Enjoy the monologue.

2009-11-06T03:53:00.002-05:00

Also, this:

Untitled 4.

2009-11-06T03:42:00.003-05:00

After some consideration on the matter, I think I'll blog again.

Most of my hesitancy came from me figuring that no one would read the dumb thing. But later I thought, "Oh well. Who cares who reads it? Who cares if anyone reads it? Isn't it silly for that to be the idea behind keeping a log of some sort if you'd like to do it anyway? Recognition, I mean."

Yes, that is a silly reason to not keep one if I wanted to anyway, is the answer.

So I'll begin with 3 things:

1. I just coughed sweet tea. Everywhere.

2. Andrew, you forgot one key celebrity Scientologist: That (then) kid from The Big Green and The Sandlot
His name is Patrick Renna, I guess. Who knew?

3. Um, I got nothing.

Good-bye.

Lazarus, or: The best news.

2009-03-24T23:47:00.003-04:00

So a couple of weeks ago I was struck with a forceful, heavy tragedy.
My (original!) Sega Genesis died, and with it, part of my inner child.

Or so I thought.

You see where this is going.

Well, it turns out it works just fine. I'm not sure what happened, and I'm not going to question it. But I will say I just spent the past two hours playing Sonic 2, Kid Chameleon, Chakan (eff that), and a few rounds of Arnold Palmer Tournament Golf.

Welcome back, old friend.

Double yay.

2009-02-14T00:18:00.002-05:00

and

Baroque Obama.

2009-02-09T19:27:00.007-05:00

For some reason, I've had this phrase stuck in my head all day.

Does anyone want to start a band with me called Baroque Obama?

Surrealist cinema.

2009-02-04T01:33:00.007-05:00

I love the work of early years' cinema's surrealists. Here was a medium so fresh and so new, giving a whole new dimension to art: time. This was (and is, of course) taken advantage of in every way. And of course, the avant-garde collective didn't waste much time in adopting film as a medium.

Some images from Jean Epstein's La Chute de la maison Usher (1928),

and Dimitri Kirsanoff's Ménilmontant (1926).

And, of course, the kingpin of early surrealist filmmaking, Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí's Un chien andalou (1929):

Fun fact: The Pixies' (awesome) song "Debaser" is about this movie. From what I've read in interviews, Frank Black didn't like it (the film) very much.

Pixies- Debaser

Ta (da)da.

Sonic.

2009-02-02T04:26:00.007-05:00

Up, Down, Left, Right, (ring) A+Start

I live my adult life often times paying tribute to the obsessions of my childhood.

I'll never forget the bright Christmas morning of 1990. Eyelids part, a yawn, and the dawning realization of Christmas morning. The rush of joy. I'm awake in no time. As if connected by the same excitement, my brother and I simultaneously exit our rooms and enter the hallway to the front room where Santa's bounty awaits. I can't remember a single thing I got that year, save one: our Sega Genesis. It came with the original Sonic the Hedgehog, too. A double-gift, and an important tool in the development of my childhood. I remember many stormy days and school nights spent in front of our 20-inch Zenith television, sending Sonic whirling through the wilds of Green Hill Zone, bouncing around Spring Yard Zone, exploring the hidden paths of Star Light Zone, and finally through the frustration of Scrap Brain Zone, ending with one of the easiest final bosses of all time. Of course, then came Sonic II (the best video game ever created[!!!]). Again, more indoor time in front of the screen, zooming and spinning this way and that.

I also have a vivid memory of myself, lying in bed one night. I'm staring up at my ceiling. Through the wall next to me I can hear my parents trying to figure their way through the Sonic I secret stage. They're laughing and carrying on; it's clear to me they really enjoy it. For whatever reason, this is both strange and comforting to me.

From Wikipedia.org's entry on the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, regarding the games' famous rings:

"One distinctive and recurring feature of Sonic games are the collectible golden Rings spread throughout the levels. This gameplay device allows players possessing at least one ring to survive upon sustaining damage from an enemy or hazardous object. Instead of dying, the player's rings are scattered; in most Sonic games, a hit will cause the player to lose all of his rings, although in certain situations and in certain games, a hit only costs a set number of rings rather than the entire collection. Some causes of death cannot be prevented by holding a ring, including being crushed, falling into a bottomless pit, drowning and running out of time. In line with many platform games, collecting 100 rings will usually reward Sonic (or any other playable character) with an extra life. Certain titles in the series often reward the collection of 50 rings, in conjunction with the Chaos Emeralds; to access the Special Stages in which the Chaos Emeralds may be obtained, or to utilize a character's super transformation."

It's all true.

Once, when Andrew and I were playing Sonic the Hedgehog (I), a profoundly confusing and very new phenomenon occurred: while trying to jump over a set of spikes (nothing new there), we landed in the middle of them...without dying.

Look:

He's even bored.

We've never felt it appropriate or even in good sense to ask "Why?", so we didn't. And haven't. To this day.

Lastly, there's a Brazilian metal band by the name of MegaDriver that has lent their collective musicianship to covering Sega Genesis themes. They generously devoted their entire 2008 release, Metal Hog, to covering Sonic the Hedgehog level songs.

Visit this site and download it:

Go, Sonic. Go.

Black Friday.

2008-11-29T01:15:00.005-05:00

Black Friday (November 28th) 2008: 3 dead.

Via Marco.org:

"Worker dies at Long Island Wal-Mart after being trampled in Black Friday stampede

(via jackieheartsb, wooliebear)

A Wal-Mart worker died after being trampled when hundreds of shoppers smashed through the doors of a Long Island store Friday morning, police and witnesses said.

The 34-year-old worker, employed as an overnight stock clerk, tried to hold back the unruly crowds just after the Valley Stream store opened at 5 a.m.

Witnesses said the surging throngs of shoppers knocked the man down. He fell and was stepped on. As he gasped for air, shoppers ran over and around him.

“He was bum-rushed by 200 people,” said Jimmy Overby, 43, a co-worker. “They took the doors off the hinges. He was trampled and killed in front of me.”

[…]

The unidentified victim was rushed to an area hospital, where he was pronounced dead at 6:03 a.m., police said.

The cause of death was pending.

Cause of death: an incredibly dysfunctional society where overconsumption and consumerism are out of control while education and adulthood are neglected.

