First Pleasures

I'm one day closer to regaining what may be left of my sanity. I should have titled this post, "We're not gonna take it" with a little picture of Dee Snyder in the courtroom. I guess I know how Vlad the Impaler felt....after fighting that long battle against the Turks for the Christians, only to be cast out after cursing his wife's death. (Okay, so maybe that's the Bram Stoker version, but it's still good). Why are we fighting to begin with? Was Jesus a wealthy politician who wore sweater vests, always used a coozie while wearing Wayfarer shades? Was He always on a golf course, or a pleasure cruise pontoon down at the lake? Did He prefer Las Vegas showgirls and casinos? What about a member of some fraternity or service organization? I wonder if He ever sat "Chairman" of some church committee. I wonder if He ever made a woman feel uncomfortable.

I don't think so.

I know Jesus was a humble soul with a heart made of something beyond solid gold, something we'll never understand. I know He befriended folks who wouldn't be allowed in church. I know He would be my friend. I know he would understand, and I know He wouldn't hide, cower, or lie. He would speak the truth (while turning over a few tables at the same time).

My first experience working at a "church" has been almost a sort of investigation, a project to see "Do they really put HIM first?" Or is it about the politics, the money, the power?
Yes, it's about those three. Granted, there are good apples among bad. I'm just learning that a bad bunch can sour the taste of any good ones left.

So long hypocrisy and deceit! I'm heading for greener pastures--shooting the breeze with a really cool carpenter who won't mind stilettos, tattoos or piercings.

Special K,motor oil, toilet paper, and coffins?

So we've all seen this website. And that's cool. I guess everyone needs their fifteen minutes of fame. It's just that...well, that's not really what's bothering me. My beef with Wal-mart (and I say this objectively, kind of) is their newest sales venture. It hurts my heart a little, and that's mainly because this is the only line of work that I've ever been interested in besides communications.
The business of dying.

Looks like funeral homes everywhere will to have to cut corners and offer their own "rollbacks" because their newest competition is none other than supermarket mogul Wallyworld.
That's right, I'm not lying and neither is the BBC.
Check out the Wal-mart casket selection here. No, it's no joke. Even the infamous people of Wal-mart can afford a nice "Mom Remembered" steel coffin while the more savvy shoppers may choose the pricier bronze version. Maybe it's just me, I have this sleazy feeling I can't shake when I picture the grocery list below:

--paper towels
--AA batteries
--bananas
--fried chicken
--Tampax
--milk
--swiffer wet jet
--vacuum bags
--casket

Hey! Don't hate--they're made in the USA.

Mugshot of the Day

Meet the man behind most of Herbert's John Deere discord. About a month ago, Herbert suffered grand theft tractor for the second time. It took the county a few weeks to follow the tire tracks to this man. We'll call him Mr. Ledford. Hopefully, now that this culprit is in the big house, all tractors across the land will be safe to slumber in their fields after a hard day's work.

Closet Geek

I've had a love affair with Tim Burton beginning shortly after my first Pee Wee adventure. From that point on I was hopelessly hooked on all of his projects. Faerie Tale Theatre, Beetlejuice, Batman, Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, Big Fish...do I need to go on? And now,as if all of my dreams have suddenly come true--Mr. Burton has taken on the incredible task of recreating the enchanting world of Alice in Wonderland. My favorite director and my favorite childhood fairy tale, together at last. As if this isn't enough to throw me through the roof with enthusiasm, the cast includes a hot mess of my favorite Brits...Alan Rickman, Helena Bonham Carter, Michael Sheen, Christopher Lee (as the Jabberwock! Somebody stop me!!) and best of all--Crispin Glover!! I'm seething with excitement for the release, which coincides with my birthday next year!I won't rehash my love for Johnny, as I'm sure most of the audience has come to terms with my Depp insanity. He's ripening well as he ages. Life is a Utopian existence in a world where Burton, Depp, and fairy tales weave themselves together with dark, magical thread.

