:D

Cheers!

A Lovecraft Christmas
by Paul M. Lemieux, copyright 1989. ``With apologies to Clement
Moore.''
To the tune of ``'Twas the Night Before Christmas'':

Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the hole
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Dhole
Aldebaren hung at the right place at nine
In the hopes that Great Cthulhu would come out this time

The Fungi from Yuggoth, all snug in their caves
Were plotting to turn all the people to slaves
The Deep Ones in Rlyeh, the Ghouls in their graves
Were dancing and singing and acting depraved

When what do my wondering eyes should appear
But a mouldering sleigh and eight corpselike reindeer
With a horrible driver so leprous and reeking
I knew right away that my fear was unspeaking

The reindeer were gross, as they flew up from hell
And It hoarsely whispered and chanted a spell
Ia Shub Niggurath! Cthulhu ftagn!
Nyarlathotep! I summon you on!

As decomposed flesh before the charnel stench rise
And meet with the open air polluting the skies
Up to the housetop the horror it rose
And the gangrenous odors assailed my nose

And then in a slopping noise heard on the roof
The lumbering clomping of octopoid hoofs
As I drew in my head and was turning around
The horror lurched into my room with a bound

Its eyes how they pulsate
So bulbous and gory
This blasphemous creature
So noxious and hoary

I was frozen by fear, my feet woudn't run
I threw up my cookies, this wasn't much fun
It whispered my name and said ``You come with I''
I tried to refuse and it said ``Then you die.''

It came at my throat with its grim claws extended
But a miracle saved its victim intended
I had three Elder Signs in a slot in the floor
It screamed with a fiendish sound and went out the door

It sprang to its sleigh, and its team gave a surge
And away they all flew to the sound of a dirge
I heard it exclaim as it flew out of sight
``You're lucky this time, for the stars weren't right.''

Breaking Silence, or I got Tagged by Mendacious

So. I haven't been blogging lately. I tend to write from two places :sincere or silly.
Haven't been very silly lately, and the sincere still leads to the tearful, hence me being all quiet.
But since I got tagged with the "7 random" meme, here goes (except I'm not following the "pass it on" rule):
1. My accent is difficult to place.
People guess everything from California to England--seriously. I learned to speak English from the television, after it had been discovered that my infant "babbling" was actually Czech I had learned from the nanny (she didn't baby talk to me like the family).
2. My eye color is difficult, too.
They used to be green--vividly so. Overtime, the green divided into a ring of blue at outer iris and a ring of yellow around the pupil. People call them blue, grey, brown, green--depending on light, the color of my shirt, and emotional state. Seriously.
3. I'm allergic to strawberries and opiates--synthetics, too.
I eat fresh hot peppers without a second thought, but strawberries burn like lava. And most prescription pain killers make me violently ill--itching, dizziness, nausea---seriously.
4. I have been practicing non-violence for 38 years.
I last deliberately hit another person when I was 8. I have been sorely tempted much--my school mates were determined to force me into fighting--that sucked hugely---and I was quite tempted to bash this asshole the night my Ma died, but he was grieving his own loss, so I didn't maim him. Seriously
5. My ears are very mobile.
They move up, and to the side. One at a time, or both together. Like an animal's. Seriously.
6. I have been a cat lover since first sight.
I would creep up on sleeping feral cats to pet them. I never got discouraged by the scratches, even though it hurt my skin and my feelings. Lucky I never got bitten---seriously.
7. I want my Ma.
seriously, damnit

Further Musings of a Super Villain

Dear Diary--
you cretinous herald of disappointment and banality--
so, operation "fear worse than death" is an official wash out. Figures.
It seems that the fear of public speaking thing missed a large portion of the population. So far, the groups I found to be immune are:
politicians
clergy
salespeople
writers
actors
reality television wanna-bees
and other narcissists
Damn it! That leaves only modest people, and those are A: in short supply, and B:no fun to intimidate.
The moment that made me say "screw this" came as we set up to intimidate a group of "sk8rs". They just chuckled and made fart jokes. I had to resort to good, old fashioned homicide.
The classics always come through for you in a pinch.
Thinking about scraping up DNA left over from my little League of Good Doers massacre---maybe I can clone them, or combine the DNA and make one big super goody-goody to break up the monotony. Or maybe do the decorative plate collecting thing. All equally evil.........................
you'll regret the day you ever crossed,
Dr. Angst

The Secret Ennui of a Super Villain

Dear Diary--you foetid heap of banality and despair,

Great. Just great.
My "ultimate plan" actually worked.
The League of Good Doers is forever destroyed.


