Bump in the Night

Here's a little piece of my soul.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1976-1978, my wonderful parents took the family to the Lonsdale Drive-In movie theater. We were there often enough during the summer, and it was just another weekend. I don't have much recollection of the first film, but the second was a real winner originally from 1974 called "It's Alive".  This was a film about a killer baby.

Yes. A killer BABY.

Now, allow me to point my finger back at the year (okay, range of years...).  I was 6 or 7 or 8.
'Great Moments in Parenting', are you listening?

I'm not sure how big a box office hit this movie was, but it was no award-winner.  Of course, I watched most of it hiding on the front seat floor.  Laughable or not, I was scared. Really scared. The kind of scared that makes you run up the cellar stairs, hoping that the long fingers won't catch your ankles. Yes.  THAT scared.

I spent too many nights in my parents' bed after that, and for years after, I would never sleep unless I had the blankets wrapped around my ears, protecting me from the monster baby. I was a mess.  Daytime was fine, but when the sun went down, and I had to start thinking about ... you know... sleeping, well... yeah, I'll pass, thanks.

Fast forward to 1979. Oh, what a great year. I turned 9 that year (for those of you keeping track...) and was still scared of the night. I remember very distinctly going with my parents to see the movie "Prophecy" at the beautiful Four Seasons movie theater. Another great move, Mom and Dad.  Just fabulous. I managed to be terrified enough to watch most of this film through the porthole in the door to the theater. From the Lobby. Alone.  Shaking.  Get the picture?

So now I was afraid of (wait for it...) Killer Babies and Mutant Bears.

Laugh. You know you want to.

Go on. I'll wait.


<whistling>

So, done?
Moving the story along...

Great Moments in Parenting  leads my mother and father to take the family back to the drive in... this time to see that great family film by Ridley Scott... you know... Alien.  Compared to killer babies and mutant bears, this movie is pretty tame. Except for the part where the astronaut fucking explodes from an alien in his chest... that sort of stuff.

So I wrestled with sleep as a kid. I wrestled a LOT.

One day, I decided to get the hell over all of this. I decided that I would no longer be that afraid ever again, and vowed to myself that I would find out how it was all done on film.  I started to read magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland, Fangoria, and Starlog. I took makeup books out of the library.  I read a lot, and experimented where I could. In the end, I learned way more than I ever thought. I debunked the mystery of the darkness that gripped my soul. I learned so many secrets that there is still little wonder in film for me.

I mastered my fear, and finally let myself sleep. I found a way through, and I stripped a little magic from the world while I was at it. All those movies no longer held any power over me, at least not in a way that was really meaningful. The flip side was that I was now no longer scared of any movie. None of them. I could watch anything and point and laugh and say, "This is how that is done..."

There is something to be said for fear. There is something to be said for not knowing how the lady gets sawn in half... cinematically or right there on stage in front of the magician. There is something to be said for sitting back and just watching the film. And that was something I traded away for being able to sleep.

As I grew older, I found myself able to actually DO makeup effects for things like haunted houses and really gross costumes. I was that guy, and it made me kinda cool in the right circles, but I think I would have traded some of that for being able to have a better time at a movie, you know? So I learned that there must be a fine line between being terrified by a movie and being terrified by what the movie represented to me.

The killer baby? Well, come on. I was like 6. I was scared of my own shadow at this age, and killer babies don't help.  I'm sure it influenced my life in ways I simply cannot realize, but you know... that's life.
 The mutant bear? That was a part of my fear of what's out there... in the wilderness, waiting to eat us. It could have been a normal bear, all pissed off and running after campers and it still would have had the same sort of effect on me, I think.  Alien? Ridley Scott is a genius. The pacing of that film still feels perfect. It's a long, slow march to a startling finale. My hat will always be off to him for this beautiful piece of cinematic fear.

But all of these events also helped shape me. It rewarded my curious nature with mastery of my fear. It taught me to continue to dig deep into my own soul even after I felt I found answers. It proved to me that I could overcome fear with knowledge. I am who I am today partly because of these images of horror and dread. I love that my parents brought me to see these films. To this day I am a fan of the genre, and I do believe that I have an appreciation for what goes in to a great horror film because of my thirst to know what was under that hood.

 I love what others fear.
And I am happy to be this way.



How about you? What scares you when the lights go out?

Caution: Student Drivers Ahead

"Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups"                                                                         - George Carlin

These days I drive.

 A lot.

 No, really.

