What's all this then?

The streets of West Hartford are littered with homeless Christmas trees. Such an upsetting sight. According to public works, the town tree recycling program supposedly began on January 5th. If this is true, it hasn't gotten very far, as nearly everywhere you turn there's another tree sitting on the curb, panhandling for ornaments or selling itself for a new light bulb. Some have been sitting for so long that they've sealed themselves to the ground. The saddest sight of all? That would be watching a dry Christmas tree try to tap dance for candy canes. Needles so dry they fall off with every move.

C'mon public works! Get these unfortunate souls off the streets. Grind them up into wood chips.

A return to normal

Christmas is almost over in the Trailing Spouse household. It has been exhausting. Moving to CT from Boston has meant being physically closer to most of our family, which in turn means the holidays can get spread over the course of a week. Fun. 

We're done traveling to Massachusetts, having completed our third trip yesterday. We're almost done giving out gifts, with one more sitting under the tree. We've even gotten through returning and exchanging clothes that were too big to fit in (I honestly think some relatives believe I'm 6'4", 250 and not 5'11" and a buck fifty-five). 

For a few moments, we can stop to take a breath.

I hope to get back into my routine over the next couple days. Until then, hope you've all come out of the holidays in one piece, that no one had their feelings crushed or lashed out at the embarrassing or just plain ignorant relative, and that you got everything you wanted and wished for.

Worst gifts

Today, while driving to day three of Christmas (I got, among other things, an awesome autographed photo of Leslie Neilsen!), conversation turned to the topic of bad presents. 

Worst presents. 

Horrible presents.

The Professor figured the worst gift she ever gave was a set of socks that her father received from her back in the early 1990s. Lame, we thought, but practical.

As for me, I once gave an ex-girlfriend a Faith No More tape, held in the paws of a cuddly teddy bear (this was a LONGGGGG time ago). Now, this wouldn't necessarily be a horrible gift except for the following points:

• Cuddly teddy bears and abrasive music often don't mix.

• I don't think my Ex liked Faith No More. At all.

• This was at the time when most people were already buying CDs.

I can only assume it collected dust for several years, then got sold at a yard sale.

As for the worst gifts ever received, the Professor claimed she couldn't pinpoint one single item. 

I immediately had a response. My worst gift was a t-shirt. A usually innocuous item, this t-shirt was special. A family friend gave it to me when I was about 15-years-old. It was black (a color I rarely wear) and said the following in tight white type across the chest:

DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A CRAP?

It was a gift that even the best actor would have had a hard time pulling off after opening. I looked up at the giver and let out a hollow chuckle.

"Thanks," I said (maybe it came out as "Thanks?").

"I saw it at the store and immediately thought of you," the family friend replied.

My stomach dropped. Not only did I get a horrible gift and was struggling to appear excited about it, but I apparently also came across, at the tender age of 15, as someone who would proudly walk around with a t-shirt proclaiming that I knew, without any outside influence, that I appear to not "give a crap" about anything.

I was hurt by the shirt. Was I that cynical? Was I that obnoxious? Did people see me that way?

It sat in a drawer for a month. I then learned where it came from and returned it. The store worker, gladly, let me exchange it even without a receipt.

Any horrible gifts you'd like you share, dear readers?

Day after Christmas (or, day two of my five day Christmas)

As I type this, the Professor is avidly jamming away at Guitar Hero in our living room. It was one of her gifts from my parents for Christmas. When she opened it, she sounded like one of those crazy grandmothers-to-be that appear on far too many of America's Funniest Home Videos. Instead of a clever card announcing a new baby, however, the Professor had a long box, disguised by my mother, to open. 

She pulled the paper away. Within 3.5 seconds, her age shifted from 30 to 10.

"I know what this is! I know what this is!" she exclaimed. You would have thought it was covered in diamonds.

We've each created our bands in the game. Mine is called "Barkolounge." Hers is "Fishstick." I have some pretty incriminating photos of her jamming in her jammies. If she plays her cards right, they won't be released to her students.

Of course, I'm kidding about the blackmail.

Today is day 2 of Christmas. 2.5, really. Christmas Eve was spent with the Professor's family in Massachusetts. Christmas Day was at our place with my parents and some of the Professor's family. Today we're meeting up with some friends. Tomorrow we do my family's Christmas (a gathering of roughly 50) in Massachusetts. Sunday we recuperate. Then on Monday we head back up north for Christmas with the Professor's parents and brother and our nephew and niece. It will be a whirlwind.