I'm soooooooo bored.


My latest scheme--like shooting fish in a pet shop, now that LGD is DOA--is the greatest evil scheme in THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAHAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!!!!
oh, screw it--why bother with the evil laughter.....sigh
Anyway-- I read somewhere---Parade Magazine, or maybe something in the doctors office....anyway, it said more people are afraid of public speaking than they are of death.
At once, my plan sprang to mind, fully formed, like a rabid Athena from the brow of a leprous Zeus......why do I bother with the purple prose anymore???
So, anyway......I got the idea to have my minions carry a portable dais, some folding tables, and the rest of the army totes folding chairs. Now, when I want to threaten someone, we show up, set up in a flash, and look at them expectantly, as they stammer and sweat behind the microphone of inarticulate despair.

What you won't believe is--it utterly fails to satisfy. I mean, by the 7th or 8th time, it just didn't sparkle like before.
I must find a new arch nemesis, before I start collecting decorative plates or something.

you'll rue the day you crossed,
Dr. Angst

eBay orror-Hay

Here's this week's horror blog-a-thon story--go to Gatochy's for more info and Mariana's story.

It was a scent unlike any other. It bloomed on the skin, and went through a series of changes, depending on the mood of the wearer. It started somewhat spicy, with a hint of jasmine, ripening into a musky sandalwood, unless the wearer grew bored or vexed- then, it took on a hypnotic aroma—so powerful that anyone within a few inches of the wearer was powerless against them. This had come in handy for Rehzeenah, the favorite courtesan of a powerful but stupid Emperor.
Rehzeenah owed it all to her pet perfumer/sorcerer, the mysterious and handsome Ali. Many a night, she had entertained the young magician in her chambers, while the emperor slept off the effects of one of his potions. But feelings may change as quickly as fashion or politics, so when the Emperor began to curry favour with the infidels from Europe, with their meek sacrificed god, Rehzeenah said nothing to prevent her handsome lover’s public execution. He was to be burned at the stake—a popular fashion among the Europeans. They had been persecuting all suspected of dabbling in the art of magic, and expected any potential allies to follow suit.
Ali knew he had no real hold over Rehzeenah. Her heart was as cold as a desert night, so no amount of begging would move her to help him. He only asked for one last, brief audience with her.
She met him in his cell some hours before daybreak, disguised as a servant. Her doomed lover gazed on her with a mix of sorrow and something else. With a courtly flourish, he produced a small, exquisite vial from his robe. The vial had been carved from a deep green emerald, the stopper was a deep red ruby.
“Take this, and remember me always. I only ask that you wait until I am gone before you wear it—I could not bear the combined beauty of your face and this, my sweetest, most magical perfume.”
Rehzeenah was like a greedy child with a tray of pastries. She couldn’t believe her fortune---a bottle of such beauty and power!