One of my commutes to work averages about 90 minutes one way (If I get my hustle on), and I do this 2-3 days a week. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know... move closer, change jobs, whatever. Not going to happen, but I appreciate the understanding . Back to the story... So, yeah. I drive a lot. And I get stuck in traffic enough that I'm really tired of quite a few behaviors. When I'm Godpigeon, all of this is different, capiche? 

I know many of you have a long drive everyday as well, so you'll understand more than most when I say "Yo, other drivers? It's just a broken down car, not an alien artifact... keep moving at the pace you just were when you pass it."  Know what I'm talking about? There's lots of other behaviors I can bitch about. Like when a cop has another car pulled over, you can keep going 80. He's not going to run back to his car and call for backup because there's 18 cars exceeding the speed limit. He's good. He caught a commuter doing something and he's a happy cop. He'll write the ticket and know that he helped the state gather another $100 from a hapless driver. 

 Also, when you are one of the 18 cars in a line going 80, please, please, PLEASE don't decide to tap that brake pedal just for the fun of it. Your brakes work just fine, and that sudden, barely noticeable flash of your brake lights will turn a well-oiled machine into a pile of rust and busted cogs faster than you can say "squirrel". That one tiny flash of red makes the other cars behind you slam on their brakes (OMG! What if it's a cop and I didn't see him?"), then resume their previously interrupted speed. This, of course, trickles down the line until there's a string of cars in ALL lanes slowing down, just in case. Traffic is a river. One ripple can change things for miles. Please, don't be that person. 

 When there is a lot of other traffic on the road, it might not be the best time to check your facebook feed. I know, Texting While Driving (TWD) is illegal in many states, but you know that you do it.  I know you do it. EVERYONE knows that you do it. Want to know how? Well, first of all, you go from  80 to 50 in just a short stretch, your head is up, but your eyes are downish, you are smiling as your eyes are down (well, actually, thinking about this now - maybe you are masturbating, so this might apply to MWD, too), and most importantly - you are probably swerving juuuuuust a bit to the edge of your lane before correcting suddenly. If you MUST check that FB feed, wait until there are fewer cars around... please? Beside, we might bump while I'm checking mine, and that would be bad. 

 Let's all learn how to merge when entering traffic from the on-ramps?  When last I was in driving school (30 hours, actually, but let's leave that alone for now), merging meant that YOU adjusted YOUR speed to fit into the flow of traffic, not just plowing into the lane of travel at your own fucking speed.  Merging does not mean that the 3000 other drivers in the area must accommodate YOU and your driving style. It means that YOU figure out how to use that right foot to go faster if you need to, and please watch out for other cars in the lane you are entering, m'kay? And - The breakdown lane is NOT an extension of the on ramp.  Seriously. And trucks can't usually just slide over and give you your own lane - they are generally screwed when it comes to just moving over suddenly. 

 I know it's hard, but if we could ALL just watch the road ahead, that would be great. We are all out there together, and being a douchebag driver, jumping lanes to gain an extra 20 feet, swerving from lane to lane to lane and back again, you know... the Speed Racer Mentality... well, that's gonna be a problem most of the time. See, again, we might bump while I'm practicing for the Indy 500.  I'm not planning on going there, but one never knows when an opportunity might arise. 

 Oh, and please... you. Yes, you. The Ballsack going 65 in the high speed lane? Who the fuck hired you to be the righteous roadblock? Get the fuck over. You need to learn what "Flash - Flash" means when you see it in your rear-view mirror.  In case you were studying for your urine test, it means MOVE! Politely, of course. It doesn't mean I want to wave to you and be your friend. It means that I am going faster than you and you have space to move over. In other words, sweetheart, the party is over so get the fuck out. When other cars are passing you on the right, you are probably in the wrong lane and should take the hint. Really. 

 It's been a trying week. Miles of backup because a drunk was getting a sobriety test.  It's just a drunk. It's not anything special.  If it makes you happy to see that, then stay the hell home and watch Court TV with the other sheep. We're trying to get somewhere. Sigh. To end on a positive note, here's to the folks who take turns out in front of the fast line of cars, and to the guys who let the truckers move over, and to the nice old ladies in fast cars who smile when you pass them... then keep up. 

 Now, is there a little Sammy Hagar out there to listen to?

Things Happen for a Reason...

I'm not a big fan of that way of thinking. Things happen because we make choices. Many times, the choices we make are obvious, other times, they are hidden amid our daily lives. There are always choices.

Always.