We should be ashamed of ourselves for letting this ridiculous mess happen. Everything about it. The Wal-Mart store’s existence in its current state. The massive hype of “deals” that are never really good (it’s retail). The psychosis of Black Friday early-morning rushing and the artificial scarcity created by the retailers to inflate this mania more every year. The mental state of hundreds of people willing to wake up at 4 AM to wait in a giant mob in the cold for an hour then trample a man to death to save $30 on a crappy off-brand TV — all under the guise of giving people stuff they don’t need to celebrate the birth of a man who told people 2000 years ago to be kind to each other, be humble, live beneath your means, and help those less fortunate. (An out-of-control society killed him, too.)

I hope the people who trampled this man were arrested, and they should be prosecuted for manslaughter. All of them. The people who walked right by without helping him were accessories.

Let’s end this horrible Black Friday mania. It’s done. It’s as done as rickrolling. It’s over. Let’s never let something this stupid happen again."

And incident #2:

2 gunmen kill each other in shootout at Toys 'R' Us in Palm Desert.

I don't even know how to respond to these incidents anymore. It's beyond depressing. In fact, I think it defies logic, understanding. A couple Black Fridays ago, a friend of mine was working as a security guard at Target. He was beaten over the head with shoe box by an older lady because some B.S. item wasn't in stock. And that was only one incident out a slew of others, all amidst shoppers fighting over price-cut products like lions over a fresh carcass.
How can it be that such debasement of recognizable humanity occurs in a season which is supposed to inspire love, appreciation, humility, and reverence? Or even at all?
Why/how have we allowed such a perversion of what should be "the most wonderful time of the year"?

With the death toll reaching 150 in Mumbai, the economy in shambles, and all other various horrors going on in the world, bargain-ravenous consumers are still willing to resort to violence, hostility, greed, and complete indifference to save some money. What kind of assurance does that leave us with?

In fact, via a disturbing article on BuzzFeed:

"On a day when the death toll in Mumbai raises to 150, five hostages are executed, and fighting continues at the Taj Hotel, almost none of the top search terms on Google are related to the international crisis. Americans care more about walmart stampedes, thanksgiving leftover recipes, and TV re-runs than dead hostages, religious warfare, and international politics.

...

"

I don't know who coined the term "Black Friday", but it seems, sadly, that it's grown into an entirely new meaning.

I trusted you.

2008-11-08T03:41:00.000-05:00

Comic.

2008-11-08T03:22:00.004-05:00

From Married to the Sea, which is, unfortunately, only occasionally funny.

Certainty.

2008-11-06T02:48:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure of many things, but here is one thing of which I am certain:

If, God willing, I'm able to make films for a living, I will never make one that is as good as Magnolia.

Stalker.

2008-10-28T02:56:00.004-04:00

From Stalker, by Andrei Tarkovsky

Addendum to post: Hallowe'en events, by the light of the moon.

2008-10-25T22:25:00.004-04:00

"It never stops."

I'm not quite sure how to make this post not sound silly and maudlin, but I feel like I need to say this.

Stop to appreciate every moment in life. It's so easy to get lost in the big picture, and miss the gift, the opportunity in each one.

Think about it: http://thedeuceandbeyond.blogspot.com/2008/10/theres-nothing-to-do-in-this-town-vol-3.html
http://enjoythemonologue.blogspot.com/2008/10/halloween-events.html
http://tararudolph.blogspot.com/2008/09/whats-making-me-smile-today.html

Oh, there's so much happening, even when nothing is going on.

And they keep coming, and coming, and coming.

Hallowe'en events, by the light of the moon.

2008-10-25T00:41:00.013-04:00

It's a quiet, misty, chilly, brightly moon-lit evening out; the perfect host for some Hallowe'en fun.

I love Hallowe'en attractions, and am especially charmed by smaller ones; those in the middle of nowhere put on by people who just truly love doing it. They may not be the scariest or most original attractions you'll ever visit, but I usually enjoy them the most, because they're having as much fun as I am.
The one we went to tonight is pretty close to where I live, at a place called Greendell Farms. It's actually a massive property with acres upon acres of corn fields and man-made lakes and woods and such. Every year they put on a "Haunted Corn Maze", but I (for whatever reason) have not gone until tonight. Earlier this week my brother and I talked about going, and tonight turned out to be the perfect night for it. So he, his girlfriend Emily, and I hop in my car and head over. We drive way back into the property, past a fence covered in jack o' lanterns, and park. It is quite dark, and after some confused looking around, we spot a sign that reads "Tickets ->". We walk up to a shed which contains a small space heater and a lady dressed like a witch. She takes our money and tells us that we'll have to wait for "Humphrey, the creepy British tractor-driver" to take us to the maze. They'd built a small fire next to the barn along with a trailer selling hot cider, cotton candy, hot dogs (I think) and other such warming foods. So we wait around, bundled up and breathing condensation, warming ourselves by the small fire. Then, after about ten minutes, Humphrey arrives:

Hum⋅phrey [huhm-free ]
–noun

A 30-something-year old Mooresville local dressed in a long black coat, gloves, and top hat; shovel strapped over his back; carrying a stuffed rat; wears black makeup to hollow the eyes and accentuate the cheek bones; speaks in a pseudo-British accent.

