merry holidays

Christmas is not my favorite holiday.  If pressed, I would have to admit that it probably doesn’t even make the top three. 

There.  I said it.

It’s not because I don’t love baby Jesus, the manger story, Santa Claus, evergreen trees or Charlie Brown.  No, I like the sentiment of the holiday, both secular and religious.  Children receive a present from a kind, magical man for being good all year.  Great!  God gave the world a magnificent present and people take time to remember and thank Him.  Awesome!

Of course, part of my dislike for Christmas is rooted in childhood and, more specifically, the divorce of my parents.  Christmas morning always meant the absence of one of my parents and, more often than not, my sister, too.  And, Christmas morning wasn’t always on Christmas or even in the morning.  If it was the year I was flying to MI to spend with my dad, then Christmas with my mom happened before I left or when I returned.  If it was the year I stayed in GA, then I would open the box of presents from my dad and then call him to tell him how much I loved them.  Yeah, that’s special.  Then, with step-parents and cousins of every conceivable permutation involved, it meant that I could possibly get four to six Christmases in one year.  The magic kinda wears off after Christmas number three. 

However, when I became an adult, I found another reason to become disillusioned with Christmas.  Again, it’s not the holiday itself that makes me cringe.  It’s all the hub-bub that makes me go hum-bug. 

I love presents just as much as the next girl, but the thought of someone searching for hours trying to find something that I may like because they have no idea what to get me literally makes my stomach hurt.  Imagining someone stressing over what present to buy me makes me more ill than when it is me wondering what to buy someone else.  Presents are supposed to be fun and Christmas turns them into a chore.  Not only a chore, but an obligation.  This self-imposed obligation gives us tunnel-vision and then people come up with ridiculous websites like StandforChristmas.com where shoppers can post which retailers say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.”

From the website’s front page:

Millions upon millions in our nation deeply value the great truths of Christmas and the holiday’s inspiring place in American life and culture. We hope you will take a moment to “Stand for Christmas” by sharing feedback about your Christmas shopping experiences.

Did they read what they wrote?  Since when do the “great truths of Christmas” have anything to do with shopping? 

The website has visitors rate stores as being either ”Friendly”, “Negligent” or “Offensive” to Christmas.  One of the highest rated “Friendly” stores is Bass Pro Shops.  Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but you want to buy a fishing pole, they will take your hard-earned money no matter what religion you are.  However, they just happen to know their customer base and market to them.  I think that using Christmas as a marketing tool is far more offensive than saying “Happy Holidays.” 

If I see something that I know someone will absolutely love, I will buy it.  If not, I will make a christmas ornament or bake something delicious or, as I am doing this year, I will give money to charity in their name.  I’m not anti-present, I just want the present to mean something.  That said, I will always buy presents for the children in my family.  To me, the gift-giving portion of the holiday should be really be all about the kids.  Presents are special and magical when you are a child.  If I want, I can have my own personal “Christmas” every time I walk into Target.

Whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year and however you celebrate it, try not to lose sight of what’s really important (hint: you can’t buy it at Bass Pro Shops).

how I failed Horror Movie 101

The jack o’ lanterns were lit, the fog machine was warmed up and the cauldron was full of candy.  It was 6 o’clock and we were ready for Halloween.  

Or so we thought. 

Like most years, we had a Halloween party at my sister’s house.  We decorated her carport and made that area the hub of the party so we could be outside and hand out candy to trick or treaters.  Although it wasn’t mandatory (just highly encouraged), most all the adults dressed up this year.  We had a monkey and a bunny, Punky Bruster and a witch.  My sister was Julie McCoy from the Love Boat and her husband was a scarecrow.  My husband was Stewie Griffin from Family Guy and I was zombie Princess Leia.  Pictures are available upon request. 

Carload after carload of children scampered up the driveway and we had a blast handing out candy to all the little princesses and ninjas and vampires.  We were a little worried that the scattered showers would discourage trick or treating, but we had so many kids that we almost ran out of candy.  

The night was in full swing, the last of the children had gone home and we were all sitting around in the carport enjoying the liquid treat of our choosing.  Then, out of the fog, appeared an apparition. As it slowly advanced up the driveway, we could see that it was a creature dressed head to foot in layers of white fabric and tulle.  Its face was hidden behind a skull mask and in its gloved hands was a bottle of wine.  I was the closest to the ghostly figure, so I stood and offered a greeting.   

The ghost spoke in a low growl, “I heard you were having a party.  Can I join you?” 

