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August 29, 2002
Hi, my name is Hilatron, and I'm a trashoholic.
It's all because we don't have cable anymore. I wouldn't even be using again if it weren't for that, so you can blame goddamn AT&T and their damn high rates for the trouble I'm in now.
I was clean, man. I put the V.C. Andrews books in storage, even! Hey, hey, don't look at me like that. I wasn't going to read them again, I just wanted them around, sort of as a... as a reminder. So I could remember the shame I felt buying them, and I wouldn't be tempted to go through that again. That's it.
Okay, so maybe I read Once Is Not Enough, but big deal, so what? It was a going away present. What was I supposed to do, say no? I mean, that would have been plenty rude, wouldn't it? And I swear, I've hardly even looked at it sitting next to Valley of the Dolls on my bookshelf since I finished it. I mean doesn't it say something to you that I could just have that lying around and it didn't even affect me at all, really? I was doing FINE.
And then the cable thing just messed me all up.
See, we don't have cable, because fucking AT&T only wants to line their dirty pockets with blood money, they don't care if their outrageous high cable rates turn perfectly normal people into raving addicts - no, I'm sorry. I'll calm down. I realize that I'm partly to blame. But let me tell you what happened and maybe you'll understand.
So we don't have cable, right? But we do get a few channels, one of them being the WE network. Anyway, one night I'm sitting down to dinner and I flip on the TV and there's nothing on the, like, three channels I usually watch, but there's this movie on WE with Candace Bergen in it. So I'm watching, figuring I'm safe, because hey, that's Murphy Brown, man! I mean, she's intellectual! No danger, right? Well, wouldn't you know it, before I know what hits me, there's Suzanne Somers on the screen, and there's Angie Dickinson, and there's a whole lot of 80's designer fashion, and I suddenly realize I'm watching the TV miniseries of Hollywood Wives. I didn't have a chance. If we had had Comedy Central, I never would have gone near that thing, I swear.
But I tell myself, hey, I'll just watch a little of this while I eat dinner, and maybe catch some of it tomorrow night, seeing as how it's a miniseries. It's not like I'm committing to anything, like reading a book. But then, you know how it goes, the next night I'm running late and miss some of it, and the night after that I miss some really important stuff, so there's all this action at the end that just doesn't make any sense. I told myself, hey, it doesn't matter, it's just trash, you know what that stuff does to your brain, blah blah blah, but I was gone by that point, of course. I HAD to know every improbable, salacious detail. The very next day, boom! There I am, first in line at the library, signing up for a card with the sweaty palms, the shaky knees, the whole bit. I headed straight for the C aisle, scooped up Hollywood Wives and a couple of respectable books to hide my shame from the other patrons, and headed for the checkout desk. I couldn't look the guy in the eye, man. I know he wasn't fooled by the Alice Munro novel. He knew what the real prize was, the bastard.
So that's where I am, back on the stuff. I know, I know. But I really think that if I just get this one out of my system, I'll be okay. It's just a momentary setback.
Oh, don't even mention her to me. No way! No way will I ever read Danielle Steele. The very thought grosses me out. I do have some limits, you know. You don't have to worry about me, man. It's all good.
Posted by hilatron at 11:24 PM | Comments (1)
August 26, 2002
I'm here, but for how much longer?
I would just like to say, before it's too late, that I love you all and think highly of you. I want to get this off my chest because it is almost certain that I will be involved in a traffic fatality of some sort in the near future.
One would think that, having had all my circuits and programs reconfigured to cope with life as a pedestrian in the mean streets of New York City, I would be ably prepared to face the relatively genteel traffic patterns of such a place as Brookline. One would be horribly mistaken. Here are some of the ways in which I might meet my end...
During a game of Inadvertent Crosswalk Chicken
Here's how it happens: I come to a crosswalk. As is my habit, I stride out into the street four feet or so to await an opportunity to cross. In New York, this has a two-pronged effect: a) it puts you in a better tactical position for darting across the street when opportunity strikes, and b) it shows those damn cars that you're not afraid of them, because if they smell fear you're done for.
In Boston, where there is this thing about pedestrians having the right to cross the street without emulating Frogger, the results are somewhat different. I arrive. I stride. Cars on both sides of the street screech to a halt. I freeze in terror, crouching defensively and peering into the front windows for signs of ill intent or ex-members of the Street Crime Unit.* The drivers of the cars look at me, wondering to themselves what the hell is wrong with that girl. They wait. I wait. They give up on waiting for my indecisive ass, and go. I simultaneously realize that, oh yeah, the stopping for pedestrians thing, and also go. They screech. I crouch. They glare. I scuttle sheepishly onward. It's only a matter of time before I encounter someone with a heavy foot or slow reflexes, and I'm toast.