In between it all I'll get to hear Foghat and Poison as the little rocker continues to climb the ranks. Professor by day. Shredder by night.

. . . 4 hubcaps, 3 dead birds, 2 ladies shoes, and a patch of black ice for enemies!

I have several routes that I run in West Hartford. Most are pretty boring, at least as far as unusual discoveries are concerned. However, there's one path that I take that provides plenty of odd sights. It revolves around Park Road and includes stretches of Prospect Ave., Kane Street, Oakwood Ave., and the like.

If you're looking for some last minute stocking stuffers, and have been hit by the rough economy and are looking to do Christmas on the cheap, might I suggest the following locations and items:

Kane Street seems to be the place to go if you're looking for frozen dead birds. Seriously, there are quite a few. You don't even have to look. They're right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Big, black birds that are no more. One could easily convince an elderly relative with poor eyesight that such a creature, firmly attached to the floor of a bird cage , is just a quiet, loving pet.

Missing a hubcap? Then head on over to Oakwood and Park, where they have so many, they're throwing them onto the sidewalk! Be careful, though. Some piles seem random, but, if my guess is correct, they are actually elaborate installation art. You may want to ask someone before taking one for your toddler or dog.

Do you have a special lady in your life? Does she have two feet? Is she not a clown? If so, South Highland Street has a pair of average sized ladies shoes, neatly laid on the grass at the curb, waiting for some new paws to keep warm. Hurry over before they're gone!

Last on the list is something for the enemy in your life. Send them on a lovely trip to Flatbush Avenue. It's cheap, it's local, and there's plenty of black ice on the sidewalks to make even the most careful of steppers slip and break a hip! Of course, then you'll have to visit them at the hospital. But, even then, you can steal their mail while they're on the mend! It's a win-win!

No need to thank me, desperate shoppers. I just think that, this time of year, everyone should be helping out his fellow man. 

Your welcome.

Letters to Santa

This week's edition of The West Hartford News features a series of letters to Santa. For those readers from out of town, I thought I'd share a few of my favorites.

First up is Rodrigo, age 9:

 

This is easily the best line:

What does a mad 9-year-old write to Santa? Are there fat jokes involved? Jabs at elf labor? Maybe a dig or two aimed toward the Mrs.? Do kids use mama jokes?

Sorry Rodrigo, but Santa is ALWAYS watching you. The guys watches you while you sleep, if song lyrics are to be believed, so I'm sure he saw the seriousness tattooed on your furrowed brow as you dropped that "accidental" letter in the postbox. 

This last minute apology may work on your 9-year-old friends, but Santa's seen his fair amount of, well, BS in his life. He may be a tougher nut to crack. Good luck in your efforts.

Moving on, here's our next letter, one that the staff at the News has done nothing to help:

Oh, dear Kayla, Santa does not look kindly on those who can't spell. Of course, the folks at the News could have at least corrected that before going to press. Something tells me the average reader wouldn't have minded reading "goes," "dress," and "balloons" instead of "gose," "dres," and "buloons." 

Plus, you're all over the place with your list. Who asks for water balloons and two computers in the same sentence? What kid needs two computers? Are you setting up some sort of home office or something? You got to spread out the requests a bit. 

You're young. You'll learn.

Finally, our third letter seems to be written by a young (or old) person named Annika. Make sure to read the sign off:

Did you see that? 

Are there 75-year-olds in town posing as children to get "little ugly doll things" that they can grow? And, if so, what are they planning to do with them once they're full sized?

I'll tell you what they're going to do: Elderly coup d'etat!

Oh, we've been warned. We've been warned.

The hottest gift this holiday season, courtesy of The Onion

Aunts And Stepdads Line Up For This Year's Hottest Gift: The Electric Tea Kettle

Some alternative suggestions . . .

Well, I certainly got an earful (or, should it be eyeful, as the text isn't actually making a sound) from my post yesterday. If there's one thing I've learned in my short time writing this blog, it's that you never know what'll set someone off. And, apparently, the band Los Lonely Boys is a pretty touchy subject amongst quite a few.

Folks, just remember, this blog is the opinion of one person. Most of the posts are meant to be poking fun. Don't take such offense.  

I was only attempting to say that there are FAR too many Christmas albums released each year. Oftentimes, they tend to defeat the true nature of the season. 

Remember the words of the immortal Grinch: Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store.