Somewhere along Route 12

Norwich State Hospital, Preston, CT.
Large, ominous and looming over the Thames River is the abandoned property and grounds of the old Norwich State Asylum for the Insane. Over 900 sprawling acres (including a power house) and a vast set of tunnels connecting almost every building on the property. Besides the fact that the place is literally crawling with cops and security (complete with alleged "booby traps"), it's eerie and alluring structures continue to entice thrill-seekers, photographers, and the occasional vandals and squatters. The hospital was opened in the early 1900's and closed it's doors in October of 1996. Some of Connecticut's most violent, criminally insane convicts were residents through the years at this infamous mental institution. They were housed in the prison ward of the now derelict Salmon Building. The auditorium seems to be a pretty popular spot among curious visitors as well. I guess most of the audience is wondering "WHY on Earth are you interested in seeing an abandoned mental hospital?" Well, the answer isn't simple. It's the Alice concept...curiosity kills it all. The fact that this place literally closed it's doors and the staff walked out, never to turn around again is simply astounding to me. The state of Connecticut and the town of Preston have left this place to ruin. The enormous cost of environmental clean-up scares away most investment ventures (the amount of asbestos and lead paint is staggering I'm sure). Mattresses, files, prescription bottles, patient artwork, hydrotherapy tubs, electroconvulsive therapy and lobotomy instruments are left behind. It seems as if the last one to leave, simply turned off the lights and locked the door. Everything is still inside. That's what makes it so interesting (to me).


My first trip saw countless state troopers and security SUV's swarming the grounds. So we decided to forgo the idea of a trek through the woods (as suggested by locals) from the railroad tracks, since the old man needs employment...and I figured a felony trespassing prosecution wouldn't sit well with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. In the end, our dreams of being land owners one day outweighed the glorious thrill of treading on forbidden ground. This venture could have very well been the capstone to our trespassing career. But, I digress. Looking through the pictorials, I feel almost as if I'm visiting a sort of Titanic shipwreck...on land.
I can't really explain the magnitude of the place...my writing is mediocre at best. Photos will have to suffice. I've dug up the best I could find on the net, please visit the links if you wish to step inside the walls of this grandeur in architectural deterioration.

Hell's Hollow

Before we found a place called Connecticut, we found a place called Hell. For three days we sat in McGeorge's Rolling Hills RV Supercenter parking lot, waiting for a brake actuator in order to drag the beast to New England.
We had power but a limited amount of water, so after the first day we were forced to conduct whore baths in the kitchen sink. Dealing with the sleaze and slime of service consultants and parts people just added to the layers of gunk we couldn't clean off of ourselves.
Finally our part arrived and with swamp ass and a massive migraine we pulled out of McGeorge's and hit 95.
Washington was a mess, as always...but we made it safely thanks to the old man's deft trucking skills. We slept overnight in a truck stop outside Danbury. I was adamant about sleeping fully clothed on top of all blankets in order to avoid contaminating bedclothes with our putrescent funk.
I did manage a smile the next morning when we saw the beautiful fall colors along the turnpike.
Fortunately we found a thing called a shower and I am happy to report that I am now somewhat "clean".

Our surroundings are charged with occult influences and there are endless possibilities for a day trip into devilry.
We've scoured the right route into the abandoned Norwich State Hospital for the Insane...the expedition includes black tactical gear and night vision goggles in order to delude the security guards and state police.
Pictures soon...

Deppth of Debauchery

Okay, so I'm feeling the late night effects of my latest Netflix shipment. My first choice was The Long, Hot Summer so imagine the shock factor when I switched movie modes from delightful to decay. I made the mistake of queueing the bawdy and vulgar, The Libertine. I admit, being one of Depp's biggest fans ( we go way back ), I fearlessly rented with the assurance it would be a quality film. Okay, so it was...I mean the film was raunchy and titillating to a pornographic extreme--even for King Charles. I guess where I'm going here is my complete surprise and admiration for the make-up department on this film. Can we do that raise the roof thing?As a long time fan of vampires and morbid, rotting characters--I always gave Tom Cruise top pot for his festering flesh in Interview With A Vampire. Boy was I wrong. Tertiary syphilis is NOT a pretty sight, especially in its final stages. Don't mess with Johnny girls, he is one decomposing dude in this flick. So in my opinion, Depp takes top honors here for the most gruesome facials...he's literally falling apart. Maybe what makes him so frightening is the white make-up, black wig and silver proboscis piece. I think I really lost it during the death scene. He looks so much like the crawler creatures from The Descent...he'd lost all human resemblance. Forget Freddy, forget Jason when he first crawled out of the lake, forget them all.
Skol to Johnny for scaring the hell out of me last night.