She considered her promise to wait, but what was a promise to a dead man? She resolved to wear the perfume to the execution, happily anticipating the expression Ali would no doubt wear when he caught the scent of his parting gift over the stench of the smoke.
As dawn grew near, she rose and began her morning regime. She applied her paints, dressed in her brightest silks, and at last, she dabbed a touch of the perfume behind each ear and between her breasts.
The scent was a heavenly blend of amber, patchouli, and musk, with just a hint of something citrus like. She inhaled deeply, and smiled with pleasure. Her eyes became glazed for a moment, and when they cleared to their usual limpid-pool like state, there was a new expression—colder, more cunning.
The walk down to the public square was like a dream. She felt as though her limbs were being controlled by a puppeteer. The Emperor smiled fondly in her direction as she took her place at his side, along with the European priests.
Ali, chained to a cedar felled for the occasion, stared hard and unflinching into the face of his former lover. As the executioner approached with a torch, Rehzeenah’s hand moved of it’s own accord toward the Emperor’s ceremonial dagger, as ever sashed at his side. Like a sleepwalker, she watched as her arm raised the weapon high, and plunged it into the Emperor’s throat. Again and again, the blood stained dagger sought warmth in the flesh of ruler and cleric alike, until only she was left, watching the flames consume the doomed magician. She never saw the blade of the king’s body guard as it sought to separate her head and body.
Being high born, she was entombed with her possessions, rather than being left for the street dogs to scavenge. The emerald and ruby bottle lay in her tomb for several centuries, until a later, less pious age dawned, and her tomb was plundered for its treasure.
The emerald bottle was eventually auctioned to a rich industrialist, who gave it to his young second wife. She had born the brunt of his first wife’s anger, and he wanted to reward her, as well as to endear himself to her, as many of his more humiliating peccadilloes had been exposed to her by his angry ex.
You would never believe what damage an anorexic blonde can do with a butter knife and a pair of lobster tongs. Not pretty.
But you can bid on the crime scene photos on my eBay site. I’ll even include a photo of the bottle. I photographed it before I put it up for auction.

Horror-o-thon Fun---thanks to Gatochy's

Mariana is sponsoring a writing exercise. Join in, and flex your horror-writing muscles!!
Go to Gatochy's for more details!
Day 1
....... and downstairs is my private bar. I got everything off eBay--it was some kind of estate sale. See that painting? When you position it just so, it looks like a mirror--see? Everything on the bar is there in the painting! How cool is that? Now, lets have a drink, and go check out the new pool..........

Day 3
........because I really need to know more about this lot I bought from you........yes, the bar.......oh, it's all quite lovely, and in great shape for the age it all is..........it's the painting I'm wondering about---it kinda spooks me out a little...........no, nothing's happened.....why? Yes, I understand---I'll call back later........

Day 5
.........really not funny. Where the hell is the blender? I put it right there on the bar, and now it's nowhere to be seen! A brand new blender, gone! I may be rich, damnit, but I don't think I should be expected to replace appliances the day after I purchase them! Who the hell took the blender! I'll sack the lot of you if it is not returned immediately! What!? Right over there? Where?...........that's not the blender....that's in the painting..........

Day 6
.....no, seriously! Someone is fucking with my head! They stole my blender, and painted its image, exactly as I left it, in the mirror painting! I appreciate talent, damn it, but this is just weird and annoying! Hire extra security, and put a camera in the bar. I'm going to get to the bottom of this........

Day 7
..........and now the security camera is gone off the wall, and there is a painting of it, just like with the blender! Some damn prankster is not only stealing my things, but they are defacing an antique painting! I tell you, I'll spend the night sleeping on the bar if that's what it takes to catch this little punk............

The next month
.........and finally on the block, originally part of an antique bar owned by occultist and author Aleister Crowley, this painting of the bar, with the figure of a very surprized and distressed looking gentleman laying on the bar............

Silly Fun

http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/priorart.cgi Go. Play.
It's a web page that will make your coffee cup obsolete! It has room for a fridge magnet inside and is completely reversible.
It's a jetpack that pushes things down staircases! It is powered by a single hamster and can help you lose weight.
It's a rubber fish that fetches help in the event of an emergency! It can pick locks.
It's a piece of string that doubles as an alcoholic drink and improves blood clotting.
It's a pair of trousers that can cook small meals, has a mind of its own and plays a mean game of Go.
It's a handheld billboard that can speak twelve languages, asks trivia questions and repels bees.
What more does one need?

Birthday Love to Mariana

Happy birthday to Mariana, editor-in-chief at Gatochy's Blog.

Beware of Strangers Eating Candy

My relationship with television has been long and rich. It taught me to speak English. It taught me that if I call someone's cellular device a "phone" I am risking creating a big emotional scene at best, or being eaten by a whale at worst. And now it has taught me to be on the look out for liars with candy.

The Mars Corporation is marketing a candy bar apparently designed to help people lie. I suspect there may be tips and pointers printed on the wrapper--I don't know, because I'm afraid if I try to buy one and check,the clerk will give me one of those looks--the kind you get when you purchase prophylactics, booze, and fireworks all at once. But the commercials are clear--buy this product if you need to come up with a lie. How exactly it works is a mystery--maybe it is laced with falsehood producing chemicals--something that simultaneously suppresses the conscience and stimulates creativity.