So Humphrey talks to us for a bit, asks us to hold his pet rat, and then asks if he could offer us conjoined burial plots. We say "sure", so he then tells us to extend our arms so he can take our measurements (presumably for coffin sizes). He appears to be satisfied with my and Emily's arm lengths, but seems displeased with my brother's. After trying with moderate success to guess our respective weights, he tells us to "step lively, but not too lively, of course" onto a giant flatbed cart hitched to the back of a tractor, along with a father-mother-daughter group, a large gaggle of junior high schoolers and regular high schoolers, and a guy who seems to be by himself. It's filled with hay, for comfort, and we all sit Indian-style along the perimeter. Humphrey comes to the side of the cart and asks me who the "smart one in the group" is. I point to Emily. He has a joke to tell us:
Humphrey, addressing Emily: "Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?"
My brother and I become giddy. We know why the skeleton didn't cross the road. Emily looks at us, searching our faces for the answer. She does not know why. She says so.
Humphrey: "Because he didn't have the guts. Heh."
Without another word, he turns to the little girl of the family group and asks her to "mind the rat so [he] can drive".
So we take a small cruise through fields, by lakes, through trees, and finally arrive in a sort of clearing. My attention had been grabbed by some cars in the distance, but when I turn and look in front of me, I see a surprisingly ominous setup: a bridge crossing a small river, lined with oil lamps painted black so all you could see were the flames. I am impressed. It looks like a scene from a horror movie. We all step off the cart and gather in front of the entrance to the bridge. Humphrey speaks in his silly, but charming accent, "Follow the lights, then go to the right."
"What if we go to the left?"An outspoken junior high schooler inquires.
Humphrey's razor sharp wit bites back, "You don't want to know."
The rest of the groups seem timid, so I take a step forward onto the bridge.
"You guys go first," says one of the female high schoolers.
I look down the length of the bridge. I cannot see the other side.
"I imagine someone is going to jump out at us on this bridge," I posit, turning to my brother.
I am wrong. We cross the bridge without being jumped out at. At the end of the bridge I begin to turn right, but after having my curiosity peaked by all the "no left turn" talk, I look to the left. There is an orange port-o-john illuminated by another oil lamp. I must admit, it looks majestic in the lamplight. I still probably wouldn't pee in there, but it's certainly the first time I wasn't immediately repulsed by the sight of one.
With that being said, I turn right. About ten meters in front of me is the gate (entrance) into the maze. It too is lamp-lit. An older woman in grim reaper garb is there to take our tickets. Behind her sits a small child dressed in black with a goblin mask. The rest of the groups stand behind us, and the reaper-lady gives us the rundown:
"Turn your cell phones off. No running. No swearing. No smoking. No touching. "
She looks at me. "No touching," I smile. She smiles back.
"You'll go through the first maze, then the graveyard, then the second maze, then through the woods and into the Trailer of Terror, then the third maze," she says, collecting our tickets. Reaper-lady looks at us, "You three go in first."
Trailer of Terror?! Wow. I had no idea there was a Trailer of Terror. I am excited.
I can tell by the look and smattering of nervous voices of the adolescents behind us that they were hoping everyone would go in at the same time. Oh well.
I am the first one to step over the threshold and into the maze. The lighting is amazing. The Greendell Farms website actually calls it their "By the Light of the Moon Corn Maze." This is accurate. There is just enough moonlight glowing and artificial light leaking in from the distance so that we could see where we were going, but not quite make everything out. This makes it difficult to tell when someone is going to jump out, which is ostensibly the point. Also, the wind is rustling the corn stalks in a very eerie way, and every once in a while my brother's big coat brushes up against one and makes me turn my head.
The first scare comes about thirty seconds in. A good time for a first scare. A small child darts out of the corn at us, yelling, dressed in a black robe and skull mask. It is a good scare. The placement of scarers is quite impressive, actually. Most of the time they are spaced apart just enough to where we start talking again, and begin thinking about something else, when YARGH!, we recoil or quicken our pace, bouncing forward. At one point we are chatting back and forth, something about a movie, when a freaking fog horn goes off behind us. It is an uncomfortably long report, and I feel miserable all over. All three of us start laughing and panting, the crap scared out of us. Other than the live scares, there are some neat little set pieces, too:

Strobe light on corn stalks (very disorienting)
Skeleton mounted on wood
Strobe light and assorted colored lights illuminating what appears to be some sort of witch's altar
Strobe light on corn stalks
A small rickety bridge that sways back and forth
A gruesome scene involving an operating table with a Frankenstein-like body on it and crazy lights all over. To me, it looks like there's a severed leg coming out of the torso. I ask my brother if in fact there was a severed leg coming out of the torso, but he laughs really hard. "A leg?" he asks. I'm left to assume it wasn't a leg.