Mugshot of the Day

He's back. Behind bars I mean. Looks like he's shed a little weight and cleaned up a bit since his last mugshot. Since his last crime, he left his wife and children, found solace in a new job, became a born-again Christian, and bedded a new girlfriend while discovering he fathered children with his previous wife's cousin. I know, I realize it's rather confusing but I felt very strongly about this mugshot. It's imperative that everyone take notice of this man's face. As of today he is still behind bars (thankfully)--however, once released keep a careful watch over your children. His current address listed with the sheriff's department is: 343 Double O'Finley Road, Laurens, SC. His crime: Criminal sexual conduct in the first degree with a minor UNDER the age of 11 years old. His name...Brian Boyter.

Time to try International

Mugshot of the Day

It's rare that I get the chance to blog about former rivals, enemies and schmucks. I can't describe the exhilaration I felt when I scrolled to find one of my biggest childhood enemies behind bars.
Once upon a time, in a land hot and humid filled with the scent of sulfur, there was a young mutant who we all knew as "Sloth". Now, if you're a Goonies fan, then you'll know who I'm referring to.
This guy looked just like the basement brother chained to the wall...and he chose me as his arch enemy. I'm assuming it's because I decided to date his best friend.
Sloth decided to take charge of the situation. He was determined to make me suffer, and so began the war. Walking to my car after school I noticed several large roofing nails under my tires--my boyfriend, being so kind and careful, told me he witnessed Sloth placing the nails under the tires. (Thanks Keith!)
Once I started my senior year, I drove a new car--big mistake. Sloth had his chance to make a statement, and he made it on the passenger side door of my 1998 Camaro.
Several police statements later, we found that there was no way to pin the crime on Sloth because our country high school chose NOT to place security cameras in our parking lot. Imagine that.
Did I mention that Sloth's driving record isn't exactly perfect? This isn't his first DUI--but money talks (obviously). I guess it's easy to compare to the long trips on the interstate where you're passed by some crazed drunk driver with Kentucky plates, wishing that the state troopers would do their job when five miles down the road you find them pulled over and handcuffed. It's a sweet feeling. That's how I feel seeing this face behind bars...sweet. Karma is almost always a bitch.

Last of the Shut-Ins

It begins with the blood-curdling squeal. I usually run as fast as I can with my head down (I have no idea why) as I shake my hair violently, stamping my feet and flailing my arms. Once I'm in a "safe zone" I can stop and begin my frenzied inspection of my clothes, my back, my arms, my hair, and my legs. When I realize that there's nothing on me, I run the entire scene through my mind. The first encounter with the arachnid...the first moment I realize that I almost touched it. Although it was dead, it was colossal. I picture the beast over and over in my mind, the brown and yellow hairy legs and the massive thorax. I begin to cringe all over again, and I brush myself off once more. My heart hammers inside my chest and the panic starts to rise in my throat. I go through a round of heavy breathing and moaning. The entire time I practice this phobic seizure, I attract the attention of most of my campground neighbors. I'm sure most people can imagine how insane this probably looks, but to me it's all normal. My complete normal reaction to what most of the world considers a "spider".

I guess somebody is wondering where I saw this predatory monstrosity...in the underbelly of my camper. I also understand that when I saw it, it was dead. Dead, alive, squashed, smashed, crawling, or flattened...they're all the same.
So, I was out of service the rest of the afternoon, and as soon as I mentioned the fact that I'd rather meet up with a snake. Well, let's just say that the snakes heard me and decided they'd show up too.
As the old man greased up the fittings, he encountered a small Copperhead hiding beneath the tires. The blood is still fresh outside where he did most of the chopping. Without getting bit, we beheaded the snake and threw his remains on the patio of the next campsite over. More on those precious campers later.

I've learned a valuable lesson, never EVER set up camp for longer than one week unless you're prepared to deal with a large, crawling infestation of bugs. BIG bugs. But everything is bigger at the beach-- roaches, snakes, mosquitoes, flies, gnats, ants, and...dare I say it, spiders.

8 Buttons

When the peyote wears off...the pants come off.