So, I've decided to put my money where my mouth is today. Instead of being snarky, I've instead opted to offer up a few of my favorite Christmas albums. 

Then, you Los Lonely Boys fans can continue to tear me a new one.

Bing Crosby - White Christmas - Truly a classic, Mr. Crosby's voice is warm enough to melt the hearts of even the chilliest of cynics. There is really no point for modern performers to bother singing "White Christmas," as they'll never equal the perfection that is Crosby's original (though, his "original," on most pressings, is actually a rerecording done in 1947 which used many of the same elements from his actual original recording from 1942). 

The copy I have of this is released under it's original title, Merry Christmas.

Vince Guaraldi Trio - A Charlie Brown Christmas - Christmas just isn't Christmas without Charles M. Schulz's annual cartoon parable. A beautiful accompaniment to the famous Peanuts imagery, Guaraldi's bouncy jazz score is almost more memorable than the story it supports. And the brilliant instrumental "Christmas Time Is Here" is enough to bring a tear to one's eye.

Low - Christmas - This short EP, released in 1999, shows the group Low at its best. Known for their stripped, slow sound, there is a haunting quality to many of these songs. Yet, "Just Like Christmas," one of the 5 originals on the 8-track disk, is easily one of the peppiest songs the group has ever released.

The genuine thought in the lyrics to "If You Were Born Today" shows that Low isn't here to pad their bankbooks with this release. There is a message here that they're trying to spread. It is smart stuff that's disguised in quiet charm.

John Denver & The Muppets - A Christmas Together - Anything Muppet related tends to get a free pass from me, but this album is genuinely good. The soundtrack to a 1979 Christmas special, A Christmas Together blends the silliness of the Jim Henson creations with the tender voice of Denver. The duets are often quite a bit of fun, but it's the quieter moments that make this album special. It says quite a bit when a character like Rowlf can make you hold your loved ones a little bit closer when listening to his duet with Denver on "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Christmas with the Chipmunks - Though not quite as charming as an adult, this is still a Christmas must-have. Truly an example of Christmas cash-in, it still makes my eyes light up and my mouth smile whenever I hear it. This is an album that reawakens the child within and reminds that child that there's a lot of fun out in the world. Though, as an adult, Dave really comes across as a psycho show dad, doesn't he?

The most unnecessary new holiday albums

Every year, record companies and music artists alike join forces to produce an avalanche of holiday albums. And, every year, enough copies seem to sell to keep the onslaught alive and well the following Christmas season.

In 2008, over 30 major recording artists released Christmas albums.

Here, in my opinion, are the most unnecessary:

1. Elliott Yamin - My Kind of Holiday - The former American Idol contestant is releasing his second Christmas album, following 2007's Sounds of the Season. Here's the catch: Yamin only has ONE other album. So, thus far, his holiday records outnumber any actual recordings he's ever done.

Los Lonely Boys - Christmas Spirit - I suppose the gents in Los Lonely Boys, having failed to remotely crack the Billboard charts in quite some time, decided a Christmas album might be their ticket back into the spotlight. But, if a stale music act releases a CD and there's no one around to care, does it still make a sound?

Update: I've been informed by many of the rabid LLB fans out there that the band actually does quite a bit of charity work. I can only hope that some of the money generated by this album's sale goes toward these causes that they support. If so, then they get a pass. A suspicious pass, but a pass, nonetheless. 

The Archies Christmas Album - Really? Do we even need to debate the need for this?

Elvis Presley - Christmas Duets - This album is actually a huge hit right now, currently sitting at #14 on Amazon's music bestseller list.

The man has been dead for 31 years people! Is listening to his old recordings being mauled into "duets" by the likes of Gretchen Wilson and Carrie Underwood really going to help bring Christmas cheer? Why not buy one of the King's actual holiday albums? You know, the one's he made while he was alive and capable of thought? The ones that he had at least some control over?

Oh, the list goes on and on. Harry Connick Jr. is releasing his third Christmas CD this year, as is Tony Bennett. Amy Grant has what appears to be her 4000th collection of Christmas songs on the shelves just in time for stocking stuffers to gobble it up. Enya has her first Christmas CD out.

When does it end?

Honestly, the reason these artists, and in some cases I use that word loosely, release these albums year after year is because we, the public, buy them by the truckload. Are there good intentions? Perhaps here and there. But, the question remains, how much is too much? Should every musician get one free pass to try their hand at a holiday classic? Should there be some sort of regulation enforced to prevent the destruction of carols by one-hit-wonders? Will any of these albums matter thirty years from now, or will Bing Crosby still warm our hearts with "White Christmas?" Will future generations instead substitute his tones with Elliott Yamin's new "Let's Be Naughty (And Save Santa the Trip)?"