There are a few more, too.
Then a curious thing happens. It is commonplace in haunted attractions to have a scarer, after scaring you, follow you for a brief distance, just to really let you have it, to secure their scare. And so I think nothing of it when it happens here at the corn maze. However, shortly after crossing the small rickety bridge that sways back and forth, I realize that someone is following us, but he appears to be dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. What's more is that he's wearing a mask that looks like Senator John McCain. My brother, Emily, and I all stop out of morbid curiosity.
"Vote for McCain," says McCain-boy.
My brother says something that sounds like "Hmm...What?"
"You should vote for McCain, and here's why," replies McCain-boy.
We are attentive.
"Taxes are high, and I'm going to lower 'em," he claims, then points to himself. "McCain."
McCain-boy then begins to emit a weird beatbox tune, and does a boogie in a style that looks like some sort of "Walk Like an Egyptian" dance perversion.
I chortle at the absurdity of it, a preposterous political chat in the middle of a haunted corn maze with a kid in a McCain mask. He walks off, and we stand, looking at each other, bewildered.
On we go.
So we finally come to the graveyard, the first milestone in our journey. There is a purple-lit casket with a skeleton arm hanging out of the side. Fog is rolling from behind the tombstones scattered around. There is another strobe light, maybe two. I turn to my company and grin. We are having a good time, to be sure. I assess the scene, and once again I venture (in a whisper), "Someone is going to jump out at us in this graveyard." Again, I am wrong. It isn't until we get to the other side of the graveyard that a young girl jumps out and goes, "Wah!" before disappearing into the corn stalks. In front of us, it opens up into another small clearing. The path is set by thick white barricade tape, right into the woods. Emily doesn't like the dark, and the woods seem several times more sinister than the corn does. So into the woods we go.
It smells wonderful in there, like rain and leaves. Like fall. In the distance I can see some weird orange lights set back in the trees.
"They're like eyes watching us," observes my brother.
They really are. The woods are much darker than the corn was, and I'm wringing my skeleton hand gloves in anticipation of a scare. There are more neat set pieces here: hanging ghosts and skeletons, a large bat with a purple light underneath, a spooky monster head, and plenty of cobwebs. We pass through another witch's altar. This one includes a table with all sorts of strange knick-knacks on it, and a large illuminated cauldron, spewing fog. Behind the fog there is a woman dressed as a witch. She startles us by banging on the side of the cauldron.
"What are you doing in my woods?" she inquires, angrily.
We say nothing.
"Eyeball stew," she hollers.
At first I'm confused by this remark, but then notice that there are two pretty big eyeballs floating on the surface of whatever's in that cauldron. I quicken my pace a little, mostly out of concern for another phrase like "Eyeball stew."
Emily makes a comment about how, with all of the adrenaline pumping and blood flowing faster, it doesn't feel cold out at all. I agree. This is a good observation.
Another very creepy thing I can see in the distance is a dimly-lit wooden structure. The only thing I can make out is a fairly realistic severed head hanging from a branch in front of it, tied up by its hair. As we pass, it's suddenly illuminated and is revealed to be a giant body held up by a wooden cross-type construction. It's not a crucifix-looking thing, which is what it probably sounds like, but just a weird prop. It's quite ghastly with the lighting and that severed head leering at us.
Then, up a hill is some sort of black tunnel.
"Oh, look. It's the Tunnel of...Fear," I say. There is a brief moment in which I legitimately think the reaper-lady had mentioned something about a Tunnel of Fear, but quickly realize I've made it up. My company is nice enough to let this one go.
The so-called Tunnel of Fear is constructed from lots of PVC pipe and that black material you lay down in a garden to prevent weeds from growing (I guess Greendell Farms would be the place to construct a Tunnel of Fear out of that material.).
Incidentally, while that material proves great for building Tunnels of Fear, it sucks for actually keeping weeds out. Believe me, I know.
The Tunnel of Fear has some more cool lighting, a strobe light too. Some corpse props and a big mounted corpse prop at the end. In a third offense, I again assume someone's going to be jumping out at any time. I mean, how can you have a Tunnel of Fear and not fill it with live spooks? It seems like an ace in the hole. I'm clearly wearing this assumption on my face as I turn to them behind me, giving a look. All tensed up, we slowly walk through the Tunnel of Fear and out the other end. Nothing. You'd have thought I'd learn my lesson. I'm sure without the constant, acute alertness of waiting to be scared, I'd have looked like quite a fool. Oh well, onward through the last bit of woods.
So after turning the last corner, I realize what lies ahead. I feel a rush of warm elation as I lock eyes on the Trailer of Terror. There is a lady standing at the top of the small set of stairs that lead to the door. She isn't really dressed up save some tattered "Bog Hag" costume remnants, and she's holding a gag chicken. She squeaks the chicken intermittently.
"Welcome to the Trailer of Terror," she cries. Squeak squeak "Are you brave enough to enter?"
"Oh, I'm brave enough," I say. Squeak
"Well you can always take the chicken path!" She gestures to the side of the trailer, where there is, in fact, a small trail labeled "Chicken Path" for anyone not feeling adventurous enough to tackle the Trailer of Terror.
Squeak squeak My brother really thinks this is funny. "There actually is a Chicken Path!"
The lady looks at me and I say, "We're ready."
She squeaks one last time and opens the door. It is black as pitch inside. I quickly glance to Emily, and she's making a face.
I go in first, and I feel my jacket bunch up in the back. Emily's grabbed a fistful of it, and she has my brother by the arm, pulled close. The door closes behind us, and I can see nothing. After groping around for a solid minute, my fingers latch onto some thin, rubbery strands. I try to walk forward, but can't. Then, suddenly a light flashes on and I'm face-to-face with a horrifying creature. It's just a prop behind these rubber strands, I can tell, but the light is flashing and there's some horrible noise happening, and I jump back involuntarily, right into my brother and his girlfriend. The light goes off, and I get back to groping around.
"We're going to be stuck in here forever!" says Emily.
Then I give the wall a push and a door opens up. Blacklight pours into the room from the hallway. Paints of all neon colors are splattered, blood-like, on the wall. Into my mind flashes the episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? where a huffy teen boy goes into a scary funhouse and steals the nose off of the ride's main attraction, a giant mechanical clown named Zeebo. It's a good thing.
The Trailer of Terror is littered with these sort of scares: pitch black hallways where lights suddenly come on and someone is behind something and noises are happening. There are also a lot of blacklights and strobe lights, and more cool set pieces, some of which have more people hiding inside to jump out at you. At last we find the exit, and descend the stairs back into the corn. Personally, I am very pleased with the Trailer of Terror. My company is impressed, too. They say so.
"Wow, that was great," my brother offers.
"Yeah," replies Emily. "Oh, more corn."
We're finally on the last leg. Next to the corn entrance sits a kid in a ghoulish getup. I'm not sure if he's going to do anything at first, but after I pass him he jumps up at my brother and Emily. It also seems worth mentioning that, at this juncture in the corn maze, was another port-o-john, set back in the corn a meter or so. I suppose it was there for people who had the pee almost scared out of them by the Trailer of Terror.
So we skedaddle a couple meters into the maze once again, and resume our normal pace. More well-placed scares. One girl in particular pops out of the corn at us, long hair, brown robe, skeleton face, shrieking wildly. She has a particularly bloodcurdling scream, reminiscent of Fay Wray, even. I make a note of it. My brother and Emily shudder and say "Ugh."
So again we walk for a while without being jumped out at, and we get to talking about something. Probably another movie, or who knows? Anyway, right in the middle of a sentence, we are blasted with an incredible rush of air, the compressor hissing loudly through the corn. This, right here, is probably the most intense scare of the evening. We have to stop in our tracks to regain composure. I feel there's no way for me to adequately express here the ferocity of that blast of air. It was a force.
It happens again later on, another gust of air. It too freaks us out and takes us off guard (this one comes from underneath us, though), but not quite as much as the first. Plus, we could see the sensor on the ground. Soon after this, I notice another monster following us. He stands next to Emily, grumbling something about following us and that he would "get us at midnight". After he falls behind, I turn to them, "Another presidential candidate?" I joke. It is well-received.
The rest of the maze goes on at a leisurely pace for the most part. There are a few more scares of note:

A girl jumps out at us with a big blade and starts reciting the sing-song from A Nightmare on Elm Street, "One-two, I'm [sic] coming for you; three-four, better lock your door; five-six, grab your crucifix; seven-eight..." This is where she trailed off.
What sounds like a young boy wails loudly from somewhere behind us. It's actually pretty unsettling.
A guy is sitting back in the corn all ghoul-costumed. I notice him as we approach but he doesn't even move. Nothing. It was great.
A large gallows-pole sits illuminated from underneath. There is a body prop hanging from it, and it's swaying gently in the breeze.

