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October 30, 2002
Looking for me? Just check The Pile.
Despite the evidence to the contrary, the time has come to admit that I am not infallible. Sure, I present a formidable and terrifying veneer of confidence to the humans around me; sure, my apparently seamless perfection intimidates and alarms those who encounter my greatness. That's a given.
However, this does not mean that I have mastered every aspect of Earth life. You see, I have a desk.
Or, at least, I had a desk when we moved into this place. I assume it's still there.
I jus't can't figure out how some people manage to keep theirs clean, because mine? Mine is a random crap magnet. I swear it doesn't even have anything to do with me.
Yet, I've met regular people, people who seem to be just like you and me, walking around like they're just normal humans, waiting until you come over to visit to reveal that they hold this arcane and lofty secret, this lore of how to keep your surfaces clear and your drawers uncluttered. ?How the hell do they do it, man?
In addition to the standard supplies (printer, laptop, video editing accessories, speakers, desk lamp), here is a highlights tour of the items atop my desk at this moment:
A package of DayQuil from when I had a cold three weeks ago and took some and realized that they made me all loopy and that sniffling was preferable to continually misjudging my distance and banging into doorframes and such;
A pile of stubs from bills I paid in September;
A separate pile of the envelopes, advertising for Lenox crystal vases at a low low price, and notifications of changes to privacy agreements that came with these bills;
A folded Post-It note bearing the name and phone number of someone I'm supposed to call back about, um, something, at work, which traveled home with me accidentally;
A grocery list for groceries that I've already purchased;
A homemade shelf which fell off the wall, with the hardware (i.e. pushpins) still attached;
The $5 Chinatown objet d'arte which the shelf was intended to support;
A letter tray, 3 inches tall, containing a pile of documents, notebooks, spare change, paperclips, sunglasses, plastic baggies of vitamins (No, really, Officer, I swear), broken pencils, sewing notions, and batteries (possibly, but not for sure, used, plus, I'm no longer sure which battery was paired with which and it says right on the package not to mix old and new batteries and what does this mean, will things blow up if I do? but then again batteries are expensive and it seems a shame to throw them out), measuring approximately 1 foot in height;
A black underwire bra, origin unclear;
That one part of the food processor that nobody knows what it does;
A Spongebob Squarepants party hat;
Four empty plastic grocery bags.
This is just the highlights, remember. It is to be hoped that you have gained an accurate picture of my desk situation, to wit: that it is a horrific pile of cluttered despair, and nothing I do seems to fix it. I can clean it as often as I want - doesn't matter a bit. I turn around and there it is again, The Pile. Although I can identify each and every item in The Pile, and pinpoint most of their origins, I cannot seem to remember exactly how they came to be infesting my desk. How can I prevent what I do not understand? Am I doomed to be continually treating the symptons and never curing the disease?
I fear that this is the case. I think I'd better start making friends with The Pile, because it's bigger than me, and I swear it's growing even as I type this, and I'm pretty sure it could beat me up if it wanted to.
Good Pile. Nice Pile.
See? I feel better already.
Hey! There's my Swiss Army knife! Thanks, Pile, dude!
Posted by hilatron at 08:05 PM | Comments (2)
October 25, 2002
Here we are, world!
The Leisure Agency web site is here at last. Woohoo! Take a peek and let me know what you think. I will be spending the next few days sleeping, drinking exotic cocktails, attending a horror movie marathon, and generally being glad that it's all over but the tinkering, while enjoying the brief illusion that "the tinkering" will not continue endlessly and forever.
Hilatron sleep now!
Posted by hilatron at 12:03 AM | Comments (2)
October 20, 2002
Oogy-Boogy!
It's getting to be Halloween time! If I could have Halloween four or five times a year, I would. Everyone who's anyone knows that Halloween, or All Saints' Night, or All Hallows' Eve, is the funnest holiday around.
Pay no attention to some folks who seem to be missing the whole point.
What are you going to dress up as this year? Need recipes for tasty treats? Want some scary movie tips? Or some reading suggestions? You can also decorate, entertain, or partake in a number of other spine-tingly activities.
