Manitou Don’t Leave

Dear Manitou Springs,

With few exceptions, my major life downfall has been too many eggs, and not enough baskets. My grandmother recently wrote to my family that I have such a warm heart; if only I were more careful with it. And she’s not wrong. 90 year olds usually aren’t, about the things that matter.

Yet once again, here I am – myriad eggs, one basket, and currently that basket is you, swinging over a fire. If the bough breaks, Manitou will fall, and down will come…everything.

I met you three years ago, when my dad took us to visit your glorious penny arcade. When I moved out here last year, you were the place where I went to look for restaurant jobs. I didn’t want the flash of Colorado Springs, though it would have made for an easier commute. I wanted you.

A few months after getting a job at Townhouse Lounge, I hung at Barker House with an awesome woman. As I gazed in wonder through the turret window, wondering how it was possible for a town to be so amazing, she shared the story repeated by Manitoids throughout the years: If you find yourself repeatedly wondering, “Why Manitou?” It may not be that you need Manitou. It may be that Manitou needs you.

I got chills, and they were multiplying, and after a year of working for you, I was so psyched to live within you, as Ruxton became my latest domicile.

But sometimes I feel trapped and claustrophobic, and I get the commitment phobes. Life in Manitou can be like a Stephen King novel – everyone trapped in this bubble, this dome, going crazy because aliens and ghosts and vampires are messing shit up. Sometimes I need to get in a car and drive down Manitou Avenue until the bubble pops and the avenue name switches to Colorado. Civilization, how ya been?

You know what the answer is, Manitou? Pretty boring! Civilization in Colorado suburbs is fine, but not unlike how it was on Long Island! And I didn’t come here for that. I came to you because even when you’re pissing me off, I need weird. I need unique.

I need my high school, not literally, but like, a place that may go crazy on a daily basis, but it’s my family. Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And even if they gossip about you the second you walk away, they’re gossiping about you by name.

And if you get into trouble, they will try to help. If you are having a baby, they will bring diapers to your baby shower. If you need a place to stay, doors will open. If you need a hug, arms will open.

And that’s the mushy. There’s practical too, because if you need a stellar burger or beer or vegan entrée or custard from a Pike’s Peak marathon (multiple time) winner, or a Christmas ornament, or a comic book from the ‘60s, or fondue, or a cozy place to drink wine, Manitou’s the town. (As in Townhouse, my favorite place!)

If you need to play video games from 1991, or pinball games from 1961, there’s the awesomest arcade I’ve ever been to. If you need to roam around a bookstore with local authors, or (well, anywhere) with local visual artists’ work, Manitou’s the place. Not to mention the ubiquitous music from people I’m proud to know.

Manitou, I cho(o)se to work in you, live in you, and love you. So as Ed Harris would say, DON’T YOU DIE ON ME, BITCH!!! I’m totally serious. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and I have enjoyed letting you hold my eggs in your basket.

And this is not even to mention your deceptively awesome playground, next to the awesome bandshell, next to the awesome mate…And have I mentioned that you make Stars Hollow look like a big city?

Feeling very Emily from Our Town now, so that means that it’s time to wind down, as “clocks ticking” is really more Jan-Pro nostalgia than anything else, and that’s Colorado Springs.

Point is, dear Manitou, please stay alive. You’ve had so much pluck for so very long, and I know you still have it in you, to Just Say No to forest fires. Whether I live in you forever remains to be seen, but my aforementioned high school is gone, and I need a place to say I knew you then and loved you always, and thanks for some unforgettably great years.

Stay strong. Tell your ghosts to call my ghosts, and we’ll do lunch.

Love Forever,

Judi  🙂

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Longing To Linger ‘Til Dawn

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

~ T.S. Eliot

The party is going on, half barbecue, half cruise, depending on whom you speak to. This one girl seems like she could become a friend. I went to high school with her, but I don’t remember her to be honest, and she looks like she’s only around 18 anyway, so it doesn’t make sense.

But she is nice to me, so I hold seats for us while she leaves, then returns with two hula hoops. It’s very exciting until I realize that even if I could get that tiny hoop to spin around my waist, I doubt I can pull it over my chest or hips. It is a nice gesture though, so I spin it on my finger for awhile.

Gradually, the girl loses interest and goes to play with the people who fit into their hula hoops, and I notice the school that sometimes appears, my old school, changed by remaining unchanged, save for the foliage that’s beginning to grow. Its hallways are empty as usual, but this time, so are the classrooms.

I sit down on a chair in the hallway and the desolation starts to gain presence. The hall grows darker and I see across from me a new half of the school. A kindergarten. Every bit as colorful as the hallway is not, but it doesn’t warm me. I look some more. The kindergarten grows brighter and warmer, filled with and run by what seems to be a benevolent, fire-colored energy.

The space around me becomes darker and more oppressive, and it feels like a storm is coming soon. But I can’t take my eyes off the scene before me, and suddenly remember Ramona Quimby. Downtrodden by the adult ways of first grade, missing Miss Binney and that kindergarten classroom of love and hope, filled with remorse as she passes it by.

With that, I am overcome. The light, the fire, the love – why can’t I go back, or just visit for a little while?

I watch, and I yearn, and I freeze to death.

 

First Dream
Second Dream
Third Dream
Fourth Dream
Fifth Dream

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Faster, Campers! Eat, Eat!

In 1989, I went to Tapawingo, an all-girl sleepaway camp in upstate New York, with Shannon and a few of her church friends. And the experience was just something out of a nightmare, really. There were some highlights — no pun intended, as I’d rather not think about my disastrous hair, which certainly didn’t help the week. But really, I just don’t think I’m cut out for camp in any way. Too many rules, too many group activities. And chores! There was a lot of sweeping; I remember that. And not in a good, character-building kind of way. Just in an annoying way.

The best time of day was meal time in the cafeteria, which really says something when you consider that ’89 was the summer I learned to put potato chips on sandwich buns if when the “meat” was inedible. The food was disgusting, which I think was a big part of why we, as a cabin, collectively lost our minds.

You see, whatever cabin finished their meals first, “won.” And by “won,” I mean we got to pound our fists on the table and cheer. And whichever cabin finished last had to run around the building. Don’t ask me! It was just how it was.

Our cabin was the Cherokee tribe, the second-oldest girls in the camp. That first night, we happened to “win” the first-finished contest, and it was a bonding experience. The oldest tribe, Oneida, was pissed. Beautiful.

That first night, a silent war was declared. The Cherokee tribe ruled at finishing meals first; this we knew to be true. And now we had a title to defend.

The first day, we lay low throughout breakfast and lunch, just “happening” to finish first. Intimidation through success and all. However, as our winning streak continued, the other tribes started wanting to beat us. We were like the Yankees. No one likes a winner. And now that the other cabins were itching for victory themselves, we Cherokee had to step up our game.

