And the ladies . . .

Yesterday, classic spooky men. Today, the scary dames. Problem is, though, I couldn't come up with many super-bonafide horror leading ladies, so you'll have to help me with this one. The three that come to mind only did true horror films late in their careers.

I'm not sure what that means. Sexism? Once women reach a certain age (at least in the past) they can only play monsters? Or, had they finally reached the stage - after very successful screen careers - where they were free to play horror? Well, that's a thesis for someone besides PJs.

At any rate, here are my scary ladies of the silver screen:

Supa-stah Bette Davis. She certainly played scary women throughout her career, but most of them were scary in a kick-ass way, not a Baby Jane way. I love her young, I love her old. She just chewed up the scenery and spit it back at 'ya. My personal horror fav, as you well know, is Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte, but I can take a dose of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane or The Nanny (and not the Fran Drescher kind, either) anytime. Bette, I hope you're still kickin' ass wherever you are!


The other supa-stah and Davis' bitter rival, Joan Crawford. Now, she is just scary anyway you look at her. And she was the sweet one in Baby Jane. She gives me nightmares even when she's not in a horror film. Strait Jacket, Berserk!, and her appearance on Night Gallery add to her creep factor.

Not so supa-stah (except on Bewitched) Agnes Moorehead. Another alum of Sweet Charlotte. And did you catch her in The Bat or the string of scary made-for-TV movies late in her career? Of course Endora wasn't scary (unless you're Darren Stevens), but Aggie could be a real fright when she put her mind to it.


OK - I need more. Help me out.

Now it's out to dinner in 'Couver-ville.

Scary men of the silver screen

Another Halloween-themed post. Who's the star of your Nightmare Before Halloween dreams? I'm talking about famous horror stars as opposed to specific horror performances (we'll save that one for later). Just the men - we'll get to the scary chicks another time. All suggestions welcome (but as always, I have the last word . . . ).


Boris Karloff. My vote is for his role in The Mummy. Frankenstein was sort of lovable, so he never really scared me. But the mummy-guy, whoa!




Vincent Price. Boy, he could churn 'em out. The one that scared me most as a kid was The Fall of the House of Usher, but I can be a creeped-out sucker for House of Wax, as well.

Peter Lorre. Those eyes! That voice! Mr. Moto!

(Can you believe I found a picture with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre?)


Bela Lugosi. Well, he's Dracula, ain't he? (How creepy are those hands? Yeeeesh!)
















Lon Chaney (and Lon Jr, too.). Big Lon was the "man of a thousand faces," many of them scary ones. Now this is what the real Phantom of the Opera looks like (no silly white half-mask).






Who'm I missing? Feel free to add to.

A foggy day in 'Couver Town

This is what it looks like outside my 16th floor palatial room at the Westin Bayshore in Vancouver right now. Except gray, not blue. Since I don't have a digital camera (I understand Sandy Claus is bringin' me one for Christmas, though!), I had to find my Vancouver fog picture here.)

When I woke up around 7 this morning, it was cloudy and misty, but I could see the skyscrapers and boats in the harbor. The pea-soup thickens, as I type. But I like a place with atmosphere, and co-worker Garth and I plan to get into as much trouble as possible before we are called to set up our conference exhibit and become the adorable marketing team for Perkins+Will's Graphics Lab that we truly are. Also, we have enough client and committee buddies around who'll add to the merriment. So, fog? Pah! Will not slow us down.

And let me give it up big time for the beds at the Vancouver Westin. You know my hotel-bed-pet-peeves, well, honey - down comforters, feather pillows, bottom sheet (very high thread-count, my dears) stays tucked. 'Nuff said. In fact, the bed-comfort is heavily marketed here - the Westin is actually proud of it! The hotel room comes complete with a catalog of its bedding accoutrements, called "Heavenly Bed." Shoot, I don't care how big a crass marketing scheme it is - all I know is that I get a superb night's sleep in a comfortable bed. Which is what a hotel should be about, to my mind. So you bidness-travelers out there, play princess-and-the-pea at the Westin sometime. Sweet!

OK, time for trouble. Gotta go - I'll be back when the fog lifts in the Big Van.

Start your day the Wallace and Gromit way

Nicey & Wifey at Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down report that British tea company PGTips has come up with some crackin' "cuppa contraptions" based on Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Though not quite the Rube Goldberg complexity shown in the film, the ReadyWhenUR kettle lets you text the kettle so the water's ready when you hit the kitchen. You can also get a Gromit mug, a color chart that shows you exactly what various brews of tea should look like when ready, and doggie-shaped tea bags.

Alas, these wonderful tea playthings probably aren't available here in the colonies, but it's nice to know that somebody somewhere tries to make real life as fun as animation-world.

By the way, go plop down some coins to see W&G - it's a great film for big people and little people. Big clay thumbs way up.

Goodnight from Vancouver.

Justice DeLayed

I try, try, try, try, try to stay away from politics on this blog because, as I've said before, so many other places do that stuff better and I get tired of being so fraught about it all the time. But, really. This guy just makes it tooooo easy.

So let's take a poll. Who would you like to see on the Tom DeLay jury?

The celebrity perp pool is so deep these days that selecting twelve all-star citizens would be pretty easy, but let's make it a little more difficult. Pretend that the DeLay jury has to be made up of six ordinary folks and six big-name criminals - er, I mean, alleged criminals. Which six would you choose? Michael Jackson? Robert Blake? Martha Stewart? OJ? That cop-guy from the Village People? Winona Ryder? Phil Spector. Well, hon, the list does go on . . .

As I said yesterday in a comment on Shakespeare's Sister blog, a new simile was born with the Tom-DeLay-smiley-face arrest photo. Before yesterday when one of your friends did something wrong and gave you a shit-eatin' grin, you'd say "He's grinning like a Cheshire Cat," or "She's grinning like a jackass." Add to those "He's grinning like a Tom DeLay mug shot." (Although he might not be smiling so big if he has to do time and his hair-dye job does a big Robert Blake on him, eh?)

Let's help that judge in Texas by providing some juror names. Of course we run the risk of the celebrities sympathizing with DeLay (you just know Jacko would vote innocent), but the entertainment value of the whole thing would be worth it. DeLay'll probably walk anyway, so we may as well have a little fun while we're at it.