Perhaps you will get in the mood by reading about real-life paranormal experiences.
There are many ways to celebrate Halloween, but remember to save some energy for the day after next, the day with the most styling candy around, Dia de los Muertos.
Have fun, be safe, remember to let Mom check your candy first, and have a Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeen!
Love, Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 02:43 PM | Comments (2)
October 16, 2002
Aw, shucks.
Somehow, I keep finding myself bumbling around in excellent company, like a bear at a society ball. Actually, more like a debutante at a bear, um, party. (It just seems like bears, what with the liking to hibernate and the honey and the heeeey, Boo-boo!, would be lots more fun than socialites.) What I'm trying to say here is that blogatron has been linked in the most recent Carnival of the Vanities, and that's real neat. So go visit there and see all the other good links, since you've already been here. I'll just be kicking back, trying to use the right fork, and waiting for the butler to start making fun of me...
-Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 05:49 PM | Comments (2)
October 13, 2002
Slogans
Today, I made slogans for things in my immediate environment. This should make my life so much easier, now that everything is neatly categorized!
White Shirts: They Sure Aren't for People Who Need To Eat, Ever.
The Toilet: I Don't Know What That Is Or How It Got There, and I Don't Want To Know.
Murray: Unsolicited Petting Will Be Dealt with Harshly.
The Upstairs Neighbors: We Thump. It's What We Do.
TV: I Seem To Suck So Much Lately, I'm No Longer Even a Procrastination Tool.
The Internet: If Only the Same Thing Could Be Said of Me.
Dead, Wet Leaves: We Seem To Prefer Being Inside on the Carpet To Being Outside Where We Belong.
Chocolate Chips: Can, Too, Be a Meal.
Shoes: Why Are We Always under Hilatron's Desk?
Stop n' Shop: Come for the Food, Stay for the Uniform Decline of Human Intelligence!
Posted by hilatron at 09:41 PM | Comments (5)
October 11, 2002
Important Lessons I Have Not Learned
1) No amount of disillusionment or public humiliation will ever stop me from buying those "As Seen on TV!" products.
2) "I'll get up early and do it in the morning?" ha!
3) No matter how many times I force myself to write, "Bette Davis, finishing up a week-long crack binge by doing 90mph the wrong way down the turnpike in a convertible on a humid day" on the blackboard, that little voice will still be able to convince me that this time, trimming my own bangs will work out.
4) Hitting the wall will hurt me more than it hurts the wall.
4a) Accidentally stepping on the cat will also, somehow, hurt me more than it hurts the cat. Just you wait.
5) The candy all looks good in the store, but after chomping one's way through an entire two-hour movie, the tummy will regret it and the complexion will have its revenge.
6) Whatever the box covers may promise, movies like Microwave Massacre and The Toolbox Murders are unlikely to be as exciting as they should be.
7) No, that size-four, only-one-left, on-sale-for-nine-dollars shirt will not "stretch out after I wear it a few times."
8) My wonderfully snarky attitude and witty retorts will not, in fact, show that one really mean clerk at Walgreen's the error of her ways. Nor will excessive politeness, gentle adoration, or a hissyfit. It's nothing personal.
9) "I'll just play computer Mah Jong until I win a game" is the equivalent of announcing that one only intends to use heroin until one accidentally purchases a bag of something that is not, in fact, heroin, but a magical substance which cures addiction, melts away cellulite, brightens the skin and improves the memory.
10) I do not know Kung Fu, nor am I likely to just pick it up from the movies.
11) Yes, the inside of the oven is hot when you lean over to check the cookies. Yes, just like last time. But oh, well, at least I'll save time, what with not having to pluck my eyebrows this month.
12) There continues to not be a time warp on Aspinwall Avenue which allows me to leave home and arrive at work simultaneously.
13) It is pointless to try to resist the call of the crispy potato product.
14) I'm sorry, but I just can't help myself. I must, indeed, pick at it.
15) Despite the siren call of that other little voice, I am completely incapable of sleeping for "just a few minutes."