In a brawl with an uppity cyclist
Someone has to stand up to these people, and if I have to sacrifice myself to the cause, so be it. Never have I encountered a group of people more convinced of their right to be wherever the hell they want to be at all times. Um, pardon me, ma'am, but the sidewalk? That's for WALKING on. Oh, don't mind those tire tracks across my toes; I'm sure you'll be more careful next time because OTHERWISE YOU'LL BE SORRY BECAUSE I'M GOING TO START CARRYING A SAWED-OFF PIPE AROUND WITH ME! Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, Mr. God Forbid I Look Before I Turn Left Into a Pedestrian Walkway!
Plain old cockiness
When I do happen to remember about the cars stopping for me thing, it only gets worse. See, I just left a city where cars and pedestrians are pitched in a constant life-or-death struggle to get around. The slightest hesitation or lack of bravado is seen as a lethal sign of weakness. So now that I have the advantage of a law saying that drivers must bow to my will, I cackle evilly, a maniacal glow comes into my eyes, and I barrel right out into the streets with all the "whachewwannadoabboudit?" attitude I can muster. Unfortunately, some Boston drivers are not into this whole thing. They want, like, respect. They want to not have to stop for my every whim. They disapprove of the taunting way in which I stroll across the street in front of them. My looks of scorn and derision rub them the wrong way. One day, I will push them too far, and I will be sorry.
Due to my ongoing refusal to take any shit from The Man
There's a flip side to the rigorous way in which crosswalk etiquette is enforced. You know those walk light things? Where a little man tells you if it's okay to walk or not? Here, they actually expect you to pay attention to those. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. Drivers see a green light and they just assume they can go, without looking to see if someone's taking an opportunity to cross the path of left-turning traffic real quick. So when I come to an intersection and the light is against me, I am actually supposed to STAND there and WAIT for the light to change, like a sucker, like a--like a tourist. The indignity! Well, forget that, man. My instincts are keen. My will is strong. And I do not care for the advice of the little orange man.
So, as you can see, I am, like so many great thinkers before me, doomed by the strength of my own principles. It's been nice knowing all of you.
Temporarily yours,
Hilatron
*A branch of the NYPD which has somewhat misapprehended its function: the goal is to reduce street crime, guys, not to improve upon techniques for getting away with it. Just so you know. Back
Posted by hilatron at 09:00 PM | Comments (4)
August 24, 2002
A Quick Survey
Here's a hypothetical situation for you to consider:
It is Saturday afternoon, and being a responsible member of society, you decide to take care of some household chores. You clean your filthy bathroom. Your first move is to clean your cat's litter box and replace the old stinky litter with nice, fresh litter. You then place the nice clean box in the hallway just outside the bathroom, so that your beloved cat can do his business while you spray poisonous chemicals over all exposed bathroom surfaces.
The cat reacts to this behavior by completely losing his mind, in the following ways:
1) Wanting to be inside when he is out, and vice versa, with a never-before-seen level of desperation.
2) While outside, bounding around in an alarming fashion, and trying to claw his way through the patio fence.
3) While inside, sitting down by the front door and emitting plaintive squeaks, as though he has ever once been allowed to go through it and this luxury is now cruelly denied to him.
4) Begging to be petted, allowing said petting to take place for approximately 22 seconds, and then attempting to claw off your arm.
5) Entering his litter box, making strange noises so that you will stop your cleaning and come see what the hell he is doing, and when you do that, leaping forth from the box, tearing to the end of the hallway with tail fully bushy, and then turning around and glaring at you in an offended fashion.
6) As you make your way around the house, charging at your legs, swatting your knee, and then running off in the opposite direction, to crouch behind a chair or box and wait for his next chance to ambush you. Repeat.
What would you conclude from this behavior?
A) Your cat has a pathological fear of cleaning.
B) Your cat thinks that your moving of the litter box indicates your nefarious plan to take him off to the glue factory later that day.
C) Your cat has inhaled some scrubbing bubbles and is hallucinating.
D) Your cat thinks he is a bull.
E) Other (please describe).
Posted by hilatron at 05:45 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
August 23, 2002
Update
Special thanks to Josh for his help in getting my new header all set up. I designed it all by myself, I did, and then Josh came over and fixed all of the things that I messed up. If you hate the design, though, it's still my fault, because that's how I wanted it to look. It sure is nice having your own personal web design consultant. If you would like to borrow Josh's mad skillz as well, click here to view his work and resume, once he puts them up.
Posted by hilatron at 04:47 PM | Comments (1)
Correspondence #1
Dear Shower,
I don't know how we came to this. I really don't. But we need to sit down and talk things out before they get worse.
Did I do something to offend you from the very beginning? I don't think I did; I certainly never meant to be inconsiderate. But I can only suppose that I must have hurt you at some point - and I must stress this - unintentionally. Otherwise, why would you now be trying to hurt me?
Perhaps it's a communication problem. You are, after all, a shower, and I am a robot. Perhaps you don't understand how much pain it causes my tender sensors when you go from a comfortable temperature to scaldingly hot in under a second, just as I have some particularly vulnerable part of my anatomy turned towards the stream of water. Perhaps you don't realize how bewildered and lost I feel when I am basking in a soothing flow of warmth, only to have it change to a deluge of icy destruction with no warning at all.