When we fall back on "Things happen for a reason" it both takes away our involvement in the process. It make us blameless when things go badly, and at the same time it takes away the credit when things go well. Applying the THFAR mentality, clearly it wasn't your own decision to take the more difficult path, so when you succeed, it can't be because you made it that way... it's because of someone else.

So many times, the choices we have are not between a great one and a terrible one, but among several terrible ones. Deciding which of them is the least terrible, and which one might lead to the best possible chance of having a better choice in the next round?  It's up to us. Maybe it's lack of blind faith in the controlling divine, maybe it's my own belief that divinity starts within each of us, or maybe I'm just being a curmudgeon, but I believe that in every case, we are ultimately responsible for our own lives.

I wasn't always this way. I spent so much of my life neither taking the blame nor the credit for my own decisions. It MUST have been 'meant to be', right? My first girlfriend and I were 'meant to be' and that ended badly too many years later. My career choices early on were 'meant to be', as were the choices I made over education, vehicles, living arrangements... so many parts of my life were simply 'meant to be' that when bad things happened, they must have happened for a reason, right? All part of the big plan, I guessed.

But somehow, I came to realize that I was in a bad emotional situation not because it was meant to be, but rather that I made choices in my life that led me to that place.  I made personal choices to remain silent, to be bitter rather than be honest about how certain actions made me feel. I made choices every day - many of them were the same choice - to remain in the current situation or to continue to o nothing to improve my own mental, emotional, or physical well-being.  When I was unhappy with my job, I made a choice to enter into an arrangement that I believed would allow me to return to go to school and complete my degree. I relied on others for my own personal success. No more of that.  These days, I try to make decisions that will better my life. Decisions that will hopefully better the lives of those I am attached to. I try to be the best father I can be. I try to be the best partner I can be to the women I love. I try to be more attentive as a son, and as a brother. An uncle, and a friend.

Things happening for a reason? No. Unless that reason is that I made the choice, or my actions led to the result.  I won't see it any other way.

Not anymore.

Corona

The fire danced in the desert evening, sending sparks high into the sky. Above, the night sky filled the eyes of a young boy and an ancient crow. They sat next to each other upon rocks worn smooth by lifetimes of children who came before to speak reverently to the aged creature. Grandfather Crow wrapped himself more tightly in his blanket, and looked at the young boy. One day, like so many before him, this boy would become a great warrior. Grandfather Crow knew this, and treated the boy with respect.

"Grandfather Crow, why do you chase the Grandmother Moon every night? You are so small to her, she mustn't even notice."

"Child, I may be small, but when she is full and bright, my shadow covers much land. When she shines upon me, I am not small. "

"But Grandfather Crow, if Grandmother Moon hasn't noticed you by now, why do you think she ever will? She does not stop, nor look towards you... "

"Child," the creature smiled patiently at the boy, "ask me again when you are in my shadow."

-

Many years later, the Great Chief sat alone in front of a fire, warming his bones beneath a sky deep with stars. He turned his eyes upward to see a crow's shadow pass in front of the full moon. The old man grinned, and knew deep in his heart that it must have been a very large shadow... at least three nations wide.

"Grandfather Crow, I see you wrapped in the arms of Grandmother Moon. You are not small at all."


The Great Chief sat, smiling, as he watched the night sky for a very long time.

Uchi

I decided when I got my own place to begin a tradition. In Japan, when one returns home from being out, the word 'Tadaima' is uttered upon entering the home again. The response, said by anyone home, is 'Okaerinasai'. Literally, they mean "I'm Home" and "Welcome Home" respectively. I like that. I like the formality of announcing your arrival back home, and being greeted by loved ones in return. It made me happy the first time I saw it in a Japanese video, and I always wanted to have that as part of my life. 

Now I do. 

I really do love the idea of being greeted when returning home. It's warming and sweet, and reminds me that no matter where we've been, our presence is appreciated at the places we call home. It's nice to be appreciated. And it's just as wonderful to greet a loved one with a smile, a happy face, and a word that acknowledges their presence in the home.  

So I'm here, waiting to acknowledge you when you come home, which of course, is 'Uchi'.

Gina

Today is Gina's birthday. So as I have done before, and will again, I present to you the ABC's of Gina:

Giddy and Gorgeous, Gleefully sweet
Interosculant and Illustrative, she may Illapse into her seat
Napaean at heart, Nyctanthous and fine
Acatalectic, Artistic, an Aubade divine

Happy Birthday, my sweet.

Enjoy your day.