During the course of this adventure, we had talked a few times about the possibility of a chainsaw encounter. So far, nothing of the sort. After another bit of just walking, I see out of my periphery a Jason Voorhees-looking character, and I instantly know what this means. My hopes are quickly squelched, however, when I see him pull the cord. I hear the chainsaw give a quick chug, trying desperately to come alive, then sputter out. Jason looks up at us, then back down at his chainsaw. I can almost see the concern on his dirty hockey mask. My brother gives a disappointed frown, and Emily didn't even notice.
"That's a bummer," I say.
Emily asks, "What?"
"That chainsaw guy," I reply.
"He couldn't get the chainsaw to work," my brother explains.
Emily is confused. "Wait, there was a chainsaw guy?"
Then, suddenly we hear the chainsaw scream to life behind us, but it is too little, too late. We are already at the exit.
"Oh, I hear the chainsaw guy now."
We assess our condition, our surroundings. Forty minutes have passed since we went through the gate into the maze. The exit is cut a full fifteen meters or so from the entrance. Quite a large group has accumulated at the front gate into the maze.
We are satisfied. Despite being in a haunted corn maze in the middle of a small town, it's been an epic quest. This is how Jennifer Connelly must have felt at the end of Labyrinth.
We walk back across the bridge to wait for Humphrey. In the meantime, we stand, suddenly cold again, chatting about the experience:
"Oh, I couldn't believe when the air shot out at us."
"What about the part when we saw that severed head in the woods?! Or the foghorn?!"
"I really like the Trailer of Terror. That was probably my favorite part."
"Yeah, definitely."
"It's too bad about the chainsaw guy."
Then, in the distance, Humphrey's lights blaze with a fury through the fog that's rolling in off the lake. It's a welcome sight. A boy waiting for the tractor (with whom I assume are his grandmother and mother) asks me, "Were you one of the scaring people?"
"No," I say, "I just went through it like you."
"Wasn't it scary?!"
"Yes, it was very scary."
"Remember the-" He spots my skeleton hand gloves. "Hey, you were scaring people!"
"No, I promise! These are mine. I got them from Walgreen's!"
He turns towards the approaching tractor. I'm not sure he believes me. Humphrey dismounts to see the newcomers off. We head over to the cart, and Humphrey recognizes us.
"Oh, no. You guys survived!"
"Barely," I reply, jokingly.
"Are there any more like you?"
"I doubt it."
"Phew. That makes me feel better."
We climb onto the hay and relax. The ride back is peaceful for a while, then the junior high schoolers and regular high schoolers start telling the family in the cart that they saw Obama in the maze and that he "said the 'F' word to them." The family shrugs it off. There is another story shared about how a "big guy in a clown costume fell down as he was scaring [them]". I try to tune it out and concentrate on the other sounds. The hum of the tractor, the symphony of insect-speak, the rustling of things in the wind, the wind itself. My brother is whispering something to Emily. It is a wonderful moment all in all, with Humphrey driving us back to our car. I look at my brother, and he rolls his eyes at the silly, unappreciative talk going on. The three of us have a discussion of how it was to be in high school, and how incredible it is that moments like this can be perceived so differently by two people at the same time. That, being fourteen, fifteen years old, it can be so exciting just to be somewhere, anywhere, just because it's someplace. And when you're out in the world, it feels so good to introduce yourself to it, because you are someone new that the world has never seen before. And we're all right about that in a big way, I guess, but it takes some time to realize that adding something to the world is to work with it, not against it. It's also very much about appreciating these moments, and all things. Little or big. Little and big. Then we talk about how crazy it is that there's actually an entire holiday devoted to that which we love so much: horror. We say something about giving the Druids high-fives for it. Then my brother says, "Well-done Druids. Good show." In context it is very funny. I laugh, and mist comes out and disappears above us.
Anyway, the ride's over, and we step down off the cart. We head towards the parking lot, past the trailer with the hot cider and cotton candy and, like I said, I'm pretty sure they had hot dogs, too. A teenage boy walks by us with some girls and he asks my brother, "Was it good?"
"Yeah, it was good," my brother answers.
We pass the little barn with the witch-lady and the space heater. A rent-a-cop was there now, too.
Witch-lady sees us pass. "Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah, it was great!" we yell back.
"Thanks for coming, and remember us next year!"
We nod vigorously, wave, and turn around. The place is pretty crowded now. I'm glad.
We get back in my car and Joanna Newsom starts singing;

Press on me: we are restless things
Webs of seaweed are swaddling
You call upon the dusk
Of the musk of a squid
Shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib

I pull out of the parking lot and back on to the gravel road, past the fence full of jack o' lanterns, and out onto the street.

The last activity of the night was to see The Nightmare Before Christmas in 3D, which for my brother and I has been an annual October tradition since they started doing it in 2006.
Needless to say, it was fantastic.

Woo hoo.

Monster cereal.

2008-10-24T18:31:00.012-04:00

Being a lifelong fan of both breakfast cereals and monsters separately, it goes without saying that I've also been a lifelong fan of monster breakfast cereals. My favorite, of course, being Count Chocula (although admittedly more as a 7-year-old, when there was really no way I could say "no" to eating what was essentially Hallowe'en candy for breakfast). Apparently, starting in the early '70s, General Mills produced five different monster-themed cereals, and in some sort of strange monster cereal Darwinian struggle, only one is still 100% around (Count Chocula, of course). Two others, Franken Berry and Boo Berry, are still occasionally put back on shelves, usually around this time of year.
So what were the other two, you ask?
Well, for your convenience, I've put together a list ranking these General Mills monster-related breakfast cereals in order of general popularity:

1. Count Chocula

2. Franken Berry

3. Boo Berry

4. Yummy Mummy

5. Fruit Brute

If Fruit Brute seems familiar to you, but you aren't old enough to where you should remember it, it's probably because of Quentin Tarantino's love of the cereal. He's a big enough fan to have included it in two of his films:

Reservoir Dogs

and Pulp Fiction.