Is that a crayon in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me call it a week?

All right, girls and boys. Open up your big box of crayons, pull out the color "Gone, " and color me outta here!

But not to worry - you can look forward to six bloggeriffic days of "Shorty PJs Does Vancouver." (Just doesn't have the same ring as "Debbie Does Dallas," does it? But you never know.)

Thanks for coloring me GONE - it's just my color!

Friday morning fluff

It's Friday, I'm frittered out, and ready for a little fluff before hopping my earrrrrrly morning flight to Vancouver tomorrow. Here's some of the fun-stuff pocket lint I've been saving for you this week:

The funny little logical number grid puzzle Su Doku made the news again this week at the Cheltenham Literature Festival. Seems they held a championship and the chicks walked away with most of the prizes. First place went to 18-year-old university student Nina Pell. People of the female persuasion also garnered second and fourth places in the competition, as well as the top prize in the under 12's category.

"Wake the people and make them think big," said playwright Henrik Ibsen. Just chew on those words for a bit. Have they ever been more applicable than right now? The Guardian ran a good article about Mr. Ibsen the other day, so give a read. Wake up and start thinking big, for goodness' sake!

But if you're more of a Percy Shelley kinda person, check out this list of Top 10 Books About Shelley. (Who'd a'thunk there'd been so many, eh?) That whole Shelley-Byron-Keats thing always kinda confused me. (And wasn't there a wife stuck in there somewhere?) Maybe I should read one of these books and straighten myself out on it. But pro'ly not.

Just in time for Halloween - pagan priests will be allowed to use wands and wine during ceremonies in British prisons, but naked pagan worship will not - I repeat, NOT - be allowed. Still, I see a big tide of pagan conversions headed for ye old gaol.

Here's some really good TV-theatre-type news. A television version of Once Upon A Mattress (taped in 2004), the musical that kicked off the career of a young Carol Burnett, will be broadcast December 18 on ABC. Tracey Ullman (always, always fabulous) will play Princess Winnifred the Woebegone. The production also features Dennis O'Hare, Tommy Smothers, Zooey Deschanel and - AND - Carol Burnett her own bad self as the conniving Queen Aggravain.

And last but not least - have fun carving your virtual jack-o-lantern - it even lights up when you click "Done." You'll need Flash, by the way.

OK - pockets cleaned out now.

Upcoming temptation in Vancouver - the 18th International Writers and Readers Festival

Ah, temptation. Chocolate? Sex? Just one more tiny, thin mint? No, I'm talking books here - books and the people who write them.

Saturday, Garth and I head for Vancouver to market our wares at a big conference and will be in the Great Northwest through next Thursday. I've never been to Vancouver, so I'm overly excited about the opportunity to play tourist when not on the conference exhibit floor or in committee meetings.

Yesterday, Garth discovered that the Vancouver Writer and Readers Festival runs through Sunday (Oct. 23), so we're busily checking out which sessions have tickets available. The list of authors who are in Vancouver include: Margaret Atwood, Julian Barnes, Alice Munro, Ali Smith, Simon Winchester, Tim Winton and many, many others. Alas, we'll miss most of them, but Simon Winchester (I love this guy! The Professor and The Madman, The Meaning of Everything, Krakatoa . . .) is speaking on Saturday afternoon at 2. My plane is scheduled to land at 12:15pm - whad'ya think? If the airline, taxicab, and hotel cooperate, I plan to fly in, dump my stuff at the hotel and hi-tail it to wherever Winchester is holding forth. Will I screw up the karma if I purchase the tix in advance, reckon?

Julian Barnes hits the stage later, but the website says the the event is "at maximum capacity." So is the Afternoon Tea confab on Sunday. Big ol' sad sigh. Still, you never know. We'll turn up hopeful and maybe we'll be able to sweet-talk our way in.

Fingers crossed for outstanding planet alignment . . .

The DTs: Great Halloween Songs, Part 2

Melinama at Pratie Place has added significantly to my Great Halloween Songs list which, as you remember from my previous post, had only one song. While I was concentrating on Top 40 hits, Melinama's list is more eclectic - folk songs, world music, a song written in the middle of Hurricane Fran, and - the genre that I should have included on my list: Dead Teenagers. Both "Teen Angel" and "Strange Things Happen in This World" appear on the Pratie Place list, but there are several more to add to the set. Let's let "Monster Mash" stand on its own as a Halloween-Halloween song and start a separate DT (dead teenagers) list(and perfect for Halloween):

1. "Last Kiss" by J Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers (1964). Yes, I know Pearl Jam did a cover a few years ago. Pretty standard car-crash-girlfriend-dies-in-arms song.

2. "Tell Laura I Love Her" by Ray Peterson (1960). Have you noticed that all the dead girls in these songs are named Laura or Laurie ("Strange Things Happen in This World" is also known as "Laurie.") Car crash, wedding rings - you've probably got the picture by now.

3. "Leader of the Pack" by the Shangri-Las (1964). At last, a victim NOT named Laura/Laurie! Who doesn't love this song? "My folks were always putting him down (down, down)" and the famous "Look out! Look out! Look out!" And also, these chicks could tease hair - I mean they were tough. High hair, lots of eye-liner. But the guy still ends up dead.

4. "Endless Sleep" by Jody Reynolds (1958). Movin' away from car/motorcyle crashes and on to suicide. "Why did we quarrel? Why did we fight? Why did I leave her alone that night?" I guess so you could write a song kids could dance to on American Bandstand . . .

5. "Patches" by Dickie Lee (and I'm guessing this is the same Dickie Lee that sang the "Strange Things Happen/Laurie" song, so ya' gotta wonder about him) 1962. Girl from wrong side of tracks loves boy from right side of tracks. Another suicide song.

6. "Ebony Eyes" by the Everly Brothers (1961). Here's a twist - a plane crash!

7. "I Want My Baby Back" by Jimmy Cross (1965). By late 1965 ol' Jimmie had had just about enough of morbid dead-Laurie songs, so he came out with this hilarious dittie about a car crash (with the Leader of the Pack, no less) and a girlfriend in parts. "And over there was my baby. And over there was my baby. And waaaaay over there was my baby."