So, be warned. If you are having an encounter with a person and they stall by pulling out one of these "liar's bisquits", just point and yell "LIAR!!!!!!"

I Think This Fortune Cookie Is Trying To Seduce Me

It said: "Rarely do great beauty and virtue dwell together as they do in you".

Apocalypse Averted by German Auto Maker

(an un-related picture of Bela Lugosi dressed as Santa. Deal with it)

Event Horizon, Earth--The end of the world was indefinately postponed, after German automobile manufacturer Volks Wagon released a small number of moderately priced vehicles.

"That is just so unfair", said Great Beast of the Apocalypse and heiress,Paris Hilton. "We've worked really, really hard to plan the end of the world--very exclusive and hot--and now it's totally not happening,plus I have to go to jail or something."

News of the continuation of life on earth and the heiress' jail term were received with mixed enthusiasm. "Whatever", replied local hell goddess Dawn Erin--"though it is kind of a shame about Paris going to jail. I was hoping for a good old fashioned beheading!"

Fun Food

http://e-obento.com/

Another Guilty Pleasure

Ok, people--don't even think about trying to reason with me on this one.......

One of my absolute favoritest films has come back into my world.

Back in 1974--a year before The Rocky Horror Picture Show premiered, Brian DePalma released Phantom of the Paradise--a film seemingly written for 13 year old romantics. Looking for restraint? Keep looking. Reality? Not gonna find it here. But if you want campy humor, over the top histrionics, and true pathos---bingo! Plus, you get to see Paul Williams play a villain.

The film is a rock pastiche of Phantom of the Opera, The Picture of Dorian Grey, and Faust, written and directed by DePalma before he went on his Icy blonde Hitchcock kick. The hero is a nebbish, the heroine a doe eyed brunette, and the villain is a tiny blonde man with large teeth. Toss in some tunes, riff on the Sha-na-na nostalgia craze ,Glam Rock, and Alice Cooper style horror rock, add split screens, and viola--instant favorite film!

The best thing is looking at the then state of the art electronics---you have more sophisticated equipment in front of you as you read this.

Camera Chimera or Playing With My Face

These came from a video shoot back in 2001.

9th Letter of Alphabet Banned By Health Offcals

Austn, Tx--
N a bold move, publc health offcals banned the use of the 9th letter (the one between "h" and "j"), ctng evdence of ncreased rsk of heart attack to use of the letter.
melda ssacs, speakng on behalf of the WHO, n a publc announcement late tuesday stated:
"Ths speaker has noted that people who say "[censored]" alot have more heart attacks. We are protecting the publc by bannng ths deadly letter. All old spellng books, lbrary books, bllboards etc wll be taken to an nternment camp mmedately for destructon".
Legslaton s beng proposed to make use of the letter punshable by fnes and mprsonment.

Queen of Soul Kicks Ass

Pardon my slight deafness today--my ears are still ringing from last night's show.
A-r-e-t-h-a opened with "r-e-s-p-e-c-t"-- giving it to us with both barrels. No teasing, just right down to business. She was phenomenal--she just turned 60 last month (25th), weighs in the neighborhood of 300#, and still belts the soul and blues like it was old times. We fell all over ourselves as an audience--she was clearly among admirers. She adjusted her wrap--we went nuts. She took off her shoes and danced--we lost our minds. She sat down, played piano and sang--we practically set ourselves on fire from joy. So I'm pretty sure she felt appreciated.
It was a short program, with two sets and three curtain calls. We payed 75 US$ to sit in the nosebleed section. WORTH IT.

That Darn Sebastien

...totally tagged me.
I'm a good sport so.....................
five things I can admit to being obsessed with:
1. Ethical behavior
2. communication
3. art
4. cooking
5. narcissistic people

I'm totally tagging Mendacious.

Happy 8oth Birthday to my Mum.