I write this now because my moaning and cursing, my screaming and hopping, have not had any effect on your behavior thus far. I realize it was the wrong approach; I probably frightened you, and I apologize. Please know that these actions were not directed at you personally; I was simply reacting to the situation, without thinking of how it would look to you. But let me reassure you that I do want for us to communicate, and to work our way through this problem together.
Is everything all right at home? I don't mean to pry, but if there is anything you'd like to tell me about, you can confide in me. Do you get along with the plumbing all right? Are the other showers respectful of your needs? If anyone is bullying you into giving up your cold or hot for their own selfish purposes, I would be happy to have a talk with them if you think that would help. Or we can go see a professional who might have some good strategies for dealing with the situation. No pressure, but I just want you to know that I'm here for you.
I just want you to know that I'm not angry with you. I realize this whole thing is probably a big misunderstanding, and I'm sure that together we can find a solution. After I finish applying aloe to my back, perhaps we can sit down and hace a nice talk. Is there anything I can get for you? Some soap scum remover? Some Lime-Away? I'd be happy to oblige if there's any little thing you'd like.
I'm really glad I had this opportunity to express my feelings to you. Thank you so much for listening. Would it be possible for me to ask one little thing in return? It's not a demand or anything, of course; you've demonstrated that you hold the cards here, and I respect that. However, I just wanted to let you know that it'd be really, really helpful if you could give just a little warning, just long enough for me to jump free, the next time you double or triple your temperature. Just 3-5 seconds would do the trick, I think. Again, no pressure, but I can assure you that it would really improve our outlook for the future. Thanks for thinking about it.
So, we'll talk soon? Just let me know what time would be good for you; except for my appointment with the skin graft specialist, I'm free all weekend.
Best regards,
Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 11:48 AM | Comments (1)
August 20, 2002
MOVIE REVIEW: "Lisa and the Devil"
LISA AND THE DEVIL, Directed by Mario Bava (1974, 92 min)*
Ohhh, Mario Bava. Your command of color and lighting. Your exceptional set design. Your gorgeous cinematography. Your poetic use of symbolism to convey emotion. Your fondness for Gothic horror and unflinching gore.
Also, your complete lack of interest in plot coherence, your obsession with inanimate decorative objects, your sledgehammer-like technique with English language dialogue**, and your masterful use of the seemingly inadvertent awkward pause.
It's the best of both worlds, really!
I went to see Lisa and the Devil last Friday night at the fabulous Coolidge Corner Theater, which is well worth checking out if you're ever in the Boston area. It's this great old art-deco era theater that is in the process of being restored; I kind of hope it takes them a long time, because the main screening room is old and decrepit in the best possible way. It's HUGE, for one thing, with creaky old velour-padded seats, great big quasi-Grecian murals on the walls, and a real stage with real curtains and all. I kind of like that it's creaky and a bit dirty (perfect for watching dusty old horror movies in, for example), so I hope they don't spiff it up too much.
Before I say some things about this movie, both good and bad, let me tip my hat to Mario Bava, lest anyone get upset that I'm not acknowledging his greatness. He's the mentor of Dario Argento, who freely confessed his admiration for Bava's films and the great influence they had on his own work, and you've just gotta give some credit to the guy who inspired the guy who made Suspiria and Deep Red and many other fantastic horror movies.
Bava is also arguably the inventor of the modern slasher movie, thus ensuring a permanent soft spot in my heart. Add to this his extremely classy filmmaking style. I think that (like me) he must've had a secret affection for the histrionics of Gothic romance, because that's where his aesthetic and many of his characters are drawn from: gorgeous settings, dark stormy nights, threatening old matriarchs, mysterious castles, piercing-eyed men with problematic family histories, and plucky, glamorous women in distress. However, also like me, he occasionally got a wee bit sick of the treacle and sappiness that's usually an element of these things, so he decided to replace it.
What with?
Why, incredibly, brutally gory and violent acts of murder and depravity, of course.
The best of both worlds here, my friends. The best of both worlds.
So I think Mario Bava rocks, just so that we have that cleared up. However, this is not to say that I think Lisa and the Devil is a perfect film, although I did find it quite enjoyable. Here's what's what:
"Lisa and the Devil" begins when Lisa, played by Elke Sommer, a tourist in Italy, wanders off from her group, trying to find the origin of some haunting music she's heard. She enters an antique store and finds that the source is a music box, owned by - ready now? - Telly Savalas. Telly bears an uncanny resemblance to a painting she just saw, a medieval representation of the Devil carrying off the dead. Spooked, Lisa runs out of the store, and suddenly everything’s different. She can't find her way back to the square, runs into several odd characters, including the threatening Telly again, and then has a disturbing encounter with a man who acts like he knows her. Trying to get away from him, she accidentally pushes him down a flight of stairs.