Step One: We can have lots of fun! Also, we had to strengthen our weakest members. Explain to the bird-eaters of the group that they must move more quickly, and to the bigger eaters of the group that there was plenty of time to eat from the canteen after success. These girls understood that sometimes, personal comfort must take a backseat to the team, and all was well.

Step Two: There’s so much we can do! Such as blatantly strong-arming our counselor Miss Pam into going along with the plan. She was kind of whiny and not all about The Fun, but we made it pretty clear that she had no choice in the matter. Eat fast, or we’d make her week a nightmare.

Step Three: It’s just you and me! And battle songs. What you see in me now is a watered-down version of my middle school psychosis. Back then, I wrote cheers and parody songs like it was my job. Luckily, these girls did, too. You can never underestimate the power of a battle anthem.

Logical first song: “Hangin’ Tough,” customized.

Listen up everybody, both far and near
Cherokee’s back, and this you gotta hear!
We’ve been lost and forgotten for quite a long while
But now we’re back; we came back with style!

‘Cause ya know we’re Cherokee!
Cherokee!

So on, so forth. And when I tell you there was choreography, well that would be an understatement. But we could only perform the song if we won, obviously.

That night, dinner was way intense. The Oneidas close on our heels, the weaker members trying desperately not to let down the rest of Cherokee, Miss Pam drawling, “Calllm down, we’re way ahead of ’em.” No matter, Miss Pam, eye on the prize!

Win we did. And everyone was pissed, especially when they saw how serious we were, given our victory New Kids on the Block song. What they could never have seen coming was our next ditty! After all, it’s good to have a signature song, and we would keep using the New Kids, but why not mix it up and REALLY intimidate the opposition? And what says “intimidate” better than “The Brady Bunch?”

Here’s the story
Of a cabin Cherokee

That’s all I remember, but I assure you that it was stellar. And helped lead us to victory for days. We were unstoppable.

By the last meal of the week, even the most phlegmatic of tribes and bitchy of counselors wanted to take us down. Miss Pam stopped whining, overcome with the energy of this tremendous competition, where she was the leader of undefeated winners.

But what of this final battle?

Well, it did involve tennis rackets. Obviously.

We Cherokee knew how tight a race this last meal was going to be. Insert montage here:
New victory song. Must be badass. Rolling Stones/Justine Bateman “Satisfaction,” perfect. What else? Tennis rackets, to be used as guitars. Sunglasses, for the sass factor. More choreography.

And when I tell you that we marched into the cafeteria that day, decked out and ready to fight…when I tell you that we unironically swayed back and forth, playing our “guitars” and singing:

We can’t get no-o competition
We can’t get no-o competition
Though we try We try! (Together) And we try…we can’t get no competition!!!

Well, it’s all true. Then we sat down, full of adrenaline and razz m’tazz. Would we be made to look foolish after our gutsy, impressive performance? Could we possibly live up to our own hype?

OH YES WE COULD!!! Undefeated champions, Cherokee ’89, fastest eaters in all the land! Victory never tasted so sweet; though to be fair, our tastebuds may just have been dulled from not chewing all week.

Singing songs, eating fast, and making people hate me. That was the best thing about my camp experience. How about you guys?

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5 Reasons to Watch “Magic Trip”

The other night, Josh borrowed “Magic Trip” from the library. As is the case with many of the movies he recommends, I’d both never heard of it before, and had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Ken Kesey was involved, and there was acid. While I’ve never done acid, as someone who can appreciate both trippiness and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, that was good enough for me, really. But what I got was so much more.

Basically, “Magic Trip” was an “Avengers” for English majors, except instead of super heroes, it’s the people you’ve read, or at least heard of, throughout your entire scholastic career. Cuckoo’s Nest is one that I loved then, and love now. So I was super excited to see Ken Kesey on camera, as McMurphy’s apple clearly fell close to Kesey’s tree. Dude had charisma.

Plot eludes me more often than not, so I’ll let Wiki do the heavy lifting:

Magic Trip is a documentary film directed by Alison Elwood and Alex Gibney, about Ken Kesey, Neal Cassady, and the Merry Pranksters.

The documentary uses the 16 mm color footage shot by Kesey and the Merry Pranksters during their 1964 cross-country bus trip in the ‘Furthur‘ bus.”

Oh yeah, that bus? AWESOME! I appreciate an obnoxiously decorated vehicle, and Further wins the blue ribbon. Not only is it trolling (love the footage of its getting pulled over because no one did things like that, then), but it’s also painted with true artistry. Anything that combines those two elements is gold in my book. Or rainbow, as it were.

In case colorful buses and Wiki descriptions aren’t enough, here are five other reasons to watch “Magic Trip:”

1) It’s an accessible and engaging documentary. Even if you don’t have prior interest in the subject matter, it’s IMO a good movie unto itself.

2) The cast is awesome. Yes I know it’s a documentary, but the point remains! McMurphy is one of my Rebels of All Time (FUTURE BLOG TO COME), so while I was not surprised that Kesey was such a great protagonist, I was impressed. Cassady was as captivating as any written character I’ve ever met. And I found Stark Naked to be rather mesmerizing, troubling, and holding her own amongst rock stars, all at once. This is to say nothing of about 10 billion awesome other people who show up throughout the film. Such as…

3) (Aforementioned) English Major Avengers! Kesey! Kerouac! Ginsberg! Oh, let’s just chill real quick with McMurtry and Timothy Leary! Well, sure! My eternally starstruck heart was more starstruckian than usual, seeing all of these people just like, all in a room at the same time. 

4) 4th Amendment nostalgia. I don’t remember what the quote was exactly, but it was in the beginning of “Magic Trip.” Someone (Kesey?) was saying that even though they got pulled over because many cops had never seen anything like their bus, they didn’t get searched for drugs despite — well, EVERYthing, because this was earlier ’60s, before anyone would have thought to look for drugs. At least from what I gathered from the film, weird was still just kinda weird then. Not cause for alarm, never mind jail, so long as everyone was cool and respectful to each other.

5) “FUN AND WISTFUL.” ~ The Huffington Post, on the cover of the “Magic Trip” DVD. Obviously I can’t turn down anything involving the word “wistful,” first of all. Second of all, it really is. I didn’t know what to expect going in, and while I came for the wistful, I was quickly drawn in by the fun, and forgot about the wistful until I was crying all over the place.

To quote Travis Birkenstock, “Two very enthusiastic thumbs up!”

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Intentionally Cheesy Movie Night 13: Impact Point

SYNOPSIS: The only thing that Kelly Reyes (Melissa Keller) has ever thought about is playing beach volleyball. Until one day when a mysterious reporter named Holden (Brian Austin Green), comes into her life and strange events start to happen to her, as well as the people around her. As Kelly becomes skeptical of Holden, she must maintain focus on what has always been essential to her and play beach volleyball at her highest level. Is she being paranoid, or is there something darker to this mystery man? This sexy and obsessive thriller will keep you begging for more.

