several on there that show promise; the dramas, the political intrigues, the foreign films. And then there’s Wall•e. Yeah, I’m hooked on this one. I’ve already watched the trailer about 30 times now. And the new Star Trek looks pretty damn cool, too.

But everything else. Suck.

Roach Motel Extended-Stay Suite

2008-01-02T18:27:00.000-05:00

Today, friends and neighbors, we are mourning the loss of Ralph. Ralph was with us only a few short years but his familiar presence was known by many who passed his way. On any trip up that dark, musty stairwell Ralph brought a little ray of sunshine into our day.

Before I tell yall more about Ralph, I’d like to talk about laziness. Now I’m not here to cast stones. Oh no. Anyone (especially the Spouse and my parents) can relate many a tale about my own laziness. I may not be Queen, but I am at least a minor Duchess when it comes to being lazy.

Along with laziness comes cleanliness. Don’t worry... I’m fastidious when it comes to my own bodily cleanliness so we won’t head down that scary, smelly path. But I do lack motivation when it comes to cleaning up my own abode. I think a lot of you will agree with me that cleaning house is the pits. I’d rather go down a sliding board made of razor blades and land in a bucket of salt that have to clean house.

Ok, it’s not THAT bad, but you get the idea. I do have a tendency to let things pile up. But usually after the third time I throw away the same dust bunny or pile of hair I’ll go ahead and break out the vacuum. (It’s weird, but I think those things crawl out of the trash can at night when we’re asleep.)

Which brings me back to Ralph. You see, Ralph is a roach. A dead roach. A dead roach what’s been lying on the fifth step in a stairwell at work. For years.

He didn’t magically reappear numerous times after being thrown away. It’s just that no one has ever made the effort to throw him away. No one. Not even the cleaning crew or a regular maintenance guy.

Sure, I’ve often thought, as I trot up the stairs to the soda machine for a 20 ounce Mountain Dew first thing in the morning, “Gees, I guess I could get a tissue and just pick that thing up and throw it away myself.” But, like many other human beings in the building that also use the same stairwell to get their morning caffeine jolt, no one else has made the effort, either. So Ralph has been lying there, belly up, since 2003.

Actually, I’m not entirely sure about the year, but I’ve been there since 2001, and I remember first encountering Ralph about a year or so after. He coulda been there longer and I just didn’t notice until later. And his name may not even be Ralph. It coulda been Edward or Howard or Bart or even Hortense. Hell, he coulda been female. But we don’t know. And we’ll never know. Because he’s dead. AND HE’S BEEN LYING ON THE FIFTH STEP SINCE 2003!

Last Friday, since it was right before another nice 4-day holiday weekend, I was feeling frisky. I got a Post-It and jotted upon it: “Hi! I’m Ralph the Roach and I’ve been here since 2003!” and stuck it on the wall just inches away from Ralph.

I fully expected that Post-It to remain another 5 years. Man, was I ever disappointed.

This morning one of our customer service gals comes over and asks, “Do you all know who put the note over the roach in the stairs?”

At first I was slightly shocked because she didn’t automatically assume it was me, knowing some of the crazy shit I do around there. But I slowly raised my hand in response.

“Well, he’s gone. The note, too.”

*blink blink* Wow, Post-Its are some powerfully shit, aren’t they? Fucking roach lays there for five years and all it took was one stupid Post-It note to get him thrown away. Must be magic or maybe some benevolent nighttime office fairies that swooped in and carried him off to Roach heaven. Wow... I wonder if that works in other ways? Instead of putting your tooth under a pillow you could put a Post-It note over something you want removed.

Shit, I’m gonna try that at home. Maybe if I put Post-It notes all over the house, the benevolent nighttime house fairies will clean this place and the Spouse and I won’t have to do it.

Or maybe Post-It notes will keep the killer dust bunnies from crawling out of the trashcan at night. Either way it’s worth a try.

Random thoughts and links, part 108

2007-12-14T09:30:00.000-05:00

Now this is your Grandpa...

This is your Grandpa with a webcam.

(Links are NSWF-ish. Apply eye bleach as necessary.)

Broken Kitty Update

2007-12-12T18:05:00.001-05:00

Broken Kitty

2007-12-10T18:56:00.000-05:00

The nightmare started Friday afternoon when I came home from work. Gilligan was laying in a corner, curled up in an awkward position. His ears were hot, his nose was hot.

When the Spouse and I tried putting him in our laps he would stay only for a little while, constantly squirming and twitching his legs like he could not get comfortable.

Running thru our brains were possibilities... Did he eat something off the Christmas tree that's now lodged in his innards? Did he eat a bug that's made him sick? Has he fallen and hurt himself? Is it arthritis?

We assumed it must be something digestive so we decided to see how he was in the morning. If nothing had passed and he was still acting weird it would be off to the Vet we would go.

So guess where we spent our Saturday morning?

The whole time I was thinking it was something digestive but after an exam the Vet started mentioning scary things like heart disease, a thyroid imbalance and this horrible condition called Aortic Thromboembolism, which is basically a blood clot cutting off blood and oxygen to the lower legs.

They took blood and an EKG, sent us home with some morphine for Gilligan's pain and promised to call us as soon as they got the test results back.

Altho he wasn't his usual self Saturday, he would at least eat a little, go up and down stairs and use his litter box. And shake paws. Just like a dog. That's the one thing Gilligan always does for me when he feel fine is shake paws.

But Saturday night he kept crawling under the Christmas tree and would not leave. Out of frustration we moved the damn tree to another room and locked the door but he still went back to the same bare spot on the floor, laid down and would move. He did not sleep with us in our bed, either, which is very unsual. He ALWAYS sleeps with us.

Sunday morning he wasn't doing too good. He was having trouble getting up and when he did walk his hips and legs seemed hunched over. The Spouse and I had errands to run during the day and when we returned home around 3:30pm things were bad. Very bad. Gilligan would not get up. We tried giving him some of his moist food (the kind of food he normally will tear your face off to get to) and he wouldn't get up. We even brought the bowl to him and he would not eat. We tried bringing him some water. When he did finally get up to take a drink he sat at an odd angle and howled. It was a howl that broken our hearts.

The howls did not stop and we were frantic. I found the Vet's card and on the back it had the number for a local Animal Emergency Hospital. I called and explained the situation and the gal at the other end send to bring him in.

The few horrific minutes of mapquesting directions to the Hospital, trying to print out a map, and bundle the howling cat into a towel sent us both into tears and howls of our own. Halfway there the cat managed to settled down. While we sat in the waiting room he seemed calm, which may sound alright, but it's not him. When Gilligan goes to a new place he's one nosey son of a bitch. He has to wander everywhere and sniff everything. The fact that he was huddled in my lap with no interest in exploring bothered me more.

While we were in the waiting room, our regular Vet called to report the bloodwork and EKG were normal. Great, but that still doesn't explain why our cat is still broken and making horrible noises.

Finally, after 2 hours, we got to talk to an Emergency Vet. She, too, was gravitating toward this awful blood clot scenario. Even tho his feet were warm and his toes were pink (indicating good blood flow) she noticed his calf muscles were tight, like from lack of oxygen. He was also dehydrated from not drinking anything all day.

All we could do was leave him there under their care, allow an IV to be inserted so they could hydrate the poor thing, and wait until morning when the UltraSound Tech arrived so they could look at the cat's heart and aorta.

So we went home. Alone. No cat. You may now (if you haven't already) insert some seriously sad violin music here.

We did some internet research on this Throm-Bomb-O-Lism (or whatever he hell it is) and the more we read, the more we lost hope. This is a serious fucking thing. It happens most often in male neutered cats, ages 4-9. (Gilligan is 7... we think... he was adopted and the rescue group that had him may not have been accurate on his birthdate.)

The numbers and cases of this condition are scary. The recovery is not good at all. The mortality rate is bad.

Devastated is not a strong enough word for how we felt. For 3 hours all the Spouse and I could do was sit and weep. Hell, we even, as awful as this sounds, started discussing what we will do if Gilligan is beyond hope.

This morning was terrible trying to go into work. My brain just wasn't on it. Neither was the Spouse's. I called the Hospital twice to check on his condition, which was stable but not much change.

After not hearing anything about the UltraSound, the Spouse couldn't take it any more and skipped out of work and went to the Hospital to visit him.