So, more wandering and running and fretting. It's dark by now, and Lisa finally runs into other human beings who aren't acting all wonky, as she flags down a car occupied by a rich couple, Francis and Sophia Lehar, and their chauffer George. Francis isn't too fond of George; possibly he’s annoyed because they’re having car trouble. Actually, Francis and Sophia don’t seem overly affectionate, either. Hmmm. They agree to give Lisa a lift, and one of the above-mentioned awkward pauses ensues, as follows:
Lisa looks shiftily at George.
George looks over at Lisa.
Francis looks at Sophia.
Sophia looks at Francis, then at George.
Lisa glances out the window.
Sophia looks at Lisa.
Lisa looks around all confused.
Sophia looks at Francis.
George looks at Lisa.
Sophia gazes raptly at the back of George's head for some time.
George adjusts mirror so that he can look at Sophia.
Lisa looks at George, then glances back over her shoulder at Sophia and Francis.
And then everyone does this some more for a while. I was sure there was something going on here, and it turns out there is, but since we've only just been introduced to three of these characters and since all Lisa's done so far is run around being confused, there's not much to go on. And so I joined the rest of the audience in laughing at all the googly eyes everyone was making.
So, after everyone makes with the looking for another half-hour or so, the car breaks down. In front of a spooky mansion, of course. And the door opens, and who should be peeping out to see what the matter is? Why, our man from the antique store, Telly himself! He is still being weird and spooky, like before, and Lisa is freaked out about this, but the Lehars are asking if they can use the phone to call a mechanic. There is, of course, no phone. We do, however, learn that Telly is the butler here (uh-huh, SURE he is), and that his name is Leandro. While this is all being revealed, who should appear from out of the darkness but…a piercing-eyed young man?
Like any red-blooded young fellow, he zeroes right in on Lisa/Elke; like the guy from before, he’s a bit overfamiliar with her, insisting that she stay and not leave him. Um…the car’s broken, my friend; no need to seem desperate, she’s not going anywhere. Anyway. He just has to make everything okay with his mom, who is yelling from inside the house to make them go away. (Hmmm…piercing eyes…problem with mom…spooky old house…oh yeah. This guy is clearly a catch.) So our boy, named Maximillian, goes in to persuade Mom, aka the Countess, to let them stay the night.
Okay, so we have our characters: Lisa, Leandro the frightening butler/devil, Mr. and Mrs. Lehar, Maximilian of the piercing eyes, and the Countess. And I’ll bet you already knew that that guy whom Lisa pushed down the stairs would make an appearance or two, didn’t you? Oh, yeah. And, as you might have also guessed, a convoluted story unfolds in the hopes that we will be mystified and scared. I’m not going to describe the rest of the plot in detail, because, you know, what fun would that be, but here’s a quick list of the highlights: there are affairs. There are radishes. There are reincarnations (or something like them). There is necrophilia. There are ghosts. There is capering. There are dreadful proclamations. There are flashbacks to what may or may not be previous lives. There are dinner parties. There are mannequins. There are, duh, murders. All in all, a good fun night.
There’s a lot that’s genuinely good about Lisa and the Devil, and then there are some things will test whether or not you have a deep affection for silliness.
As I’ve come to expect from Mario Bava, this is a gorgeous looking movie. And that’s no small thing, I think, with horror movies, most of which depend heavily on atmosphere for their effect. Bava created a really effective sense of decayed wealth and morbid beauty for almost every scene in the film, and this reinforces a story which deals largely with ghosts, obsession with long-past crimes, and, um, the necrophilia.
The sense of displacement needed to carry off a plot like this is there, and it’s very well done. We don’t see Lisa in her everyday world for long, but there’s no doubt that after she exits the antique shop, her world is turned completely around. This gives the film a dreamlike quality that makes the improbable events to come easier to swallow. Sound, lighting, color and setting all work together to make this effect stronger, and for the most part, these elements remain consistently excellent throughout the movie.
The movie also has a playful and wry sense of humor, which occasionally relieves all the histrionics. Telly Savalas’ performance can’t go unmentioned here; he seems to think he might be in a different movie than everyone else at certain points, but damn is he having a good time playing an obsequious, but secretly resentful, butler with a love for bullying hapless young German girls. He’s also the Devil. And he has some super-fabulous butler outfits.
Then there are my two favorite characters, the Lehars. I never get sick of rich married people who hate each other, and these two actors pull off the aristocratic-bitchiness thing with flair: "If this is your attempt act like a man, Francis...I'm not impressed." "Slut." Heh-heh. The Lehars are also involved in the best murder scene in the movie, but I’ll leave that for you to discover. Suffice to say, Sophia Lehar is a thorough woman.
All in all, this is a film that relies heavily on the creation of a dreamlike, frightening atmosphere, as opposed to story, to succeed, and pulls it off quite well. However, there are some features of the movie that draw our attention to a deficiency of the filmmaking or to the staginess of the whole setup, and this bursts the bubble that Bava has so carefully created. Now I, personally, have a deep and abiding love for hokiness, so I don’t feel that the following nitpicks make the film less fun to watch. If you’re one of those sticklers for, like, COMPETENCE, who always insists that every little thing MAKE SENSE or something, you may want to consider the following a warning.