Amazing. Obviously. Kelly is the blonde of the cover art, and the confusing thing about her is that she is much classier looking than you’d expect, as far as these things go, and based on the cover and description. She kind of looks like a cross between Ali Larter and that chick everyone was really excited about on one of the “Star Treks” who went on to star in an insufferable Kirsten-in-AA subplot on “The O.C.” Kelly looks like that. She also looks about 20 years older than…

…Jen her rival! Who okay, first scene it’s really awkward, ’cause it’s this montage of chicks playing volleyball, and Jen’s bikini bottom says something on it, which I know because they will NOT stop doing close-ups of it, and meanwhile they keep having the girls do the most hilarious dives, not even as if it’s supposed to be porn, so much as it feels like unused stills from a Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar shoot, only instead of things being sexy, they are awkward.

So anyway, Kelly and her partner lose, despite this being a beach volleyball movie and their having boobs. Jen and her partner win, and we get that they are very bitchy, because Kelly stares off into the distance, dreams shattered. But of course her spirit will keep on keeping on, and we know this because she has a strong jaw.

PhotobucketMeanwhile, we get a pointless scene to establish that Kelly’s partner is useless anyway, since she fits right in at the smoky blue trendy bar-club-whatever-people-do-to-feel-glamorous-while-paying-20-dollars-for-whatever-annoying-martini-chicks-are-drinking-nowadays place. Oh, Kelly’s partner’s name is Samantha. Don’t forget that. Or you totally can, because her entire point (1A) is to show that although Kelly is also hot and can wear a cocktail dress, she is much deeper and full of goals and emotions, whereas Samantha just wants to flirt with the nearest boys full of mousse who wax their eyebrows. Actually, that was really a pretty realistic scene, sociologically.

So because she is deep, Kelly goes for a walk on the beach, and here is where I’d like to ask all of you to pick up your copies of The Gift of Fear and turn to page one. Then read along, because this movie is a classic example of what can happen when you don’t read that book. I’m not even kidding.

Anyway, here is Brian Austin Green, all shady, lurking around the beach. He says he is a sports reporter, and that Kelly’s team should have won. Why, I don’t know. Kelly’s team sucked, and the other team didn’t. That should be a warning bell. But Kelly is all taken with Brian Austin Green because although he is creepy, he isn’t smugly grimacing the entire time like he did for the last four or five seasons of “90210.” And Kelly agrees to be interviewed at some (impact?) point.

PhotobucketNext thing you know, Diana, Jen the rival’s partner, is dead, killed in a hit and run, and we are at her funeral. But no time to waste, as Samantha fulfills her point (1B) as she bucks up Kelly and tells her to go take dead Diana’s spot and be Jen’s partner. And she actually says that Kelly can’t spend her life “slingin’ hash in (her) dad’s restaurant.” At which point I hooted and hollered, because that is a great thing to say.

Appropriately enough, we go from Diana’s funeral to a gratuitous scene of Kelly getting dressed as though she is in not a dirty movie, but a razor commercial.

Bar. Kelly is here to interview with Brian Austin Green, whose name is Holden.

And Kelly orders a “vodka rocks, lots of lime,” pissing me off greatly. Not, as you might think, for the “lots of lime” part, because she IS in a bar and asks nicely, but for leaving out “on the.” Is this a California thing? Either way, it is highly annoying. If I were bartending and someone asked me for “vodka rocks,” I don’t know what I’d do.

Here is Holden, and HE orders “Scotch rocks,” and continues to Gift of Fear Kelly by a) ordering Scotch, and b) continuing to be an overinvested, over-familiar creepbag. Kelly notices his wedding ring, and Holden says his wife died.

PhotobucketThen there is perhaps the weirdest scene known to man, as they walk on the beach and Holden shows Kelly this heart carved in the wood of…I don’t know, whatever those pillars all around beaches in California shows/movies are. Inside the heart, it says “Frank and Kelly” and Kelly explains that Frank was her first boyfriend and she let him touch her boob and then Holden says “boobie” and I say “What the fuck” and Kelly doesn’t seem concerned that this dude dug up this heart to begin with and is REALLY obsessed with her 13-year-old romance of yore.

But because Holden is just that charming(?), Kelly takes him to her dad’s restaurant of aforementioned hash-slinging. She exposits that her dad died and Holden charmingly tells her that it doesn’t count as much as having a dead wife, so she invites him back to her apartment to drink beer, at which point Holden goes – and I am totally serious:

“Is Kelly Reyes inviting Holden Gray up to her apartment?”

Okay. NOW. Leaving The Gift of Fear out of this for a moment, leaving even the “Scotch rocks” aside, and the creepy use of the word “boobie” totally out of context, and even ignoring the fact that Holden is one of those dudes who refuses to wear a tie with his shirt and jacket. I still would have kicked Holden’s butt to the curb for a) speaking of himself in the third person, and b) treating me like I was a New Kid on the Block and he was a 13-year-old girl in 1989.

And can I just say, what is up with movies and TV, how people always like sway around and say “This is it” when they get back to their place, as though they are introducing a brand-new baby to the world?

They kiss. Naturally.

And a shady character comes and there is a chase scene! And Holden hurts his knees! And Kelly does the weirdest run EVER, like this uber-convoluted way to get her chest to bounce as she runs over to Holden on the ground, kind of like a caveman. So it’s supposed to be hot, but it is too weird.

Now…oh man. I don’t know how to revisit this traumatic event right now. But I must. It is the “seduction” scene. What this basically means is that Kelly sort of growls at Holden, and then like, rides on top of him, but everyone’s clothes are on! And she goes from 0 to orgasm in 5 seconds flat! Seriously, the most confusing sex scene I’ve ever witnessed, and I don’t even know if there was sex involved. But I will say that Kelly’s dress is pretty nice.

Well, maybe they didn’t have sex; maybe Kelly is just super excitable, because now they are going to a bedroom. But you want to hear something great? Holden goes, “Did I show you my room yet? No? What was I thinking?” and he’s all panting away. Now, my problem with him here is not the bizarre dialogue meant to be sexy; it is that…

…THEY ARE AT HER PLACE!!!

This movie is so awesome.

Uh oh, it’s some white-collar guys, come to make trouble. They are detectives, turns out, so not as bad as, say, the developers in “Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo,” as far as these things go. There is a Good Cop and a Bad Cop, and the Good Cop is very dreamy in that Cinemax-late-at-night-lawyer-type way. His name is Ed, but that totally does not fit him at all. I shall call him Blake. Blake explains that they are looking into the disappearance of Holden Gray.

Dum dum dummmm!

PhotobucketThere is a 20-minute long scene where Kelly is like “I just saw Holden; he’s not missing,” and Blake is like, “Oh yeah?” and Kelly gets all coy and bizarre and smiles nostalgically, saying, “He made me breakfast.” But Blake shows Kelly a picture of real, missing Holden who is not Brian Austin Green at all, and I am really hoping that Kelly made Holden use a condom. But my hopes are quite low.