Remains of the day

I woke up sweating after my recurring plane crash dream last night. It was the same plane, same crash, same location. I was on a beach, and I watched the plane crash into the ocean...first I heard the loud roar (thinking it was just the "sound of freedom" I didn't pay too much attention) then I noticed a trail of smoke in the air...and I watched as it fell from the sky. It was early morning, the beach was crowded so I can only assume it was the weekend. I saw flames and smoke rising above the waves. Soon people began to wash up on the beach...no survivors in this dream like my last. I was actually able to help a few people in the last dream--one a former classmate. As the bodies started to wash ashore, I along with other beachcombers, scoured the wreckage for any signs of life. That's when I saw several people that I knew...very well...who were dead on the beach.

I can't bring myself to ever tell anyone who I saw lying on the beach that day. It was absolute pandemonium, the blood and charred flesh...and the smell. I still see the tail floating in the water, the airline logo clearly visible above the surf.
I'm disturbed, mainly because the old man will board one of these beasts in the next week. I still can't figure out why water is involved--he won't be flying over an ocean. That's one for the birds.

Parkin as the new Bates?

There's a new Norman Bates in town. Well, in Brooklyn actually. Thomas Parkin found a ghoulish, yet clever way of collecting extra money from the government--by dressing as his dead mother. Tom, like Norm, wore a wig and some of his mother's dresses to visit the bank and run daily errands. Adding to his monthly disability check, he also raked in his mother's social security checks. When questioned by police, "she" sat quietly and cooperated, while breathing through an oxygen tank. She was very polite and answered all of their questions, even covering for her son, saying he was not at home. Nobody would ever believe she could cook up such a situation, why she wouldn't even harm a fly!

El Diablo

The old man was mistaken for none other than Fabio on our last visit to Savannah.

No autographs please.

Black Pearls

Our search for a new home continues. We can't decide between these two bewitching old homes that are both sinister and haunting. The first I discovered abandoned, sitting on 150 acres in southern Alabama. The house still holds several antique pieces under dust cloths from its last tenant (I'm told from 1942). One exceptionally stunning piece is the vintage Wurlitzer pipe organ...I realize I'm unable to play; but I already hear the walls echoing Toccata and Fugue in D Minor already. Is the home too disturbing? Too menacing, frightful? Yes, it is...and it's perfect.
I found this elegant and eclectic home perched on a high hill overlooking 50 acres of open field. Both homes are a significant distance from any "town" and their addresses reflect their bizarre appearances. 85 Ravenwood Road...1408 Krueger Lane.
There isn't much left in this home...no furniture, but several trunks in the attic that are sold with the house. The realtor has no idea what's inside the trunks, and they were the only parcels left after the family decided to sell the property.

These houses, to me, seem the type to keep you completely secluded with the exception of a small herd of cows or a couple of horses. Not so much a reclusive existence as Norman Bates or Ed Gein, but just a general sense of peace. No hassle from unexpected visiting neighbors, maybe just the occasional group of curious kids daring to ring the doorbell.

Mugshot of the Day

This mugshot is no surprise. The local restaurant, well only restaurant in Enoree is run by a Greek-American man who enjoys stealing chainsaws, renting condemned houses and trailers to felons and convicts, reusing cooking oil and grease for at least two months, not bathing for weeks and maintaining a small yard full of ponies and goats while driving local neighbors crazy.
When he's not shooting dogs or buying abandoned buildings to watch them rot, he enjoys scaring local patrons with his black, furry teeth and long nasal hair.

I guess you're wondering why I know so much. Ages ago, I waited for the school bus to pick me up at the Clock restaurant in Enoree. I waited along with my cousins, Brandy, Sandy, Mandy, Chris, and sometimes Sherry. We lived across the county line, so in order to go to the place we now refer to as Hell, we cheated the system and waited for the bus at the Clock. Those mornings were fun, if Theodore was in a good mood he'd whip up a hamburger with shredded lettuce for Sandy. Chris was obsessed with the jukebox and Vanilla Ice. We knew we'd get milkshakes if we saw Stacy Price swing by for her fix in the morning, Theodore always loved it when she stopped by.
I got my first good whiff of Theodore's body odor that year.
Looks like Theodore's got more trouble on his hands than the usual swamp ass and sweater teeth...this time it's assault and battery. Maybe they'll find that chainsaw.

