HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!
Halloween is finally today! It is the greatest day of the entire year, a day in which people can wear witches hats and orange socks and scarves with dancing ghosts, and only some of the people on the sidewalk give them a wide berth. It is a day of greedily shoving fistfuls of candy down your throat, a day of watching horrifically terrible horror movies that were put together with a couple of red necks and a hand held camera, and a day of drinking yourself into a coma because hey, it's okay, you're not an alcoholic if you're celebrating the day when the dead supposedly walk the earth. You're only an alcoholic if you actually see the dead walking the earth.
Which brings up an interesting question, since I saw Smoking Santa lurking outside the front doors again at 1am and then again at 7:30am this morning. Hm.
But I digress. Before I launch into my daily ramblings, I'd like to launch into an equally as long winded - but scarier, if you can imagine - ghost story. Another true ghost story. Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story...
The Tale of the Fax Machine
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Chelsea, and she was beloved by all in the... uh, kingdom. She had glossy, rich chestnut colored hair, a sprinkling of delicate love kissed freckles across her snow white skin, and perfectly sized, perfectly round, voluptuous, heaving... eyeballs. Nice green color, sometimes hazel if she wore gray, really complimented her skin tone. Yeah, she was good at dressing herself.
So Chelsea was a street savvy girl with hope in her heart and a shockingly above average brain in her head, dedicated to working as hard as she could on various important social issues like "why doesn't online yahtzee want to ever give me four-of-a-kind," and "which Hollywood starlet is in jail today for her 5th DUI." She had no way of knowing that on a cold, crisp autumn day in October, her life would be forever changed by the forces of evil.
It was an ordinary day, photocopying, scanning, drinking 17 Coke Zeros from the office fridge - no blanket of darkness, no foggy mist, no ominous background music to suggest the horrors that awaited her. At the ungodly hour of 9:30am, it happened - the phone rang.
Ring. (dramatic recreation of actual events)
"Hello?"
BEEP. BEEP. GURGLE. FAX SOUNDS. ZZZZZZZ. BEEP.
Chelsea warily hung up the receiver, convinced it was merely children playing a prank. The Halloween spirit was in the air (never mind this started in September) and kids will be kids. Imagine her surprise when, minutes later, the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
But all that answered was the deadly, droning robotic noises of the persistent, murderous fax machine.
Chelsea screamed and hung up the receiver once more, her heart pounding, fear beginning to beat through her veins. Why was a fax machine calling? Was it a self-aware fax machine? Was someone programming the dastardly thing to call? And why was this such a big deal?
This horrifying event happened several times throughout the days, stretching on into weeks, months even, if you can count the end of September through October as technically "months." Chelsea was reaching her breaking point when suddenly, everything changed.
Ring.
No! Chelsea thought in horror, her hand shaking as she reached for the phone. Much to her shock, it wasn't the dastardly fax - but the police.
"Chelsea, we've tracked the calls - they're coming from inside your office!"
Chelsea dropped the receiver in one of those slo-mo movements in horror movies, and ran in the same slow motion manner around her desk, but what she saw next made her freeze, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
It was the fax machine.
Waiting for her, a knife in it's... uh, dangling from it's phone cord. It hopped closer, and closer, Chelsea could hear it's digital, heaving breath, the way it scratched against the carpet as it lunged for her, she could see the way the dials reached out for her throat, the way the incessant red ERROR light had it's sick, twisted gaze locked right on her-
And that's the end of my story. I'm like Stephen King, baby, I leave you hanging, wanting more. Or it could be because the fucking fax machine just called yet again. Seriously, how does a fax machine place calls? Especially from different points of origin? There are like, 6 separate phone numbers that call with a fax machine, it doesn't make any sense. I'm gonna start throwing punches as soon as I find out who is behind this wicked deed. Or maybe I'll just keep making hot chocolate, cause we have some in the office, and damn but that shit is good.
In a surprisingly mostly-horror-free twist of fate, Erin and I watched Marie Antoinette yesterday, and shockingly I didn't hate it. I was a bit baffled by some of the additions/omissions (such as the fact that it's Marie-Antoinette with a hyphen, the fact that Sophia Coppola chose modern day music ["I Want Candy" anyone?] and the fact that they glossed over many things, like yes indeed Marie-Antoinette and Louis XVI were killed, and oh yeah, the Princess of Lamballe didn't actually make it to Switzerland, she instead chose not to swear against the monarchy, and accordingly was gang raped by a mob, had various womanly body parts cut off, most likely had her heart ripped out and then eaten, and, to spice things up even further, had her head put on a spike which was then paraded past the Queen's prison windows. Yeah overkill!) but otherwise actually liked the movie. I did feel like I'd taken a hit of acid, especially because it kept jumping years at a time, but I guess if you want to cover an entire lifetime in the span of 2 or so hours, certain sacrifices must be made.
I want all the gambling, frivolity, and partying of her life... just without the beheading, thanks
See, this is my pattern. When everyone hates something, I like it, but when everyone's raving about something, I detest it. I guess I just go against the masses - I'm a rebel. What can I say? I ooze sex appeal and a flagrant disregard for society and authority.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Chelsea, and she was beloved by all in the... uh, kingdom. She had glossy, rich chestnut colored hair, a sprinkling of delicate love kissed freckles across her snow white skin, and perfectly sized, perfectly round, voluptuous, heaving... eyeballs. Nice green color, sometimes hazel if she wore gray, really complimented her skin tone. Yeah, she was good at dressing herself.