There are more, believe it or not. Why on earth there were so many DT songs in the 1950s and 60s is a study for sociologists, I guess. Obviously, somebody was trying to warn us about something. The dangers of automobiles? Young Love? Wearing letter jackets? Exchanging high school rings? Being named Laurie? I smell a thesis . . .

Find out more about DT songs here and here.

Great Halloween Songs

OK - I'm back on my home turf. That wonderful smell of dry leaves is in the air, even though it is unseasonably warm here in Atlanta.

Ready for a new addition to my haunted-holiday listings (see Halloween movie list here)? Here's the definitive list of all-time great Halloween songs. Ready?

1. "Monster Mash" by Bobby "Boris" Pickett, 1962.
2. Um. (pause) Er. (pause) Hmm. (scratch head) See #1.

So there aren't a lot of famous Halloween songs, I reckon. Why's that, do you wonder? Fabulous holiday. Costumes. Candy. Shoot, I could write a song or two, I bet. Let me get right on that.

Still, ya' gotta love Bobby Pickett, who's been living off the Monster Mash golden goose for 43 years now. You just knew he'd have a website, eh?

All together now. . .

. . . Out from his coffin, Drac's voice did ring
Seems he was troubled by just one thing
He opened the lid and shook his fist
And said, "Whatever happened to my Transylvania twist?"

It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash
The monster mash
And it's a graveyard smash
It's now the mash
It's caught on in a flash
It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash

Mind your own bidness

Whenever I'm on a business trip, I start thinking more about, well, business (or as we say in the South, "bidness"). One of my favorite pastimes is to sit back and watch others at work - however you want to take that - and I find there's always something to be learned, either "how to" or "how not to." Things I learned on this trip: "How to Bore People Senseless in Less than 5 Minutes," "How to Weasel the Best Spot for a Laptop Internet Connection in a Meeting Room," and "How to Graciously Correct Someone in Front of a Roomful of People."

Ah, but I've mined a few more choice nuggets on a variety of business topics from various news sources that I'll store away for future use/non-use:

Network, network, network. Don't you get sick of hearing about it? But we all have first-hand experience with "it's not what you know but who you know." Here are a few networking tips from the Wall Street Journal, intended mainly for introverts but offering some good hints for those of us at the other end of the personality spectrum.

I was passing a Music/CD store last night in Georgetown and wondered to myself, "How long are "record" stores gonna be in business?" with MP3/iPod/CD burners everywhere. Here's an interesting idea from Scotti's Record Shops in Northern New Jersey: buy it, burn it, return it. It works like this: you buy a new or used CD, go home, burn it to your computer. If you return the CD within 10 days, you get at 70% store credit. We'll see how that works out for old Scotti's.

Lord, are we Baby Boomers ever gonna stop being more than a tool for corporate marketing ploys? They pegged us in the early 1950s and have not let us go! There are pros and cons to that, of course, but it's usually 20-30-somethings coming up with the marketing ideas and they get it SOOOO wrong, so often. Anyway, seems corporations are figuring Gen X is a bust because there just ain't that many of 'em, and Gen Y - which is almost as big as the BB Gen (makes sense, since Gen Y kids are the chirrins of the BB) - hasn't reached its full buying-power potential . Sooooo. Back to us. Read about how much marketers love us here.

Oh, and while I'm at it. Can we drop the "Boomer" label? I just hate it. How about B-Squared? B To the Second Power? Or just B's? Or Gen-Really-Cool-&-Fun? ;-)

Seems video-gaming is good for something, especially as we age. Studies have found that people over 60 who play video games increase their reaction time, hone reflexes, and improve vision. Oh, and gaming helps with arthritis, too. Read about it here.

Enough bidness fo' now. I gotta plane to catch. In the meantime, mind your own.

Helllllllllllllp me!

Ever get that feeling that you're actually an insignificant little fly trapped in a big ol' web? Welcome to my day. I'm sure I'm fulfilling a greater purpose, it's just not clear to me right now. Sigh.

Road-work does boost reading time, however (when not trapped in meetings). I'm tearing through The March, much as dear Mr. Sherman did 140 years ago. It only took me a couple of days to segue from Robert Graves to E.L. Doctorow. I'm feeling all warm and toasty with the Civil War already (though the amputated limbs are piling up).

Gotta climb back into the web (and not the fun kind). Mo' later.

Hitting my daily miniumum mileage, or On the road again

Dateline: Washington, DC. With a day of intense round-robin marketing meetings ahead, I made sure I got a full 8 hours' beauty-and-the-brain sleep last night. The good news: much better bed in this hotel than the last. Feather pillows! Down comforter! Softer, non-holey sheets. The bad news: I'm underground. No window. Still, it's a beautiful room, and I've yet to see the Phantom of the Latham or the Hunchback of Georgetown, so I'm OK. The bed's the main thing, as you well know.

Being on the road, however, is no excuse to go stupid. Over eggs and croissant at breakfast, I scanned the New York Times Science Section and found a coupla nuggets.

Looking for "depression" or "anxiety" to glow red on a brain scan? Alas, imaging technology has fallen short of original expectations to target mental problems, other than the physical presence of a tumor. Hope springs eternal, though. Read about it here.

And breath analysis is good for more than reining in drunk drivers. Modern chemistry has tapped into the ancient art of pinpointing or predicting internal medical problems by honing in on the chemical signature of breath. Rotten-apple breath signals diabetes, by the way. More here.

OK, but probably the biggest news for all you coffee drinkers out there - drinking coffee canNOT stunt a child's growth. "Damn!" I hear you saying. "Why I coulda been swilling this stuff for years had I known that!" And here's the proof.

That's your weekly science lesson. More from our nation's capital later . . .

The fine art of finishing one book and starting another

I'm talking about reading, not writing. (I'm sure that's a fine art, too.)

Often, I have more than one book going at a time, but for some reason I got caught in Robert Graves' Goodbye to All That all by its lonesome. Because of my interest in the First World War - generally, and in relation to the book I'm writing - I took my time with this famous account of life in the trenches. I mentioned on my other blog that I'd probably following the Graves book with a re-reading of Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth. But I've decided instead to move off my WWI jag and move to another war, E.L. Doctorow's The March (about Sherman's hell-fire march through the South to end the American Civil War).