Only time will tell.

The horrors of the holidays

I was scanning around YouTube today and decided to do a search of folks singing Christmas songs. Naturally, I was looking for horrible, horrible examples to share with all of you.

Here are my findings:

According to YouTuber Dabugi, this was his "pathetic attempt at a last minute Christmas greeting. I turned the radio on and started singing the first song that came on. It wasn't until 'Chestnuts' that I even knew what song it was." 

I must say, my favorite elements to the video are: 1. This man's dedication to finishing the song, 2. The annoyed cat that wanders through about 1/3 of the way in, and 3. The awesome "intense eyes" the guy uses throughout the performance.

Okay, so what's really weird with this one is that the performer seems to be nude. Why? We'll never know. And maybe that's a good thing.

A great component of this performance is the fact that the singer is too scared to show her face, choosing instead to hide behind a roll of wrapping paper. What's even better are the dead eyes she has while obviously speed reading the lyrics to the "12 Days of Christmas."

The jacket. The reverb in his voice. The swaying. What can I say? Brilliant.

Beware of my undead army of gingerbread men!

This is what happens when it rains on a December day and I have too much time on my hands . . . Gingerbread Zombies!

To be fair, many normal gingerthings were also made, but I couldn't resist Photoshopping a little portrait of my minions. 

The joy of quilting

The Professor and I are trying to keep our Christmas gift-giving in check, both because of my job status and because, well, the stress of giant presents just isn't what the holidays are about. Not that we've ever been the "over-the-top" kind of holiday fools, but we've been known to go a little nutty hunting down items for family and friends. 

So, with the Professor's wonderful skills as a seamstress and my ample free time, we decided this year we'd try to make a fair amount of our gifts. 

The Professor has been knitting items for grandparents and friends. She's sewn together bags and headbands. 

And I, well . . .

I have begun to quilt.

That is a sentence I never would have imagined I'd utter.

Yes, for our parents, we opted to make matching quilted wall hangings of this Christmas tree pattern that the Professor found online somewhere. I, admittedly, cannot work a sewing machine all that well, so I have been in charge of cutting out pieces of fabric. I made sure to do most of this while football was on television, if only to ensure my manhood (though, if you ask me, cutting out fabric while watching burley men in tight outfits jump on top of each other could go either way. Not to mention the high heels I was wearing at the time . . .).

Anyway, I cut out pieces and the Professor sewed them together. I then took the sewn pieces and ironed their seams flat so that they could be connected to more pieces. We actually were a great team, almost a machine, in fact. I'd press pieces, deliver them to the sewing room, pick up the next round, and so on.

Unfortunately, the one bump we came across was learning that, after I cut everything out, I must have been shaving the pattern of a few shapes ever so slightly while going through the fabric (I was wondering about all those thin whiskers of paper!). But, the Professor, crafty as she is, was able to improvise a bit, cutting everything down to be uniform.

As everything came together, I admit that I felt pretty proud for helping make these little things.

I am Ben, and I have quilted. 

The perils of snotty children

I knew what I was getting into. Once I saw my niece put her fingers in her nose, then grab my leg as I sat with my nephew, I knew it was all over.

Roughly 72 hours later, my head is sore, my throat raw.

The little bugger got me sick. 

To be fair, she's only 2.

This, sadly, is the fate of many childless adults who visited family for the Thanksgiving holiday. Our immune systems just couldn't handle the tiny germs floating off the little children that ran around our legs and jumped on our laps while we ate our apple pie. We are all waking today, or traveling, or working, with dry lips, tight muscles, and throbbing noggins.

The little glazed donut monsters. Snot dripping. Hands clinging. We were no match for their powers.

And, I have to keep convincing myself that these attacks were not intentional. I have to keep telling myself that the little mercenaries were not sent over by their parents, eager to free themselves for a few moments, to remember what life before children was like, if only for a fleeting moment. I have to hope that these ambushes were not pointed at the empty handed.  

Though, coughing and drinking my tea under a quilt, my mind may not be clear enough to make a sound judgement. I am pumping my body with Zinc and Vitamin C. Perhaps they will curb my suspicions.