So Chelsea was a street savvy girl with hope in her heart and a shockingly above average brain in her head, dedicated to working as hard as she could on various important social issues like "why doesn't online yahtzee want to ever give me four-of-a-kind," and "which Hollywood starlet is in jail today for her 5th DUI." She had no way of knowing that on a cold, crisp autumn day in October, her life would be forever changed by the forces of evil.
It was an ordinary day, photocopying, scanning, drinking 17 Coke Zeros from the office fridge - no blanket of darkness, no foggy mist, no ominous background music to suggest the horrors that awaited her. At the ungodly hour of 9:30am, it happened - the phone rang.
Ring. (dramatic recreation of actual events)
"Hello?"
BEEP. BEEP. GURGLE. FAX SOUNDS. ZZZZZZZ. BEEP.
Chelsea warily hung up the receiver, convinced it was merely children playing a prank. The Halloween spirit was in the air (never mind this started in September) and kids will be kids. Imagine her surprise when, minutes later, the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
But all that answered was the deadly, droning robotic noises of the persistent, murderous fax machine.
Chelsea screamed and hung up the receiver once more, her heart pounding, fear beginning to beat through her veins. Why was a fax machine calling? Was it a self-aware fax machine? Was someone programming the dastardly thing to call? And why was this such a big deal?
This horrifying event happened several times throughout the days, stretching on into weeks, months even, if you can count the end of September through October as technically "months." Chelsea was reaching her breaking point when suddenly, everything changed.
Ring.
No! Chelsea thought in horror, her hand shaking as she reached for the phone. Much to her shock, it wasn't the dastardly fax - but the police.
"Chelsea, we've tracked the calls - they're coming from inside your office!"
Chelsea dropped the receiver in one of those slo-mo movements in horror movies, and ran in the same slow motion manner around her desk, but what she saw next made her freeze, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
It was the fax machine.
Waiting for her, a knife in it's... uh, dangling from it's phone cord. It hopped closer, and closer, Chelsea could hear it's digital, heaving breath, the way it scratched against the carpet as it lunged for her, she could see the way the dials reached out for her throat, the way the incessant red ERROR light had it's sick, twisted gaze locked right on her-
And that's the end of my story. I'm like Stephen King, baby, I leave you hanging, wanting more. Or it could be because the fucking fax machine just called yet again. Seriously, how does a fax machine place calls? Especially from different points of origin? There are like, 6 separate phone numbers that call with a fax machine, it doesn't make any sense. I'm gonna start throwing punches as soon as I find out who is behind this wicked deed. Or maybe I'll just keep making hot chocolate, cause we have some in the office, and damn but that shit is good.
In a surprisingly mostly-horror-free twist of fate, Erin and I watched Marie Antoinette yesterday, and shockingly I didn't hate it. I was a bit baffled by some of the additions/omissions (such as the fact that it's Marie-Antoinette with a hyphen, the fact that Sophia Coppola chose modern day music ["I Want Candy" anyone?] and the fact that they glossed over many things, like yes indeed Marie-Antoinette and Louis XVI were killed, and oh yeah, the Princess of Lamballe didn't actually make it to Switzerland, she instead chose not to swear against the monarchy, and accordingly was gang raped by a mob, had various womanly body parts cut off, most likely had her heart ripped out and then eaten, and, to spice things up even further, had her head put on a spike which was then paraded past the Queen's prison windows. Yeah overkill!) but otherwise actually liked the movie. I did feel like I'd taken a hit of acid, especially because it kept jumping years at a time, but I guess if you want to cover an entire lifetime in the span of 2 or so hours, certain sacrifices must be made.
I want all the gambling, frivolity, and partying of her life... just without the beheading, thanksI think it was a combination of several things:
1) Kirsten Dunst was regularly bathed during the production of this film. That in-and-of itself is huge. She's pretty, but the girl always looks like she just crawled out of a particularly greasy fryalater. Showered is a good look for you, bb!
2) Kirsten Dunst can actually act, unlike most young, blond Hollywood actresses. I have to admit that she did a really good job of portraying what it must've been like to have been Marie-Antoinette. She had her fun (and lots of it), but she was good at the close ups and quiet moments. And I have to further admit that they did a great job with aging her at the end, so that she looked older and weary and frightened, but had that same sense of innocence that really made you feel badly for her. Considering Marie-Antoinette and Louis were teenagers when put on the throne, and neither really understood the mechanics of it (ahem, among other things), you really just have to feel badly for them - they were in so over their heads.
3) I love Jason Schwartzman. And I love period dresses. Yep, that about wraps it up!
1) Kirsten Dunst was regularly bathed during the production of this film. That in-and-of itself is huge. She's pretty, but the girl always looks like she just crawled out of a particularly greasy fryalater. Showered is a good look for you, bb!
2) Kirsten Dunst can actually act, unlike most young, blond Hollywood actresses. I have to admit that she did a really good job of portraying what it must've been like to have been Marie-Antoinette. She had her fun (and lots of it), but she was good at the close ups and quiet moments. And I have to further admit that they did a great job with aging her at the end, so that she looked older and weary and frightened, but had that same sense of innocence that really made you feel badly for her. Considering Marie-Antoinette and Louis were teenagers when put on the throne, and neither really understood the mechanics of it (ahem, among other things), you really just have to feel badly for them - they were in so over their heads.
3) I love Jason Schwartzman. And I love period dresses. Yep, that about wraps it up!
See, this is my pattern. When everyone hates something, I like it, but when everyone's raving about something, I detest it. I guess I just go against the masses - I'm a rebel. What can I say? I ooze sex appeal and a flagrant disregard for society and authority.
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