I find that if I've taken my time with a book - as I have with Goodbye - the rhythm and language and points of view become a sort of habit. Once the book's finished and I move on to another, it takes a little time to break out of writer #1's style and pick up with that of writer #2. So I've gone from an early 20th century British poet to a late 20th/early 21st century American novelist with obvious style differences.

Doctorow is so readable that the transition probably won't take as long as it would have if I'd read the books the other way around; still, there is a very real period of adjustment. I'm putting this down to the style of the writers (the author of I, Claudius vs. the author of Ragtime), but I think it's also the shift from the mud and blood of the Great War trenches in land and circumstances far removed from my daily life to the crazy (like a fox) flame-racing destruction of a huge swath of very familiar country - Georgia.

That said, when I'm reading "lite" - quicky mysteries or pot-boilers or chick-lit (and no offense meant to the writers of these genres) - I don't have the transition-trauma. Lately, however, I've tended to follow one meaty read with another, so the move from one to another is more pointed to me. It's not a difficult thing - just interesting to note.

I'm on my way to Washington for the next couple of days. I'll be staying at a different hotel - one with sheets that aren't made out of Brillo pads and pillows that don't consist of basketballs stuffed in pillowcases - I hope! More later from the road . . .

Brain power, naughty Samantha, and coming in from the cold

I think news of studies that show workers' IQ levels rise and fall throughout the day comes as no surprise to any of us. I know my IQ spikes and plummets by the minute. CNN and CareerBuilder offer six ways to keep sharp during a harried work day, including: stop checking email/phonemail messages continually; get plenty of sleep (at night, I assume they mean - not at your desk); eat your brain food; get some exercise; keep your brain nimble with puzzles or a new hobby; and last - but so often - sadly - least, "think positive, loving thoughts."

Uh-oh. First DisneyWorld, now Samantha, Molly, and Felicity. Conservative activists are calling for a boycott of the very popular American Girl dolls because of the company's "I Can" wristband campaign that supports Girls, Inc. - an organization founded in 1864. The mission of Girls, Inc. is "inspiring girls to be strong, smart, and bold," and this includes a woman's right to make decisions for and about herself. Conservatives see this as these wonderful (but pricey) dolls supporting rampant abortion and lesbianism. Oh, dear. I know American Girl is quaking in their little high-button shoes since crowds still pour into the conservative-boycotted Disney theme parks.

Got a headache? Stick a pin in. A new study shows that acupuncture is more effective for headaches than pills. That's kinda cool. I've never had acupunture, but I can see where it might be a successful treatment for some ailments.

Now, James Bond has nothing on you. Britain's super-duper uber-hush-hush Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) has hit the Web, according the New York Times. It seems the point of the thing is to recruit a broader range of agents and operatives. Oooh. My next career . . .

And now, off to give a little polish to the furniture before taking my young friend Joanna to Wallace and Gromit. Grab your Saturday clothes and get crackin'!

Can you see the weekend on the horizon?

That's your grail!

As for the office: Runaway! Runaway!

Frustrating Friday

Back off, people! The next person who gives me something else to do gets iced!

Good haircut day

This is how I look now. Except older. And a little heavier. And my hair's a bit shorter than this. And my face isn't as interesting. But other than that - just like this. Great haircut from Will at Vis-a-Vis. Now - in search of the perfect pair of jeans. Just whistle, honey.

Women still face a big taboo in the workplace. No tears. New York Times explains why women have to stifle the urge to cry when angry or frustrated at work. It's just not done if you want respect. Bottom line - you can wear that bright pink suit, just don't let it bring tears to the eyes of yo' sista' workers.

And speaking of women who bring tears to your eyes . . . how about "Nancy and Tonya: The Opera"? Look for this light-hearted musical about the rivalry between Olympic skaters Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding to premier at Boston's Tufts University next spring. Break out those metal pipes and sequins, girls!

It seems even Harold Pinter can find himself gob-smacked and at a loss for words. According to The Guardian, the playwright's first word upon learning of his Nobel Prize for Literature was "Why?"

All right my little busy-bees, my fabulous hair and I are off for a Friday chock-full of work!

What're the odds . . .

. . . of my getting a bad haircut from a new (to me) salon? Well, we're about to find out. My regular salon stylist is booked all week, so I moved on (for this one time, at least). I'm feeling no small amount of guilt over this, but when you need a cut, you need a cut. Period. So - venturing forth to a trendy new place. Good reviews. We shall see. If it turns out badly, well - I'll fit right into the Halloween scream scene and can wear a Pilgrim hat during November. If not, I shall be singing some cute little hair-cutter's praises later on.

Two things that can make me feel on top o' the world (and are worth paying top $$ for) : a great pair of jeans and a terrific haircut. Fingers crossed, here I go.

Some things are just more important than Pinter winning the Nobel (though big props to him for doing so).

The music of a city

"When a train pulls into a great city I am reminded of the closing moments of an overture."

- Graham Greene, Travels with My Aunt

I love this Greene quote because I always have some sort of soundtrack running in my head, and it lets me know that I'm not the only person who does. And I mean having a soundtrack without a device stuck in my ears.

I don't get the opportunity to ride real trains very much - other than Atlanta's public transport trains, I mean. The only times I am a big-girl-train passenger is when I'm in the New York/New Jersey area on business, using commuter trains to get to and from the city and whenever I'm in England. My New York soundtrack is always Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. Always. Whether pulling into Penn Station or walking through Chelsea or down Broadway - Rhapsody in Blue. The Gershwin piece, like NYC, is varied, has many tempos and rhythms.

London, though, doesn't have just one song; it depends on whether I'm walking along the South Bank or through Bloomsbury - the songs change. That said, London's Waterloo Station (which is where I enter the city, having traveled from my base in Walton-on-Thames) always brings two melodies to mind. Approaching the city coming through Vauxhall, it's Handel's Water Music. High-rises block the view of the river almost completely now on this approach, which is a shame. But every so often you get a little peek at the Thames. Once the train is in the cavernous station, I hear - you won't believe this - Annie's Song. But there's a story behind that.