And Kelly acts afraid by clenching and unclenching her jaw, moving it all around, during which time she has this AWESOME montage of flashbacks to Holden and their moments of great passion. And then we’re at Kelly’s place, and she lives in one of those “Sleeping with the Enemy” homes, where you can see everyone’s business from outside.

Blake hits on Kelly and she rebuffs him ’cause although she has a huge chest, and although she just had sex with Holden no matter how creepy he was, Kelly is Sassy and Just As Badass As Any Man. Plus, the volleyball finals are coming up, and that is ALL that matters!

I must point out that despite the rebuffing, Kelly sure is pouting out her lips a lot, and is wearing that gloss you always see in sexy ads but can never find in real life that make your lips look like wet glass.

And Blake is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, but like a muted, understated Hawaiian shirt, and I have NO idea what to make of all that. But he is telling Kelly to get out of Dodge or she will be Holden’s NEXT VICTIM 😮 and Kelly is like NO, she is a volleyball player, and that is her life!

Now Kelly is playing volleyball on the beach with Jen and Jen’s boyfriend Matt, who looks like a cross between that dude from “CSI” and the flying asshole on “Heroes.” And so, riddle me this, please. They are ostensibly there to trap Holden, yet they don’t notice him sitting right there, or as my friend yelled at the screen:

“The douchebag under the big blue umbrella! The only dude on the beach!”

Photobucket

Which is all true. And Kelly’s bikini is green with white polka dots and bows to indicate that she is Still Virtuous.

And because they can’t spot Holden despite his being three feet away, the volleyball friends drop all pretense of playing and bolt, like very nice job there, people.

I’ve got to hand it to Holden, he moves very fast, with his binoculars, and webcam set up in Kelly’s place as she goes home and slo-mo blows a fan in her face and waves her head all around, because, guys, it’s true. When we ladies are single and living alone, we love nothing more than to strip slowly and walk around in slow motion and pose. “Impact Point” is just calling us on it.

Holden spies and obsesses.

Here is one of the more brilliant scenes in the movie, as everyone who watched it in the first place because it looked a step away from softcore porn goes “FINALLY,” because we get a shower scene with Kelly crying and (unintentionally, ’cause, spycam) showing Holden her ass. But you could think, maybe it’s not as gratuitous as it seems, because that is really creepy, Holden getting all turned on while Kelly cries.

Holden calls Kelly on the phone, saying a lot of BS, and awesomely uttering the phrase, “Why does anybody do anything?” Which is really one of the stupidest things people say, in general.

So Holden tells Kelly he wants to be with her. Swoon! Holden says he’s coming over and Kelly grabs a knife, while Holden watches on the spycam.

Oh for crying out loud. Here begins a scene that will lather, rinse, repeat for the entire movie, and I’m only recapping it once. Basically it is that scene in every Lifetime® movie where No One Believes Her, and not to say that doesn’t happen, because it does, but if it is happening during “Impact Point,” I want it to be cheesily entertaining! Not one boring scene over and over! So anyway, this is the scene: Kelly’s like, “Why don’t you believe me,” and Blake is like, “You should leave town.”

Okay, now the volleyball friends are trying to trap Holden. Kelly is wearing a string bikini to play athletic volleyball and they play halfheartedly, don’t see Holden, and just leave. Nice cover, guys.

But now, here is Holden, trying to kill Kelly! Or love her! Who knows! And she runs like a video game character, like I’m playing “Grand Theft Auto” but trying not to steal any cars, so Niko runs a lot of places, and it is exactly how Kelly runs. She strips off her clothes as she runs (as you do), and now Holden gets all threatening and finally she screams, and the cops give chase and no one believes her again, some more.

Now Holden kills a dude and I’m not going to lie, I don’t know who that dude was supposed to be, but he is dead, regardless.

Uh-oh! Holden confronts Matt, the “CSI”/”Heroes” dude! He breaks Matt’s leg and beats him really badly with a cop baton, takes his picture, and leaves the camera.

And with their ever-impeccable timing, the cops show up right as Holden runs away.

PhotobucketHospital lobby. Jen – oh I forgot to mention, Jen played Maureen on “Freaks and Geeks,” sealing my love, then played Johnny’s girlfriend on “The O.C.,” unsealing my love because that subplot was interminable, then showed up in a Clean & Clear commercial that you’ve probably all seen. Anyway, she is very sad about Matt, and talks about how much she luvs him, and so Kelly hugs Jen and comforts her and it’s sweet until Jen starts FREAKING out, screaming, “YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!” and I am laughing.

Spycam. Kelly lies on her bed. Riveting. The phone rings, and Holden wants “a fucking thank you” for killing Diana. But because he doesn’t get one, he instead is going to kill Kelly on Labor Day in front of everyone at the volleyball match.

So of course the next logical step is for her to sit on a deserted beach with Jen and say she’s gonna quit. Jen is like, “If he steals your goals and dreams what’s left” and she wants to make Matt proud. Kelly agrees to play, and they hug, only this time Jen doesn’t freak out and scream at Kelly.

Lots o’ security for the big Labor Day volleyball game! But oh-ho-ho, what is this! Holden is there as part of it! He is a cop named Nick! All the cops are in some room looking at a picture of Kelly, and it is amazing, because not only is it a full-body shot of her in a bikini, but she is wearing sunglasses, like, no wonder this police force is such a mess with their inappropriate Blakes, and douchebag Bad Cops, and murdering stalkers Trojan Horsing the force. They can’t even get it together enough to find a picture of Kelly’s FACE.

Now there is drama under the bleachers, as Holden…watches the game. But the music is ominous. And can I just say there are a LOT of dramatic under-bleacher scenes in Hollywood.

And now we get about half an hour of people playing volleyball, and they expect me to care when I don’t even care about real volleyball. And my friend is saying that they’re reusing the same footage within the same scene.

And Holden is still under the bleachers, like, forever, for no apparent reason because now he is brandishing a knife and moving towards the field. And because Kelly has still not picked up a copy of The Gift of Fear, it is only now that she starts to get creeped out.

Kelly and Jen win! But oh no! Despite the fact that a celebrity volleyball player has had her life publicly threatened and is scheduled to be murdered at that very game, nothing can squelch the power of Sports Magic, and everyone rushes the field.

And fucking Kelly, man, annoying and useless as ever, just like, stares at BAG with his knife and 90-pound Jen has to defend this woman twice her size and twice her age, and gets stabbed by Holden.

PhotobucketMONTAGE! Exciting music. Paramedics helping Jen. Plot structure eerily reminiscent of the book version of I Know What You Did Last Summer. Blake Making It Personal.

Hospital again. Blake tells Kelly that Jen’s in Intensive Care. So they go back to Kelly’s place, of course, for that is not only deeply appropriate, but very safe.