It’s not my style to turn away anyone who brings their own booze, spectral or solid, so I said, “Of course!” 

We offered the ghost a chair, my sister opened the wine and served it to our guest in a cup with a straw, since the skull mask only had a small slit where the mouth should be.  We are nothing if not accommodating. 

Resuming our conversations, we all wondered who was behind the mask.  Most of the friends that we were expecting had already arrived and of those that had not yet shown up, none would have come alone or be so completely disguised. 

My brother-in-law tried to be clever and introduced himself.  “Hello, I’m David.  Who are you?”

The stranger would not be tricked so easily.  “I am The Ghost of Halloween,” it replied. 

Short aside just to set the scene a bit more: we all had a fair amount of alcohol in our systems, none of us was armed or had any formal self-defense training and some of us were in costumes that restricted our ease of movement and/or were highly flammable.  A paranoid person might label our group as “easy targets” or “sitting ducks.” 

Not deterred by our guest’s reluctance to reveal his/her true identity, we continued on with our party.  Drinks were passed, food was enjoyed and general merriment ensued. 

Then, in the front yard, something exploded.

The noise shook the ground.  We were stunned silent, our eyes wide.  A few of us started walking toward the yard to investigate.  I had made it half way down the driveway when I saw a tall figure strolling from the direction of the explosion.  He had on a wide hat and long, dark coat with brass buttons.  His pants were tucked into high, black boots and a flintlock pistol was wedged, barrel first, into the sash at his waist.  Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his grin was full of black, rotten teeth. 

If he had been a real pirate, I would have been one of the first to die.  But, I recognized this brigand as soon as I saw the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.  It was Captain Bill, my mother’s boyfriend.  But, if Bill was here, then where was my mom?  I turned to see the ghost remove the mask and reveal my mom’s smiling face. 

Damn!  She had done it again.

Of course, we had invited mom and Bill to the party, but she had told us that they would not be able to make it.  They live seven hours away, she had recently hurt her foot and Bill wouldn’t be able to get time off from work.  She asked us to take lots of pictures for her. 

Little did we know that weeks ago, she had conspired with one of my sister’s friends to surprise us.  Mom and Bill drove up from Florida on Halloween morning and arrived at the friend’s house late in the afternoon.  They used her house to dress in their costumes and prepare Bill’s cannon (yes, cannon) for his grand entrance.

My mom was sure that the friend had spilled the beans when she read my blog entry about dressing as a witch and surprising me in the third grade.  But, no.  That was just a marvelous coincidence. 

Later, at the party, we all laughed at how easily we were duped and at how trusting we were.  I mean, we invited a masked stranger to join our party!  My brother-in-law and another friend were convinced that the “ghost” was going to pull out a knife or a gun and when they heard the cannon go off, they were certain that we were dead.  Then there is the fact that we all walked toward the sound of the explosion and straight into the path of a pirate.  If this had been a horror movie, we all would have rightfully died gruesome deaths. 

Luckily, real life did not turn out like a horror movie.  Instead, I have yet another wonderful Halloween memory thanks to my mom.

scary to 11

The Exorcist. 

Remember her upside down crab-crawl down the stairs? 

Nuff said.

it will be really frightening when it’s gone

One day, close to Halloween, my third grade class was interrupted by a Witch.  Mrs. Clark opened the door to our classroom and the Witch entered, shrouded in layers of black fabric that obscured her features and on her head, a black pointed hat.  The Witch carried a large, black caldron from which a smoke or vapor emanated.  She set the caldron on a table in the front of the classroom and began to ladle green punch into cups for each child.  She beckoned us closer and handed out candy and talked to us in an odd, cackling voice.  Some of us were a little scared by the Witch’s frightening appearance, myself included.  She had bumpy green and yellow skin, a crooked nose and pointed chin.  Her fingernails were long and black like claws.  However, our desire for punch and candy soon overpowered all our fears. 

Being third graders, not babies like the second graders, we knew that the Witch wasn’t real.  Sipping our punch, we wondered who was under the black hat and wig and makeup.  Was it one of the teachers?  Maybe it was the Principal?  The Witch didn’t stay long, but before she left, we all learned her true identity.  I was just as surprised as my classmates to learn that she was my mother.

My mom had so completely disguised herself, that her own 9-year-old daughter didn’t recognize her.  She bought a rubber witch’s mask and cut it up so that she could adhere sections of it to her face.  The rest of her skin she covered in makeup.  The smoking caldron was created using dry ice and food coloring turned the punch green.

And that is why I love Halloween. 