He called me and told me that Gilligan was a little more alert and was walking around. There was an occasional howl or two but nothing like it was 24 hours before.

Then he called me back around 2:30pm with these words: "He fell."

"WHAT?!"

"Gilligan fell and hurt himself. His heart is fine. There's no blood clot. He's injured himself from a fall."

In a fit of tears and giggles, we both rejoiced that the stupid little beast had fallen.

I, too, skipped out of work immediately and raced to join my Spouse and our boy. The Vet (the 3rd one we've seen) explained that the UltraSound showed a normal heart and no clot whatsoever. Gilligan had been more active today, altho still loopy from the mophine. He had simply suffered some kind of injury to his back or hips Friday while we were at work. So we have no idea what he did.

So, after a anti-inflamatory injection, and a nice bill totalling over $1,000 (for the initial visit and the Hospital stay), our buddy was returned to us.

Riding home in my lap in the car he was very calm but as soon as I pulled into the driveway his head went up and the meowing started. When he got in the house he ran (yes, RAN!) up the steps. I put some of his favorite food in his bowl and he devoured it, even licking the outside of the bowl. He's helped himself to several trips to the dry food bowl and he's ventured up and down stairs a few times, too.

Besides the fact he's still not 100% himself yet, the only other weird thing is his tail is not working. It's just sorta hanging like a wet rope. Even if you pick it up it falls limply to the floor.

The cat has done busted his ass. So he's still broken. And he has a bald band on his arm from the IV and they shaved his belly for the UltraSound. So he has a big, bald pudge. But he's not in pain anymore and he's home... alive...

So, how was YOUR weekend?

I'm such a geek...

2007-11-25T13:24:00.001-05:00

We did it. We've been talking about it for about a month.

I first saw the beauty of the new iMacs a few months ago, right before the Apple Store opened in Loserville.

Then the Spouse made noises about how nice it would be if we had another Mac and we could both surf the web at the same time.

Then Webhamster mentioned how easy it would be to hook up a router to our internet source.

Then a few days ago the Spouse's hand-me-down G3 iPod croaked. Well, it didn't really croak, but the battery is shot. I was trying furiously to get his music uploaded to it... going 50 songs as a time... and still it was being surly.

So the Spouse made noise about how nice it would be if I got a new 160gig iPod (for ALL the crap I keep finding on the web) and he could get my current 60gig iPod to replace his dying one.

And, well, our 5th anniversary WAS Friday. And since we didn't buy individual gifts for each other...

So after a hefty purchase at Apple, and a stop off to Comp USA for a router and an ethernet cable long enough, and several hours last night and a few today moving over files and re-establishing connections, and waiting thru updates and various syncs, here we are, basking in the beauteous glow of the new iMac (350gig hardrive, 2.4 GHz Intel Core 2 Duo) with the older, yet still dependable, iMac behind us.

See? Even the cat is happy. Now he has TWO laps to choose from when he hangs out in the office with us.

The Christmas Wrong

2007-11-21T17:50:00.001-05:00

It started today. Today I entered Dante’s 9th circle of Hell.

The Christmas music got started by my supervisor. The day before Thanksgiving. And from here on out, for the next 4 weeks until December 22 I’ll be forced to listen to her limited yet never-ending playlist of Christmas songs.

Never mind that I’ve told her, politely, that I don’t like Christmas music. My brief stint in retail in my youth caused that. No, never mind that I have repeatedly told her I don’t like Christmas music. That’s just too fucking bad. I get a mean-spirited laugh, then told that I’m a Scrooge and the music plays on.

The same tired old 15 or so carols we all know and loath, repeated over and over, each time by a different artist: Elvis, John Denver, Frank Sinatra, Dolly Parton, Andy Williams, Nat King Cole... Over and over and over.

We didn’t listen to Christmas music at my house when I was growing up. Yeah, I sang them in school. And yes, we still celebrated Christmas even tho we were a non religious family. We just didn’t drive ourselves silly with repetitious, inane Christmas carols. My Christmas-music-lovin’ supervisor was shocked - SHOCKED, I tell you - to discover that I had never heard the Andy Williams Christmas album, and that my parents didn’t own it.

That’s because my parents had taste. I grew up hearing the Beatles and the Stones, not Andy Williams or, gods forbid, Pat Boone.

What makes it even worse (yes, it gets worse) are some of the quirky, non-traditional songs that get tossed onto these Christmas albums. Songs like “Please Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas)” by John Denver or “Hard Candy Christmas” by Dolly Parton are extremely putrid.

Don’t believe me? Go google the lyrics for both. You’ll see what I mean. These are songs that burrow under your skin and make their way into your core, lay eggs and then die. Those eggs hatch later and the Christmas-Music larvae devour your soul.

These songs cause me to lose the will to live. These songs make me want to grab something sharp and just start stabbing.

Thank the gods I have a metric fuck ton of music on my iPod. Looks like I’ll be getting a lot of use out of those earbuds for the next 4 weeks.

It sounds sick, but I’m actually looking forward to going into work Friday. Yes, I really do have to work on the day after Thanksgiving. But that’s ok. Everyone else in my department took the day off. So it’s just little ol’ me. All by myself. With no Christmas music. At least for that day.

Bliss. Until December 22.

A Thanksgiving to remember

2007-11-12T19:02:00.001-05:00

The Spouse and I survived another trip to the world-famous Jungle Jim's up in Ohio (in Fairfield, just north of Cincinnati for those of you considering the roadtrip). We even dragged my parents along and wore them out on the 2 and a half hour excursion from one end of the store to the other.

Jungle Jim's is known not only as an International Market, but as being one of the largest (if not THE largest) grocery on the North American continent. Not to mention, they also have the nicest restrooms in the U.S. (and the port-o-potty doors are pretty damn cool).

Another thing that makes this place so amazing is the weird and wonderful selection of unusual foods you can find. Below are just a sampling of the things the Spouse and I picked up:

Mexican tamarind candy
Hot 'N Spicy nori snacks
REAL Cranberry Fool
Dundee Marmalade from Scotland
my Blenheim Ginger Ale (which I can no longer find anywhere here in Loserville)
2 pounds of frozen crawdads (just thaw, heat and eat!)
Haggis. In a can. Two of them (THAT'S the Spouse's purchase, not mine)
Oh, and a turducken

Other things you can get there that we decided NOT to purchase:

from the Meat department - elk, kangaroo, bison, ostrich and goat. They even had elk burger patties.
Pickled pig's feet
Cracklin'
Chocolate covered ants and other bug candy
bug snacks - Crick-ettes and Larv-ettes. In a variety of flavors (bar-b-que, sour cream and onion, chedder, salt and vinegar)

But back to the turducken.

A while back on Food Network I saw a program about turducken. It's a cajun-inspired delicacy that consists of a deboned chicken rolled in stuffing, then stuffed into a deboned duck. Then THAT is rolled in stuffing and stuffed into a deboned turkey. And the stuffing is cajun-style stuffing with spices and sausage and other cajun goodness. And if the elk and kangaroo mentioned earlier doesn't freak out my vegetarian friends, I'm sure the turducken has them running for the hills.

Anyway, the program mentioned that these things are usually special ordered in advance and can get quite pricey. But I thought, "Damn, I would still like to try one."

So the other day the Spouse and I were making our list for the Jungle Jim's expendition and I casually mentioned, "Ya know, we oughta look for a turducken. If any place other than Louisiana would have them, it'd be Jungle Jim's."

In all seriousness, I didn't expect to find one there. Really.

But low and behold, as we were making our way thru the meat section, past the goat and bison, there, in a small box, was a turducken. I gasped. The Spouse gasped. I grabbed the box and looked it over. Sure enough, it was a real turducken. I was just about to load it into our cart when the Spouse exclaimed, "Look! There's another one!"

And there, in a much larger box, was a much larger turducken. Fifteen pounds of bird upon bird upon bird. And it was ours. For $79.

Yes. We really did spend $79 on a turducken. But dammit, you only live once (well, some of us are all for the reincarnation bit, but if I came back as another person, I may not have a chance at a real turducken experience). And Thanksgiving is coming up. And we're doing it at our house this year. So it looks like the Spouse and I will be serving oven-baked turducken for Mom and the Dads.