Hey, remember before, when I was like, maybe you could make an argument for Kelly’s shower scene’s not being completely gratuitous, since it was to highlight Holden’s sadistic tendencies? Well, scratch that, because here we get her butt multiple times which is all sort of awkward, because the timing is just really WEIRD; I mean I basically expected this movie to be a big ball of T&A cheesiness (um, ew), but it really wasn’t. It was like this Lifetime movie that every now and then acted like it was supposed to be erotic, only that just came out in really bizarre ways, like now with Kelly’s butt and half-boob. The only possible explanation I can find is that we are maybe supposed to believe she’s going to die now, due to the rules of “Scream.”

Holden calls the house, and Blake answers. Blake realizes Holden is watching, and is Nick the Cop. Holden actually says, “It takes one to know one.” Holden should feel lucky that he’s ever gotten laid in his entire life. Holden inside the house. Holden shooting Blake in the shoulder.

PhotobucketAnd Kelly is STILL in the shower. She gets out, and BAG holds a knife to her. You think all is lost, until she shoots him! Then goes back to being a cliché and cries over Blake instead of calling an ambulance or something.

But none of this matters, because now we have a montage! Volleyball beach! Jen and Kelly are a team once more, but now they are BFFs! And here is Matt, not bludgeoned to death, but on crutches, with a scrape on his nose! Kelly and Jen high five and test out their awesome new catchphrase, “No apologies!” Because that has everything to do with everything! And I guess we just never get to find out what happens to Blake, last seen bleeding on the floor!

~ THE END ~

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Romeo and Juli-Nyet

So today is the last day I can say that I’m in my twenties. I’m 29! There, I said it one last time. Tomorrow I will be thirty! When my mother turned thirty, my dad threw a party for her. About halfway through the shindig, there was a house full of people (because she had a house when she was 30, but never mind, eyes on my own paper), but my mom was nowhere to be found. Finally, my dad went upstairs, and there was my mother, in her bedroom, frantically reading from a huge book. He was all, “?” and with tears in her voice, my mother earnestly said, “Do you realize that I am 30 years old and have never read Romeo and Juliet?”

And what do you say to that, really? Now, I’d like to think that I’d never let anything tear me away from a good party, but then again, I’ve read Romeo and Juliet. I’ve actually never read Hamlet, but that keeps me in good company with Beverly Cleary, another lone English major who’s never read the tale of the doomed Danish prince. Wait, Hamlet’s the Danish prince, yes? I know Macbeth’s the Scottish king, ’cause that’s what you call him in theaters unless you’re feeling particularly tired of self-important drama folk and want to piss them off.

So I guess despite my Hamlet-less life, I’m good with the Shakespeare. I played Bianca in Taming of the Shrew, I’ve taken multiple Shakespeare classes, and even read a ton of his stuff for my own edification! All of his sonnets. Random plays like Two Gentlemen of Verona, and that really boring one. What was it? Oh, Coriolanus. Thanks, Google.

Anyway, what was my point? Oh that’s right, I’m not sure I have one. Except to say that although I have read Romeo and Juliet, I feel like I should have a list of burning desires to fulfill. But if I were to make a list of things I’d like to do before I die, what would I put? I’ve bungee jumped. I’ve been to Germany, Greece, Turkey, Italy, the Caribbean, and most of the 50 states. I’ve been on a motorcycle. What other things do people put on their lists? Have a child, I guess. I would like to have one in the future, but not now, and it’s bad enough I’m relating to “Sex and the City,” I’m certainly not about to go all “Ally McBeal” with my life.

So I doubt I’ll come up with an awesome 30th birthday crisis to rival my mother’s Shakespearean meltdown. I suppose I’ll have to just take tomorrow as it comes, and be happy that I get to spend the night singing karaoke and hanging with my friends. I’ll be celebrating my birthday in the company of people I love, who love me back. And I guess that’s really worth more than a bunch of random activities I could put on a list.

But maybe I’ll read Romeo and Juliet again on Thursday, just to play it safe.

© August 30, 2005

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To Wear a Corsage

So I was catching up on “Parenthood,” which is a GREAT show that not nearly enough people are watching (Go! Go! Forget my blog; go to Hulu and watch this glorious piece of art!) and one of the episodes featured the show’s two teenage girls and their dates going to the prom.

I can’t even tell you how much prom television episodes fill me with nostalgia. Back in 1993, I was even nostalgic for prom the week before it actually happened!

The special, time-of-my-life moments made me sad, even then. Because I’d dreamed of being a teenager since I was a little kid, and now I’d almost reached the pinnacle. As I tried on a faded (in color, on purpose) royal blue dress, the color of my school and cheerleading uniform, that really flattered my figure quite well, I stared in the mirror at myself, through tears, and realized even then, how ridiculously emo I was being. Though nobody said “emo” back then.

I didn’t get that dress. There was bead action going on around the mock turtleneck that I just couldn’t abide. Plus even though I usually hated the way I looked in everything, since I liked myself in that dress, I’d surely like myself in others! LOGIC!

A week later, I bought a different dress – long, black, ersatz velvet, with a sweetheart neckline, still beaded, but in a rhinestone way that this ’80s flea market/mall shopper could respect and appreciate.

I’d been to two other proms, before my senior year. The first was during my junior year. We had like, 10 people in my school, so the junior/senior “banquets” (Baptist word for prom) were combined. I boarded the Thomas Jefferson tugboat in a pink, soft lace number with my boyfriend whom I was definitely going to marry. It was a magical night, as was said boyfriend’s (actually called) prom at Jericho Terrace, with West Hempstead High School’s graduating class of Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Two.

Perhaps the awesomeness of the first two proms set my standards too high. Perhaps the fact that ’93 was “My Prom” put too much pressure on the whole thing. But my senior prom day was not a fairy-tale joy repeat of the first two. Rather, I spent the afternoon/early evening of my senior prom crying and in general throwing a fit, as I was Very Fat. I wasn’t, and spent a good 10 adult years wishing to have the body that made me cry, but regardless, that night I knew for a fact that I was, and my boyfriend waited downstairs as I tearfully lamented my terrible body.

In retrospect, despite my body issues, I think I just wasn’t ready to let go. I wanted to be Brenda from 90210 – sassily and curvily rocking out a silver dress, dancing my heart out, but I was too sad and too insecure to buy the cooler dress when (*gasp*) I (*sob*) had (*heave*) the chancccceeeee (*Mom rolls eyes but in her secret way and hugs me*).

When Lauren Graham on “Parenthood” finds out that her gothy, Eff the System daughter Amber is going to prom, she tells her she’s so happy, because prom, though corny, is an apt and sentimental way of saying goodbye to high school.