Despite the great cinematography in this film, there is one small problem: the cinematographer’s recurring problem with tangential shots of the decor. To the point where I was thinking maybe he should be seeing someone about it. You can bet any amount of money you like that anytime there’s some lovin’, or some killing, or some Dreadful Revelations, that the camera will wander off around the room and focus on one or more of the knick-knacks. And there are a lot of knick-knacks in this place, so be warned: if you have an aversion to statuary, you might want to rethink watching this film.
Then, there’s the storyline, which, as the Victorian housewife said, left me a bit unsatisfied. I’m not a girl who asks for all the strings to be neatly tied; I often like a little ambiguity. But. The number of swoops and swerves and astonishing about-faces that the story is asked to do is a bit too much for it to handle. You get the sense that the filmmakers hoped if they kept adding scenes, something would come of it; but the layer upon layer of complexities got to be almost laughable. Actually, no. It was laughable, for real. But in a good way. I mean what’s with you, anyway? You got something against laughter?
And then, there’s Elke. Did you know that Elke Sommer speaks seven languages and has a moderately successful painting career? Did you know that she was voted Most Promising Newcomer in the 1964 Golden Globes? Did you know that she kicks ass at tennis? Did you know that she directs, too?
Well, from watching this movie you’d know none of that, because man oh man does she come off vapid. She looks vapid when she’s running away in terror. She looks vapid when she’s making small talk (especially because, 10 minutes into this situation, most of us would say, "I’ll be walking home now, thanks…ACROSS the OCEAN!" and bolt for the door). She looks vapid when Maximillian is wooing her. She looks especially vapid when she’s Trying To Figure Things Out; the little perplexed frown hovering over her empty eyes as she gazes off into the distance is really something to behold. So I’m just saying: Elke, I know you’re not dumb. But this movie sure didn’t.
Oh. And one more thing. Her famous pout? TOOOOOOtally fake. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Maybe there was a little poutiness, and some genius told her to “emphasize” it; I don’t know. But you can tell. She’s all pursed, fer Crissakes! She! Is! Pursing! And it just vexes me, because, I mean, Elke? You’re a hottie! You don’t need to purse! You’re 36-22-36! Men will not look at you and say, "If only she were a bit poutier…" I promise!
Anyway. In addition to the vapidness, there’s one more problem with Lisa, and this one has nothing to do with Elke. My question here is, now why EXACTLY does her character fall for Maximillian?*** I know there’s a lot to choose from, but it might have given us some insight into Lisa’s character had we known precisely which of his qualities made for the flutter in her heart. Was it his Mod-meets-George Gordon, Lord Byron sense of fashion? Was it the pickup lines ("This is the last rose of summer…and it waited…for you to…return.")? The voice that closely resembles Derek Zoolander faking an Italian accent? His method of kissing, which seems to involve slowly nibbling off the face of his beloved? Or was it his sexy foreplay? (Just trust me, there’s nothing like a little chloroform and some palsied trembling to get a girl in the mood!)
And those are all my nitpicks about this movie. So before I accidentally write a novel, let me sum things up thusly: all in all, Lisa and the Devil is an entertaining ride. There’s great atmosphere, great sets, great lighting, great camerawork, and great amounts of gooey, drippy, yummy cheese. And some really gross stuff.
*Note that this review is of the original version of this film, not the hacked-up re-release, commonly titled The Devil in the House of Exorcism, which by all accounts sucked. Back
**And maybe also Italian dialogue, but then, how would I know? Back
***I hope you’re not mad at me for spoiling that plot point. But come on. I said he had PIERCING EYES, what’d you think was going to happen? Back
Posted by hilatron at 10:28 PM | Comments (6)
August 18, 2002
Ack!
Our neighbors are evil! Well, two of them at least. Number one, the person who lives directly above us. He or she is a floor-banger, apparently one with supersensitive hearing at that. I mean, when Josh and I have to don those sonic hearing aids they sell on TV just to hear our own music, it's time to quit with the floor-banging and just come downstairs and explain about how you got stuck in the teleportation chamber with a bat, or whatever your problem is, man.
Secondly, the third or fourth floor. Oh, am I pissed. Josh and I were just sitting in the living room, and heard a strange sound on the patio. We looked out the door and there was a rain of debris falling from the sky. I went out and peered up through the deluge to see that someone WAS SHAKING THEIR DUSTPAN OUT THE WINDOW ONTO OUR PATIO!!! What really makes me mad is that I had to duck back inside to avoid being blinded before I could see whether it was coming from the 3rd or 4th floor, otherwise I'd be up there tearing them a new one instead of writing this. One thing's for certain though, I WILL catch them in the act again, and there will be endless trouble when I do. I mean, imagine that you're going about your day, cleaning up the house, and you find yourself with a full dustpan. What do you do? Do you throw it out the window? NO, because you know damn well there's a patio out there that people use! Oh yes you do! There is no way that someone who stopped to think about it for the remotest nanosecond could possibly fail to realize that what they were doing would mess with someone's patio! And I just moved out of New York, where I developed a real nasty temper and was deprived of access to the natural world for four years! And you DO! NOT! MESS! with my PATIO!!!