16) The cat will not learn to like it when I pick him up and hug him. Ever.
17) Just because I have the power to dress entirely in teal does not mean that I should use it.
18) There is such a thing as too many novelty lamps.
19) Likewise, my collection of dresses that somebody's mom is really embarrassed about having worn to the prom is probably more than adequate.
20) I am not "sticking it to the Man" by paying for the T all in nickels, giving a fake zip code at Radio Shack, or signing up imaginary people for offensively advertised dating services. These are just hobbies.
Posted by hilatron at 11:31 PM | Comments (1)
October 10, 2002
MOVIE REVIEW: "The Legend of Hell House"
THE LEGEND OF HELL HOUSE directed by John Hough (1973, 95 min)
Based on the novel by Richard Matheson, author of such venerable horror movie fodder as I Am Legend and The Shrinking Man, Hell House has a lot going for it, with strong acting, effective sets, and a good premise which promises a nice creepy tale. This makes it all the more disappointing when the film loses steam halfway through. I blame the cat. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Hell House opens as well-known ghost hunter Lionel Barrett awaits an audience with a wealthy eccentric, who wishes to hire him to explore the infamous Belasco House. Lionel is to be accompanied in his quest by two mediums, Florence Tanner and Benjamin Fischer, news to which Barrett responds less than enthusiastically. It seems that mediums are not tops on his list. However, the temptation of a hundred-thousand-pound fee, and the promise of notoriety should he succeed, overcomes any reservations he may have about the company. Lionel's modest goal is to prove once and for all whether there is life after death.
The Belasco House, as we learn in some convenient exposition between Lionel and his wife Ann, is certainly the place to try. Known as "the Mount Everest of haunted houses," Belasco House has been the site of two previous psychic investigations, both of which ended in vaguely hinted at disaster. Naturally, this foreboding news causes Ann to insist that she join the party because it's just so exciting.
Wasting no time, we speed right along to the big day. Lionel and Ann pick up Florence and Fischer (played by Roddy McDowall, who doesn't even bother chewing the scenery -- he just swallows it whole), who, wouldn't you know it, was a part of the last Belasco House expedition. According to Lionel, it's a wonder he escaped with his sanity. So, you know, naturally, he'd want to come back. I guess a hundred thousand pounds stretched pretty far back then. The chaste Florence, on the other hand, is clearly the idealist in the group. She likes to help lost souls. Uh-huh. You know, ghosts can smell sucker a mile away, lady.
Allow me to digress for a moment to note that, yes, there is a strangely familiar ring to Hell House's story. Hmm. Group of psychic investigators, joined by a civilian or two, visit a legendary haunted house. Where have we seen this before? The Haunting (the original, please, not that ghastly crime against nature of a remake)? Well, yes. Looks like old Richard was having trouble coming up with a plot of his very own. However, I'm willing to overlook this because, really, how much variation is there in haunted house tales? There are, what, four? So although Hell House really walks the plagiarism line a bit, I contend that what most people look for in a ghost tale are well-done scares, not innovative story. Disagree with me if you will, in which case I highly recommend The Haunting. In fact, you should really watch The Haunting regardless. That scene in the middle of the night, with the hand-holding? Brrr. Still gives me the willies to this day.
Anyhoo, back to our actual subject here. That's The Legend of Hell House, for those of you just joining us. Lionel, Ann, Florence and Fischer arrive at the Belasco mansion, naturally a big, dark, creepy, gothic, dusty monstrosity, get the lights turned on, and with true ghost-hunting instinct, head straight for what is always the scariest place in movies of this sort, the chapel. No restful sanctuary is to be found here. Florence's reaction to the place is so strong that she can't go in, and waits outside while the others explore. And it's that moment, when she seems to be overwhelmed by a something-or-other inside the chapel, that exemplifies the good acting that holds up this film. The players in Hell House spend a lot of time reacting to, and interacting with, things that we can't see or hear, the filmmakers having wisely elected to leave most of the ghosts and ghoulies to our imagination (see that remake of The Haunting - or rather, don't, in the name of all that is holy - for an example of why this is so important - cheesy CGI does not a scary movie make!), and I think they do a bang-up job of making us believe their fear. Florence's terror shows us that there's some bad mojo in the chapel, and sets the stage for unpleasant revelations and supernatural events to come. Then again, maybe she was just agreeing with me that the wall murals depicting the deadly sins in loving detail are in rather poor taste for a place of worship.
