Dark Corners & Creepy Dolls

We have officially entered the month of All Hallow's Eve. So, naturally, I'm thinking about scary things. Okay, not really scary things. Not like that doll from Annabelle. Seriously, come on folks. Maybe, if you absolutely must buy dolls, give yourself a fighting chance and at least stop buying the ones that already look demonic. Even if it turns out that they don't want to kill you (unlikely), there's no way that any child looking at one of those things from their crib everyday isn't going to grow up a bit traumatized. I'm feeling a little traumatized just thinking about it. 

No, no, no. I said I'm not thinking about scary dolls. NOT. Just like I'm not thinking spider. Evil, creepy, crawly harbingers of doom who want to crawl all over me whilst I slumber, nesting in my hair and - No! Stop it, brain! We are thinking about non-scary scary things. NON-SCARY SCARY. I have to sleep again someday, you jerk. 

You know, like the little sis. 

When we were kids, my sister loved little more than lying in wait and then jumping out and scaring the crap out of me. She appeared from behind doors, down dark hallways, once from a kitchen cabinet that I had foolishly believed to be filled only with pots and pans. 

There were always two things I could be sure of:

1. If there was a chance for my sister to make scream, she would take it. 

2. Before that scream had even finished, she would be insisting that I promise that I was never going to try to get her back. 

And I always did make that promise, partly because I just wanted her to stop saying it so I could focus on pushing my heart down out of my throat and partly because I knew in my heart of hearts that I had already scared her enough for a lifetime - HOWEVER INADVERTENTLY - and that I had to be a kind older sister. So, that's what I was. 

Mostly. 

You see, my parents got us My Twin dolls for Christmas one year. We loved them, but over the years my sister grew to be a bit creeped out by this toy with her face. She used to put it away in the closet on a regular basis. I can neither confirm nor deny if I was the reason this had to be done more than once. Nor will I admit to placing it on her bed, with the head tilted toward the door so the little sister doll would be staring at my little sister human when she came in. No, sir. I won't admit to anything of the sort. 

Look at that - I ended up thinking of scary dolls after all. And yet I'm smiling. 

Possibly in a maniacal fashion. But who can really say?

Shoring Up the Plot Holes

I do this thing where my mind fills in holes in the stories I’m reading or watching. Not big gaping plot holes that have you wondering if anyone gave the work a second glance before moving forward. The smaller things that most stories have. Little moments that aren’t fully explained because the explanation is not necessary to the plot moving forward.

My mind creates the story that takes place during those moments. It’s not something that I think consciously about. It’s more of a, Well, of course that’s what happened.

At least for me.

My sister and I have watched many a TV show together. And as I tend to watch the show first and then get her into it, more than once she has asked me clarifying questions about specific plot lines. And I always have an answer.

Just sometimes it’s not one that was actually discussed at any point in the show.

After dealing with enough blank looks to her follow up question of “When did they say that?” my sister finally realized that the answers I was giving her were not always actually in the storyline.

Which prompted many a question about why I can’t just say “I don’t know,” when she asks me something. And while there is, of course, my pathological need to always have an answer for the little sis, in this case it’s not even a matter of wanting to have a good response to her questions. I don’t think about it. Someone asks a question about a story and if the answer isn’t immediately evident in what has been presented, my mind spews out the most likely scenario it can come up with based on the characters at hand.

It took a number of episodes and thrown couch pillows, but the sister eventually got that I wasn’t doing this just to drive her bananas. It was simply the way I watched stories.

Now after I answer one of her questions there is only one follow up, “Is that a show answer or a Kelly answer?”

Do any of you ever find your mind filling plot holes without you noticing?

Tonight’s Christmas Viewing:

• “Gus’s Dad May Have Killed An Old Guy” (Psych)
• “Christmas Party” (The Office)

Theme Songs

I’ve always loved theme songs.

When I was a kid and I’d hear the theme to a favorite TV show come on, I’d be beside myself with excitement. The first few notes was all it took and I’d go running to wherever the tune was coming from.

Once, when I was probably about four, my sister and I were hanging out with my dad. Out in the living room, I heard the theme for Sesame Street. Thrilled, I ditched my dad and went running. The little sis was right by my side.