Scheming and plotting,
Ranting and raving,
Stroking a butcher knife,
Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 02:31 PM | Comments (2)
August 16, 2002
Not much to see here...
...yet. Most of you reading this have probably already seen the first two entries, unless I have some sort of underground fan base I'm not aware of, which has been waiting with bated breath for me to start a blog. In which case, um, creepy. But anyhow, hello, world! Of course now that I'm up and running I have little to say. Josh and I are going to purchase a sofa today. It may or may not be quilted. I'll update you on that pressing subject in the future.
I've discovered that Murray, our cat, gets a little...playful if there's a lot of human activity late at night. We were up and about later than our usual bedtime last night, and he decided that it was time for a rousing game of Stalk the People! Rather frightening, actually, because he gets this dead-serious I'm-gonna-getcha expression on his face and watches your feet as intently as though they were some sort of tasty prey. Although he has yet to actually injure either of us in this way, it's a bit unnerving when he charges your bare feet and then bolts in the other direction. I think the whole thing also perplexes Murray, because why are we screaming and running away instead of turning around and chasing him like we're supposed to? I eventually managed to distract him with two fur mousies and his bug toy and made it to bed unscathed. Today we're going to have a talk about how MAYBE, if he didn't SLEEP all day, he would be a bit less squirrelly during the wee hours. Hah. I bet that'll work great.
Posted by hilatron at 01:00 PM | Comments (3)
August 15, 2002
How to Respond to a Centipede Infestation
1) Know the Enemy
Observe your foe as it scuttles toward you out of a darkened corner, wriggles forth from under the bathmat, or propels itself along the ceiling. This is a good time to note some facts about the centipede: a) it can run faster than anything that small should; b) it clearly knows your weaknesses, preferring to attack when you are barefoot and/or sleepy; c) it demonstrates its greedy and perverse nature by possessing far more, longer, and spindlier legs than is proper or necessary; and d) it exerts strange powers over cats, as in the case of Mr. M, an experienced hunter of New York City roaches, who, upon being introduced into the centipede-ridden environment, proceeded to sit stone still and look quizzically at his new roommates when exhorted to ""Get the bug! Get it before it - oh, now it's under the heater..." etc.
The above studies can easily be conducted while standing on a chair or other raised surface, shrieking incoherently and gesticulating wildly, or while running down the hallway flapping one's arms and shouting, "Help! Help! Centipede! Centipede sighted in the bathroom! Request backup!"
Research your foe on the Internet. Cause great amusement to anyone else on the premises by cringing and moaning in terror every time a picture of one of the little fiends appears on your screen. Read sentences like: ""House centipedes feed on small insects, insect larvae, and on spiders. Thus they are beneficial..." Mutter "'BeneFICIAL??' Bah! 'Beneficial' indeed, you freak. I'd like to see how 'beneficial' you find them once they start waging a campaign of psychological terror on YOU, Mister" under your breath.
Take copious notes on dining preferences, habitat, and methods of disposal. Mutter things like "Thirty legs? THIRTY?? Gack," and "'Likes dampness and dark spaces, hunts by night.' I might have known you were creatures of darkness, you little bastards" under your breath.
2) Prevention
Buy Boric acid, the economy-size container. Buy products for killing every other insect known to man, because ‘these are predators and must have an abundant supply of food for them to multiply to any extent.’ Put ant bait traps everywhere you can think of. Realize that cat reacts to ant bait traps the same way he does to his fur mousie. Pick up ant bait traps and secrete them in places where cat cannot reach.
Don protective dust mask. Sprinkle Boric acid in cracks and deep dark corners, muttering "Eat THAT, you thirty-legged crimes against nature" under your breath. Spend the next four days obsessively watching cat for weird twitches, dilated pupils, changes in nose temperature, or other signs that you may have inadvertently poisoned him, despite knowing perfectly well that there is not a single mote of feline-or-human accessible Boric acid dust anywhere in the house. Realize that you have one weird, twitchy cat, but that he probably wouldn't go rooting around in the space between the bathtub and the sink cabinet even if he could, as he much prefers eating, sleeping, stalking your feet, and playing "Look at the Girl Funny When She Screams 'Get the Bug, Get It!'"
Search the house for cracks and crevices. Gaze at the ceiling, which is composed of rectangular ceiling tiles and rife with small gaps, until you hear yourself muttering "a world of centipedes just over our heads" under your breath.
Go for a long walk. On the way, block out all knowledge of the composition of the ceiling. Decide that you will work on the cracks and crevices thing when you are psychologically ready.