Remember when cereal came with prizes, too? I'm not sure if that happens anymore, as the cereals I tend to eat aren't geared towards children (Honey Bunches of Oats, Quaker Oatmeal Squares, etc.). Anyway, back in the '70s, these cereals came with flexi-discs that you could play at home

Check it out:

1. Monster Adventures in Outer Space
2. The Monsters Go Disco
3. Count Chocula Goes to Hollywood

Download:

Count Chocula, Franken Berry, and Boo Berry Flexi-Discs (General Mills, 1979)

And finally, here are a couple of neat old General Mills commercials:

*Flexi-disc links and photos from Franklin Mint Blog*

Great fall listening.

2008-10-23T00:23:00.003-04:00

Here's a great fall album.

Well, actually, it's a great album period, but it just sounds even better this time of year.

Joanna Newsom's Ys.

Emily
Monkey & Bear
Sawdust & Diamonds
Only Skin
Cosmia

Give it a spin.

Top 13 movies for the Hallowe'en season.

2008-10-22T00:30:00.005-04:00

Here is a simple list; just a list of movies I feel perfectly compliment the feel/mood of the Hallowe'en season. Every year, I watch these at least once between October 1st and October 31st.

These are in no particular order, really.

Here goes.

1. The Halloween Tree

A forgotten gem, and quite educational. I used to watch this four or five times every year when I was a kid.

2. Spider Baby

Look a few posts down.

3. Halloween & Halloween II

Self-explanatory.

4. Ernest Scared Stupid

Another one that holds a special place in my heart after many, many watches as a kid.

5. Night of the Living Dead

I think it's because it's always been shown 900 times on every station during October since the beginning of time, and thus has been forced into my Hallowe'en season memories.
Not that I'm complaining.

6. The Evil Dead

Again, in the past I've just watched this so much during the season. Plus I've always assumed it took place during the fall since there are leaves everywhere and everyone was dressed in long sleeves/flannel/workshirt/etc.

7. La maschera del demonio (Black Sunday)

"Gothic atmosphere", you know.

8. Sleepy Hollow

For whatever reason, this has given "the razz" by many Burton fans, and even some genre fans.
Well, at any rate, I think it's perfect for the season: jack o' lanterns, autumn foliage, creepy woods, more "Gothic atmosphere" (you know), Christopher Walken with scary sharp teeth, big harvest moon(s), and that guy who played Lydia's father in Beetle Juice.

9. Carnival of Souls

Low budget, black and white, spooky organ soundtrack, and this:

10. Young Frankenstein

If I have to type "Gothic atmosphere" one more time...
Well, also I needed something to lighten up this list.
What's funnier during October than the "Puttin' on the Ritz" bit?

11. À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma (At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul)

Just a fundamentally evil Brazilian guy with a cool hat and gross fingernails walking around looking for a nice lady to assist him in furthering his bloodline.
Ghosts are involved too.
The film has a cool, spooky feel (probably because of all the evil and the ghosts) that makes it perfect watching for the Hallowe'en season.

12. A few various Universal titles

Some titles of note:

13. A few various Hammer titles

Some titles of note:

So there you have it.
I can't promise you that only watching these films will give you a perfect Hallowe'en season, but you'll certainly be well on your way.
Hope you enjoy.

Concert review.

2008-10-15T23:10:00.007-04:00

Well, I hate to admit it, but it's been quite some time since I've been to a show featuring a national act that I dig. Actually, the last one I can think of was Anathallo and Aloha at the Subterranean in Chicago, and that was back in April (oy vey.)!

So, onward: A month or so ago, a friend of mine from work was nice enough to invite me to see a band that, for the past two years or so, has continued to grow on me at a venue to which I've never been, but have heard only good things. The show was last night.

The band: The Walkmen, from New York

The venue: The Southgate House, in Newport, KY

The band:

What I initially liked about The Walkmen was their singer, Hamilton Leithauser. His voice is rough, loud, and unique. However, what I've come to realize about the band is that they perfectly, and I mean perfectly compliment his voice. It's like the rest of the instrumentation is an extension of the character in his singing. At a glance, they seem sloppy, occasionally dissonant. Low, heavy drums; screaming organs and keys; gritty, reverb-heavy guitar, and ominous bass lines, combined with Leithauser on the microphone all combine to create a sound that draws heavily on 1950s pop sensibilities, but with a strange, often eerie quality. Upon closer inspection, it's quite easy to realize that it's all organized chaos. Their ability to pull of such a loose sound is a testament to their tight-knittedness as a band.

Live, they nailed it. Pretty much flawless. High energy, great sound, and Leithauser's singing was easily some the best live vocals I've ever heard. Ever. Flowing without effort between his general frantic but hushed melodies into belting out goosebump-inducing high notes. They even brought other guys on stage to do all the extra horn and alternate percussion stuff.
Also, the drummer was a nut. Watching him was one of the best parts of the show.

http://download.wbr.com/recordcollection/av/01 Lousiana.mp3
This is the song they played for their encore. It's called "Louisiana". They dragged it out to about 6-7 minutes, but it never once felt forced. It sounded perfect, and just watching them dearly love what they were doing was enough to keep me thoroughly engaged. One of the horn guys blasted out an incredibe trumpet solo at the end, too: a satisfying finish to an intimate, but epic performance.

The venue:

Very, very cool. The sound system was great, the sound guy was great. The atmosphere was great. A very charming, intimate venue. It's pretty small, which I always love. Plus, it's in an incredible location. Since the first two bands were unremarkable, my friend and I spent an hour and a half walking around the crazy outdoor mall/riverfront view/aquarium area across the street.

All in all, it was a great evening. Wonderful performance, excellent venue. I can't wait for another opportunity to see a band there, especially with some more friends.

Plus, there was this incredible-looking cookie shop that was closed by the time we got there, but I wanted very much to go inside and eat something(s):

Horror movie.

2008-10-12T03:05:00.008-04:00

I'm drinking Arizona Sweet Tea, suddenly not tired, watching Halloween on IFC, and I'm very much feeling in the spirit of the season. I'll take this time to recommend a great watch, perfect for this time of the year.