And no, you cannot deep fry a turducken. It has to be oven cooked. So the one Thanksgiving ritual of all the men standing outside in the cold, gathered around the large vat of boiling peanut oil and turkey will not be happening.

But until then, our turducken stays lovingly tucked away in our freezer, awaiting its moment of glory when it can bask in the glow of the pre-heated oven.

And a good time shall be had by all. Unless the Spouse breaks out the canned Haggis.

Favorite Spooky Video Countdown

2007-10-25T15:12:00.001-05:00

Once Haunted House season is over I can really look forward to Halloween Night. I may be too old to go Trick or Treating but I'm at the perfect age to enjoy giving away the goods.

When the Spouse and I moved into our house 3 years ago, we had no idea how lively our little neighborhood could get on holidays. Halloween night our cul de sac goes batshit insane. Our first year we had 32 kids show up. Our second year we had 64. Last year was down to 17 but it rained like hell that night. This year they're predicting dry and cool weather so I'm hoping for another 64 plus.

We have drive-by Trick-or-Treating out here. A car will pull up and stop in the middle of the cul de sac. Three to six kids will get out, run up to every house, jump back in the car and VROOM! They're gone.

Nearly every house is decorated with pumpkins, lights and props. And we are no exception. I have two 20-pound bags of bones that get arranged on our front walk, resembling some whacked out crime scene. We have orange lights lining the house and the Spouse lines the front yard with several torches.

I also put the iMac in the window and have it showing old horror movies like Night of the Living Dead and The Pit and the Pendulum. The kids like it but the parents out with the kids love it more.

But to warm up the crowd before the movies start rolling, I show 10 of my favorite creepy videos:

10. Dead Man's Party - Oingo Boingo
Ok, so it's not exactly a spooky video, even tho it does feature some cute spot-motion animation of little Dia de los Muertos skeletons and a very creepy looking Danny Elfman. The song is still appropriate.

9. TV Dinners - ZZ Top
By today's standards this is pretty cheezy but I loved this video when it came out. And the little meal monster is cute.

8. The Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show cast
Halloween just isn't the same with it out.

7. Haulin' Hearse - The Ghastly Ones
I discovered these guys via one of my favorite music blogs and it got me hooked on the whole Monster Surf music genre. I love their outfits and that vintage hearse is sweet.

6. The Contraption
Not a music video, but still pretty damn creepy nonetheless. It left a hell of an impression on me when I first saw it back in the 80s and it's never lost its impact. See if you recognize the man (you saw him earlier in #8).
(Embedding isn't allowed but you can view it here.)

5. What's He Building in There - Tom Waits
When he wrote this piece he didn't mean for it to come across as creepy, just more of a casual observation on how nosey people can be. But the sound effects made my skin crawl the first time I listened to it. The accompanying video pushes the spooky factor even further, strangely reminding me of Night of the Living Dead.

4. Joan Crawford - Blue Oyster Cult
Catholic school girls are creepy. Zombie Catholic school girls are even creepier.

3. Night Boat - Duran Duran
Better than Snakes on a Plane, Zombies on a Boat!

2. Rubber Johnny - Aphex Twin
Beyond disturbing. The night-vision only makes it even more scary.

1. Thriller - Michael Jackson
I was never a fan of Michael Jackson, even back when he was still a black man, but damn this is STILL a great video for Halloween!
(Embedding not available, but you can watch it here.)

And I'm sure yall have a bunch of other videos I failed to mention here. Feel free to add them in the comments. I'm always up for expanding my spooky collection.

Haunted Adventures 2007: Finale

2007-10-24T11:30:00.001-05:00

One weekend left. And then that’s it. For real.

Well, ok, not COMPLETELY it. The Mansion still has a couple of Ghostly Undertaking sleepovers in November that I’ll be doing ye olde Tarot card readings for.

But for the whole Haunted House thing, looks like I’ll be gradually passing the torch (or severed limb, if that sounds more appropriate) onto my Assistant Director. I’m not bowing out completely. I’ll be there to help out and advise my successor, and I’ll still do publicity, set design as few other things. I’ve already talked to my Assistant and the Staff. And everybody’s cool with it.

I’d been pondering this for the past four years, and seriously pondering it this summer. But the decision came two weeks ago.

Every year this event takes more and more out of me. I quit acting in the House 2 years ago to focus on management. But running this whole operation should be a full time job. Unfortunately I already have one of those, plus a spouse, cat and house that also need my attention.

And I’m not 24 any more. That’s how old I was when I entered this business we call ‘scare.’ I’m 37, overweight, out of shape, greying and prone to tire easily.

But back to two weeks ago. We had finished a successful Friday night and I was looking forward to curling up next to my beloved spouse for a good night’s sleep. Which never came. The moment I laid down on the pillow I was suddenly wide awake. With a raging fever.

Saturday morning I dragged my sorry carcass out of bed after several futile hours of getting no sleep. I went straight to the couch and debated on whether to return to the House that night while the fever continued, the throat burned and the ears plugged.

Needless to say bad health won out. It’s the first night I’ve missed. Ever. And for those of you who don’t know me personally, I have to be dirty dog sick to stay home. I mean I have to be suffering from bleeding eyeballs and spontaneous human combustion before I’ll not show up.

So the House had to run without me that Saturday. I managed to make it to work Monday, which was stupid, because it only made my plague worse. I took off both Tuesday and Wednesday (another first for me - missing 2 days straight from work) and ventured to my doctor to discover I have a lovely case of strep throat. Gees, I haven’t had strep since high school, and that was 20 years ago, folks. It’s not as easy to get over when you’re old.

So it was during my fever non-sleep that the decision was made. I’m done. This is my last year. I’m not doing this any more.

But with the help of some heavy duty antibiotics, my health sprang back and here I am. And I’m running the show for one more weekend.

After that, my life is mine again. We have Halloween coming up next week, and Halloween night our cul de sac goes batshit crazy. The spouse and I are working some major events for the next couple of months. Our 5-year anniversary is next month. We also want to have a Winter Solstice party in December before we head out on our annual Get-the-Hell-Outta-Town-for-Christmas trip.

Plus our house needs a good cleaning. And I have more books to read. And the spouse and I have been enjoying the first season of Night Gallery on DVD recently. And I have the COMPLETE series of Thriller with Boris Karloff coming in soon (yes, friends and neighbors, all 67 episodes).

So, Happy Halloween to all you loyal readers. Things will be perking up here again very soon. But I gotta get ready for tonight’s episode of Ghost Hunters (they’re gonna be at our local spooky gem, The Waverly, next week!).

Toodles til later! *bows to the left, bows to the right*

Random thoughts and links, part 107

2007-10-10T16:11:00.001-05:00

We're two weeks into Haunt Season and I'm confronting "Theory vs. Practice" full force.

All spring and summer, and even part of the early fall, my creative crew and I work our butts off putting this place together. And a lot of our original ideas that come up in the early spring have gone thru a complete transformation by the time we're ready to open. We encounter obstacles, time and money constraints, safety issues and state government blocks (when you're operating on state property, you REALLY have to watch your ass).

But the whole Theory vs. Practice doesn't end with opening night. It continues until the place shuts down at the end of the season. And last weekend I had a refresher course on Theory vs. Practice. Several things we had PLANNED to go a certain way have turned out not applicable in practice.

So you gotta adapt. And adapt we shall. And no one outside the function of the House will know any better.

My problem is my stress. I have brought stressing out to a whole new level, an art form if you will. I can have a meltdown bigger and better than Britney Spears ('course I keep my hair and I don't hit any illegal substances). "Type A Personality" doesn't even begin to cover me.

I'm not a candidate for a heart attack or a stroke. I'm a candidate for Spontaneous Human Combustion. I swear, when my time comes, I'm gonna go out like a supernova. There'll be this giant *FLOOM!* and there'll be nothing left but a greasy pile of ash, some jewelry and shoes. That's it.

Luckily a staff gal and her spouse have come to my rescue. So maybe I'll make it another week without any heat.

And speaking of heat, hopefully this weekend will go smoother. Not that last weekend was rough, but the weather was downright hellish. It was that famous All-98 Weather; 98 degrees, 98% humidity, 98 heat index. I had actors dropping like flies. Hell, even standing outside wasn't any better. Everyone's clothes were soaked with sweat and moisture from the air. The crowd was surly and getting angrier by the minute. Waiting in line and All-98 Weather is not a pretty combination.