Which turned out to be mildly problematic. For her.

See, the hallway wasn’t quite wide enough for the two of us to barrel down it at the same time. And in my excitement to get to the television, I may or may not have ALLEGEDLY tripped my sister, causing her to fall, hit her face into the molding, and bite through the skin under her bottom lip. If I was responsible for this (I can neither confirm nor deny) it was a total accident. I certainly would never have done anything to jeopardize an interruption free viewing of Sesame Street….or have intentionally caused my sister any harm, of course. As it was, we ended up meeting my mother at the hospital where my sister got stitches. I didn’t get to watch any of the show. But I did get to color. So, win some, lose some.

The point is, theme songs have power. Okay, not really in the sense that they can make someone bodycheck her sister into a wall – that’s on me. But, it can set the tone for a show. And when done really well, can serve as a kind of musical embodiment of the main character/characters.

Here are five shows that sport some of my favorite theme songs:

The Brady Bunch

Maybe it’s just because of the countless episodes of this show I’ve watched with my mother, but how can you not sing along with this? Honestly, I’d like to see every show put out a song that so clearly defines its premise. I would pay good money to get one for Lost.  

The Big Bang Theory

Both nerdy and fun, just like the show. And who doesn’t like shouting out “We built the pyramids!”?

Daria

I’d be sarcastic and anti-social too if someone was standing on my neck. Just saying.

The X-Files 

The Roomie can’t even listen to this one. She starts yelling, covering her ears and running out of the room. It’s actually kind of fun. I love that it seems fitting for a horror movie, but also has an otherworldly quality.

Angel

This theme speaks a lot to the character of Angel. It’s got a heavy, sort of gothic feel to it, which clues the listener in to the rather maudlin aspects of the character’s life. But it’s the last couple of notes that really makes this one a favorite for me. After all that heaviness, there is a short hopeful trill. It works so perfectly for a character who’s tortured, but still hasn’t quite given up on the glimmer of hope that he can be redeemed.

How about everyone else? Do you have any favorite theme songs?

Time Traveling Tunes

I'm here to tell you, time travel is not only possible, but I take part in it fairly regularly.

My time machine of choice - music.

I know, I know. It seems mundane, but do you have any idea how much a DeLorean costs? Plus, with everyone having cellphones, there are fewer and fewer phone booths for me to utilize during my excellent adventures. And I'm on the wrong side of the pond to access the Tardis. All in all, given financial and geographic limitations, music is currently my best option.

The songs that really move me quickly through time are the one that are also attached to favorite movies of my childhood. They bring up all sorts of memories of who I watched them with, where I was at the time, what was going on in my life outside the viewing. It can be a fun side trip to make during the day and when I return, it's generally only about three to four minutes from when I left.

Here are a couple of my favored vehicles for time jumps:

 Side note on this one, I've heard rumors that Roomie likes to belt

this one out whenever she goes to her parents' and sees that 

they've changed anything. 

Much to my sister's chagrin, I used to pretend she was Averman 

when we sang along to this scene, just so I could give her 

noogies. Pay attention around 1:28 to see what I mean. 

 My friends and I haven't had too many "Which of the Sex in the 

City quartet are you?" conversations. But we've had plenty of

such talks involving these girls. I'm totally Samantha, by

the way. Who doesn't want to write a book called

The Aliens Next Door? 

Each one of these songs is so indelibly tied to my memories of childhood that all I need to hear are the first few notes and nostalgia rises up in the ol' chest cavity.

What tunes get your wistful reminiscences going?

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

From pretty much the moment we can formulate an answer, we are asked this question. For some people, this answer never changes – they know what they want to be from day one. And it is impressive. For the rest of us, the answer can be fairly fluid. This week I’m taking a look back at some of my earlier aspirations.

Thanks to all the school work my parents have held on to over the years, I know one thing for sure:

I had a lot of plans when I was a kid.

When I was in pre-school, the teacher handed out a sheet of paper with this timeless question written across the top and we were supposed to draw our answer.

I drew a clown.