Ma turns 80 today. We are a long-lived lot on that side of the family (the good side)--my Gran was 100 when she died.
Ma was born in 1927. She was 2 when the stock market crashed in '29. She insists she was no where near it at the time.
She has a strong aversion to rodents, ever since she was a small child, and a rat ran down her arm as she was reaching for a lantern in the barn. Much like Aunt Ada Doom from Cold Comfort Farm--she saw something nasty in the woodshed. But she never used it as a control weapon. She even tolerated my guinea pigs and pet rats. She's always been a sport.
She also gained a strong aversion to fish in childhood. It was the depression, and people caught much of the meat they ate. Ma ate some alligator gar, which made her violently ill (probably e coli)--she's been "allergic" ever since. She likes shrimp, however.
I had my first ever paying job as a classroom aide when she was superintendent of Project Head Start in Nueces county. And when I was very young, she took me to school with her, where I tutored her special needs students (I was quite precocious, and worked for free).
She was quite a looker in her youth--she was a ringer for Elizabeth Montgomery. Everyone told me that my ma "looked like Samantha". My Gran was utterly resistant to all suggestion that she dress "like Endora". I would have loved that.
For someone with severely impaired judgement and no real coping skills, she was an important ally in facing the world. I see alot of my ma in myself. I look like her. We have the same hair. I get to use it on odd numbered days.
We are having a wee party. I got her everything I could worm out of her for gift ideas, plus some surprises. Then it's dinner (chicken fried steak, mashed white potatoes, cake) and a comedy--I haven't decided between School of Rock and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. She has a great sense of humor. It helped her during my youth (punk rock).
Happy birthday Mother.

A Childhood Influence

This might explain something about my sense of humor.

Momento Mouri: Fred Wong 1973-2007

(keep an eye peeled for this image, coming soon to a tortilla near you)

It is with infinite sadness that I post this memorial to our late friend, Fred Wong. Fred appeared on the blogosphere (last time I ever use that word--promise) suddenly, and just as suddenly died of undisclosed causes. I often take comfort in Fred's kind words of encouragement: good. nice. blog.


But what do we really know about our fallen comrade? He was 34--although he appeared to be much, much, much, much, much older. He apparantly lived a very full life---or drank heavily. I'm going with the "full life" angle. Fred liked movies. Music was "good". Books-"ok".
Fred and I had a couple of things in common. We were both capricorns, both born year of the rat. Fred, however, was employed as a korean-to-chinese interpreter, living in Chad. How Chad felt about that, we haven't heard.But I'm betting Chad was "cool" with it--such was the charm of Fred Wong.


Fred's generosity of spirit was celebrated by McDonald's, with a free fillet-o-fish sandwhich for every customer who mentioned Fred--for a whole day. (President Reagan was only memorialized with a hot apple pie)
http://otherpeopleexist.blogspot.com/2007/03/march-24-2007.html


Death has not silenced Fred, however. Fred has posted more blogs (1) than he did while alive. And I suspect that it is his gentle hand that has guided me in the past several days, as I purchased a wok, several books on Asian cuisines, and beer.

http://fredwongsghost.blogspot.com/

Freddie, we hardly knew ye.

Happy Vernal Equinox--Party Time Again

(THIS IMAGE RIGHTLY BELONGS IN ONE OF MARIANA'S 'SO CUTE YOU COULD PUKE' SERIES POSTS. ALL HAIL GATOCHY)

Happy Spring, all you bunnies and bears! This image, so precious, so cloying, such a threat to peristalsis, was apparently created by Gail Gastfield. The obvious "in a field, aghast" joke probably already suggested itself, so we'll just move on.

In honor of spring, and as incentive to clean house, I'm having the workies over for a massage exchange soiree. I wish you all could come-but the IRBHN world HQ only seats 8 comfortably. The menu reflects my spring mania--it's all over the place.
Guacamole, chile con queso. Shrimp kabobs. Pork dumplings. Irish rashers, bangers, and puddings. Pigs in blankets. Whatever else that may suggest itself between right now and tomorrow morning.

Best wishes for an extra springy spring to all my blog buddies. You all are the only reason I bother to boot up most days!