Dig It

Since the old man is now on the road solo, we don't spend very much time together. Last month I saw him four days. I have no idea how long or when or if I'll get to see him this month at all.
Naturally I spend a lot of minutes on the phone with him. I only get to hear the road stories now, so I listen closely and pretend I'm with him...just like some mad, washed-up groupie.

The most interesting story of his most recent trip is the history behind the Susquehanna Nuclear Plant. When the old man arrived on the job, the company was behind on most of their projects and needed some strong welds in place so they could move on to the next assignment. He's been there going on three weeks, and they are still fighting the same problems they had since the day they arrived on site. Everyday they report to work to find their welds, roots, passes, tacks, and piping are all possessed. As if they sense that the men are trying desperately to finish the job to go home to wives they haven't seen in almost two months. It's a daily battle with the equipment, the camaraderie, and the sanity of the supervision. Finally, the old man brought up this frustrating point to his overseers, only to find out that there is in fact a reason why nothing seems to "work" or "fit up" (in welder terms) at this plant.

When the old man first arrived on site he took several photos of a very old cemetery literally in the shadow of the nuclear plant's cooling towers. Some graves were only marked by small stones, others had dates of 1812. So it's clear there's a method to the madness...angry spirits sparking trouble deep beneath the surface. Don't forget, there's a reactor sitting on top of these troubled souls.
I've heard of hotels being built on Indian burial grounds (think The Shining), but nuclear plants?

Dear Me

The mobile mansion (or trailer trash, whichever you prefer) homepage is catching a lot of hits. If there's any hope in selling the beast, it's with world wide coverage. Still, I hold my breath.

I guess that's the good news. The bad news, well funny news is the latest Google search phrase that's leading a fan to the backcountry. Check this out:

www.google.com/search?q=enoree bitches&rls=com.microsoft:*:IE-SearchBox&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&sourceid=ie7&rlz=1I7TSHB_en

Wow! I never guessed this search term would lead them to the Labradoodle post! I hope it was worth the search effort. (Sorry for the disappointment)
Enoree bitches. I have to give that four stars--very clever. Personally I would've tried Enoree C**ts, but that's just me. At least the next time they need to find me, I'll finally have a post dedicated to the exact phrase.

Broken Ribs & Rainbows

(July 21, 2008 RideAccidents.com) - The Rainbow amusement ride that collapsed at Liseberg theme park last Tuesday was dismantled over the weekend by investigators who discovered a faulty drive shaft during their inspection. Investigators now believe that the accident was caused by the failure of one of the axles that is designed to hold the passenger carriage horizontal. The drive shaft had been replaced by Huss Maschinenfabrik, the ride's manufacturer, in 2003. The drive shaft is fully enclosed, and therefore is excluded from the park's regular maintenance procedures. It can only be inspected by Huss. According to the ride specifications, the drive shaft has an operational life of 5,000 running hours. The axle that failed had run for only about 3,500 hours. In light of the investigation, Huss has ordered the temporary closure of its 40 Rainbow amusement rides throughout the world.

**********************************

I'm not sure if many people remember the Rainbow at the old Myrtle Beach Pavilion. They didn't install that ride until 1986 or 87. The first time I rode the Rainbow I was eight or nine years old. I think Laralynn rode with me. Since that summer, and every summer after, the Rainbow was my favorite ride at the Pavilion. I had a lot of favorites...the coaster, the Haunted Mansion, the Log Flume, the German Organ, and the Mind Scrambler (when it was still fully enclosed with lights and smoke effects--and mind blowing hair metal music). When I watch this video, I can smell the funnel cakes and the gear oil...I can hear the organ. I hear the loud hum of the drive shaft on the Rainbow and I see the resin cabana girls standing on the edges. I always liked to sit in the middle. I felt a little safer in the middle since the cabana girl always vibrated as if she'd fall off in mid-air. When we reached the top, you could see all of Myrtle Beach and the ocean in the moonlight. Coming down, the right side of the seats always brushed a palm tree...they never cut it, and until the Pavilion closed, the Rainbow continued to swipe that tree. I can't imagine being on the damn thing when it broke.