Until then, I wait and hope that, when I close my eyes for rest, I am not haunted with the face of a 2-year-old cold carrier, eyes set on another victim.

Hope that the $300 laptop was worth it

Ah, Black Friday. The wonderful deals. The early morning rush.

The horrible violence.

Yes, this is America, where pregnant women get tossed, ankles get twisted, store workers are trampled to death and ignored by hundreds of dollar-sign-blinded citizens, and individuals are shot to death inside a toy store, all for the sake of an early bird special.

Very, very sad.

Articles on the events, via the Hartford Courant and CNN.

Thanksgiving break

Tomorrow marks yet another Thanksgiving. And, yes, my loyal Canadian and Grenadine readers, I do realize that your Thanksgiving has already come and gone last month (did you know that Thanksgiving was celebrated in Grenada? That sounds like a great movie title: Thanksgiving in Grenada.). 

Being a New Englander, and a Massachusetts resident for nearly all of my life, Thanksgiving is a "big deal" holiday. It certainly seems to have a strange stranglehold on my family. Maybe it's because the Pilgrims started it all almost 400 years ago. Maybe it's because we're uptight New Englanders. Either way, Thanksgiving is often an over-the-top ordeal.

To alleviate some of the holiday stress, I have provided the following relief kit below:

1. The late, great Mitch Hedberg, talking turkey

2. Actual instructions from WikiHow for creating your own "hand turkey" drawing (for those with sadly sheltered childhoods)

3. A hard-hitting Stove Top commercial from 30 years ago

4. Potato Art

 

From the Prince Edward Island Potato Museum.

"Potato Sculpture Federation Sq. Melbourne" by John Mutsaers

"Mashed Potato Goldfish" by Monique Daley

5. Advice on how to talk to boring relatives at dinner

6. A man obsessed with turkey

7. The fine art of turkey hunting, courtesy of Stella (kinda NSFW. Well, really NSFW.)

8. And, finally, for those of you considering that 4 a.m. trip to Best Buy on Friday morning, a word of warning (in the form of a video clip):

Enjoy the break, everyone. And, if some of you out there are going to be stuck working at 4 a.m. on Friday, I feel for you. Just remember, duck and cover.

This winter wonderland smells of halibut . . .

I saw a shorter version of this ad the other day on television. You know, whenever I think of Christmas, I think, "C'mon, we're going to Bass Pro Shop!" Santa's there! And cool neon lures! And guns! And knives! And archery supplies! There's nothing like trying to explain to a child why this reindeer has a target painted on it and is for sale for only $29.99! 

It's to practice Santa's Christmas Eve flight, Timmy, I promise!

A little Veterans Day story

Many years ago, back when Veterans Day was still observed on a Monday, I had a run-in with a pumpkin. Well, I shouldn't say "I" had a run-in. Rather, my car had a run-in with a pumpkin. It's kind of hard to explain. Here, maybe this poem can tell the story:

'Twas the night before Veterans Day, 'bout six years ago
I laid on my couch, watching a show.
The weather was warm and unseasonably fair,
which lead teens outside to an unusual dare.

The Professor was off to snuggle in bed,
While I stayed awake to clear out my head.
Nonsense T.V. was always a cure,
The dumber the better, just to be sure.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the teens who ran from below,
My car alarm ringing, an orange sheen glow.
The street had been littered with "pumpkiny" chunks,
My car now a victim of two little punks.

I threw on my sneakers, so lively and quick,
Ran out the door and looked for a stick.
When one wasn't found, I did second best,
And grabbed a crushed pumpkin, held to my chest!

"Now Punk! now, Jerk! now, Stupid Young Brat!
How dare you throw pumpkins! And then run, at that!
To the top of the road! To the end of the town!
I will not stop searching until you are found!"

I gazed at the mess then off to my car,
A dent in its side, another new scar.
So armed with a squash I ran under the moon,
Wearing pajamas, I looked like a loon.

A few minutes, I still saw their backs

I huffed and I puffed and planned my attack.
As I drew in my head, I heard a close sound,
It said, "Stop right there you! And hit the ground!"

He was dressed in pajamas, from his head to his foot,
And he held up a flashlight the color of soot.
I looked at my hands, still holding the gourd,
He thought it was me! To him I moved toward.

His eyes-how they stared! His hair a brown mop!
If I didn't know better this guy was a cop!
His stubbly chin, his tracksuit all blue,
I then realized the punks got him, too!