Gentility

It makes me sad to see good manners and taste recede into the mists of time. Ironic is the new sincere, and random is the new thoughtful. Are we past the age of the thank you note? I recall a day when a simple, tasteful note of thanks, printed in black on cream card stock, was as much a part of any event as the hangover, or making bail. My 20-something friends--the little vulgarian fucks--at utterly at sea when it comes to proper expressions of gratitude. The finer points of expression, the necessary bases to cover--all the major components of a well crafted missive of thanks giving---you couldn't drag out of a young person using a pair of pliers and a blow torch. Believe me, I've tried. So rather than simply cursing the gloom, I shall light this wee candle, in the form of an example of the lost art of saying "thanks". Take notes.

Dear Tamika,
Enclosed please find your monthly payment of $350. Thank you so much for keeping quiet about those films I did back in the 80's, back when I needed money to pay off those gambling debts. I'm also really grateful for your continued silence on the topic of those 7 people and that llama that met their end at my hands back in Nebraska. You know, I still feel bad about that llama. You know how much I love animals. I never would have opened fire, if it hadn't been for the two hiding behind it. I'm afraid my combined hatreds of redneck militias and the polka collided fatally that day. I still sometimes see that poor llamas wee camel-ly face, and shed a silent tear of regret. Something came over me, and I "lost my religion". You know, girl-you were there. You alone live to tell the tale. Except that you won't. Tell, that is.
I must remark how pleasant it is being blackmailed by you. Your rates are reasonable, and you are reliably discrete. I hope you are doing well. I've come to think of you as a friend and confidant that I pay. It would truly be a tragedy to have to "terminate" our relationship. But that won't be needing to happen, now--will it?
Yours in Christ,
"Mum"

J'ai Tombe' Dans la Cuisine or how to tell if your massage therapist is a whale (or other animal) in disguise

Ouch. I need something for the pain. I hit a slippery patch upon entering the kitchen, in my usual purposeful stride, and wound up looking like a marionette that had been dropped. My left leg went to the right, my right leg hyerextended behind me (like pigeon pose in yoga), and my right arm got tangled in the shelving. Were it not for extra dense bones and extreme flexibility, we would be posting this from hospital. So I'm lucky, for someone that just had such a painful and humiliating (if anyone would have seen ) mishap occur. I managed to get by with just some swelling/bruising and scrapes, instead of a sprain/fracture. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Next Topic:

I am encouraging Sebastien to seek massage therapy to help with the headaches etc. I even encouraged him to allow a LMT to make a house call. This can pose certain risks, given Sebastien's history with platypus' and other such creatures. There have been tragic encounters between humans and whales reported in the news of late, so I am supplying the following list of tips to help the massage consuming public avoid potentially fatal encounters with wild animals posing as massage therapists. An ounce of prevention, people.........

How To Tell If Your Massage Therapist is Actually a Whale (or other animal) in Disguise

1. Aroma. Your nose is your first line of defense against inviting a killer whale into your home. Sniff discretely, checking for a "fishy" odor. This will also help detect otters--the bastards of the sea. A "doggy" odor may indicate wolf--particularly if they show up in a group.

2. Look--what sort a vehicle did your massage therapist arrive in? If it is a huge tanker truck or other mega transport, odds are good you have a whale or other giant of the deep. Also, it is difficult for the average whale to squeeze into a polo shirt---look for straining seams. Also, the presence of a blow hole on the top of the head is pretty much a dead give away.

3. Rake your fingernails across a bit of chalkboard. Does your therapist flinch, like a human? Or do they try to answer, mistaking the noise for speech? If so-whale.

Stay tuned for further instructions. That is all.

DST WTF

The new daylight saving time thing totally caught me by surprize. I hate DST--more of it is not a good thing for me. So, unhappy to begin with---then I realized I hadn't seen my eyeglasses since 2am--the time that it happened. Ahah! My specs disappeared along with 2am--when it "magically" turned to 3am, my specs must have fallen in the crack. A perfectly reasonable theory.

Get a Room!

It is not even the vernal equinox yet, and ths sort of activity is going on, not two feet from my front step. Right out in the open, where they can scare the horses in the street.