Ok, I take that back, it WAS a rough weekend. But this weekend is supposed to have nicer weather.

In the meantime, I'll leave yall with some wacky links. That should keep yall busy until I have a pause to write again.

Outdoor string lights add such ambiance to any event, especially these charming ones...

Or for those entertaining inside this Halloween, howz about these to wash up with...

Forget sock monkeys, I wanted some of these when I was a kid...

For fans of ICanHasCheezburger, a translator!

Want a ringtone that will REALLY get attention? Fuck yeah!

A place for us cube farm inhabitants...

A Graveyard Smash

2007-09-18T14:12:00.000-05:00

It’s that time of year again. The time when I disappear from most social functions, don’t add a lot to the Hell Bus, and (according to my beloved spouse) become very difficult to live with. (Spouse, you have my undying love and devotion for putting up with me these past couple of months.)

As much as I love this volunteer job of mine, it does take its toll every year. I love the feeling of oncoming autumn, the cool days, the smell of wood and paint as we construct yet another floor plan and new sets. I love seeing the old veterans returning with just as much (or even more) enthusiasm for this business we call scare. I love the rush of Friday and Saturday nights when we have a huge line of people waiting to get their chance to be scared shitless or at least come out laughing. Either way, we’ve done our job. We entertained them.

But every year I return with a little more grey sprouting outta my skull. I worry about stuff way too much. Sometimes I set goals a little too high. And do I ever get stressed out. I go beyond the snapping point at least 5 times from June to November. Just ask the spouse or any of my friends about some of my outbursts.

And, as usual, I’ve had some let downs. I expect it every year. There’s always one person, one manufacturer, one incident or one state official who manages to fail us miserably. Some years it’s been one of each. This year it’s been a few of some, none of the other.

So yes, I’ve already had one good snap. One good primal screaming session. I just had to get it out before something physical popped.

But that was a couple days ago. Right now I’m fine. In moments of complete and utter breakdown I keep remembering the words of my predecessor and mentor (the guy who used to run the place before me):

“The House will run. No matter what happens. The House will open and run itself. The customers won’t know about all the bullshit you’ve put up with until this point. They won’t know how many people have bailed and left you hanging. They won’t know about the props that never arrived, got built or are already broken. You just put on your best make-up and give them the best show you can and they won’t know the difference.”

I also always have Plan B in the back of my skull. Every room in that house has a Plan B. Every prop that fails, every actor that quits, every promise made that goes unfulfilled... Plan B is filed away in the cabinet down the hall in the dusty corner of my brain. I have a back-up plan for everything.

Plus I have some absolutely amazing people who have gone way beyond the call of duty. My Artistic Director has taken time off from his real job and worked odd hours late at night on the house. This mad genius of a man has built some wildly freakish things for us that our little brains could never has conceived. Things that would cost thousands of dollars, this man made for a few hundred, sometimes even less.

Several of my veterans (D, M, L and E) have been there with me every single Thursday night, putting up with the heat, the dust, the filth and the 100lb+ props getting moved from room to room. Bless their little cobwebbed hearts. I love these people. My little worker bees.

And the staff has been good. My one special staff girl (you know who you are) has been wonderful at keeping my mood elevated and talking me thru all the shitty stuff.

So now we’re down to the final week and a half before we open. There’s still stuff to do but every time I walk thru that house, I’m really impressed at how much has been accomplished. Who knows, we might be finished with this thing before we open!

(Some of you have been asking about photos. Friends and neighbors, they’re already up.)

New resident at the Haunted House

2007-08-31T09:58:00.001-05:00

Last night I was leaving the Mansion's downstairs office via the Gift Shop and, as I exited the door, just happened to look up.

In the seven years I've been there, I've never looked in this one particular spot.

Directly over the door is a wood sign hanging by a metal chain at each corner that reads "Culbertson Mansion Dry Goods Gift Shop." When I looked up, I was looking at the back of that sign.

And I saw something furry. Very furry.

I thought, "What the hell is that? Is that some sort of cocoon? Is it a large Woolly Worm?" And that's when I noticed the little toes...

...hanging on the top edge of the sign.

I'm amazed he's been there that long. Especially with all the traffic and noise that occurs underneath that sign every day.

Oh well, he's cute. I hope he stays. Perhaps he's a good omen for this season.

BatFocus and the Disco Shitter

2007-08-25T08:55:00.001-05:00

I love the internet. I say that at least once a day. You can find anything and everything on the internet.

I’m constantly amazed at the number of people who have no clue how to access it, use it or even what they could find on it. The people I work with are a fine example. I’ve become the great and powerful know-it-all Internet Guru at work because nobody there knows how to search for things. As omnipresent as Google is, the majority of people I work with don’t know how to use it.

Case #1: Storm a-Brewin’
A: Dag, those clouds sure do look awful dark. Duranfan, what’s our weather look like?
Me: (I go here and report whatever I see).
A: Ok, thanks.

Case #2: Can’t get that song out of my head
B: You know that song from the Geico commercial? The one with the caveman in the airport? Who does that song?
Me: (Google: Type in “lyrics there is always something to remind me of another place and time”) The song is called “Remind Me” by a group called Royksopp.
B: Cool. I need to get that off iTunes

Case #3: The Urban Legend
C: (email received) “UPS uniforms have been stolen by terrorists!” followed by a message intended to scare the living shit out of you.
Me: (in a reply) No, they haven’t. It’s an internet hoax. Go here are read for yourself.

(I’ve discovered if it’s too good or too horrific to be true, it probably isn’t. Go to snopes and look it up.)

This shit happens nearly every day. But I don’t use the Internet just to find out weird facts. I also use it for what many of our double-X chromosome population loves to do. I use it to shop.

Amazon is a favorite of mine and the spouse’s. Between the two of us, I don’t know who spends more money on books, music and movies.

I found my wedding dress here. I find all kinds of cool things from Japan here. I found some really funny and very offensive t-shirts here and here. And I found some wonderful perfume here. And socks! I love socks! I found a bunch of wacky socks here.

I also get a metric fuck-ton of catalogs, all of which has a website. So when I got the most recent What On Earth catalog and saw these, I had to hit their website and order. While I was there, I was browsing thru their clearance section and came across this.

Oh wow! Look at it! It matches our bathroom! It’s blue and transparent and it has shells and starfish and coral in it! And it lights up! Holy shit! I must have this!

So they came in two days ago. The wings are adorable. And it even came with a nose! A plush, black nose that your wire to your grill. This fall my little mom-wagon will be transformed into the BATFOCUS, serving as a moving advertisement for the Haunted House (we have magnetic door panel ads I’ll be sticking on the sides of the car).

And the toilet lid? Amazing. My friend Nicograph dubbed it the Disco Shitter. It was a bitch and a half to install (who knew changing a toilet lid would be so damn tough) but wow... it’s purdy. It’s blue and all lit up and sparkly and everything. It lights up the whole bathroom. So now, when we get those middle-of-the-night piss urges, we won’t get blinded by turning on the main light. Now we simply lift the lid and ta-da! Disco Shitter!

Did I mention how much I love the Internet?

And now, a pause that refreshes...

2007-08-06T10:45:00.000-05:00

First off, does anyone know where I can find these? I’ve been hearing about them for a while and I’ve been all jonsin’ to try one.

I know a lot of people are gonna be thinking, “Peanut butter and banana?! Yuck!” Not so, uneducated one. Peanut butter and ‘nana is damn tasty. Maybe not in Elvis’s favorite sandwich form, but still, nothing beats a fresh banana sliced in half and filled with creamy peanut butter.

And yes, I said creamy. Crunchy is ok, but give me creamy any day. Ya know, way back in my single, lonely and bitter days, when I actually tried out the whole on-line dating thing, that was one of my conversation openers: Peanut butter: creamy or crunchy?

But back to the topic. Peanut butter, yes. One of the greatest snack foods ever. As a kid I lived on peanut butter. On toast. With jelly in sandwich form. On crackers. With bananas. With honey (also know as Honey Bunkin among us hillbilly types). Sometimes even just a heaping tablespoon of the stuff all by itself. And of course, with chocolate.