And when Amber and Hattie came down the stairs, decked out to the nines, everyone exclaimed over their beauty. It was celebratory, but not overplayed.Charmingly sweet, but awkward. It was less about the glamour of ’93 90210, and more about the parents’ vantage point. What this walk down the staircase means, even if the kids don’t realize it yet.

And then Hattie and Amber got their corsages, and it made me sob.

Though in high school I could never relate to the girls like Amber, who think prom is ridiculous, and go for a laugh if they go at all, I relate to them now. Back then, I wondered how anyone with an extra X chromosome could so easily discard such an Important Night, forever. Now I realize in a way that I did the same thing, as I wasted so much of my own prom night filled with angst that kept me from appreciating this moment I’d never get back again.

I remember getting ready for other banquets, before prom. They too were like “dances” — if not to dance, still a rite of passage. A time to dress up fancy, to feel pretty. To wear a corsage.

And though granted, I spent like 27 hours with Victoria Jackson cosmetics and corset bras in preparation for aforementioned events, they made me happy. I felt good. Like even if I wasn’t looking good at the start, I could be by the end of a Saturday spent in the bathroom. And that was enough. Not every day has to be full makeup ‘n heels; perish the thought. But every once in a while, it’s nice to play dress up.

On my prom night, I didn’t have that Hattie & Amber, et television al.,  presentational walk down the staircase. Instead, I shuffled downstairs in a fit of angst and self loathing. And my senior year, they’d not gotten a tugboat, but a room at Huntington Townhouse, where we had a halfhearted luau theme, and zero dancing. Afterwards, my friends and I did the limo thing and went to the city to a comedy club, and I got heckled for going to the bathroom.

All of it kind of, really, SUCKED.

But all of it also smelled like Eternity perfume and believing that people really do fall in love with and marry their high school boyfriends. So even if your prom dress wasn’t off like a prom dress, it was all good, because one day it would be your wedding dress, and in the meantime you could chill in a gray hoodie and play Mickey’s Castle of Illusion on Sega.

As much as my senior prom experience kind of blew, it was also kind of awesome. And whenever prom comes up, in real life, on TV, in movies advertised during Grey’s Anatomy – I will always cry.

Because no matter what happens, there really and truly is nothing in the world like being 17. And maybe when I’m 70, if I am so lucky as to reach 70, I’ll feel the same way about the memory of 35. So even when the temptation to virtually pitch a fit about my prom dress comes up, I try. I often fail, but I try to remember that I’m never going to get this moment or day back again, either.  Today’s Vanilla Musk may be tomorrow’s Eternity, so I should gather my rosebuds. And dance like no one — ESPECIALLY not a strict Baptist classmate who will tell on you to the principal — is watching ❤

 

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Video Games of My Life: Part 2!

Nearly a year ago, I posted a blog, Video Games of My Life. And though I am an avid gamer supporter, I had no idea what was in store for me in 2009, game( r )-wise. I started playing along, to various degrees, on the 360. And I also met a bunch of truly awesome people on the video game forum at Amazon.com. So almost a year later, I have a newfound love of video games, and though my gamer status is dubious at best, I now present to you:

Video Games Of My Life: Part II

GTA 4 Pictures, Images and Photos

Grand Theft Auto IV

I was at one gathering in Oneonta at someone’s apartment, where people were playing Grand Theft Auto. Not sure which one, all I know is that I was unsettled. So when my ex anticipated GTA IV with glee and gusto, I was not thrilled. But it was an Important Game, and I stepped back and tried to support. And here and there, he’d present to me choices he had to make. “Should I kill this guy or stay loyal to him?” I’d give my take. Some of the time, like I believe when it came down to whether to kill Jacob or not, he would take my advice.

I was drawn in by Niko’s story, and really took to heart, how he wanted to make a better life for himself here in New York. So when I played as navigator (still can’t work those darned controls — too many buttons!), I tried to help him become an upright citizen. I didn’t let him steal any cars. My poor Niko, running around and around. I tried to play with him stealing no cars, or doing anything shady. As a result, Niko spent most of his time jogging from place to place, getting hot dogs from the vendor and taking naps, and calling up Jacob to hang out like a lovestruck booty call. “Not now, I’m busy man!” Jacob would say whenever I called.

Though I finally relented on ethics in order to complete missions, I still kept Niko pretty much on the up and up. And still have not even come close to beating the game. So I might need to revisit it and allow Niko to get his hands dirty a little bit. We shall see.

Mass Effect (Xbox 360) Pictures, Images and Photos

Mass Effect

Another game where I played navigator. On the plus side, I’m very happy with Commander Shepard’s look — I spent a lot of time on her avatar (is that the right term for what she is?). On the minus, I have no idea what in the world I was doing. She seemed pretty cool and sympathetic, jogging around, asking questions. But overall, I lack a sense of what Shepard is doing to begin with. Something with…I don’t know. Bad guys who seem good but are threatening a world, good guys who aren’t. A) It’s been awhile since I played, and B) I really think Mass Effect requires a player who is simply better at games than I am. I had a good time though. And I understand it’s a brilliant game.

Rock Band 2 Pictures, Images and Photos
Rock Band

The very first night I played this game, I got put on drums, and steadily lost my religion. I SUCKED. So, so bad. I got booed off the stage, and though it was humiliating, I was relieved. No more terribleness in front of everyone. Until the people I was with got all high school volleyball nightmare flashbacks on me: “It’s okay, try again! You can do it!!!”

I could NOT do it. I can play the guitar and the bass all right, so long as I don’t try Expert or even Hard, most days. Mostly, I prefer to sing. It’s still technical, and more about how you fit your voice to the notes than actual singing (though I’m sure excellent singers can do it justice), but I can do it. And man, is that game fun. I understand it’s not necessarily a gamer’s game, but I love it big time. I love unlocking venues, and figuring out where to go next, and the charge of the crowd experience while on stage, trying my very best to keep up with “War Pigs” and the like. It’s probably my favorite video game I’ve ever played, point for point.

arkanoid_excel.gif Pictures, Images and Photos

Arkanoid/Alleyway/Circus

After doing my last blog, I felt horrible about leaving this out. My childhood friend Tina introduced me to Circus on her Atari, and for the first time EVER, I felt like I could actually rock out an Atari game. Then I played Alleyway on Gameboy for many, many hours. Now, I play Arkanoid. Same concept, on the 360. I love it and hate it at the same time, because it rules, but man is it stressful when you lose your bottom line and fly without a net. Fun, though (TM Felicity).

.Photobucket

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtles In Time

My toes, my toes! ’Nuff said. Love the TMNT, but outside of Gameboy Fall of the Foot Clan, I suck. Where does my turtle go! He spends most of the time either off screen, or with foot damage.

Photobucket

Word Puzzle

This is barely a game. But I LOVE it. It’s a word search, and very stressful, because when someone finds a word, the game lets out this BANG BANG BANG BANG sound, one for each letter. It’s fun when you’re winning, obnoxious when you’re not. But definitely worth playing for me, because it’s one game I stand half a chance at winning.