Use avoidance tactics. Refuse to enter a room after the sun sets without first saying aloud, "Okay, I'm going into the [bathroom, kitchen, etc] now! Look out, here I come!" Then switch on the light, leap backwards, and scan the ceilings, walls and floor for signs of occupation before entering. Develop a habit of poking and shaking clothing or towels before use. If a sighting is made, wait for the beast to find a crevice to slink into before proceeding with your activities, or call for help if it refuses to disappear. Persist in this behavior in the face of gentle derision and even out-and-out mockery from cats or shackups*.
3) Hand-to-Hand Combat
Practice on the babies first. They're slower and far less terrifying. Talk smack to them, loudly, while you squish them with your shoe or a paper towel (direct contact should be avoided, as centipedes are known to carry at least 3 deadly strains of cooties). Gloat about how "that's another one that won't be breeding!! Bwahahahaha!" This will generate the false sense of bravado necessary when undertaking any large-scale offensive.
Once you have worked your way up to smashing and trash-talking the adolescent centipede, it is time to take on your first adult. For an easy first kill, find a centipede that has misstepped and fallen off the ceiling into the bathtub. It will probably lie there for a few moments, stunned, thus giving you the opportunity to leap into the living room screaming "My shoe! My shoe! Give me my shoe!" to your startled partner in crime, and hotstep back into the bathroom, weapon in hand.
At this moment, as you face your weakened enemy, it is essential not to hesitate. You must aim carefully, but do not allow yourself enough time to lose your nerve. Do not consider the potential ookiness of the post-squish centipede. Do not ponder what might happen if the kill is not clean. Focus solely on your task, take aim, and squish with all your might. Squish again even if the enemy seems to be dead already; squish once more, even if the fearsome creature seems to have been separated into its component parts. Only after the third squish is it recommended that you stop and survey the situation.
At this point, twitching is to be expected; it will die down shortly if you have succeeded. Do not let it alarm you. Carefully examine your weapon for remnants. Observe that centipedes bleed purple. Assure your foe that "Your family will pay for this, filthy creature!" This will strike fear into the hearts of any nearby centipedes, and will hopefully make them think twice about revenge.
Clean up the remains. Use several layers of toilet paper to avoid any contact with the above-mentioned cooties. DO NOT flush the offender. True, there are no known cases of a dismembered centipede encountering raw sewage, reanimating, mutating into a toxic superbug, and climbing back up into the toilet bowl to lie in wait for the one who brought it down, but there's no need to take foolish risks. Better to dispose of the corpse in the trash, which can be taken off the premises altogether.
These simple steps should help you to combat the infernal centipede in the home. I wish you the best of luck with your own pest-related struggles.
Yours,
Hilatron
Founder
The Fearless Centipede Killers
*Shackup: noun. Orig.: "Shacking up," slang term of the previous century, which denotes a romantic relationship which has proceeded to the level of co-habitation without formal engagement or marriage. The 'shackup' is the person with whom one shacks up. Despite the negative early usage of this phrase, the noun has lost its derogatory connotations. It is often preferred over terms such as "domestic partner" and "significant other" due to its more conversational style, and is used in favor of "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" to denote seriousness of commitment and because of its lack of gender-specificity. Back
Posted by hilatron at 04:57 PM | Comments (116)
Welcome to Brookline!
(Note: this is an e-mail I sent to friends and family, letting them know that I was alive and such after my move from New York City to Boston. I'm posting it as my first entry because I'm impatient to make sure everything works and too lazy to write a whole other big blah at the moment. So, yeah, I cheated a little. Meh. Also, let me know if anything is messed up, since I'm leaping headlong into a medium I don't understand whatsoever. Hey, I'm a learn-by-doing kinda girl.)
Well, we moved okay. In that we got all our stuff here and not much of it broke along the way, at least (although one plate broke the night after we arrived, as if to mock us for all the trouble we took getting it here). Along the way, I really think we managed to achieve a new level of moving hell. Suffice to say that it's generally a good idea to try to pack all of your stuff BEFORE you move, and not, say, as the truck is being loaded by your patient-but-increasingly-annoyed family members/semi-in-laws. I've blocked out most of the pain and humiliation of the big day, but on August 2nd I woke up to discover a truly astonishing number of bruises, aches and pains.
We are getting unpacked pretty well. We're desperately seeking a loveseat for the living room; however, we're having a bit of trouble finding a happy medium between overpriced designer furniture and ugly, cheap stuff. (Any ideas, you Bostonians out there?) There seems to be a lack of discount meccas in the immediate Boston area, I suppose because it's such a car-oriented city and it's no big deal for most people to travel out to Danvers to visit Target. But for those of us limited to use of the public "transportation" (and oh, do I have a word or two about that for later!) it's not so easy.