"We're in this together! Now, might I suggest,
We go after those punks who made all this mess?"
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And flew up the street to go after those jerks.
And I just stood back and looked down at my hands,
Tossed away the fruit, wiped my fingers of strands.

The kids were soon caught, to juvie they went,
For busting some pumpkins and leaving some dents.
As I finally lay, in bed after the flight,
I thought "Happy Veterans Day to all, and to all a good-night!"

So, let this be a warning and a suggestion to those out there who haven't tossed their Halloween pumpkins quite yet. The time is now. Let them go. They served their purpose two weeks ago. Time for them to visit the Great Pumpkin in the sky.

On another note, I just wanted to say thank you to my uncles and cousins, to the grandparents and great-grandparents, and to the men and women throughout time that have had the courage to defend our country. I hope you all had a nice Veterans Day. 

Answer: 7 lbs. of candy was NOT enough!

So, 7 lbs. of candy was NOT enough to satisfy the tiny teeth of our neighborhood ghouls and ghosts (and Jasons, and Batmans, and Hannah Montanas, and Spider-Mans (both red and black), and zombies, and bananas, and dinosaurs, and Darth Vaders, and "ganstas," and Oprah Winfreys (yup, we had an Oprah), and pathetic adults, and everything else we saw in the flurry that was the evening). 

By 7 p.m., we had practically run out.

Time to break out the leftover soup, I thought.

However, the Professor was against this idea. She didn't even let me hand out ice cubes. Instead, she told me to buy more candy.

I made my way to CVS, conveniently located a short walk from our apartment. And, at this particular CVS, judging by the way customers inside were acting, one would have to gather that candy factories must have called it quits and shut down for good. Otherwise, the insanity of people grabbing for bags and shouting about prices wouldn't have made much sense. 

Seriously, you'd think that there were Nintendo Wiis and a day-after-Thanksgiving sale going on inside.

I was lucky to get out alive, I tell you. Granted, I did have to use an older lady as a human shield for a moment, but, really, it was her or me.

I made it back just in time, as the Professor was about to hand out the last of our supply. 

I handed over two new big bags. Plenty for the rest of the evening. No more candy after this, I declared.

Twenty minutes later, we were tapped out again. 

The worst of it was that the tiniest little girl was the last kid to not get anything from us. The rest of her group cleaned us out. And none of the bigger kids thought to give her their piece.

Rotten kids.

10+ pounds of candy. Gone. A little over 2 hours.

And, once we were out, we knew we had to act fast. It was like a horror movie. The monsters were fast approaching. They were hungry. Acting as quickly as possible, we blew out our spooky candles, killed the porch light and locked the front door. We ducked into the back rooms of the apartment and kept the front dark.

I think they've all left now.

Wait! What's that?

I swear I heard fingernails against our door just now. Creepy little kids voices!

Oh no! They're breaking through the glass!

I hear them scampering through the front rooms!

Please, little Princesses! I have no more candy! You should have come earlier!

Their eyes! They're possessed!

This may be it! I may be done for! Hopefully they'll be kind enough to publish this post if I were tooooooo . . .

7 lbs. of candy

Will 7 lbs. of candy hold tonight for trick or treating? I sure hope so, because that's what we've got. After that, it's leftover soup for the little ghouls and goblins. 

Maybe a frozen waffle or two.

Then, ice cubes.

Happy Halloween everyone!

30 years of "Halloween"

Today, October 31, 2008, marks the 30th anniversary of the evening depicted in John Carpenter's film Halloween. Yes, 30 years ago the spooky franchise was born, bringing the world Michael Myers, Laurie Strode, and a synthesized score that has become synonymous with scary nights and frightening figures. It was the night, as the film's poster claims, HE came home!

The film was actually released on October 25th, 1978. An independent film costing only about $325,000 to produce, it went on to become the most profitable indie film of its time, taking in $47 million over its theatrical run. It inspired many of the horrible "spook" moments used in too many bad '80s horror movies to count, and helped set the ground rules for who makes it and who doesn't when it comes to scary movies (i.e. - If you have sex, you're dead. If you're the virgin, you survive.).

So, happy birthday, Halloween. And now, in closing, for your reading pleasure (no need to thank me), I will type out the Halloween theme:

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do
Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do Waaa

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do Waaaa

(now one pitch lower)

Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do Waaa
Dee-do-do-dee-do-do-dee-do-dee-do

(and repeat x1)

(after first repeat, drop one pitch lower and play again)

(after second repeat, drop another pitch lower and play again)