“You got peanut butter in my chocolate! Hey, you got chocolate in my peanut butter!” Yes, now shut up and eat it. It’s good. Really good. Chocolate and peanut butter is one of the best PMS food combinations ever. What a great comfort food. I can’t tell you how many times a large bar of Hershey’s Special Dark and a jar of Reese’s returned me to sanity after a job loss, a break-up or a bad bout of cramps.

(Another great yet weird snack food combo is M&Ms and Cheeze Whiz. Try it sometime and tell me what you think.)

Speaking of PMS food, I discovered another wonderful treat this weekend. The spouse and I were running around Saturday and decided to stop at a Popcorn Station on the way home. I’ve driven by this place nearly every day and have been wanting to go in and grab something. And am I ever glad we did. For behold! I have discovered perhaps the greatest snacky food since the afore mentioned peanut butter and chocolate...

Chocolate. Cherry. Popcorn.

No shit. And all you people making yucky sounds, shut the hell up. You haven’t tried it yet. Popcorn that’s been candy-coated in a nice sugary, cherry-flavor substance, then drizzled with chocolate. Honey, it don’t get no better than this.

Or maybe I shouldn’t say that yet. I gotta try the Elvis Peanut Butter and ‘Nana Reese’s Cup first. Now I just gotta find one.

Death (and blind) by salsa

2007-07-26T09:13:00.001-05:00

Last night I was watching reruns of Ghost Hunters while the spouse was doing his Tae Quan Do thing. And, as with many nighttime TV watching ventures, a snack is present. Sometimes it’s popcorn, or cheese and crackers (love me some Brie), or maybe ice cream. But last night’s choice was chips and salsa. And not just any old ordinary salsa, but some super, duper, burn-your-face-off salsa.

The above reference is commonly known as “foreshadowing.”

This particular salsa is so hot that I have to dilute it with boring old store-bought stuff. Even for a pepper-head like me, I can’t take it straight.

So I had finished my snacky-poo and was in the process of cleaning up. From here on out, I’m going to slow everything down so you, too, can fully appreciate the trauma that is about to unfurl.

I had scooped up my dishes, the bag of chips and the jar of referenced salsa when the lid of the jar came loose. I thought I had tightened the lid but apparently had not done such a good job.

I was aware of the jar coming loose and I saw it falling toward our nice, light taupe carpet. In an effort to stop the eminent catastrophe, I dove down in an attempt to catch the open, plummeting jar (you can just see this in 'bullet-time,' can't ya?)

But being not as young and spry as I once was, I was not quick enough and the jar hit the carpeted floor. And it hit at such as angle that the salsa did not go sideways and spill, but rather flung straight up.

Straight up. Like a perfect 90 degrees straight up. Into my eyes.

Into my eyes.

My eyes.

MY EYES!

I actually saw the chunks of salsa as they zoomed towards me. And, once again, not being super-human fast, I was unable to shut my eyes in time. I felt the coolness of the tomatoey, gelatin-like substance flood my face. And before the pain even started I knew I was doomed.

I dropped whatever remained in my hands and ran for the bathroom, yelling the whole time. Please note: At this point the pain has still not started yet, but I'm yelling because I know what's coming. I grabbed a bath towel, went to the sink, turned on the water and started splashing. That’s when the pain started.

Pain. Oh pain. Pain pain pain.

I’m soaking my face in water, splashing like crazy. I have to get my contacts out but I can’t even open my eyes. I’m also sobbing and yelping.

Speeding things back up to real time, this went on for about 5 minutes. The pain is so bad I can no longer stand and am now on my knees, still with my hands and head in the sink, trying desperately to open my eyes and get my lenses out. During all of this violent washing of the water my right lens has already escaped. Whether it got stuck to a towel, landed on the floor or went down the sink, I don’t know.

All this time I’m thinking, “Is this an emergency? Do I need to call 911? Dan won’t be home for another hour. What the hell should I do? The water isn’t working fast enough. What else can I throw at my eyes to make the pain stop? Am I going to have damage to my eyes now? Will I wake up tomorrow with my eyelids glued together and my eyeballs seared and blind?”

I was finally able to open my eyes, but only for about one second at a time. The pain is worse when air hits my eyes. Finally, after an additional 5 or so minutes, I was able to get the left lens out. Not that it matters. Those poor bastards are toast as far as I’m concerned (thank the gods for disposable lenses).

My poor eyes are beyond red. And swollen. And I can only keep them open for a few seconds at a time. But, after several more minutes (if you’re keeping track, it’s been about 15 total) I was able to put on my glasses and venture back to the living room and inspect the damage.

Which, strangely enough, wasn’t that bad. The splattering was in one small area and, after some vacuuming, application of stain remover, some more vacuuming, and then a good sessions with the rug shampooer, you’d never know the accident had occurred.

Greeting the spouse an hour later and relaying the story was fun. He was very comforting and helped tremendously with the rug shampooer.

And as of today, you’d never know the Great Salsa Disaster ever occurred. The carpet is perfectly clean and my eyes are no longer red or swollen (although the skin on my arm that got a lot of the splatter is still a little tingly).

And I can see.

Haunted Adventures: The 2007 season

2007-07-23T14:38:00.000-05:00

Well, after seven years, I finally got to experience something kinda spooky at the Mansion. It’s not much, but it’s a great story...

I’ve been hanging out at the Culbertson Mansion now since 2000, mostly doing Haunted House stuff, but in the more recent years I’ve been helping out with other events. I’ve come to really enjoy my time over there. I love all the people involved and I love that house.

With any old house come the obligatory ‘hauntings.’ Whether the house is really haunted or not I couldn’t say, Until last week, I was of the mind it wasn’t. I never felt any presence anywhere in that house (although the 3rd floor creeps me out - that’s only because it’s the only part that’s not restored yet). Hell, I’ve even slept in the Mansion for a few hours (in the master bedroom no less) and nothing happened.

Being a huge fan of Ghost Hunters and other paranormal shows, books and whatnot, I’ve been really hoping to see or experience something during my time roaming the enormous place. But nothing so far... until last Thursday.

Thursday nights are Work Nights for the Haunted House this year. Every Thursday after work I head across the river to New Albany, gather my little volunteer worker bees together and assign them projects, from moving props to painting, construction to set design.

Last Thursday around 4:30 I was down in the basement office, sitting with the Assistant Curator, Jamie, going over the Haunted House ‘To-Do’ list and new floorplan when...

WHOOP WHOOP!!! WHOOP WHOOP!!!

I’ve never seen that girl move that fast. She was up in a nanosecond, running for a cabinet, flinging it open to reveal a Fire Alarm System. We both watched the monitor as the warning scrolled across:

“ALARM PULL... 1ST FLOOR... FORMAL PARLOR...”

Alarm pull? Oh, shit! Someone pulled the fire alarm! Jamie did about 90mph running up the stairs to the Formal Parlor. A couple of minutes later she came back downstairs, puzzled.

“Well, that monitor says we have an alarm that’s been pulled, but the alarm in the Formal Parlor hasn’t been touched. Nobody pulled it. And the only other people in the House right now are a tour group on the third floor... Old Corny, she’s at it again”

(Cornelia was one of two wives to live the Mansion and is reputed to be the culprit of the strange goings-on.)

Jamie continued, “That’s the third thing to happen this week. Couple days ago the bell on the Gift Shop door rang but the door never opened and there wasn’t anyone outside trying to get in. Yesterday morning we heard someone walking around upstairs and the house was empty except for us in the office.”

(Seems that when strange stuff happens at the Mansion, it all happens at once, then everything goes quiet for weeks or even months.)

Ok, so it wasn’t a GREAT ghost story, but it was pretty damn exciting when it happened... although it wasn’t nearly as thrilling as my experience with ‘Stoney,’ but that’s another story. If yall are nice, I might repost it sometime...

Random thoughts and links, part 106

2007-07-09T20:12:00.000-05:00

I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of thoughts right now. My spare time has been balanced between devouring books and Haunted House construction (yes, I know it's only July but we've been tearing down and building up now for over a month).

But I still have some juicy tidbits of web goodness to share. Hope yall have the time, most of these are videos...

Another great time-killing game... but this one actually improves your typing skills.