Annie's Song Station, May 2005

In 1978 (after my time at Oxford), I took a summer course on the British system of Broadcasting. Long story. Anyway, I traveled daily between Walton and London, and one particular day I was running a little late and hit the rush-hour business traffic. Waterloo was packed and crazy, as usual. Leaving the main station for the train platform with hundreds of others pushing to reach their trains, a sound rose above the din and I will never forget it.

Rising above the noise, a lone British Rail porter started whistling John Denver's Annie's Song. This little guy had a real gift, too, I might say. A beautiful whistle. The tune bounced around that huge space (terrific acoustics for a champion whistler), and like magic the crowd got quieter and slowed down a little. I stopped in my tracks - it was just beautiful. And this porter - busy loading boxes onto a big trolley - had no idea that he had an entire big-city rush-hour crowd in his thrall. Or maybe he did. What a sound. I'll never forget it. It's my Waterloo Station melody, always.

Favorite Halloween read-aloud book

Hands down, The Ghost-Eye Tree by Bill Martin, Jr. and John Archambault. It's about a little boy and his big sister who are asked by their mother to run an errand one dark autumn night, and they have to pass the dreaded "ghost-eye tree" twice during the journey. Overcoming fear, sibling relationships, completing a task whatever the circumstances are all a part of the story. We've had the book for years - bought it at a school book fair when Kate was in the 2nd or 3rd grade - and it's a real favorite.

Oooo. . .
how dark it was . . .
how dread it was . . .
walking the road
to the end of the town . . .
for the halfway tree . . .
the Ghost-Eye tree . . .
was feared by all . . .
the great and small
who walked the road
to the end of town . . .

The beauty of the book lies in the cadence of the narrative - often rhyming, but just as often not. You just have to read it out loud to appreciate it (much like Margaret Wise Brown's brilliant Goodnight, Moon - which never fails to pull a yawn out of me in anticipation of bedtime). I love the rhythm of the words in Ghost-Eye Tree.

Some folks object to the way the big sister treats the little brother - calling his hat "stupid" and such. This never bothers me for two reasons. First, well - it's a big sister and a little brother, and the language of the relationship seems well within the range of normal to me. And second, I think the big sister is sort of "whistling past the graveyard" when she's teasing her brother about his hat and what a 'fraidy cat he is. It's obvious that she's just as terrified (though sans hat). And when the hat is temporarily lost, big sister risks her life (in a kid-risking-life way) to go back to the tree to get it. So, I don't see the problem.

Oooo...
I dreaded to go...
I dreaded the tree....
Why does Mama always choose me
When the night is so darkAnd the mind runs free?

You can read it anytime of the year, of course, but it's absolutely perfect for Halloween. Just remember - you have to read it out loud!

A place to write

I have not yet found it. The perfect place to write. I write at work, on planes and trains, a restaurants where I can just sit and drink endless cups of tea. Mostly, I write at home, but there are so many distractions. I can find more little, nit-picky things to do around the house when I know I should be writing; then, of course, there are the phone calls, the dog wanting to come in and out, books calling me from the shelves - and didn't I want to try that new creme brulee recipe?

Still, for practical purposes writing at home makes the most sense. I'm currently creating a writing den out of my daughter's old bedroom, but it's a slow process. Lack of time, money - those kinds of things. I've already been teased about having to create a solitary space in my little two-bedroom/one-bath brick ranch in the heart of Atlanta. I live alone, after all - the whole house is solitary space! It is hard to explain to people why that is not so.

There was an article in the New York Times the other day about a place in New York that rents out cubicles to writers - chair, work space, power strip - giving people like me a place "to go to" to knuckle down and write. It's called Paragraph, and other such writing cubby-spaces are opening up soon on both coasts. See what you think - I don't know if I could write in that environment. I think people who lean toward a daily newspaper-type of surroundings, with keyboards tapping madly, shuffling, coughing, eating chips, whatever - will be comfortable there, but it just might be more distracting to me. On the other hand it might provide incentive, a keeping-up-with-the-Hemingways sort of prod to get something (and lots of something) down on paper (or screen, as the case probably is).

Most days I do write in my own workplace environment during lunch. I pop on my headsets with the white-noise of rain or ocean to drown out the noise around me, and I can be fairly productive in a short amount of time. Imagine if I could just keep going after an hour or two? So maybe a rented writing cubicle could work for me.

At any rate, I'm still looking for the best place to write - a "writing womb," though I suspect it's like finding the perfect place to do anything - impossible. I'll let you know how my own personal writing cubby works, once I get it all tricked out. Until then, I'll keep writing wherever I happen to land on any particular day.

Yarn-spinners and Potter-heads

Some people can just tell a good story. The minute they open their mouths anyone within earshot will attend to whatever it is that's pouring out of them. You can ask any two hundred folks on the street to read the exact same story or joke, and maybe - maybe - one or two has the gift of breathing life into the words. Well, every October those one or two people and their ilk, plus thousands who have the gift of listening (no small gift, that), gather for the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee. Over the course of three days, well over 10,000 people are completely captivated by the spoken word from storytellers who have had their tongues and hearts touched with pure gold. Read about what happened at this year's festival here. "Go home and tell stories to people you love," ends Kathryn Windham. Amen.

From Jonesborough, head north to Salem, Massachusetts, where muggles indulge their Potter-power-envy at a 4-day symposium called "Witching Hour." Kind of a Harry Potter University, real-world scholars lead seminars and discussions on a range of Potter-centric topics ranging from economics to theology, creative writing to sociology. "Witching Hour" is not sanctioned by JK Rowling or Warner Bros. (movie rights' holder), but I'm sure both will richly reap rewards of the symposium in the end. Now where did I put my Marauder's Map?

Go forth and tell good stories . . .

The Booker for Banville and all the tea in China

This year's Man Booker Prize was won by Irishman John Banville for his novel The Sea, according to The Times of London. He beat out finalists Julian Barnes (odds-on favorite for his Arthur & George), Sebastian Barry (A Long Long Way), Zadie Smith (On Beauty), Ali Smith (The Accidental) and Kazuo Ishiguro (Never Let Me Go). If you're curious about the winner and finalists, try the links here.