So here we are in lovely Brookline Village, just past Fenway Park on the T (aka the subway to us recently transplanted New Yorkers, although it's really not). We're just a few minutes' walk from the T, Josh's school, and my yet-to-be-started job, so we couldn't be better off in terms of location. It's a bit suburban, but in a homey way rather than a beige-minivan despair way. There are many charming and/or wacky shops, tasty restaurants of various ethnicities, and a really really fantastic (especially after the cramped, understocked horror of Key Food in Astoria) supermarket. And of course, this being New England, a Dunkin Donuts every 20 feet, as per zoning regulations. There's also an art deco-styled indie movie theater just up the road, currently doing a Mario Bava retrospective midnight program (heaven!), and a video store with a fantastic cult/horror section. It's been fun exploring the neighborhood as we search for household items which we somehow need despite having more crap than can be comprehended by the human mind.
Now, since this is getting ridiculously long and since my brain is still looking at things this way, here's a list of Things That Are Better in Boston vs. Things That Are Better in New York, so far.
Things That Are Better In Boston:
Trees
There are some. Lots, in fact. And they don't have that kinda sickly, fighting against all odds to survive thing that New York trees have. In addition, there's grass, flowers and plants galore. It's nice to have some nature around.
Manners
There is general agreement about what constitutes them. What is this saying excuse me on the street? What is this waiting politely for every single person to depart the train before you get on? What is this saying hello to people when you pass them on the sidewalk or in the laundry room? Now this might just be a Brookline thing, because we are in the 'burbs after all, but then, Astoria was pretty damn suburban for New York and people were still all rude and pushy and self-righteous. I feel a bit like, well, a rude New Yorker as I barrel down the sidewalk dodging through the oh-so-mellow pedestrians without so much as a by-your-leave, but I just can't get into the whole interacting with strangers thing yet. Give me time.
Our Apartment
We gave up some space when we moved from our two-bedroom-with-small-"living-room" (aka: enlarged hallway), but let me tell you what we gained: A big bedroom which can contain bookcases and a chair in addition to a bed and a bureau. A bathroom three times the size of our old one, with a tub that doesn't look like it's about to crash through the floor at any moment and tiling that was done by someone with a vague idea of what tiling is all about. FOUR closets, two of them huge, and a freaking linen closet. A patio. Yes, a patio. With real ground for the cultivating. Laundry in the building. Level floors. The concept of 90-degree angles. More than one electrical outlet per room. A landlord who thinks having the apartment cleaned and painted before the new tenant moves in might be a neat idea.
Weather
Yeah, yeah, I grew up in New Hampshire, so don't try to scare me with your New-England-winter talk. Bring it on. What I like: it's August, and though it might get hot during the day, it actually gets cooler at night.
Things That Are Better in New York:
Public Transportation
I told you this was coming. With all apologies to those Bostonphiles I might be offending, the Boston transportation system is kind of ridiculous. For one thing, the trains: tiny. On the Green line which runs by our house, they are these little trolleys that are two. cars. long. They are like toys! Hello, rush hour? Yeah, I'm so glad I work within walking distance. And the bus? Painfully slow. For starters, they never come. For followers, since traffic is terrible in Boston, it takes forEVER to get anywhere. You might think you've seen bad bus travel in other cities, but Boston HAS to be the worst - narrow winding streets, crazy drivers, and way too many cars in general (well obviously, since you don't take public transport unless you absolutely have to). Lastly, the T shuts down at night. Yeah, it stops!! At MIDNIGHT!!!! Huh? I can't even grasp this concept yet. It's just too foreign.
The Hours
And on that subject, there is no 24-hour deli or diner within walking distance of our home. Most things close by 10. This is probably a Brookline thing, but...ten. pee. em. Enough said.
The Pace
Walk faster. Walk. Faster. WALKFASTERWALKFASTERWALKFASTER!!!! I'm all for the politeness and the eye contact between customer and counter person in stores and the hey-how-are-you-stranger and all that, as soon as I get used to it, but for God's sake walk faster!!! This is not something I'm going to adapt to, either. I'm a natural fast walker (I get it from my mom - hi, Mom!). I have to concentrate in order to walk slow, and it hurts me.
The Wildlife
When we first moved into our Astoria apartment, there were some roaches. We put down Boric acid and they went away, and that was that. I love wimpy roaches! Other than the occasional mouse sighting or fly getting in, we were pretty critter-free. Now we live in a ground-floor apartment in an area that is very much more a part of the natural world. There are ants, there are beetles, there are unidentified flying things. Okay, I can deal with that. However.
There are also centipedes. House centipedes, the only bug proven to make me leap into a chair and scream like the lady in the damn Tom & Jerry cartoons. I HATE fulfilling gender stereotypes. But I hate centipedes even more. Unnatural 30-legged little spawns of darkness!! Tomorrow, I'm arming myself for battle. My plan is to seal up every crack I can find in our house, and sprinkle poison liberally in the dark crevices that centipedes like and that our cat can't reach. If that fails, I'm buying one of those bubble outfits, because, bleccchhh, centipedes!! Eeek!
Posted by hilatron at 04:51 PM | Comments (1)