Category Archives: Bizarre

Trippin’ the creepy meter II

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Happy Clown Week. BooOoOOO.

I have referenced my long-ago post about clowns on several occasions over the last two-plus years, for various reasons. I know my fiend Stoney agrees with my oft-restated opinion: to me, clowns are neither happy nor funny. They are, in fact, among the most sinister and nightmarish-looking creatures to ever walk the planet. It matters not what kind of clowns they are, or how many pratfalls they perform, how talented they are at making balloon animals, or how goofy they act. They are macabre, suspect beings who seemingly never fail to leave small children caterwauling in abject terror.

Like many birds of a feather, they also have their own cult. Clowns are like the Branch Davidians, only without David Koresh and all the killing and stuff. They are understood by few outsiders, although you’re welcome to join us in the clowning world anytime…

Thanks all the same, but I’ll pass.

Perhaps the creepiest is the curious and bizarre art form of clown eggs. Once you join the “society,” you are entitled to have your visage recorded for posterity — on an egg. Your face is painted on an egg. For rill. Some of them are actually beautiful; not all are skeevy. (But most are.)

And speaking of inexplicably weird, we go from clowns to Basil Marceaux. A brave patriot for sure, but governor material? Not so much. Or cripes, maybe he’d be great — I mean, the political gene pool isn’t too rich with flora and fauna right now, knowmsayin’?

Speaking of clowning around — today is Justin & Jake Overnight day. Play Doh, sidewalk chalk, sand box, trucks, the park, hide and seek, Dairy Queen and a long bath are the orders of the afternoon and evening. Grammie and Grandpa Thriller just might survive it.

:-)

Hey Mom, let’s go here!

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This morning I was looking at theme parks. You know, the Grammie part of me likes to think about places to take the Most Amazing Toddlers in the World (a name I won’t be able to use for much longer, since one is creeping up on birthday #3), so I started snooping about. Came upon this place – have any of you fiends been there? Was it worth the trip?

Anyway, on one of many random searches, a particular venue caught my eye. It could possibly top a list of The Most Depressing Theme Park in the World. Flippin’ awesome.

It’s Dickens World, a multi-million-pound venture situated in an old dock yard in Kent, England. Wow! Take a day to experience the filth, disease and hopelessness of Dickensian England, with actors portraying the dregs of hard-luck Victorian-era society. What a thrill for the kiddies. According to the website, you can also ” jump on board the Great Expectations Boat Ride for splashing good fun, take a trip back in time to a Victorian School complete with nasty schoolmaster or get spooked in The Haunted House of 1859.”

And look — the place comes with its own streetwalkers, ready to sell the kids their…um…yeah. Heh.

Seriously, I think this is fantastic. I would love it. I’m just not sure I’d take my children under the guise of having a cracking good time at an amusement park. History lesson — similar to, say, Colonial Williamsburg? Yes. Yee-haw, that-was-awesome fun? Nope.

OK, so Oliver Twist doesn’t float your boat. How about Grutas Park in Lithuania, where you can revisit the finer points of Stalinesque dictatorships, and, as Foreign Policy magazine puts it, “experience the joys of Gulag life, immerse yourself in the warm embrace of totalitarianism — and when you get a bit peckish, enjoy a tasty meal of ‘Nostalgija’ borscht, ‘Deer’s Eye’ cocktail, and ‘Reminiscence’ starch jelly in the cafe”? There’s also a train ride and a playground for the kids.

No? Sheesh, party pooper.

To be fair, some of these parks are not intended for children in the “entertainment” sense, but rather as an educational experience.  But when an American hears the term “theme park,” he likely thinks of amusements — roller coasters, a midway, food courts and the like. Hence, the confusion.

Still, I think I’ll stick to searching for the “yee-haw” element when planning an outing for the Toddlers — at least for now — before stressing to them the finer points of picking a pocket or two.

:-)

Photo credits: Daily Mail Online; Petras Malukas/AFP/Getty Images

Crazy gadgets

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I’ve seen a few in my day.

Fellow crusties will remember typing class in high school, where we used old manual Royals, Olympias, Smith-Coronas or Olivettis to hone our mad skills. f-f-f-space, j-j-j-space. I loved those exercises because they had a definite rhythm. I remember trying to get the “tempo” of my typing as fast and rhythmically correct as possible. I never wanted to miss a “beat.” Is that music-geeky or what? But it served me well; learning to type fast on a manual helped me immensely on the easy keyboards of today, and even on electric typewriters back in the olden days (remember that old Selectric we had in the office years ago, RD?) I learned from the ground up.