Photobucket

Marvel Fighting Game

I’m not sure what this game is called. The pic seems right, if not I’ll remedy later. I’m worried that if I try to find it on the Xbox, I’ll break the whole system at worst, and at best get distracted and not finish the blog. But it’s a cool game. The thing is, I never have any idea what is going on. I mash my fingers on the buttons and try to give it all my spirit. Sometimes I win; sometimes I lose. One thing I always do is pick the brunette pirate chick in green, though on screen she’s blonde in blue. She’s always been there for me, and though this game hurts my fingers without fail, I enjoy being loyal to a character, and if I win, it’s nine times out of ten because of her. She is majorly bad ass.

Photobucket

Tetris Splash

I included Tetris and all its forms in my last blog on this. But Tetris Splash is new to me. I’ve never gotten to go toe to toe (My toes!) with another person on a two-player game of Tetris. It is awesome. So inherently stressful, but Tetris Splash is like metal (music) to my brain. Enough screaming, and it all balances out in the end. I love Tetris and all it entails. PLUS, I won like two or three fish for my video game aquarium, and what’s not cool about virtual fish?

 

Peggle

Ahhhhh, Peggle. The one game I’ve ever brought to the table, and one of the more controversial games, from what I understand. There are people who HATE this game and dismiss it as video game schlock. Fair enough, but I don’t care, because I think it’s brilliant. I was told about Peggle by my friends in the video game forum, when they found out I adored Tetris. Some people were like, “NOOOOO not Peggle!” But I checked it out, and fell in love with it. The entire game is one big, awesome acid trip. Mind you, I’ve never taken acid and never plan to, but this game is a psychedelic DREAM! Full of unicorns, flowers, brightly colored pegs, bouncing balls, and a healthy dose of irony. It is genius. When you clear a board of orange pegs, the game plays “Ode to Joy.” It is a fluffer, Peggle is. And I love every second of it. Some say it’s too much of a luck game, but I’m pretty proud of my increasingly good shots. And really, it’s hard to be upset at life when you’re on the “Working from Home” board, with bears and picnics and daffodils, just because, why not? LOVE!

What are your favorite games?

PS3 or Xbox 360? Or Wii?

What is your stance, if any, on Peggle?

Is there a way of helping Niko make a better life for himself without spending the entire GTA game at the hot dog stand and Jacob’s?

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Ready to Fly

If a wave rolls down from heaven
With the turning of the tide
You’re pulled in all directions
Only for awhile

~ Colin Hay, “The Flying Song”

I’d tried before, many times. Flying. Here and there, I’d been able to concentrate hard enough to raise my body above the ground, for a bit of time.

Occasionally, I’d get this little contraption that allowed me to sort of sit and fly, as if life was a very realistic IMAX movie.

But this time, walking just wasn’t cutting it. I didn’t want to fly; I needed to fly.

So I did.

I didn’t have to concentrate with all my might this time. I just had to know I could do it. And I had to focus, yet let go.

Up, up, and away, I went! It was amazing, yet not about the rush. This was about the mission. But it still felt wonderful, the pink and purple wind against my skin.

Even when I touched down and walked again, I was filled with the knowledge that I was lighter; the Earth couldn’t hold me. I visited my grandmother, and we talked about getting together at church that night. I was happy to be in her house, until I noticed the refrigerator was different, and on the opposite side of the room. I remembered all the years of happy magnets on the old reliable brown refrigerator, the freezer below filled with Mickey Mouse ice cream pops. A brown refrigerator in a house that hadn’t felt as happy since my grandfather died, 17 years ago.

I realized things would never be the same. So I wandered around and managed to find that mystery house that’s been randomly appearing since 1995. Awesome! This is a cool house, filled with double-rooms and secret passageways. I couldn’t wait to show it to my boyfriend.

I found him in the basement, but was confused, as his face had two bandages on it, covering cuts. When I asked where he got the cuts, he muttered something about a fight. But I knew that wasn’t true. The cuts had betrayal written all over them, and as he admitted as much, then more and more, his face changed and I didn’t know him anymore.

I cried and pleaded for him to stay and work it out, but people came, people who hated me, to usher him away. I cried; I was angry. Devastated.

I could not go see my grandmother at the church now. I would have had to leave right then, and was in no condition to go. My heart was breaking; I wanted to vomit and shatter things until I could lie down in a pile of broken glass, just to feel something besides this emptiness hollowing me out from the inside.

And I was talking in my sleep. All at once, I realized everything, every bit of this turmoil, to be a dream.

Wishful thinking, whispered a voice belonging to something I couldn’t see.

Wake yourself up, said another.

Then there was not a voice, but a presence, that I could see. It wanted me to follow it. It told me without speaking that I had to continue. This heartache wasn’t real, but something else was.

So I followed.

The presence led me to a house I’d never seen. My grandmother was there, telling me that she’d go to church tomorrow, but tonight she and two other families were having an outdoor get-together, and that I should join them.

That they were teaching each other how to fly.

It had been so long since I’d flown, but my grandmother looked happy. I couldn’t bear to tell her about the weight crushing down on me, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone fly.

But she didn’t seem concerned with my doubts. She just carried on, bustling about in an energetic and joyous way I hadn’t witnessed in many years.

So I thought, maybe I don’t have to talk to anyone. Maybe I can just be still, and breathe in the joy of this place.

As I sat and observed, all of the horror of the previous hours chipped, then melted, away. Until finally, I was ready to join everyone playing in the yard, young and old, laughing and soaring into the night sky.

First Dream

Second Dream

Third Dream

Fourth Dream

Posted in Apartments & Other Domiciles, Childhood, Dreams, Driving & Other Transportation, Family, Friends, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Romance, Superheroes/Villains, Supernatural :o, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Salem’s Lot & Sleepless Nights

I have been terrified of horror for as long as I can remember. Ghouls, mainly, when I was younger, scared the heck out of me. And even at five, I could tell that part of vampires’ power came from their allure. It was the not-quite-human, but resembling humans only in a “Human Sematary” kind of way, that always scared me the most. And don’t EVEN get me started on paintings with moving eyes. Hands down the most traumatizing and haunting images of my childhood.

Well, almost. Because when I was six, the most terrifying week of my life began. See, I was supposed to go to Adventureland. And you just don’t even know what that meant to me. After surviving my first roller coaster, I was hooked, addicted. But I had no control over when I’d get my next fix. So a plan for Adventureland was heaven for me. I was so freaking excited.

But it rained that day, so Adventureland was closed. So sad. And we needed a backup activity, because my mom was redoing our living room and dining room of the new house. We piled into my friend Laura’s house, and watched a movie — “Salem’s Lot.”