Attention Clan Geek Members! I expect to see one of these on each of your respective doorsteps this October.

What do you get when you cross ICanHasCheezburger and Gorey? This.

And in case you haven't seen it already... the Most Dramatic 5 Seconds on the Internet!

What the hell... they SCREAM?!

Yeah, it'll leave a stain, but this is still damn funny.

You won't be seeing these in the U.S. anytime soon... #3 is my fav.

Ok, a little history. Way back in the day, there was a show on USA Network called Night Flight. This amazing program ran from about 10pm to about 3 or 4am, Friday and Saturday nights. They showed everything from old horror movies to music videos, short animations to film outtakes, interviews with famous people and other oddball eye candy.

I saw this film back in the mid 80s, sandwiched between a heavily edited Andy Warhol's Flesh for Frankenstein and Blood for Dracula. I was blown away. I was lucky enough to capture it on VHS and since then, have shown it to dozens of people. Not having the hardware or technology to convert it to digital format, I've been waiting not-so-patiently for this to pop up on the web. Fortunately, some wonderful sould has done just that.

I now present "The Contraption." (Trivia: See if you can guess who 'the man' is.)

One final video... the spouse recently discovered iMovie and spent ALL DAY Saturday composing this little number. Be gentle, it's his first real film.

Thank you for your support.

Non-Love Bugs

2007-07-02T14:01:00.000-05:00

*sigh* Yeah, I know... it’s been a while. Yes, I’m still alive.

Work has been sporadic. One day we’re furiously trying to get work out and another day we’re sitting around picking our nose and playing solitaire (well, for me, it’s Double or this weird little shoot’em game). But the biggest pain in the ass at work right now isn’t the inconsistent workflow. It’s the damn bugs.

Yes, we’re infested. About 3 months ago we noticed these pesty little gnats everywhere. At first we thought it was just in our pre-press department, but then everyone in our half of the building was complaining about them. We thought perhaps they were breeding on some long-forgotten unemptied trash can, feasting on someone’s month-old lunch. But after searching everywhere we came up with nothing, just a steady increase in the number of flying pests.

We have a pest-control guy come by once a month and spray, but apparently his magic bug-killing spray has no effect on fruit flies (yes, that’s what they are). We informed Mr. Pest Control Guy about our infestation and he supplied us with several prison-sized cans of super nuclear bug killing spray.

That day, after we had all had safely stored away any food, coffee, candy and plants and then left to go home, they fumigated the entire building. We all arrived the next morning, hoping to discover thousands of mini-bug carcasses all over every flat surface.

Nada. Nothing. In fact, we think this spray only acted as an aphrodisiac and spurned them on to keep breeding. How bad can this infestation be, you ask? Well, there’s four of us in our department, and each of us was averaging 7-12 kills a day (go on, do the math, I’ll wait). And we were in now way even making a dent in the growing population.

Two months ago the pest-control man returned and the whole office bitched him out again. By this time the entire business personnel had been madly smashing fruit flies. The startling sound of *THWACK!* and *THUMP!* could be heard all day long at various intervals, from one corner of the building to the other.

So this time Mr. Pest Control Guy left several strange bottle traps at various spots. These bottle traps have an inch of Tang®-looking fluid in the bottom. In theory, this sweet liquid should attract the fruit flies, whereupon they fly down into the bottle thru a tiny opening and are either too stupid to figure out how to get out or, preferably, drown in the Tang®.

Great theory. Too bad this one didn't work either. Instead, after a week, each bottle had less than 5 dead bugs but a plethora of large, furry, white spots of mold. So instead of getting rid of the bugs we're harvesting our own tainted supply of Penicillin.

Now we're down to a few weeks ago. Mr. Pest Control Man returns and we point out the Tang and Penicillin soup mixture with very few flies. The good news is the number of kills has dropped. The bad news is (besides the mold) we still have flies. This time Mr. Pest Control Guy pours some magically liquid into all of our plants (including my little bamboo plant), claiming that sometimes these fruit flies will have a colony in ordinary house plant soil. While he says this, he's eyeing my little bamboo plant with suspicion.

"Dude, this little plant doesn't even have soil. It's water and rocks, and I change the water frequently. If I don't, the plant starts to die."

I must have slipped into speaking Russian because he looked at me like I was a total retard. And he poured the magical bug-killing liquid into my bamboo plant anyway. Luckily, after 2 weeks, my plant is still alive.

Unfortunately, we still have bugs. Yes, the numbers have dropped. We're only killing about 3 a day now. But we all still look like a bunch of tweakers, waving our hands around and slapping various body parts all day.

Meth addicts ain't got nothing on us.

Video killed the ghost star

2007-06-12T08:48:00.000-05:00

This weekend we bid goodbye to an old friend, a dependable friend, a friend that brought entertainment to our lives and light to our living room.

My old TV has been retired, or at least moved to the lower, less-used level of the house.

The old TV was a hand-me-down given to me when I moved out on my own in 1995. My parents had owned it for about 5 years prior. It was a generic TV from Sam’s Club, and when I say generic, I’m not kidding. It has a model number on the front, something like X5-3400 but there’s no name, brand or logo anywhere. Mom and Dad had it for about a year and it quit working, so my ultra-nerd uncle fixed it and it’s been good as generic-new ever since.

So this old TV of mine has survived 5 moves and just as many cable/dish re-installations and various accessory hook-ups. And all was fine until several months ago.

The problem started out very small. Every once in a while the picture would ever-so-slowly get grainy. After about 10-15 minutes the grain would become total snow. This snow would last anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple of hours. Then, just as slowly as it crept in, the snow would go to grain, then the picture would clear up completely.

Since this happened so infrequently, I chalked it up to sunspots, weather, UFOs, trees in the way of the signal, a bird sitting on the dish or the feds eavesdropping on us again. So we just dealt with it. I assumed it was with the dish since the television was fine when we used the VCR or the DVD. Picture was totally clear.

But lately the grainy problem has been getting worse. It was occurring more frequently, so much so that I found myself watching less television... until Wednesday night.

Wednesday night was the season opener for Ghost Hunters. Out of ALL of the shows out there, this is the ONLY one I CANNOT miss. Sure, I like Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs, but the world has to stop Wednesday nights at 9 so I can see what spooky shit Jay and Grant encounter. I turn off my phone. I turn off the iMac. The spouse can either sit quietly next to me on the couch or, more often, go elsewhere in the house. If there’s an emergency, like the house is on fire or somebody it dying, it’ll just have to wait until 10. NOTHING can interrupt me while I’m watching Ghost Hunters.

Except for TV failure.

Sure enough, 10 minutes into the show the picture starts getting grainy. I’m on my feet and behind the set, angrily wiggling wires and checking connections. Nothing. Everything is tight, the wires are good. But my picture is getting worse. And I’m near tears in anger.

I got to see about half of the show. I got to see the weird shit they saw in Ireland but I totally missed whatever happened in London during the second half. I watched snow while steam rolled out of my ears. The spouse was safely hidden away downstairs.

The phone got turned back on. I called Dish Network. We were gonna fix this problem NOW. I was on hold for 15 minutes and finally got to talk to a human. She reset stuff from her end and I reset stuff from mine. We turned things on and off. Nothing. No improvements. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna pay for fucking snow.

Finally she talks to a techy who says there must be something wrong with the actual cable that goes from the TV to the dish receiver. It could be old and the insulation could be breaking down (makes perfect sense - I had spark plug cables do the same thing in my car).

Thinking that this is the real crux of my problem, I get off the phone and proceed to start unhooking things. As I pull the TV out from the entertainment center, it bumps the shelf.

*ping*

Picture. Clear. Clean. No grain. No snow.

Oh.... fuck.... that’s it? I bump the actual TV and it’s fine?! I coulda bumped this thing an hour ago and NOT missed my show?! It’s now 10:30 and I FUCKING MISSED GHOST HUNTERS!

*simmer*

Ok, that’s it. The spouse and I had talked about getting a hi-def flat screen a while back but backed out because the prices were crazy. Now the technology has gotten better, the prices have dropped. Now with this poor old generic thing being unpredictable... NOW is a good time to get a new one... a nice one...