Some of my friends and family like to poke fun at my typing style. I’m like Beethoven; keyboards don’t last forever with me. I type the way I play piano: forcefully, and without a single iota of finesse. But I get the letters and papers written, lemmetellya. Love it. (The secret:  in both playing piano and typing — never look at your hands. Well, almost never.)

Anyway. I was looking at some old typewriters this morning, and saw a few memories. I typed on a Royal manual, pictured above. The typing classroom was loud, loud, loud, as you might imagine (or remember, if you’re old enough).

Then came the portable manual — made of plastic instead of metal, so they were easy to carry around. But it was the IBM Selectric (pictured at left) that made everybody go positively mad. It had a little golf-ball-lookin’ typing head mechanism that you hooked onto the carriage. You could switch it out when you needed a different font, which of course meant that you had to buy a whole box of them to get the ones you wanted. But it was awesome at the time, heh. Progress.

Our mom had a portable electric — similar to the Selectric, but, again, made of plastic instead of metal. I remember typing a paper or two on it in high school, just to be fancy (back when typing a paper was almost never a requirement, except in typing class).  It was all cool and new and impressive.

But get a load-a THIS…

You really got to love the throwback to drop $350+shipping to have one of these crazy thangs. It looks kind of fun, though…

Anyone got a spare iPad on ’em? I’d like to try this.

:-)

Things that make you go…

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…what the –?

So, Mad Men star Vincent Kartheiser is in the news — for getting rid of his bathroom commode, and almost everything else. Living off the fat of the land, as it were, on a nondescript street in LA, Kartheiser has given away his car, dozens of expensive gifts, and every mirror in his house (a place he describes as “just a wooden box”). I am not making this up. Since he has thrown away his own toilet, he is relegated to using his neighbor’s, “for now.” [warning: profanity galore]

What the…?

But no matter. I still love MM, and am looking forward to 25 July, when Season 4 drops. Yay! I’ll be in San Bernardino that night.

The Wigwam Motel had better have AMC…

FO

Image credit: AMCTV.com


Bizarro

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I gotta write this down before I forget it. All right, all you Davids Josephs out there — interpret.

I’ve been in and out of consciousness since 1 a.m. I awoke with a start at 4:35 after having this dream…

I was at my Dinner Theatre. For those who don’t know, DT takes place in a large-ish cafeteria that also has a stage, so it’s perfect for that kind of show. The weirdness began immediately because:

a) I was sitting in the audience and not at the piano in the pit
b) There were no tables with food; only rows of chairs

So I’m sitting there with people I don’t know, enjoying the performance. Then, one of my 7th grade boys walks onstage to do his feature number, which is bizarre, because my middle school students aren’t even allowed to audition for the cast. As he begins singing, he is joined onstage by a band full of the weirdest-looking people I have ever seen. (Think Mos Eisley cantina scene from Star Wars.) They began playing behind this kid, and actually the sound was good. They harmonized with him. But I was still shocked that this 12-year-old boy brought his own band and didn’t ask or tell me. I sat there, embarrassed and doing a slow burn.

Then the movie started.

It was a montage, beginning with scenes from The Wizard of Oz. Then it flashed to other scenes, each one darker and more gruesome than the last. (Think original Willy Wonka movie, bad-acid-trip boat scene: Not a speck of light is showing, so the danger must be growing. Are the fires of Hell a-glowing? Is the grisly Reaper mowing?) The singer and his band were nowhwere to be found now, but the movie montage went on and on and on and on…

After what seemed like an eternity, I got up and walked to the back of the room, ready to storm out into the hallway, go backstage, and stop the madness. I ran right into one of the guys from the kid’s band, leaning against the wall. All I could do initially was stand there and gawk at his face. (Think Hervé Villechaize morphed with Marty Feldman. Except tall.) Anyway, I told him how utterly disgusted I was that he hijacked my production, not to mention using copyrighted cinematic material without permission. He nodded and apologized; then, this exchange:

Him: It’s all in Jacksonville.

Me: What? What’s in Jacksonville?

Him: I thought maybe you and me…

Me: Oh my G…

*jerking awake and looking at clock*

And there it is. Nightmare on Sandusky Street. And now, the shower, the bakery, the school house, the 3-hour tech rehearsal — and hopefully, no creepy folks wanting to go to Jacksonville. Ugh, I need me some coffee.

FO

Photo credit: CBS