And what goes better with a good Booker book than a nice cup of tea? The New York Times reports that China's tea exports are threatening the economies of smaller (and what isn't smaller than China, for Heaven's sake?), poorer countries like Sri Lanka and Kenya. Seems they want to hop back on that big tea trolley and become the driving force in pushing dried green leaves again. This, even though the younger generation in China prefers Coke and Sprite to tea. Go fig'ya . . .

Good news/bad news for Wallace and Gromit

Awwww. Some clay-personas just can't catch a break. First, the new Wallace and Gromit movie hits #1 in the US over the weekend. Yippee! Then their studio burns down, destroying an historical treasure trove of W&G sets, props, etc. Well, damn! If it ain't pissants, it's bed-bugs, as my daddy used to say.

Didn't get to the film this past weekend - but I have a film-a-palooza planned for next Saturday, hitting both W&G and Corpse Bride. Gotta show the clay-maters some love.

Breathing between the lines

So I'm having this dream last night where I was trapped between the lines of my writing. (Imagine my writing as a big Monty Python foot.) I was literally squeezed into the middle of the sentences. I kept saying to myself, "OK, just move on to another section and you'll be able to breathe." But the more I moved the harder it was to catch a breath. When I woke up I was lying on my back, which was a big part of the breathing problem, I'm sure, since I never sleep on my back. But I still found the dream (which needs no interpretation - it's pretty damn obvious what was going on there) really disconcerting. The funny thing is that I spent Saturday afternoon writing, and I feel good about what I churned out, so the dream just came at a funny time in the process. Hmmm.

A little Monday morning reminder that the folks caught in the Katrina/Rita disasters will need our help for a long, long time. Grace and crew at Hurricane Katrina Direct Relief! are still matching grassroots (if there's any grass left), on-the-ground needs with willing souls in the great WWW. There are so many ways to help. These women have done an amazing job of linking real goods and services with real folks in need (nothing stored in warehouses or traveling around and around the country in a truck).

Happy Monday morning!

North Carolina weekend redux

From last weekend's trip to Kanuga/Flat Rock, North Carolina

Until tomorrow, my little end-o'-weekenders!

A Saturday for doing everything

Some weekends are meant for vegging out, doing absolutely nothing - sleep, read, sleep, read, trash TV, read, sleep, trash TV - those infamous "lost weekends." Others, however, are filled with energy and the realization that you gotta work fast to get everything done that you mean to get done. And, you guessed it - it's weekend #2 for me. To put it in literary terms (with a big doff of the hat to Mr. Ecclesiastes):

For every "to-do" list there is a weekend,
a weekend for every purpose on the list.
A time to clean out the refrigerator and a time to let things rot in the refrigerator;
a time to wash the bed-sheets and a time to sleep on those sheets one more night;
a time to decorate for Halloween and a time to keep the house holiday-neutral a while longer ...
a time to write brilliant things and a time to just think about writing brilliant things;
a time to quickly finish reading a book and a time to take your time reading a book ...
a time to put the dog outside so you can get some work done and a time to bring the dog back inside after everything is in order;
a time to go grocery shopping and a time to put together an interesting stew with left-overs;
a time to sew hooks back on waistbands and a time to use safety pins a while longer;
a time to break out the Murphy's Oil and a time to give the floors just a lick and a promise;
a time to get your papers organized and a time to keep sticking 'em in that cute wicker basket;
a time for a nice cuppa tea and - well, it's always time for a nice cuppa tea.

Notice there's no "turn, turn, turn" after every phrase. I wonder if Mr. Ecclesiastes did a big "Doh! Why didn't I think of adding that?" when he heard The Byrds' song? Have a marvelous Saturday, whichever parts of the phrases you indulge in today. (Ooops. I notice two Flintstone blog illustrations in a row. I must be going through a regressive cartoony phase or something.)

Weekend! Meet the weekend . . .

Mr. Slate has pulled the tail-feathers of the squawking pterodactyl, signaling the end of another work-week. And it’s been a real T-Rex of one, if you get my polar ice cap drift. So, I’m slidin’ off the brontosaurus, punchin’ out, and headin’ for the drive-in. Pat yo’self on the back for having survived the crunch, and joyfully celebrate with your favorite Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles, and Bam-Bam (and Dino, of course).

Yabba-dabba and a big ol’ doo!

Movies to put you in that Halloweeny mood

What's not to love about Halloween (unless you see satanism and witchcraft hiding behind every school desk)? I'll spread my posts about this fun-filled holiday throughout the month, but suffice it to say that I love to see children (of all ages) don the persona of some alter-ego clown or gypsy or Barney or Freudian Slip during this festive month. 

So I'll start with my favorite Halloween movies, since you'll be wanting to watch them from now through October 31 (because on November 1st we toss out the goblins and haul in the gobblers). But first, my rules about Halloween movies: 

1. The setting: New England, old England/Scotland/Wales/Ireland, Transylvania or any other foggy Eastern European setting, Deep South. Sorry - no midwest/Texas/California junk, usually. (Although I think the setting for The House on Haunted Hill was California - but it seemed New England-dreary, so OK.) 

2. Halloween movies and scary movies aren't the same thing. Halloween movies need to have a fall/winter feel about them. They have to have gloomy weather, creepy houses, fog, dry leaves, and a sense of "costume" about them. As much as I love Hitchcock - he doesn't really make Halloween movies - though he makes great scary movies. Sorry, no "Psycho" or "The Birds" here. 

3. There needs to be a child-like quality about them. I've left off the slasher movies - even Halloween - because they lack innocence (slasher-movie innocence is too contrived). 

OK, here are 11 Halloween goodies (in no particular order): 

1. Hocus Pocus (1993). I don't care if it's Disney and reviewers hated it, it's rapidly becoming one of my favorite Halloween movies. I still find Bette Midler, Kathy Najimy, and Sarah Jessica Parker hilarious. The whole thing is very evocative of a kid's Halloween experience, with a big wink to adult humor. 

2. Sleepy Hollow (1999). Classic Washington Irving story - and who can resist the Johnny Depp-Tim Burton combo, with Christina Ricci thrown in? 