Jack Hill's Spider Baby, or the Maddest Story Ever Told (1968)

In a run down mansion way out in the country live the last remaining descendants of the depraved Merrye family: victims of a degenerative brain disease that causes its sufferers to, with age, regress to a state of violent instinctual behavior. They are watched over by the family caretaker, a kind-hearted gent named Bruno (in a sunset performance by Lon Chaney, Jr., and a touching, majestic performance at that), who, bound by his word, is forced to cover up their wrongdoings. When some distant "normal" relatives arrive to claim the Merrye family fortune, things begin to get even more troublesome.
While the material sounds fairly serious, don't let that fool you. The film is rife with screwball humor, quirkiness, and latent sexual tension.
In this campy horror masterpiece, we enjoy a wide spread of appeals. These include fantastically fun performances, including (other than Chaney, of course):

Carol Ohmart as one of the greedy family members, particularly malicious and cunning.
Jill Banner as Virginia, youngest daughter of the Merrye family, and one of the most violent. A favorite game of hers to play is the eponymous "Spider," in which she slices her playmate with two butcher's knives. She plays this role with a peculiar intoxicating quality. She is basis for most of the film's sexual undertones.
Sid Haig as Ralph, eldest brother of the Merrye family. He drools a lot, wears funny clothes, and gropes Carol Ohmart's face, much to her dismay. Mostly he seems harmless, and is the most charming character in the entire film.

The most fascinating aspect of this movie, though, is its intentional naivety and innocence. There is really no objectionable content whatsoever, and in fact today would most likely get an upper PG, maybe lower PG-13 rating, even despite the sexual undertones. This juxtaposition makes for some incredibly unique and engaging character development and character relations, not only between the characters in the film, but between the audience and the characters as well.
Thanks to Hill's light-handed direction and obvious loving touch (a profound respect for the genre and the actors with whom he's working), and the performances (of course), there's such an incredible atmosphere produced it's quite easy to get sucked into this one.
And just to make it clear: while Spider Baby is certainly silly, campy, and fun, it has its share of genuine creepiness, too!

This for sure is one of my top 20 favorite horror movies ever, which is really saying something.

So if you're looking for something to really compliment the feel of the Hallowe'en season, or just a great (horror) film altogether, I highly, highly recommend this one.

Enjoy the trailer:

Netflix it!

Poem.

2008-10-12T01:30:00.004-04:00

Courtesy of Andrew C-K, who introduced me to this poem:

O my pa-pa -- Bob Hicok

Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop.
They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs
and wives. We thought they didn’t read our stuff,
whole anthologies of poems that begin, My father never,
or those that end, and he was silent as a carp,
or those with middles which, if you think
of the right side as a sketch, look like a paunch
of beer and worry, but secretly, with flashlights
in the woods, they’ve read every word and noticed
that our nine happy poems have balloons and sex
and giraffes inside, but not one dad waving hello
from the top of a hill at dusk. Theirs
is the revenge school of poetry, with titles like
“My Yellow Sheet Lad” and “Given Your Mother’s Taste
for Vodka, I’m Pretty Sure You’re Not Mine.”
They’re not trying to make the poems better
so much as sharper or louder, more like a fishhook
or electrocution, as a group
they overcome their individual senilities,
their complete distaste for language, how cloying
it is, how like tears it can be, and remember
every mention of their long hours at the office
or how tired they were when they came home,
when they were dragged through the door
by their shadows. I don’t know why it’s so hard
to write a simple and kind poem to my father, who worked,
not like a dog, dogs sleep most of the day in a ball
of wanting to chase something, but like a man, a man
with seven kids and a house to feed, whose absence
was his presence, his present, the Cheerios,
the PF Flyers, who taught me things about trees,
that they’re the most intricate version of standing up,
who built a grandfather clock with me so I would know
that time is a constructed thing, a passing, ticking fancy.
A bomb. A bomb that’ll go off soon for him, for me,
and I notice in Our fathers’ poems a reciprocal dwelling
on absence, that they wonder why we disappeared
as soon as we got our licenses, why we wanted
the rocket cars, as if running away from them
to kiss girls who looked like mirrors of our mothers
wasn’t fast enough, and it turns out they did
start to say something, to form the words hey
or stay, but we’d turned into a door full of sun,
into the burning leave, and were gone
before it came to them that it was all right
to shout, that they should have knocked us down
with a hand on our shoulders, that they too are mystified
by the distance men need in their love.

Unrelated addendum to previous post.

2008-10-11T01:42:00.002-04:00

One of the coolest scenes of all time:

Halloween thoughts, and maybe other thoughts.

2008-10-11T00:27:00.007-04:00

Well, this has been my Halloween costume idea for the last three years, but I haven't been able to make it happen (not that it's an incredibly difficult costume to put together or anything):

The hardest part about this one was finding a great burlap sack. This was solved after going to the bank one morning to get change for work; for whatever reason they gave me the change in just such a sack. I'm not going to question it.
The rest I can get at Jo-Ann Fabrics and Amazon.com.

You get the idea.

Anyway, in other Halloween/October-related news (really, to me, Halloween is really a month-long affair), I've finally finalized the list for the annual 12-hour horror movie marathon I put together each year:

Should be a blast this year, especially. It'll be a smaller, more intimate group than it's been the last few years. Big groups have really ended up in it being kind of a drag, with people coming and going and doing other things.

I'm looking forward to the rest of this month. I needed a refresher, and I got it (a week out of this town, staying with family, then friends). I'm feeling better now, despite some extremely worrying financial problems.
I'm hoping to see some of my best friends tomorrow, and my little nephew.

Things finally seem to be getting back on track, and I can't even begin to describe how ~~good~~ it feels.

And how appropriate it is that it should be this month, my favorite of all months.

Additionally, click here to read a great Halloween-related blog post by my friend Scott. He argues that the coveted giraffe costume is quite possibly the best Halloween costume ever.
And he's right.

Television cats.

2008-09-25T18:53:00.004-04:00

Remember Garfield & Friends?

Top 2 Reasons I Was Interested in Watching Garfield & Friends as a Child

Cutting sarcasm and deadpan wit of Garfield's inner monologue.
The promise of "disguises, surprises, and pies of all sizes."

Top 2 Reasons I Changed the Channel from Garfield & Friends to Something Else as a Child

"...& Friends".
Nermal.

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

In a somewhat unrelated matter, Heathcliff was awesome, too, but in a very different way.

No good.