It is the one time of the year when we an all be special effects wizards, makeup artists, costume designers and set decorators. Each of us can play a part in a great, crazy, chaotic show.  It’s okay to be frightening or over-the-top funny.  Halloween is an excuse for us to let our hair down, or to pull it up and color it purple.  It’s perfectly acceptable to be daring or gross or act like anyone other than yourself. 

But, what’s even better about Halloween, is that you are not expected to do anything.  You don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to, no one will be offended.  You don’t have to roast a turkey or bake a pie or feed your whole family.  You don’t have to give anyone a present or feel guilted into donating to a charity.  The only thing you may feel obligated to do is buy a bag of candy and give it to children who knock on your door.  Having fun is just a side-effect.    

Halloween is the only day out of the year where it is acceptable for children to take candy from strangers, even strangers who are wearing a hockey mask and bloody overalls.  Even with all the real fears in the world, parents still let their children go door to door trick-or-treating.  All it takes is a few carved pumpkins and some fake blood to make us realize that we haven’t totally given up on trusting each other. 

Happy Halloween everybody!

retro halloween

Been a while since I posted one of these (mostly because I worry about copyright infringement) . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are a few that I’ve posted before . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Halloween!

Plenty more where these came from on my Retro Fun page.

The Shining

Okay, I got a little flack for recommending The Evil Dead last week.  Although, technically, I didn’t recommend it, I just stated that it was one of my favorites.  I should have prefaced that with the disclaimer that The Evil Dead would not be most people’s cup of tea.  It is quirky, gross, low-budget and all around distasteful.  I happen to like that, so sue me. 

Can we all agree on The Shining, though?  Good movie, right?  Classic Stephen King novel turned into a classic Stanley Kubrick film.  Scared the pants off of ya the first time you saw it, didn’t it?  They don’t make horror movies like that much any more – methodically paced, psychological and gore used as an accent, not as a driving force of the movie.  Plus, Scatman Crothers!

Here is some trivia I found on the IMDB site that I found interesting:

The book that Jack was writing contained the one sentence (“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”) repeated over and over.  Stanley Kubrick had each page individually typed. For the Italian version of the film, Kubrick used the phrase ”Il mattino ha l’  class=”hiddenSpellError” pre=”">oro in bocca” (“He who wakes up early meets a golden day”). For the German version, it was “Was Du heute kannst besorgen, das verschiebe nicht auf Morgen” (“Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today”). For the Spanish version, it was “No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano” (“Rising early will not make dawn sooner.”). For the French version, it was “Un ‘Tiens’ vaut mieux que deux ‘Tu l’auras’” (“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”).

The original saying says a lot about Americans: play is just as important as work.  Just try not to do either in a snow-bound hotel with restless spirits bent on destruction. 

The Italian and German sayings are all about getting things done and as soon as possible.  I expected this from the Germans, not so much from the Italians.  I thought for sure the Italian saying would be about food.   

The Spanish saying is appropriate to their mind-set: things will get done when they get done.  Don’t stress!  They take siestas for a reason.

Then there’s the French:  be cautious, don’t take risks and appreciate what you got.  By that regard, the French Jack Torrance wouldn’t have been at the Overlook Hotel in the first place and the ensuing horror would have never happened.  How boring.

happy dress like a slut day!

Yes, it’s that time of year again.  Young women everywhere are trolling costume shops and department stores trying to find the perfect masturbatory male fantasy to dress as for Halloween. 

This year, though, I’ve noticed a new, disturbing trend.  It appears that every available female fictional character has already been strip-mined for their cleavage-bearing and thigh-high stocking capability.  Sexy Dorothy?  Done.  Sexy Cinderella?  Done.  Sexy Strawberry Shortcake?  As disturbing as it is – Done.  Then there are the multitudes of devils, angels, nurses, vampires and witches that have been sexy’ed ad nauseum. 

So, what is a costume manufacturer to do?  Well, they throw convention to the wind, is what!  Who needs Disney princesses and girly cartoon characters?  There is a whole world of traditionally male characters that are just dieing for a sex change!

Take, for example, Sexy Robin:

Technically, I don’t think this one counts since Robin wasn’t the manliest super hero (even for a side-kick) and he already had a girl’s name. 

Speaking of girl’s names:

Yeah, that’s Robyn Da Hood.  I didn’t make that up, that’s the name of the costume.  She doesn’t even have a bow and arrow!  How is she supposed to rob anyone without a bow and arrow?  Oh.  They just leave the money on the dresser?  I see. 