We dealt with the old one for 3 more days, lifting it about an inch and dropping it to fix the continuing grain problem. This was sad... picking up and dropping the TV to make it work. Sunday we splurged: new 32” HD LCD flatscreen with a new DVD player (since we had to upgrade anyway - our old DVD, which wasn’t hi-def, was acting funny anyway). After lots of dusting, grunting and struggling with old and new components, lots of wiring and connects and disconnects, and several frustrating minutes of “What’s wrong with the DVD?! I’ve got a picture but no sound?! WHY IS THERE NO SOUND?!,” we got it working. The spouse did an excellent job of holding heavy things while I ran cables and connections.

Did I mention how beautiful it is? After everything was hooked up we just turned it on and stared while alternatingly going “...wow....” Ghost Hunters in hi-def is gonna be amazing...

Why Our Cat is Smarter Than Your Cat, Part 2

2007-06-08T20:23:00.000-05:00

Random thoughts and links, part 105

2007-06-02T15:18:00.000-05:00

I'm slowly coming down from one hell of a high.

I just returned from a Library Book Sale.

Hey, for all the addictions I could possibly suffered from, at least I chose the safer ones: coffee, food and books. Ok, the food might cause large ugly fat but at least books don't cause cancer, hemorrhoids, heart disease, STDs, unwanted pregnancies or deadly nasal warts.

So today was the Great Geek Book Trek. I picked up WasabiJohn and off we went, meeting up with fellow book nerds DFA, Smacky, Webhamster, Webhamstress and Teh Iz, and Haunted House veterans Csam and Cathy.

A good buying time was had by all and pretty much everyone walked out with some new treasures. I came armed with a large plastic sack and filled that puppy right up.

So I just finished removing all the plastic Library jackets and pockets and cataloging them all on Library Thing. 12 books for $33.50. Can't beat that.

Now all I have to do is find room on the shelves. Looks like another bookshelf is on the necessary list.

While I'm making room and rearranging the collection, here's da links...

If you finally decide to do some killin'... here's the way to start.

Ow, my eyes! My eyes!... why do I get the feeling I'm being followed?

The perfect gift for your downbeat friend... especially if his name is Eeyore.

Now that, friends and neighbors, is how you exit a job... even better than my resignation scroll.

Mine eyes have seen the glory... and all my questions are answered.

Who said watching paint dry was the ultimate in boring?... well, watching grass grow is a little more exciting... maybe...

The cats and walrus have competition... where is your Rocky now?

Why our cat is smarter than your cat, part 1

2007-05-25T07:07:00.000-05:00

Take this job and shove it.

2007-05-21T17:07:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I was searching for an old TripTik for our Gatlinburg trip and came across an old letter of resignation from a job 10 years back. And it brought back memories of how fun it was to quit that particular job.

If was fun for several reasons, but mainly because it was the only graphic design job I ever got to quit... willingly.

For a lot of people older than me, the idea of changing jobs ever year or so seems alien and unfathomable. But for those of you 30-somethings and younger, changing you job every year is a habit. You learn quickly to keep your resume updated and sometimes you even get to know the folks at your local unemployment office on a first name basis.

Since 1989, I’ve gone thru 7 design jobs. Gone are the days where you entered a company on the ground level, worked your way up the corporate ladder by dedication, hard work and respect (and maybe a little ass-kissing) and, after decades of loyal service, were rewarded with a nice pension and a gold watch.

Nope. Sorry folks, but that Saturday Evening Post portrait of the work ethic is as dead as a roadkill possum.

Nowadays we all make constant changes and additions to our resume. We all keep in contact with a wide variety of friends and former co-workers to continuously network in order to find a better place of employment. And some of us are lucky enough to be in a field where businesses close up on a regular basis.

But like I said, I was able to leave this job willingly. This was the car graphics place owned and operated by a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’ll give them credit in that they never used their religion, or the lack of mine for that matter, as an excuse to hire or not to hire. But working with Witnesses is quite strange. I only had one employee ever try to ‘convert’ me and I shut him up fast. We’d worked together in the same office for several months and the subject never came up. One day out of the blue we just started talking religion and, after a long discussion, the conversation ended with this:

CoWorker: “So, do you ever read much?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. I read all the time. I love books.”

“Well, if I gave you a book, would you read it?”

“Sure. If you return the favor and read a book I loan you.”

End of conversation. Never to be brought up again. And if you know me and my book collection, you know why he never followed up on his offer.

There were a few factors why I was glad to leave this place besides the Witness Factor. They paid me squat. I had been laid off from a newspaper job and this was my next place of employment. They started me out at less what I was making before (and THAT wasn’t impressive to begin with) and, even with a raise a year later, I will still making less.

There was also the blatant eavesdropping of the Head Accountant’s son (nepotism was bad here). He found great pleasure in hacking some secret files and reading all of our emails every night while he was supposed to be working.

And there was also the fact that two of our supervisors had hair that was not their own. It was really hard to keep a straight face when the president of the company scratched his head and his whole hairline moved. Or when the production manager was running late and came in with his rug improperly glued to where you could see the weave peeling from his smooth head.

At one time I wanted to get fired I disliked that place so much. Witness boy eventually left my office to work elsewhere and he was replaced by “Tony” who became my partner in crime. We were bad, very bad. When we shared an office with a large glass window, we covered the glass with pictures of fish so it looked like we were in an aquarium.

We eventually got kicked out of our office (so an expensive piece of printing equipment could reside there) and got moved to a cubicle. To make it more ‘homey,’ we installed blue film and ruby lith in the overhead fluorescent lights to give it a disco effect. We hung up Christmas lights and curtained off our cubicle doorway. Toys littered the floor. It looked like a damn day care.

We also had a growing ball of scrap vinyl from the car graphic cut-outs that we rolled all over the place. Tony eventually learned how to walk on it and would often be seen ‘rolling’ down the hall.

We also flipped Slinkies down the stairs. There’s nothing better that having the toupee-wearing president open his office door to see my ass in the air as I toss down a Slinky to a waiting Tony at the bottom of the stairs.

All this and I never got fired. Instead I job hunted until I found Job #5. Which allowed me to create this lovely piece you now see. I handed one to each of my supervisors (including the Toupee President). I even rolled each one up and included a ribbon and wax seal.

So now I’m on Job #7. Been here for over 5 years and I hope they continue to keep me. But I’m always on the lookout for something better. Habit now. Part of the Generation X Mental Training for the Job World. Hopefully I’ll never have to create another resignation scroll, but you have my permission to use this as a template.

Getting my kicks on Interstate 75

2007-05-15T14:48:00.000-05:00

Been kinda quiet round these here parts. Work’s been slow, but just started to pick back up. Doesn’t matter. My brain hasn’t been at work for a while. It’s been walking the strip in Gatlinburg.

The brain trip has been interrupted a few times. I’ve been devouring an average of 3 books a week and I’ve been meeting/emailing with my Haunted House team - yes, major construction starts in 3 weeks, can you believe it? But when I’m not engrossed in a book or in a virtual conversation about ‘Timmy, the boiler room monster boy,’ I’ve been focusing my thoughts on our upcoming annual trip.

My brain has been up and down the strip several times now, making note of all my favorite shops and eateries. I’m making a shopping list for Pepper Palace (so all you Pepperhead friends of mine, you better let me know your requests soon), keeping plenty of room in the trunk for any swords or other metal toys we might bring home, and salivating at the thought of Best Italian - home of the world famous Garlic Rolls.

Yeah, it’s gonna be a great trip. The cat vomiting on the carpet yesterday can’t get me down. Nor the fact that I just tore a contact lens and am now sitting here half blind. Gas prices... well, yeah, gas prices always piss me off but it’s not gonna totally dampen my outlook. Hell, the fact that Jeremy Falwell just croaked kinda makes up for that. Plus the weather’s supposed to be pretty damn nice.

I so enjoy this roadtrip. This year is especially nice since we’ll be traveling in the new Honda and giving my Focus a break. The spouse and I let my iPod run the whole time with us playing a goofy version of Name That Tune. Plus we’ll be making stops at a couple of the Christmas decor outlets.

Now I can already hear some of you say, “What? YOU?! YOU going to a CHRISTMAS shop?” Well, yes, actually. See, I’ve got a project this summer. Our own little State Fair actually has a Christmas Tree competition. And I’ve been saying for years that I was gonna enter something very non traditional. I’ve already got a 3 and a half foot tree, a can of black spray paint and a bunch of purple lights. All I need are a ton of purple ornaments.