I honestly can’t tell you what was going through my head when I made that decision. My best guess is that it had something to do with liking to make people laugh. I was also a bit of ham back then, so I wouldn’t be surprised if when asked this question my thought process was, Hmmm. What would get me the most attention? Ah, yes, the art of clowning. It was either that or, Hehe. Silly clowns. Either way, the irrefutable logic swayed me.

I believe this choice also points to a subtle desire to scare the crap out of people. ‘Cause let’s face it, clowns are a wee bit creepy. (And by “wee bit,” I mean “extremely.” It’s the whole facial cues issue.) I used to love to hide behind things and jump out at people. Thankfully, I eventually kicked that twisted little habit (for the most part. I still get the urge sometimes when I’m around my sister. But I figure, that’s only natural), which is probably why my interest in clowning waned.

This was not a dream with any longevity to it, but it did foreshadow my current approach to writing. If at the end of the day, I’ve put something on the page that can both give the reader a chuckle and the creeps, I feel successful.

By the way, my dream of being a clown totally came true, if a little earlier than I expected. At the age of eleven, I gave the performance of my life as the clown at my sister’s eighth birthday party. I am proud to say that I was both amusing and horrifying (with a slight emphasis on the latter).

So, check that dream off the list.

I'd even settle for the Eenie Meenie Miney Moe method...

Do you know the song “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind,” by The Lovin’ Spoonful? It starts off with:

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Pick up on one, and leave the other behind

It’s not often easy, and not often kind

Did you every have to make up your mind?

I can remember this because I used to sing it to my sister. You see, it got on her nerves and being a kid, this, of course, made it hysterical to me. But, the song came to mind today when I was reading a post on problematic protagonists. The list provided here was excellent, but I would add one more to the catalog: “Unable to Make a Decision.”

Have you ever read a book and felt like things just keep happening to the main character? It’s not that the protagonist is making them happen. Nope, just along for the ride.

In times of action, this is the person who fights the good fight only when forced to. Strong beliefs are sometimes professed, but rarely do they lead to an actual choice. No, this character waits around until the surrounding circumstances whittle down the options, then participates with an sense of resignation.

When more than one alternative presents itself (employment opportunities, love triangles, gelato flavors, etc.) the protagonist is truly stymied, bouncing back and forth between options, never happy, always tortured by the difficulty of the choice. But the excuse is always that the options are just all so flip-flopping fantastic, never that this individual’s way of deciding is to passive-aggressively force someone else to, so that no responsibility ever need be taken. So our hero just waits around allowing things to work themselves out. I mean, they’re bound to run out of some of that gelato eventually, right? No effort needed.

These characters drive me straight on up the wall. They prompt me to throw books, which then leads to hours upon hours of me apologizing to the book, ‘cause it’s not its fault that these characters are acting like dinkuses.

I want a character who makes a choice. Who sees that something is coming down the road and preemptively says, “I’m not going to wait for that to get here, I’m going to [insert decision here].” Now, I don’t care if I agree with the choice. I could hate it. Maybe I think it’s the dumbest decision anyone has ever made heretofore on this planet. Who cares? The protagonist didn’t wait for an event to just happen to him. He took control of the action and I applaud that, regardless of how dumbass I may think the choice is. Because the character proved that he was not so scared of the fallout of the decision that he would avoid making it.

And that’s a character I can support. One who looks at a situation, takes control of his role in it, and is willing to deal with the consequences.

How about you? Any character types who make you want to run for the hills, screaming like a tiny baby monkey?

And the strange dreams continue...

This one, though, was not nearly as fun as my ghostly employment opportunity.

In the dream, my sister was possessed by a candle. The best way I can figure it out is that the candle acted in the same vein as a horcrux. The longer she was in proximity to the waxy thing, the more evil she became.

I knew that destroying it was the only way to get my sister back, but every time I tried to, she would thwart me. Thinking back on it, she was kind of acting like the little girl from The Bad Seed.

In the dream my sister also had the crazy eyes that this young lady is sporting. 
Plus, those bangs? Straight out of old family photos of the little sis. Except hers were shorter. 
Which is really more terrifying than anything else I’ve discussed here.

But, finally, I was able to get rid of the thing, but by that time, she had done some evil magic on a can of paint. So, the horcrux-ish nature of the candle was now in the paint can. And the paint can was on a wall of paint cans.