After this introduction to the house, the film takes its time building tension through a series of familiar ghost-story memes: the seance; the increasing tension between the rational, as embodied by Lionel, and the emotional, personified especially in Florence; and the revelations of nastiness involving Belasco senior, who seems to have been quite the busy fellow, his activities memorably ticked off by Fischer during dinner: "Drug addiction. Alcoholism. Sadism. Bestiality. Mutilation, murder. Vampirism, necrophilia, cannibalism. Not to mention a gamut of sexual goodies." Fun fun!
Once again, it's not the originality that makes it here, as we've seen these tactics in other movies. It's the deadly serious conviction with which the actors and director approach their task that makes these scenes believable and, therefore, suitably frightening. The careful pacing allows us to sit back and enjoy every nuance of the growing tensions among the characters; it also grants us the luxury of savoring each small and well-placed frightening moment, leisurely preparing us for the horrors to come.
The careful setup begins to pay off as Florence, who has been contacted by a spirit claiming to be Belasco Sr.'s son Daniel, becomes increasingly alienated from the others, particularly skeptical Lionel. This leaves her vulnerable to attack from the ghost, whose true identity becomes doubtful as its hostility seems to grow. As these and other rifts between the characters leave them in danger, it is left purposefully ambiguous whether they are orchestrated by the supernatural forces in Belasco House, or by the explorers' own human failings - another nice touch which makes this a ghost story with a little more substance than most. All in all, by the midpoint of the movie, my spine was a bit tingly, my gruesome-revelations sense was all aquiver, and I was settling back in my lawn chair* for a nice scary ride.
And then the cat came along and ruined it all.
Note to people who make horror movies: when you're reading a script, and you get to a scene with someone getting attacked by a cat, here's what you should do. Rip out the page. Light it on fire. Step on it.
Here's the thing: cats cannot be trained to act like they're attacking people, thus making the use of cat puppets a necessity. And there is nothing, no, nothing, less scary than watching some poor actor try to pretend that he or she is being attacked by a puppet of a cat. Not one thing. And that's even counting anesthetized puppies.
So there's this scene where Florence gets mauled by a cat (puppet), which is very traumatic, and which is made worse for her by the fact that Lionel makes no attempt to hide the fact that he thinks she probably hurt herself.
Despite the fact that the story struggles gamely on, the acting remains quite good, and the atmosphere is creepy and claustrophobic as a good haunted house flick should be, after this point I was much less engaged than I had been previously. It's just. so. frustrating, too, because up until this point I really thought we had a movie to rival the aforementioned Haunting and The Changeling here. Sadly, however, the film does not live up to its great setup. The interactions of the characters begin to verge on melodrama, and by the end of the film, everyone seems a bit worn out, resulting in a climax that seems strangely emotionally detached, and an ending revelation which is less than thrilling. I won't give it away here, because I still have a lot of respect for this movie, but suffice to say that the dark secret of Belasco House made me feel like I would feel when my souffle fell, if I cooked souffle. All, you know, limp and still needing something to serve the dinner guests. I recommend this film just to see how important pacing, acting and subtlety are in a supernatural tale, but I'm afraid you'll still have to figure out how to carry off the ending yourself.
*Yeah, by the by? If you?re looking for a place to order a couch from, avoid Bowl and Board please. "Delivery in 3 to 5 weeks," my ass.Back
Posted by hilatron at 07:39 PM | Comments (1)
October 02, 2002
How To Talk On the Telephone
I have checked, and the moon is not full. Nor is it Friday the 13th; nor are there any warnings about mysterious chemicals in the Boston water supply. However, despite the lack of warning signs from the universe, there is clearly some bad phone mojo going around these parts.