Yep, a “Gothy Little Christmas” is gonna be my entry this year. I already have the all-red tree, but it’s not exactly entry-worthy. We’ll just take this here fake tree, paint it black and lavish it with all purple decorations and see what we can win.

The spouse gets into the whole holiday decorating, too. A couple of years ago we stopped at the ‘drunken Santa outlet’ and he went hog wild with lights.

(The Drunken Santa Outlet is not the real name of the place, Hell, I can’t remember the name of the place, but on the billboard it has this poorly drawn Santa that looks terribly intoxicated. See for yourself...)

(Yeah, I told you it was bad. But they have great stuff. And the spouse looks cute, so I had to post this.)

So in 3 days we’re outta here. We can’t wait to get filled up on hot sauce, pasta and Garlic Rolls. Then kick back in the hotel pool and, as the garlic/hot sauce mixture seeps from our pores, make soup.

Random thoughts and links, part 104

2007-05-04T16:33:00.000-05:00

Well, I hope everyone celebrated No Pants Day in proper form today. I couldn't exactly participate pantless at work but dammit, now here at home with my fat, lumpy ass parked in front of this here iMac, damn straight I ain't wearin' no pants.

It definitely feels good to let it 'all hang out,' so to speak.

In the good news department, the allergy invasion seems to be weakening. The headache migrated from the front of the skull to the back, then disappeared completely while the nasal irritation has turned into a simple back-of-the-throat drainage. I think I'll live.

And June the 6th can't get here fast enough. Looks like we got us a new season of Ghost Hunters. So the phone and the computer will be shut off Wednesday nights this summer. Emergencies will just have to wait until Thursday morning.

I saw a great bumper sticker yesterday: "George W. Bush; The President Quayle We Never Had." And speaking of Stupid White Men (I'm currently reading that right now, by the way - great book), the local gas stations are currently ass-raping everybody for gas at $3.19, although some places have lowered their price to a bargain of $3.08. At first I thought it was to drain every last penny out of the Kentucky Derby weekend visitors, but according to Gas Buddy, the ass-raping is rampant in other areas, too.

Lousy bastards. Getting us all lubed up for one hell of a summer already.

One last thing before we get to the links. Looks like we done scared another one away. Our new guy in our department at work is already bolting... after only 3 weeks. Seems that he got a better offer elsewhere.

Now hold onto your butts, especially you local friends and neighbors who've known me for more than a decade. Guess, JUST GUESS, where new guy is going? Go on, I'll wait...

THE JEHOVAH WITNESS PLACE! That one graphics company I worked for back in '97 that A) paid me dick - hence the reason I left; B) was owned by a bunch of Jehovah Witnesses and C) whose President of the company had hair that was not his own.

Yeah, I discovered that about 3 weeks into the job. I was sitting in on a meeting with the President himself and, as he leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head, gave himself a good head scratch that shifted his entire hair line. Some weeks it would change colors, like from blonde, to black, to brown, to ash. I think he had a collection of them that he randomly chose from each morning. Or maybe he was trying to coordination with his shirt and pants each day.

Needless to say, I warned new guy about where he was going. Personally, I'm shocked the place was still around. When I left in '97 others were leaving in droves for the same reason. Plus business had slowed WAY down, too. Hmph. Guess they're paying better than dick now.

Once again, who knows what kind of life form will be inhabiting our little dark corner of workspace hell next...

Onto more fun things.

I am so making one of these... they look so comfy.

The spouse and I play Scrabble occassionally... these look comfy, too.

The joy of being an Art Director in advertising... yum.

Why is this funny?... I do the same thing after about 9 chocolate covered espresso beans.

Hello, I'm a Mac... and I'm a Domino.

The Big Sneeze

2007-05-02T14:10:00.000-05:00

It’s that time of year again. The weather is nice and warm. The flowers are up and in full bloom. The trees are budding and leafing out.

And the interior of my skull is on fire.

It started this weekend. Very subtle. Hardly even noticed the occasionally sniff. Spent lots of time outside, planting 106 purple, blue and lavender pansies in the front yard. Got to spend some time on the deck, too.

Then Monday I can barely keep my head up and straight because of the weight. It felt like a bowling ball on a pipe cleaner. I think every ounce of blood was in my forehead. My vision blurred a little as each heartbeat thundered thru my skull. A healthy dose of Exedrin® Migraine killed that bad boy eventually, but that’s when the sneezing started.

Normally I don’t mind sneezing. Sometimes it’s kinda fun. But not when I’m at work. I’m have a horrible fear of sneezing at work. Because you never know when a sneeze could result in a fart. Gawd, that’s embarrassing. Your whole body decides that expelling offending matter thru the nose is not sufficient and chooses to utilize every orifice instead.

So I sit there constantly stifling off a potential sneeze. And making frequent trips to the bathroom to ease off any tension.

The other dilemma is, as mentioned, the burning. As soon as the seasonal allergies kick in my nasal passages close up completely. Breathe Right® strips don’t work. Vicks® vapor stuff only works a little. Unfortunately my only option is nasal spray.

Nasal spray is horrid. Yeah, it opens you up and you can breathe but it leaves a nasty, chemical taste in your mouth and your nasal passages feel like they’re housing an entire colony of fire ants.

And it’s worse when the pain goes to your ears. And your mouth. Right now my ears feel like I’m at 30,000 feet and the inside of my mouth is acid sore.

But I can breathe, if I don’t mind that each inhalation is stirring up the fire ants, causing them to break out the flamethrowers in celebration.

I was hoping to kill this year’s hay fever off quickly. I’ve been free-basing the vitamin C, drinking gallons of orange juice and herbal tea with locally-produced honey (supposed to help with allergies) and chomping Cold-Eeze® when I remember. But last night I was miserable. The spouse made sure I was aware that.

His quote today: “Man, when I came to bed last night and saw you sitting up reading your book, you looked like hell.”

It’s nice to be loved. Oh well, I’m saving a special sneeze for him later this evening.

Random thoughts and links, part 103

2007-04-19T15:23:00.000-05:00

Time has been passing but I haven't been writing. Looks like that snipe of a Muse has abondoned me again.

In the meantime I've been keeping very busy... read several books, done some socializing with pals, getting feedback and ideas for this year's haunted house from some really great people... and suriving at work.

There's been good times and not so good times. For a brief period there it got real ugly. But after a meeting was called, opinions and disagreements aired, the dust seems to have settled and things are kinda getting back to normal.

Kinda... but not really. We've experienced a mass exodus recently at the workplace: one retirement, one marriage and move and two quitters... one of whom was Barb. THAT was a relief to many. The stress level has dropped dramatically in our little department.

But the other quitter was a shocker; a sales guy who had been with us for 20 years just upped and bolted. Apparently, he had been selling for ANOTHER company for a couple of weeks before it was DISCOVERED he was planning on quitting.

How was it discovered, you ask? When one of his customers calls and says, "Well, since Bob Jones isn't with your company any more, who's gonna be my new sales rep?"

Yeah, that went over nice. Next day he's just gone. No explanation, no farewell. Just a lot of unanswered questions.

In the meantime we've had this flurry of new people bouncing all over the office, filling the vacancies; three new sales slugs and one pre-press guy to fill Barb's old spot.

What's making it very strange is that 3 of these 4 new guys are young, like early 20s young. I used to be the 'baby' (at a spring-chicken age of 36) at work but now I'm one of the 'old people.'

Gawd, did I just type that? Fuck, I'm old.

It's been really strange talking with and training these 'kids.' All of our conversations, our music choices, our jokes and pop culture references are alien to them. Our new pre-press guy graduated high school in 2002. Good gravy, I graduated high school in 88. Last fucking century!

Oh shit, I need a drink...

Oh, well... links!

As weird as this sounds, I betchya it's damn good... it's BACON!

The best in lolcats... don't panic, they'll be back soon.

Damn, dat cat can play... and the kid's head has good accoustics.

Fun with ascii... and you just know I like the 'sblood.'

Now that tax season is over, I'm sure you have a lot of paper to get rid of... and this uses no electricity.

Hey der Jim Bob, I knows wut to git da kids fer Critmus dis year... an it's good job trainin'.