I was just getting ready to start the laborious process of figuring out which paint can to destroy (destroying all the paint cans never occurred to me, for some reason), I woke up.

Now, I don’t know why my dreams have been particularly vivid lately. Roomie has accused me of having the weirdest dreams of anyone she's ever known, but I think that's an exaggeration due to the fact that her craziest dreams generally have to do with being late to work or picking out which shoes to wear. Riveting stuff. She did once dream about walking down a street where all the trees were on fire. That was kind of cool. She blamed me for it. Not entirely sure how I caused such a mental wandering, but I'm happy to take credit. (One of the earliest signs of my zombieist tendencies.)

Anyway, back to my recent dreams. They’ve had Harry Potter elements throughout. The only explanation I have for that is that I haven’t read any HP books or watched any of the movies since last summer and maybe my mind is rebelling against that and once I read the books again, the weird dreams will disperse.

Or the candle one could have just been my sister getting back at me for all the times I was a dream jerk to her.

Regardless of the reason, I’m going to steer the sister away from candles and paint for the time being. You know.....just in case.

Life Lessons with the Berenstain Bears

Jan Berenstain of Berenstain Bears fame passed away on Friday. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that fun family of bears was a pretty constant presence in my young life. Between the books and the TV movies, they were teaching me lessons all over the place.

Of all of their books the two that always come to my mind first are The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Junk Food and The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room.

I think Too Much Junk Food sticks out in my mind because I always wanted more candy than I was allowed. I still remember looking at the illustrations and thinking, Man, that candy looks good. Not the message I was supposed to take away, I know.

The Messy Room, however, was one that I related to greatly. Much like the cubs, my sister and I shared a room and were not always the neatest. We too had bunk beds and a big storage closet that you opened at your own risk. We also, like the cubs, needed to learn to work together. Cleaning the room was one of the few things that could consistently make lil' sis and I argue. It wasn’t so much about one of us wanting to get out of the cleaning, but rather than I wanted to be the Grand Room Cleaning Poobah. In such an exalted position, I, naturally, expected my sister to follow all my Poobah commands. We would clean in the manner that I saw fit and that was that. Shockingly, my sister wasn’t a fan of my tyrannical tidying. Who’d have guessed?

It took us awhile, but we finally figured out a way that we could clean together without killing each other. We created a story. It wasn’t our room we were cleaning anymore, but instead the mall (yes, the entire mall) where we worked. And it wasn’t our mess, either. Two boys, named Jimmy and Johnny, had come in after hours and thrashed the place. So, there we were, the much put upon store employees, called in on their days off to deal with this mess. And because it was our job, we would clean – all the while complaining about what colossal jerks Jimmy and Johnny were. In between our railing against them, we’d talk about the other people in the mall and how we couldn’t believe none of them had come in to help us out. We’d discuss what we were going to do when we got off work (you know, like going to a fancy ball or taking the train to Manhattan to eat at Jekyll and Hyde’s or something equally adult-like) and slowly the stuff littering the floor would disappear.

I honestly can’t remember which one of us to credit with this little bit of brilliance, but it worked. The room would get clean and we’d still be friends at the end of it. After that, whenever the room reached threat level midnight, one of us would say, “Can you believe Jimmy and Johnny got in here again?” And, shaking our heads, we’d roll up the sleeves of our Flinstones tees and get down to business.

So, now when I see kids reading the Berenstain Bears stories, it makes me think of those cleaning afternoons with my sister and the magic of conflict resolution through storytelling.

Many thanks to Mrs. Berenstain for all the stories she and her husband brought into our lives. She will be missed.

Why Not Me??

Recently, I saw a preview for The Avengers, so I’ve been rewatching the superhero movies that have already come out in preparation. And reflecting on my unfulfilled desire to fly or shoot ray beams out of my eyes or... something.