3. Double feature: Frankenstein (1931) and Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Oh, come on. What's not to love about these two? Boris Karloff, Director James Whale, classic black and white 1930's cinematography - plus a ravishing Elsa Lanchester as the Bride - wowser! And for kicks, make it a triple-feature with Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein (1974). "Pardon me, Roy - is that the Transylvania Choo-Choo?" 

4. OK, I know it's technically a television show, not a "film," but I have thrown in It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (1966) - if only as a warning to never give up your opportunity to go trick-or-treating, not even in the hopes of seeing the Great Pumpkin. 

5. Dracula (1931). Poor Bela - he could never escape the whole blood-sucking thing. But the accent is iconic, so maybe he can rest in peace because of that. Another 1930's classic. 

6. The Uninvited (1944). Ray Milland, Ruth Hussey, creepy house on England's Cornish coast. Straaaaaaaaaange things begin to happen - wooooooooooooooooooo! 

7. The Haunting (1963). Forget the Catherine Zeta Jones' one, except for Lili Taylor (who's always marvelous). No - save your horror for the original Robert Wise version with Julie Harris and Claire Bloom. Beautiful black and white - typical Wise-directed cinematography (very West Side Story and The Sound of Music). And wonderfully neurotic Julie Harris. Plus Claire Bloom's mod wardrobe. Yummy! 

8. The House on Haunted Hill (1959). William Castle and Vincent Price. Can you spend the night in the mansion (and still be alive the next morning)? If so - you get $10,000. Ah, but it ain't so easy, my friend. I once showed this at a Halloween slumber party for 4th grade girls - and they loved it! 

9. The Worst Witch (1986). Fairuza Balk before she went really Goth. Also Diana Rigg, Charlotte Rae, and Tim Curry. Really lame special effects (hey - it was early in the green-screen game!), but my daughter watched this so much as a little kid, that we consider it a must-see Halloween flick. 

10. The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993). Tim Burton's stop-motion classic, introducing us to dear Jack Skellington. Brilliant Danny Elfman score. 

11. Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964). Gooooood one. Bette Davis at her faded-Southern-flower best, Olivia De Havilland, Joseph Cotten, Victor Burno, Agnes Moorehead - what a cast! Lots of little shocking "Boo!" moments in this one. Wear your Depends. 

This should get you started and revved up for the holiday of black-and-orange. Make lots of popcorn and cider and settle in for a little cozy creepiness. Wanna add to the list? Feel free - just make sure you play by my "rules" (or submit a cogent justification for breaking them).

Grey Gardens - all singing! all dancing! all squalor!

Grey Gardens: A New Musical (based on the 1975 documentary) is just starting to get off the ground in New York, and it's destination is Broadway. I've been following this with interest over the past few months to see what would come of it. Looks like it's really going to happen.

The documentary, by Albert and David Maysles, is a classic - if you can bear to sit through it. Lots of the stuff is hard to watch. It's a cinema verite look at Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter Edie - "Big Edie" and "Little Edie" - aunt and cousin to Jackie Kennedy, who live in complete squalor in a 28-room mansion in East Hampton/Long Island. It is one, big bizarre world for these two babes.

Last month, one of my favorite blogs - Pratie's Place (see my blog list on left) - had a rather extensive post about the Edies, complete with pics. This should pique your interest in the story, so check it out.

If you just like reading about famous people who live in squalor, you might enjoy Famous Squalorees. Might make you feel better about not making up your bed this morning.

Anyway, the new musical will star Mary Louise Wilson and Christine Ebersole as mama and baby. No news on when it might hit the Great White Way. It's just in the "developmental reading" stage at present. Stay tuned.

Pulling the words out of my head

Boy, it's been tough trying to be creative in my writing lately. I just don't seem to be in the right spot or something. I bet I've made three or four starts on an article (due yesterday) for my parish magazine and the same number of starts on a new story I'm writing. I think I have it, then - whoa! - where'd it go? Just slides right out of my ears and evaporates as it hits the air.

Normally, the writing is a head/heart collaboration, ticking back and forth between the two fairly seamlessly. But my heart ain't pullin' its weight right now, so the brain - already overloaded with big chunks of important data and even more fluffy-linty useless stupid stuff - is puffing along trying to squeeze out at least three meaningful sentences in succession.

The simple act of putting words - any words - to paper often helps break the log-jam, so I'm running off at the blog right now, hoping something pushes through. If that doesn't work, I'll end up writing perfectly acceptable, but sorta sterile, stuff - not in my usual style. Sigh. And I do hate that because then it's out there in print, a tangible reminder from now until eternity that ol' Mary's writing just wasnt' up to snuff in October 2005.

Maybe the rain will help. I'll keep you posted.

Just one more tiny thin little wafer . . .

How hilarious is this? Made my very dreary afternoon -

Python bursts after swallowing gator
The Associated PressPublished on: 10/05/05

MIAMI — A python's eyes were apparently bigger than its stomach.
Scientists in Florida are puzzling over a Burmese python that scarfed down a six-foot alligator before its stomach ruptured. They found the carcasses in an isolated part of Florida's Everglades National Park. Photos show the gator's hind legs and tail sticking out of the 13-foot snake's ruptured gut. The Miami Herald reports scientists can't figure out how the snake got the critter down. The snake's head is also missing. Experts say the clash is interesting, but it also shows the exotic snakes are competing with gators to top the food chain in the Everglades. Park biologist Skip Snow says he's documented 156 python captures in the last two years.

I swear I've almost reached that limit before, y tu? Next time I'm at a family gathering/pig-out, I'll try to conjure up the exploded python before I go just a little too far.

The week of JUST missing the train

My internal clock must be askew this week. For the past three mornings, I get to the MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority) platform just as the train is pulling out. I usually hit the station by 7:40, but for whatever reason, that time has varied by as much as 10 minutes all three days this week. Humph. Just sorta throws off the whole day, ya' know? Obviously not my week to play the lottery.

The upside was a hint - just a hint - of fall in the air as I walked from the station to the office. It has been hot and humid, but with no rain, of late here in aptly-named Hot-lanta. I hope fall just sweeps through and blows all the yuck away. I'm ready for cold weather.