Mild Disappointment

You know that movie? No, that other movie---no, not THAT other movie--I mean the one with the misleading title. You know the one I'm talking about--the one with that guy. That Guy that, for some inexplicable reason, used to be married to Angelina Jolie; that guy that was Carl in Sling Blade, and who was Bad Santa---HIM! Ok, now you know the one I'm on about.......

Ok, so--any reasonable, sane adult may see the title of the movie--"The Astronaut Farmer"--and arrive at the exact same conclusion I did. That the movie is about a cool farmer that grows astronauts. I could just imagine all the cool scenes of the farmer with the new baby astronauts in their special zero-G pens, mixing up Tang(TM) to feed to them---it would have been like one of those cool educational films they showed us in school. I loved those--it was so much better than actual class work, so I got really happy when it seemed we going to be treated to a feature length "on the farm" flick.

Stupid Hollywood.......

In more interesting news- Mariana has changed the layout at Gatochy's--a nice spare white look, tres chic. Delta is braving the cold to go skiing in freezy Finland. Kurt is visiting a major American city (probably searching out new "transitional" housing), and Sebastien has posted two of the cutest monster-y drawings ever--I want them both on my jammies

A 60's Memory Redux: Ruminations on Cannibalism, or the Threat Thereof

We've had a brief chat about this, once before. Seems I didn't quite get it all the way off my chest or something.

Way back in the mid 60's, I scared the hell out of the little boy across the street.

We had a large garden that was a popular play spot for the neighborhood kids. Most of the time I had a crowd of playmates. When it was time to come in, Ma always left it to me to clear out the revelers. Being basically well behaved kids, they all pissed off home after one prompt. All except the little tyke from across the street.

He was about 2 years younger, and quite uncooperative. All attempts at persuasion were met with sullen refusal. The one and only thing that effectively removed him from our property was the threat of being "eaten all up". For fuck's sake!

Here's a transcript of a typical exchange between us:

Young Taarzaan: It's time for you to go home now. You can come back tomorrow.

BratWurst: I don't have to!

YT:Yes, you do. Everyone else is already gone.

BW: I don't care. I don't wanna.

YT: I can't go in until you go home. It's time to eat, and I'm hungry. PLEASE go home!

BW: NO!!!

YT: If you don't go home, I'm going to eat you up.........

BW: Nuh-uh......

YT: Uh-huh!

BW: No you won't.

(Young Taarzaan holds his hands up parallel to ears, fingers curved into claws. Bares teeth, and begins walking towards BratWurst, gnashing teeth and growling.)

BW: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK!!!

(flees in terror)

It worked, every time. I always thought he'd catch on--put two and two together, as it were. No soap. He never learned to avoid the threat of being eaten by leaving appropriately. And at his stage of cognitive development, the threat of being eaten remained effective.

There was a hitch, however. The little tater tot started having nightmares about me eating him.

So there I was, all of maybe 6 years old, having a confrontation with Mrs. BratWurst. Her position was that I had to cease and desist from all cannibalistic threats. My position was that it was the only effective lever I had for removing her spawn from my garden, and that it was incumbent upon her to instill a respect for boundaries in her tender vittle. We utterly failed to see eye-to-eye. (She was a good two feet taller than me.)

I wonder about young niblet--did he grow up doubting his place on the food chain? Or did he introject the values of the aggressor, and become an oral aggressive personality? And is he still tender and juicy looking?

Jerk-in-the-box

This nasty bit of business is called "Jerk-in-the-box". It is deliberately gender ambiguous, as it was based on several narcissistic people from both genders. It still needs the box and control rod.

Random Serendipity in the Livingroom

Random Puppetry Sculpting

This guy is going to be a creepy jack-in-the-box. After that, he may evolve into Mr. Punch. Time will tell.
In other news, I'm working on a rebus post. As though MadLibs(TM) weren't effort enough.....

What has 11 eyes, and was just sick on the capet?

Him.
Or possibly Her.
It, anyway..........................

Puppetacolypse Draws Ever Near

Bad news, world---I'm off to shop for puppet supplies today. Craft supply store, building supply store, weapons dealer--all on my "to do" list. I'm being escorted by my temporary minions (they're moving to Alaska in a couple of weeks). Once we've aquired the neccesary componants, we shall joyfully partake of sushi, or maybe even bulgogi.