When I was probably around eight, I started telling my sister I had X-Ray Vision. We’d be sitting in the back seat, on the way to Grandma’s and I’d lean over and say, “There’s Grandma’s house!” She’d squirm around trying to see it and I’d say regretfully, “Oh, that’s right. I have X-Ray Vision. You don’t. Well, we’ll be there soon.” I had no idea if this was true, no concept of distance. Most of the time, my X-Ray Vision must have come with some sort of magnification quality, because I always said this when we were on the highway, not in the residential area that was actually around her house. Regardless, the effect was the same. For a short period of time, I was able to convince my sister that I had superpowers and if she believed it, then maybe it was true. I so wanted it to be true. And thus began my lifelong yen to become a superhero.

I had my brother tell me all the comic book stories. I watched all the movies. Read a few of the books. Superman, Batman, Spiderman, The Hulk, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, the X-Men, Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, Buffy, the Incredibles, the Phantom, the Green Lantern, the students of Sky High….I loved them all. But each time I walked out of the theater, or turned off the TV, I thought, Why not me?

I’d be a great superhero. I enjoy costuming, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I think I’d opt for a full face covering mask. I’ve tried parting my hair different ways and people always know it’s me. And while a partial mask would be fine with strangers, if I ever had to help out anyone that I knew, I don’t think they’d be fooled just because they couldn’t see the skin around my eyes.

I also wouldn’t wait around until some big personal tragedy struck. As soon I found out I could do super things, I’d be out there doing them. And I think here is the main reason why I have not had epic powers bestowed upon me.

I want it too badly. It would be too much fun for me and, let’s face it, I’d probably tell my family, friends and anyone else who would listen, thus rendering that mask I would so painstakingly construct fairly useless. I don’t have the right sense of gravity for the superhero trade.

My understanding of this, of course, does not lessen the yen. I continue to look for ways to gain superpowers and have no plans of stopping. In the meantime though, I trust that somewhere out there is a reluctant individual with a radioactive arachnid collection or a gamma radiation experiment or an alien baby or just some good, old fashion, multi-million dollar gadgets who is paving the way for me.

Until then, I’ll be content with trying to convince my sister I can move things with my mind.

All the Best Intentions

I was re-reading this awesome post the other day and started thinking about the stories I used to tell my little sister.

I knew from the day she was born that I was being given a big responsibility. I had to be able to answer any question she asked me for the rest of time. That was my duty as the older sister. And I would not shirk it.

In the beginning it was easy. “What’s that?” “The cat.” “What’s that?” “A swing.” “What’s that?” “The cat.”

But as she got older, they got more challenging. One day, while we were sitting in the back of the car on the way home from grandma’s she turned to me and said, “Sometimes when I lay down, I hear this beating. Bum bum bum. Like that. What is it?”

A question I had been dreading. I couldn’t tell her the truth. What I knew, deep in my gut, that sound was. I heard the sound so many times before and each time it struck fear into my very heart.

It was the marching of the evil green guards of the Wicked Witch of the West coming to grab us and lock us in her tower. Under the constant supervision of her evil flying minions we would never see our home or family again.

That’s what that sound was.

But looking down into her trusting, big blue eyes, I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not this time. Being a fast thinker, I began to spin a tail of wonder. I spoke with such confidence that she never dared question the truth of my words.

“We have little people living inside our bodies and they like to throw parties. That sound you’re hearing? That’s the drummer in their band.”

Once I got started, it was hard to stop.

“And when you have something to drink, they slide down your throat like a water slide! And when your stomach makes noise, it’s cause they’re riding the roller coaster that’s down there. Yeah! You have a whole amusement park inside and they’re having so much fun! Here put your ear next to mine so that our people can talk to each other for a little while. You won’t hear them because they’re so small and their voices are tiny.”

We sat there for the ride with our little ears pressed up against each other.

She never asked me the question again. And I felt good about myself. Proud that I managed to shield my baby sister from the horrible truth. Instead I gave her a world of joy and magic and parties.

Satisfied that her innocent mind was saved, I continued to plot strategies to thwart the Witch’s vile plans – sticking my figurine of the Witch in a drawer at night, making sure that when we slept both my sister and I were fully covered in the magically protecting blankets I enchanted myself, etc.

Years later I found out that the reason that she never asked about it again was because my answer had scared the flibbertyjibbets out of her. Apparently, the thought that she was filled with carnival machinery and maniacal party animals did not provide the comfort I hoped for.

Whoops.