2008-09-17T23:42:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I like to do math in my free time.
Here is one of my favorite equations:

Jordan - Family Video = Happier Jordan

Do me a favor.
Boycott your local Family Video.

They are an awfully cheap, somewhat soul-sucking company.

Incidentally, job hunts are no fun.
But they are sometimes necessary.

Speaking of movies (kind of), allow me to recommend one of my
Favorite Movies Ever:

Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)

The greatest western of all time. Even if you don't like westerns.
Contains every feature of a great western that you could ask for:

Ridiculously convoluted plot
Great villains
Great heroes
Incredible soundtrack
Awesome showdowns
Sweet dialogue

ex.
Harmonica: The reward for this man is 5000 dollars, is that right?
Cheyenne: Judas was content for 4970 dollars less.
Harmonica: There were no dollars in them days.
Cheyenne: But sons of bitches... yeah.

Anyway.
Now, sleep.
Work in the morning.
Ugh. The week is long.
I can't wait until the weekend.

Tired and uninspired.

2008-09-17T00:59:00.004-04:00

I got nothing.

I'm going to bed.

Two things.

2008-09-12T16:07:00.003-04:00

I love this song:

Animal Collective- "Water Curses"

Also, I love these:

Quaker Oatmeal Squares.

Subtle, yet immensely satisfying flavor with a low sog factor.
Highly recommended.

Best Pokémon ever.

2008-09-11T13:53:00.003-04:00

Just saying.

Car trouble.

2008-09-11T12:53:00.000-04:00

I got my driver's license in early 2003, and until, oh, early 2007, I never had any car trouble. However, since then, it's come at me with unparalleled fury. My previous car, a 1995 Chevrolet Monte Carlo:

worked without fail from the time I got it (October 2006) until January-February 2007. After this point, horrible, horrible things started happening. Lights were coming on, belts were breaking, things were heating, things were shutting off, the car was shutting off, sometimes it wouldn't start. Finally, last August, it starting emitting terrifying noises. My dad, who is a mechanic by nature, took a look under the hood with me for maybe the 2, 564th time. After pulling a bunch of things out, we found chunks of metal in places they didn't belong. Chunks of important metal that belonged in other places. The Monte Carlo's last hurrah happened late August, when I was driving it to my mom's house. It started SCREAMING at me, and the RPMs went way high, and it was smoking, and it was decelerating, and all the screaming.

Good Heavens, the screaming.

I pulled it off to the side of the road, and eventually it was towed away.

Then, last September, I bought a used 2000 Saturn LS2,

which immediately starting giving me some minor problems. Long story short, sometimes it shifts really hard for no reason (it's an automatic), and lately it's been shutting off randomly while I'm driving. Some lights come on, my power steering stops working, and I have to actually turn it off and start it up again.

"Please stop, man." This is what I say to my car. "Just please stop doing that." It ignores me. It does what it wants. I don't understand. I treat my vehicles (and always have) with respect and integrity. I get oil changes every 3000 miles. I make sure fluids are at the appropriate levels. I air the tires. I rotate them. All that business.

I think this Saturday I'm going to call CarTalk on NPR.

Movie.

2008-09-11T01:56:00.003-04:00

Since this blog is most likely going to be fueled mainly by boredom/indecisiveness/other things, I might as well start right off with a bit of inspired restlessness.

So, why not post a recommendation of one of my favorite films of all time?

Good point.

Anyway, here goes.

I just recently watched, for maybe the fifth or sixth time, Ingmar Bergman's Viskningar och rop (Cries and Whispers) (1972). The first time I watched it, I was dazzled by the look of it, and was left for days to ponder its depth. The second time, already being a step ahead by having analyzed the crap out of it, I was able to be a little less tense, and was giddy by the time it was over. The third, fourth, fifth, (and maybe sixth) time I watched it, my feelings continued on in this fashion.

The story, involving two women who return to their childhood home to visit their dying sister, is so simple, yet Bergman uses these bare bones to plunge headlong into the depths of spirituality, family, and, most importantly, the soul (and there's more, I'm sure). Or, as Roger Ebert stated in his review of the film, "[It] is about dying, love, sexual passion, hatred and death - in that order." Despite the brilliantly lush (and red. This is a very red movie.) cinematography by (one of my very favorites) Sven Nykvist and its old-fashioned composition, there is a visual element to the film that is incredibly disturbing and even horrifying. The use of emotional, mental, and physical imagery is nearly assaulting at times.

Really, after howevermany watches, I still can't claim to grasp every shred of meaning packed into it, nor will I ever, most likely. Like the strong majority of Bergman's films, Cries and Whispers is so intensely personal, there's an aspect to it that is impossible to possess, impossible to analyze and pick apart. You will watch, and sit back, and think. The pieces will come together. It will mean something to you. There are no compromises at all. You must take it as it is. And it is wonderful.

Oh! I almost forgot. The performances add a lot to all this "great film" business, too. Particularly Harriet Andersson as the dying sister, Agnes, and Bergman regular Ingrid Thulin as sister Karin. Ingrid Thulin also happens to be one of my favorite actresses ever:

Here is a lovely picture of her and Bergman.

Begin tangent:

Watching Thulin perform, for whatever reason, has always had an incredibly hypnotizing effect on me. She embodies her characters with such personality and depth. She owns them, but still gives them each their own uniqueness, so it's never like you're always watching Ingrid Thulin. At any rate, any movie she's in is worth a watch, if only for her performance.

End tangent!

So! If you had enough gusto to make it through that mess, then reward yourself by watching Cries and Whispers, seriously.

You deserve it.

Netflix it!

First post is most important.

2008-09-11T01:03:00.000-04:00

There is was a large bug on the front door of my house. He has been there since I woke up this morning. Just now, I went to take a picture of him, but the flash frightened him away.

Sorry dude.

Seven reasons tonight was a good night (in no particular order)

The weather
Ghost Hunters
I talked to more friends today than I have in a while.
The big front door bug.
The world wasn't black-hole devoured by the LHC...yet.
Love- Forever Changes

Here is a lovely video of a live performance of the best song on the album, called "Alone Again Or" (there's a second song on there, too, but it isn't very good):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tQspFesT3E

If nothing else, watch it for the greatest trumpet solo probably ever (2:01).

and dream of trumpets, I guess.

Good-night.