Why should Sexy Dorothy be all alone while skipping to Oz:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now she can have Sexy Scarecrow, Sexy Tin Man(?) and Sexy Lion to keep her company.  When they see the Wizard, though, they all ask for the same thing: Jello Shots!  Whoo, hoo!!

Now, these next two are just inspired.  I could almost get behind them if they had a sense of irony about them.  Unfortunately, I think they are all too serious.

Sexy Jason Voorhees and Sexy Freddy Krueger.  Scary.  And not in the way they intended. 

As ridiculous as all those costumes are, this next one takes the fun size Snickers bar: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sexy Spongebob Squarepants?  And, it’s not even a real costume!  It’s a dress with his face on it! 
This reminds me of those crappy ’70s store-bought costumes.  You know, the ones that were basically a garbage bag with pictures of your favorite cartoon character all over it.  So, instead of having a Scooby Doo costume, you were actually just wearing an advertisement for Scooby Doo. 
Note the strategically placed eyes on Spongebob.  Now guys can openly stare at your chest and in your eyes at the same time!  At least Spongebob is looking at the girl’s face.  He’s a classy guy.

evil dead

Bruce Campell as Ash in The Evil Dead

One of my favorite movies (not just horror, but all movies) is The Evil Dead.  I also love The Evil Dead II, which was really the director, Sam Raimi’s, do-over of the first movie with a bigger budget and funnier script.  The third movie in the series, Army of Darkness, is a great ride with a lot of funny one-liners, but, call me nostalgic,  I just didn’t like it as much as the first two. 

(Not so) funny aside:  When my office first switched to the computer system that we use to manage our client’s information, we had training sessions where we would work in a demo version of the program so we wouldn’t jeopardize actual client data.  In the demo version, there were fake clients already entered and we would practice performing various transactions within these clients.  Well, during one training session, I am in a room with about 10 other employees and we are asked to pull up the demo client AOD Exterminators.  While looking around in the data I see that AOD Exterminators is located on Ash Street and the owner is named Bruce Campell.  I then realize that AOD must stand for Army of Darkness!  I start cracking up and nine people give me blank stares while I try to explain the joke.  No one else had even seen the movies.  I apologize to the instructor for the interruption and the training resumes.  However, I gave a silent “thank you” to the awesome programmer who entered that demo client for making my day.

what a way to make a livin’

Here is a rough transcript of a conversation overheard at my office the other day:

Male Producer (insurance salesman):  Before we meet in my office, can you bring me a cup of black coffee?
Female Account Manager:  Yes, sir.  Right away. 

I look at my desk calendar to check the year.  Yup, it’s still 2009.  Whew!

It would have been a completely different situation if the Account Manager were already getting herself some coffee and the Producer was just asking for her to get him some, too.  But, this wasn’t the case.  It would have also been different if the Producer had bothered to say “please” or in some way indicated that he realised what he was asking was not in the Account Manager’s job description.  But, he didn’t.  

What bothers me the most about this exchange has nothing to do with the male Producer.  This type of behavior is not uncommon with him.  He has a couch in his office for Pete’s sake.  Ew.

No, what bothers me the most is the subservient nature of the Account Manager.  She is not much younger than the Producer and she has decades of experience in the insurance industry.  She knows what she is doing and does it well.  Also, the Producer-AM relationship is not a boss-employee type structure.  They are a team.  Two people working together to reach a common goal.  Yet, her reaction is always “how high?” to his command of “jump!” 

I just don’t get it. 

I’ll tell you something you may not know about me: I am completely incapable of kissing ass.  Yes, shocking, I know!  I just wasn’t born with whatever gene that makes people prostrate themselves before any type of authority.  I do not automatically respect someone because of how much money they make or how many companies they own.  My respect has to be earned.  And, even after someone has earned my respect, I will speak to them like a fellow human being, not like a servant to a master.  Sycophant, I will never be. 

This might explain why I have not been promoted at work.  I also have it on good authority that one of the Producers (not Franklin Hart from the above mentioned conversation) is actually scared of me because I will not hesitate to voice my opinion when asked to do something questionable.  I suppose I can live with being feared over getting a promotion if it means never having to fetch coffee.

i likey

Adorably cute and sufficiently creepy at the same time!  These little icons are reminiscent of the 1950’s but a little edgier.  Just look into their dead, dead eyes. 

You could theme a whole party around these guys:
“Leave it to Cleaver”
“Donna Bleed” 
“My Three Zombies”

You know I could go on, but I’ll spare you . . .