"I know my place"

I mentioned the passing of the great Ronnie Barker in my last post, realizing that most American haven't a clue as to who he is. I spent a lot of time in England during the 70's - time at Oxford, plus some work time and some play time - so got very familiar with the funnies of the day. By the time I lived over there, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett were going strong with their TV show "The Two Ronnies," but they'd started out on the 60's program "The Frost Report" (yep, David Frost).

One of the most famous (British) comedy sketches ever was "I Know My Place," with John Cleese, Ronnie Barker, and Ronnie Corbett on the Frost show. Here's the scoop on it:

"Of all the send-up's that appeared on The Frost Report, the best remembered, and often held as representative of the shows style was the Marty Feldman/John Law penned sketch about class. This involved 6ft 5inch Cleese standing next to 5ft 8inch Barker who in turn stood next to 5ft 1inch Corbett, and using each man's height to illustrate their standing in society. Middle-Class Barker explains: 'I look up to him (Cleese) because he is upper class but I look down on him (Corbett) because he is lower class.' Corbett: 'I know my place.' The sketch lasted no more than a few minutes but remained in the memory for so long that some thirty or more years later Ronnie Barker came out of retirement to make an updated version for a TV special with Ronnie Corbett (John Cleese was unavailable so Stephen Fry stood in for him)."

I have the sketch on an LP (you know - those 12" vinyl things we used to play on a machine called a "record player"), but I've never seen the video. From the picture above, though, John Cleese looks to be about 12.

Sparkly stuff for a Tuesday morning

I've been doing math all morning, so the day isn't very sparkly for me. But here are some things that give me hope and/or fond memories (and no math involved):

• Got a few frequent-flyer miles (or a BritRail pass) and some comp time comin' to ya'? Here's a fantasy book-lover's getaway for you: Cheltenham Literature Festival Friday, October 7 through Sunday, October 16.
• The Odd Couple with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick starts its previews tonight (official opening is October 27). Well. Wish I could be there - saw them in The Producers. Catch 'em if ya' can.
• A compilation of all ten years' worth of the great Calvin and Hobbes comic strip is ready for your enjoyment.
• And one sad-sparkly thing. British comedican Ronnie Barker has died, according the The Guardian. Barker with Ronnie Corbett were just hilarious as the Two Ronnies. Saw them at the Palladium in 1977 - so memorable! Wish BBC America would shelve Benny Hill for a while and air the Two Ronnies for a while.

OK - that's all I have time for right now. Enjoy the Dame Edna mod-photo, while I get back to these math problem things. Looking forward to a little gin-and-tonic when I get home tonight - something to work toward . . .

Run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality

Happy Anniversary, you howling beat maniacs! October 7th marks the 50th anniversary of the reading of Allen Ginsberg's landmark poem "Howl" at Six Gallery in San Francisco. The date will be suitably commemorated in San Fran (natch) and - wait for it - Leeds UK. The Guardian clues us in. In the immortal words of Jack Kerouac: "Go, go, go!"

I tell ya' - some days are just "Howl" days. (Just as some are "23rd Psalms" days or "Jabberwocky" days or "Hey-Diddle-Diddle" days.)

Watch out for those Absolute Reality drunken taxicabs today.

Of red chili peppers and ruby slippers and Lucky You

It's amazing how festive you can make a place look with a few strings of red lights. Yes, cabin 15 was simply aglow with scarlet lights, a plethora of candles, autumnal object d'arts, and the best munchies within a 10-mile radius. As mentioned in my Friday post before hi-tailin' it up to North Carolina, one group of gay parishioners tricks out its 1909 cabin to transform it into Party-Central for the weekend.

Friday night was (and usually is) low-key, but Saturday - well, that's another story. Crank up ABBA, break out the good cheese, and hold on for whatever revelations might come your way. It's always a mix of comedy and tragedy, and this year was no different. And no, I'm not going into any details, except that one of the high-points involved a respectable mother of two, several glasses of wine, and a pair of Lucky You jeans. But you have to keep it in the context that this was a church retreat, lest you picture some sort of drunken orgy. I mean, we do have our "blue" moments, but nothing God's not getting a big chuckle out of.

Yet in the middle of this hilarity was the most moving moment of the weekend. A good friend who's HIV-positive (but doesn't have AIDS) has had a lot of health problems recently. Plus, he lost his job a month ago. A couple of weeks ago, he was so violently ill that he had to drive himself to the emergency room, go through all that rigamarole, then get to the pharmacy, then drive himself home again - all by himself. But on Saturday night, he sat among many of us who love and care about him! Why should he do have to go through his emergencies alone, for goodness' sake? I told him to draw up a list of 6-8 of us - people he knew he could count on - and we'd form his emergency support team, so that he'd never have to drive his own bad self to the doctor or hospital again.

I just hate it that people (including myself) hate to call on others in time of need. We're so damned independent, shunning any sort of thing that we feel might inconvenience friends or loved ones - when those very friends and loved ones would never feel inconvenienced, just glad to lend a hand. Yes, there are folks who take advantage of other folks, but mostly that's not the case. So here's my advice (that I need to take, as well) - draw up a list of people who can act as your support team before something happens. Offer to be on their support team, as well.

Geez, there is no reason to go through tough times alone. Bring some real meaning to those chili peppers and ruby slippers, Lucky You!

Quick impressions

Lake Kanuga and Pavilion

I'm back from the hills of North Carolina. Brief thoughts about the weekend -

• The smell. It's the smell of the place that first strikes me about Kanuga (near Flat Rock/Hendersonville, NC). Pine. Dried leaves. Old wood. Muddy loam. Spruce. Bark. Something else carried on the wind, that I just can't quite put my finger on. What?
• The sound. The cabin's screen door slamming - a gentle, comforting sound, rather than something startling. The sound of the mountain breeze in the trees - sort of a "shhhhhh-shhhhh" in different tones. Children's voices. Mamas' voices. Sudden shouts, laughter. With the "shhhhhh-shhhhh" weaving in and out.
• Comfort. Cool, clean air. Mealtime conversations. Reassuring a scared sick friend that he is not alone. Finding out that someone I've just met grew up in Chattanooga, too, which launches us into a "where did you . . .?", "did you know?" conversation.

I'm tired and tomorrow's gonna be a bear. So I'm off to bed. (The fresh-picked apples are sheer perfection, by the way!)