Having experienced the wondrous level of indifference to accuracy exhibited by the staffers at Telephone Information, I can forgive the many people in the last few days who have mistaken us for something that we are not.
However, it seems that there are a number of people walking the earth who are rendered incoherent by the thought of communicating through such a high-tech device as the modern telephone. As the main phone-getter at my job, I find myself increasingly perplexed at the utter inability of otherwise competent humans to behave themselves when speaking into a mouthpiece. With this in mind, I present the following guidelines:
What to say first.
Good things to say are ?Hello,? ?Hi? and ?Howdy.?
Bad things to say are ?Yeah,? ?Give me [insert name here]? and ?Um??
If you are unclear about what to say, follow this rule: pretend that your goal is to convey to the person at the other end of the line that you believe they are, in fact, an autonomous individual rather than an animate answering machine. Then the subtle touches, like greetings, should come naturally.
Be prepared.
If you call to ask for a phone number, it?s a good idea to think for a moment about what this process will entail. That way, you can acquire the requisite equipment beforehand, instead of sending the person on the other end of the line into a coma while you search for a pen.
It?s also difficult for the person answering the phone to reach into your mind, extract your memory of a conversation you had two weeks ago, and divine the identity of the person you talked to. Rest assured that the helpful receptionist will try her best to get you in touch with the person you wish to speak to; however, any tsking, sighing or ?Can?t you just buzz everyone whose name sounds like ?Velma?? Jeeze!?ing during this process will only complicate matters.
Utilize your resources.
My workplace has an excellent voice mail system. Each and every employee has a mail box of his or her own, which he or she can check from any extension or from the comfort of home. It?s a wonder of modern technology. It?s also far more reliable than the old slip of paper on the desk method, since most of my co-workers are busy art teachers whose workstations double as cutting boards, filing cabinets, lunch tables, living collages, and, occasionally, chairs. Thus, though you may feel that by insisting on my personally taking a message, you are getting some kind of super-duper VIP service, you are actually getting the short end of the stick. Take a deep breath, trust me, and plunge headfirst into the 21st century. All will be well.
Follow the advice available on your local classic rock station.
To everything there is a season. And to every phone call there is a purpose. Please try to keep that in mind when engaged in conversation. If you would like a brochure, that?s all you have to say. There?s no need to tell me about the childhood events that led you to this particular place in your life. We like to send brochures. We?ll do it for no reason at all, really. If you need to communicate that you have a relative who?d be interested in joining our program, simply tell me that and give me your phone number. My knowledge of your niece?s favorite color, your family background, or the fact that she doesn?t like to do housework will assist me not at all in connecting you to the right person to answer your questions.
Patience, young Skywalker.
When I say, ?please hold,? I know it?s scary. What might I be doing? Am I really seeking out the person you want to speak to, or am I filing my nails? Picking my nose? Laughing at your syntax? Whatever it is, rest assured that when you hang up after ten seconds and call back, it only makes matters more difficult. No, being huffy will not induce me to conjure your desired contact up out of thin air. If I could do that, I?d be at home materializing piles of 100-dollar bills and watching ?Knots Landing? on cable. Since I depend on my continued employment in order to eat and such, rest assured that I will do my best to connect you to your quarry. However, telepathy being beyond my reach at the moment, you may have to wait a bit. It doesn?t hurt that much; I?ve survived a number of ?let-me-get-a-pens? already today.
Hello, may I - wait ? let me just ? I know you ? but ? AAAUGH!
I know there?s someone you need to speak to more than you need to speak to me. And I know that what I say to most of you is pretty rote. But, for the love of your own continued existence, please let me finish sentences. I can?t tell you how tired I get of greeting people with the following: ?[My workplace], may I h?? ~sputter~ A girl just likes to labor under the illusion that she is seen as a person, rather than a function. ?Hello! I am me, hear me roar! May I help you?? Ah, that felt good.
Here?s hoping that helped clear up any confusion you might have had about using the telephone. Good luck!
Posted by hilatron at 10:43 PM | Comments (0)