I’d never seen a full-length horror movie, and I was so scared. It never occurred to me to ask them to turn off the movie. First of all, that would have felt highly uncool. Second of all, I was entranced. Mesmerized by the horror unfolding in front of me. I’d read Eerie and Creepy comics, and seen clips of horror movies before, like the aforementioned moving eyes painting (I THINK it was George Washington — but a ghoul!). I was a bit traumatized by an episode of “The Adventures of Black Beauty” (fancy 1982 cable — Nickelodeon!) that had a ghoul, and now that I’m thinking about it, where did all the ghouls go?

Anyway, so I’d seen scary things. And in adult retrospect, “Salem’s Lot” wasn’t even that upscale a horror film. It was a made-for-TV movie, for crying out loud. But not until later in life did anything affect me quite so viscerally and mentally. There were so many things going on that spoke directly to my simultaneous love and fear of horror. Until that day, my scariest visual was the moving eye painting, but my scariest intellectual horror was one story in a horror comic book, not sure which one. It was similar in storyline to “The Vanishing,” but a bit different. Two guys plotted to commit some crime, steal a bunch of money or something, and one faked his death as part of the scheme. The non-fake-dead guy gave fake-dead guy a watch and some matches and was all, wait in the coffin and I’ll come get you at such-and-such time. The fake-dead guy gets buried alive in a coffin, and is of COURSE freaked out despite being all criminal-y and stuff, but he’s like, yay, the other guy is coming soon to end the horror. He lights a match. Not time yet. And waits.

And waits. And there in that tiny space, the terror mounts as it gets later and later and non-fake-dead-guy doesn’t come. I don’t remember if fake-dead guy finds a letter that’s all “Haha, got you!” or he just realizes, but his last match goes out; the darkness is incredibly final, and from the outside, you see coming from the ground, a word bubble: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

I used to read it despite myself. It was so scary, but even at five, I was like “WOW that is a great story! Worth digesting fear for.”

“Salem’s Lot” had everything in a movie that operated off of my deepest innate fears, for a nonstop hour and a half. I was around others, and because they hid their faces behind pillows for protection, I could do that too, but it wasn’t really what I wanted to be doing. I wanted to be staring at the movie head on, letting my face fall where it may, the way I’d embraced the terror of the comic story a year earlier. I wanted to be able to take it all, handle it all, and work through the fear and as with the comic book, be able to put it down and walk away when I was done.

But I hid behind a pillow and watched others being scared, so there was no defeating the terror. It won that day. I had Been Scared Shitless, and the movie knew. That is how it felt.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt drunk when I came home, like how when you come home literally drunk, the place sort of has that ringing familiarity, or like after you come home after traumatic experiences, you can kind of look around and be like sigh, sob on your bed a la Buffy in “Innocence,” and get a little healing. I could endure the horror of what I’d just experienced if only I could just go home.

I stepped in the door, and the house looked entirely different. My mother is like a handyman superhero, who prefers Home Depot to any other store, and got a lot accomplished that day I was two doors away watching “Salem’s Lot.” The rooms looked beautiful, but they weren’t home. I knew when we moved from Hempstead to Merrick that it was all about Moving On Up, and I hated every bit of the process. I was young, but I knew that success in suburbia meant how pretty is this room, don’t touch anything. I came home that gray day and knew that these rooms were no longer havens to kick back in. This Was Improvement. No more tatters, no more faded colors because now things were 1982 peach, and you shouldn’t walk in there, because that was the living room. I felt imminently insulted that a * living * room was treated like a museum exhibit held off by ropes. Was this why suburbanites kept working their way up, to buy more space and close off rooms for show? I spent 5 and a half years without a room or even bed of my own. And I was just fine, because I had an apartment building of family and awesomeness every day. Now here I was, six years old, coming home to lots of rooms and not one but two (bunk)beds, and it was all very “Shining”-esque, as I became overwhelmed and indignant at the audacity of my parents, just like, telling me I had to go to bed.

How could I just “go to bed” now, in this new home, in my room that was way bigger than I needed or wanted, with three windows because “cross ventilation” is apparently a big coup in suburbia. Screw cross ventilation! Because, the hands-down scene in “Salem’s Lot” that ruined me for normal sleep henceforth, and still scares me to this day, was the scene when the little brother scratches at the window and it’s all vampires, manipulation, and preying on trust, in one scene, and meanwhile it’s like, that’s NOT HIS BROTHER!!!

Terrifying!

So I lay in my room, which felt ridiculously big and invade-able, with all the windows and stuff, and it seemed so stupid to me, like, Hempstead was dangerous? No. Everyone looked after each other in my apartment building, and lived close by. Here I was, trying to fall asleep, and the closest people were yards away, even my family, and again, I know they were trying to do right by me by giving me my own room, but it — well, read Ramona the Brave, and I can shave a few paragraphs off of this already-long blog. Bottom line, it is TERRIFYING to sleep in a new room by yourself. Especially when you are trying to be a good big sister, and keep repeating the scene in your head of an older brother who failed to save his little brother, and is haunted by him at night.

I felt that somehow, somewhere, what I’d seen that day in “Salem’s Lot,” was real, a little, at least. For my friend Laura, it was the green man that truly scared her. And overall, there was an ominousness to the idea of a town, a community, being overtaken by nearly invincible and insatiable creatures who wanted to take the people, body and soul, and not even just murder them — own them. Overtake them. Keep the visage, but force them to do evil. Force them to kill. Force them to haunt their loved ones.

I didn’t have nightmares, because I couldn’t fall asleep. I was scared of what was out there, and how vulnerable I was in my big bedroom with all the windows. I wanted to go home to my apartment building, to my extended family.

After hours of trying with all of my six-year-old might to be brave, I gave up. It was too much. I’d seen too many terrible things that day. I didn’t like that my beloved, tattered, terribly 70s, blue with yellow flowers couch was in the basement, despite being perfectly comfy and welcoming.

I prayed, yearned, tried so hard to somehow unsee the horror of that movie. After failing to ride out the storm, I meekly knocked on my parents’ door. I cried that I was sorry to overstep my suburban child bounds, but I could not stay in my room that night. I was too terrified. Of the movie, what I’d seen, the ghouls, the posters on my walls, because what if their eyes started moving. All of it.

I thought they’d be mad, maybe. I was failing them. I should have been grateful for my big room with all the windows. This was a waste of livable rooms, my crawling into their bed like I did when I was a baby not that long ago.

They didn’t me tell me that I was silly for being afraid. They didn’t remind me of all the hours they’d worked to give me my own room, with my own bed(s). They just saw how scared I was, and welcomed me into their own room, and took care of their daughter. They told me it was okay to be scared, but I was safe, and they’d protect me from the monsters as long as I needed. Turns out, I needed it for a week.

I never got used to the space, to the big room, to the bunk beds, to suburbia. I’ve never gotten used to fear. But what I learned that night, that week, and over the course of time, is that no matter how many flaming balls of horror life throws at us, if we need it, there will someone or something there in the night to make it all okay. Or at least help us make it to sunrise!

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