Wagons East

"So there we were. Heavy weather, low on fuel..."
                            - Scott R.


     It was a dark and stormy night when we set off from California. Glendale vanished into a bright spot on the horizon of the night sky in our rear-view, and the open road beckoned.  Okay, not really, but it might as well have been.  On Tuesday, March 20th, 2012, Two cats, Gina Marie Terzino, and I set off on the road trip of a lifetime. We were driving from Beautiful Downtown Glendale, California to the Eastern shores of our continent. We were moving her back home to her beloved Rhode Island. For those of you who might not know, nor care to look at a map of the United States, Rhode Island is NOT a suburb of New York, nor is it part of Massachusetts. It's the armpit of America, nestled in New England, and it's NOT Sunny California. But it is home.

     So we set off about 5:00pm, just to make sure we hit as much California traffic as we could (I suppose it was an unconscious effort to get the complete CA experience). We broke free of the 210, hit the gas, and moved like a guppy towards the great open expanse of the 15, searching for the 40, the lower of the two coast-to-coast interstates. The little blue Saturn Ion, stuffed to the gills with meowing furballs and musical instruments (not that the cats could not be considered musical at this point) sipped her fuel and moved with grace through the western part of Arizona, on into the night and early morning of the 21st.

     With Runs-with-Scissors at the wheel, sometime in the late 1:00AM hour, a sudden misfire began to slow our course through the chilly AZ evening. I didn't panic, nor did I even wake the sleeping Gina. I simply stared at the rhythmically flashing 'check engine' light, and hoped it would cease. Soon. Please. Anytime would be great. No?  Hm... So I took the first exit I saw, dove onto the connecting road, and swooped gracefully into the gas station. Gina woke up, blinked, and asked where we were, to which I responded " Arizona. And we have a problem."  There's a lot to this story, including a VERY cold night trying to sleep while covered with a TOWEL (blankets? Who needs 'em...), an attempted parking lot fix the next morning, not one, but TWO mechanics, Getting lost thanks to Google Nav (and wait... what do you mean there's no damned phone signal?), an overnight stay in WINSLOW, AZ (YES! I know it's in an Eagles song), sneaking cats into the hotel, Gina's wrenched ankle (What DID you trip on, woman?), and a wonderful phone call to the mechanic that ended like this, "The car needs an engine. Okay. So when could you get one? No, next Tuesday or Wednesday won't work. Put it back together, we're coming to pick it up. Can you leave the injector to the bad cylinder disconnected? No? Okay." We picked up the car, I disconnected the injector to cylinder #1, and we hit the road, cats and all.  Three Cylinder Sally was moving again, and as long as we kept it above 2500RPM, we were good.

     Arizona disappeared behind us, New Mexico was a blur... then onto Texas (Dark AND Flat) and Oklahoma through the night. It was light out when we hit Arkansas, which was long, but smelled better than TX and OK. Other than the (I'm STILL giggling here) written warning for speeding and a brake light, it was all pretty uneventful. Welcome signs passed by, we took pictures, and it was pretty smooth. Three Cylinder Sally chugged along, giving me a couple good scares when trying to start after refueling, but finally shuddering to life.  And I gotta say that I love Denny's, but I'm pretty much all set with Grand Slam Burgers at this point in my life. Then came Tennessee.  The Longest State EVAR!!! It went on for what felt like days, and on... and on... and on... and just on.  It was fairly green, except for the blurbs of the big cities that went by.  Yes, I know, we should have stopped in Memphis, and Nashville, but honestly we weren't stopping anywhere except a gas station.  It was somewhere in the night that we went through Knoxville, and the leg North finally began. Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, then finally Rhode Island all appeared in our windshield, and we watched the changes fly by us flanking the highway corridor. The car performed admirably considering the mechanical state of it, and there were no other real issues.  We managed to get somewhere between 26 and 30 mpg as well!

     Would I drive across this beautiful country again? You bet. But I would have a much different plan of action, one that did not include traveling with cats. As a sidebar, the cats were marvelous. They settled in, decided it wasn't so bad, and Gina was wonderful in her care of them.  Bix didn't much care for the tractor trailers, I guess they were just too large to be comfortable around, and Sophie could really care less about anything other than getting back in her crate.  Win one for relaxed cats, I suppose.  If you've never driven coast to coast, it's worth trying. It's a beautiful land we live in, and I'm not sure we Americans truly appreciate the breathtaking grandeur of it all.

But there is no place like home, close to the hearts we love.

M