(Kala, expressing her approval of puppet vengence. Shannon demonstartes the size of the puppet that attacked him)

Taarzaan as conversation topic

I just wanted to butt in here and tell everyone how often Taarzaan's name was spoken at the 2006 BEA Awards, usually fondly. He is an inspiration to many bloggers, particularly those who are struggling in obscurity (approx. 99.991%, although our sample was 100%). Everyone in Room 306 agreed that it is good to see him posting more often again, and several cried out "For he's a jolly good fellow," which led to a chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

Todd was the only one present who had met Taarzaan and photographed him in his sleep, but he would not agree to answer our many questions, so for now all we have are his blog posts and the spent toiletries he left behind at the old OPE offices.

Praise all things Taarzaan!

Random Technology Upgrade

The old keyboard is dead--long live the keyboard!

I inherited the old one from my late brother--it was new in the late 80's, I think. It did a great job up until last night, when I doused it with soy milk. That lead to my choice of a water and dust proof model. It is soft silicon rubbery material that rolls up, and can be used in sandy or swampy conditions. Goodness knows how often the IRBHN HQ is visited by sand storms and/or floods. Just last evening, I was remarking:"Gracious! It has been a while since we had any serious climactic situations here in the office!"--then I poured soy milk on the keyboard. It resulted in the loss of the letter "T", the letter "Y", and the number "5".

Sounds like Sesame Street, now that I read it back.

BEA! BEA! BEA!!!!

Hoooray! IRBHN has been blessed with its second Blog Excellence Award--this time in the category of best dollhouse building and ice storm pictures! http://blogexcellenceawards.blogspot.com/

We will be unable to attend the awards ceremony in Fort Lee, New Jersey--but we know we can count on Kurt to collect it and use it as an extortion tool next time he needs a Todd-sitter--even after that incident with the zombie puppets and everything. He's just that kinda guy. He can't help it.

Vivid Dream

I had a very vivid dream just before waking--- I was reading a magazine. It was a smallish digest sized publication. I recall that it had a mostly white cover photo, and the magazine layout was based on altered books. There was a photo section that I really liked, and the article after that was titled Who In The World is Gatochy--it was a bio of Mariana, along with reprints from her blog.

Things to come? It could happen!

Just Random

You may say "Yow! You have a burning candle in your ear! Were you bad?" Or even "Yow! That is a very strange birthday cake for Sebastien---are you trying to drive him completely mad?"

Well--"No--I was good", and "NO--that would be redundant!!"

Happy birthday Sebastien! Beware platypus' jumping out of cakes shaped like old hippie bodyworkers!

Random Lili Taylor

I must confess--I really dig Lili Taylor. Not in an obsessive kind of way--there's tons of stuff she's done that I've never seen/might not ever see--I just really enjoy her when I do see something she's in. It's a combination of her feline looks, pleasing low pitched voice, and gestalt.
Ok--I'm done. I really didn't have much to say. And I see that this photo fails to capture the cat-like aspects of her face--I just like it.
Go look at this funny Joan Crawford montage video.
http://www.dan-o-ramaproductions.com/club_10b.html

Random Fiona Apple

Fiona's cover of "Sally's Song" from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Her voice really suits this tune, and the arrangement is lovely.

Ice Storm Memories

Sigh.......I'm feeling nostalgic---for last week. It was quite pleasant having a meteorologically enforced time out after the post holiday massage rush (NOT complaining BTW). I spent 4 days inside, cooking, napping, watching cartoons and Hammer Horrors, and playing bass. Oh, yeah--and I took pictures for posterity.
(Why does that word always remind me of J Lo?)
The frozen air conditioning unit was beautiful and vaguely ironic.
The frozen cherub is just kinda poignant, or ironic if you think of Dante---if you are inclined to think suchly.

Granny Weathervane had a half inch of ice all along her top edge. Doesn't look very pleased about it, either.
The plantstand had nearly an inch of ice atop it--like a lense, or a covered walkway in St. Paul.
My bike looks forlorn, with the icy overhangs at brake, grip, and pedal. Good thing I hadn't planned to ride it just then. I should get a really good ride in as soon as the weather permits--all that cooking? Lead to eating.