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in the land of fog and rain

   i like to merge worlds.   i dig the whole quantum physics thing,  and the possibility of multiple realities, alternate times, extra me’s out there doing something i’m not doing now, like having a boyfriend and getting laid.

i like to merge these other worlds into my now world.  clearly this started in my youth, when i was obsessed with the Twilight Zone (like now) and certain that the ideas presented in this show were not only possible but probable and actual.  this skewed my view of the world around me and caused me to look at everything in a more  un-conventional, out-of-the-box type of thinking that my peers did not have.

and so, days when i get a shot like this, just a lamppost sitting on a square of grass, that people pass every day without noticing, i see an old London style gaslight, that makes me feel i am walking the paths of Sherlock Holmes, or the frightening but fascinating Jack the Ripper.  and yes, the big glass windowed building doesn’t quite feel of cobblestone alleys and fog drenched passages, but then again, you can’t merge two worlds without bringing a bit of each.

the dastardly dentist of Creepyville


How do you know when your dentist is really a serial killer in disguise? Let me give you some good hints, just so you can be wary.

On my daily walk I pass by a dentist’s office. The lawn has little tiny flowers growing in the bushes, and the building is sitting right next to a house I am fond of. It took me a while to finally suspect that this dentist is actually a murderer. But here, for the first time, I reveal his villainy.

The sign on the front of the dentist’s office has a terribly arcane and intriguing symbol. I’m sure if I asked the dentist he would explain it away by saying it’s an old ancient Greek symbol for healing arts, and health, and that kind of poppycock. But I know it to be a recognizable and familiar symbol to flag other murderers in the area. “Hey guys, I have wicked tools and a dark and moldy basement here. Want to come play sometime?” That’s what the symbol REALLY means.

This symbol is painted on a sign which sits in front of the entrance to the building. Being a considerate kind of mass murderer, and an equal opportunity one at that, the dentist has installed handicap accessible ramps to his office. Because it’s not bad enough that he wants to maim and torture small children and the elderly. He wants to get the handicapped and other-abled involved as well. Like I said, considerate.

The cement walkway has two large cigarette receptacles on either side of the raised path ramp. The tall, white monstrosities are shaped like giant pawns that belong on a chessboard. Oh sure, you can say that he doesn’t want people tossing their cigarette butts all over his parking lot. But I recognize the symbolism here; he is clearly expressing to the world that it is all a game to him, life is a game, and he is the mastermind. Everyone is but a pawn, and he the player who decides which patients live, and which patients are good for the black market trade of kidneys, livers and hearts. Being a dentist and all, he should probably be discouraging people from smoking anyway. But the smoking may lead to more problems of the mouth and gums, and maybe that’s what he’s hoping for.

The walkway itself is partially shrouded beneath a tarp-like overhanging. The normal, unaware person might think the dentist is being thoughtful, trying to keep his patients comfortable during a rainy day, or protected from a sudden gust of wind. To the untrained eye this might seem perfectly reasonable. To a sleuth like me, however, suspicion is raised once again. Why does this overhanging look so menacing? They used to call Jack the Ripper “leather apron” before he gave himself the Ripper title. It was suggested that the Ripper was a butcher, and wore a leather apron. The dentist’s awning looks mysteriously similar to a leather apron, as though it might be made of faux leather, or, in fact, real skin! It wrinkles like skin would, here and there around the poles it is tied to, only I imagine it is waterproof, so you can rinse it down if arterial spatter should get all over it. The sides of the awning are stitched together in a creepy, laced up fashion, like you might find on a nice lamp in a proper serial killer’s home, where they have pieced together furniture out of various victims. And the awning just happens to be the color of old blood. Hmmm. Creepy, Creepy, Creepy.

Finally, if I haven’t convinced you by now, my last two pieces of evidence. While walking one day, on a Saturday, you know, when doctors and dentists should be out golfing, spending all their riches on the grassy knolls, I spy the dentist coming out of a side door in his building. He creeps out of the door, which opens out to the parking lot. Interesting, what is he doing inside today, when there are no cars in the lot? He obviously has no real client to work on…so why is he dressed thus? He is covered in a giant, white apron, and seems to be wearing gloves, while at the same time smoking a cigarette. Is this a protective apron for his trade? Because yes, teeth cleaning is gross, and yes, plaque is disgusting, but does it fly around so much that you need to be in HAZMAT gear from head to shin? This vision arouses my curiosity, and during my daily walk I vow to watch the dentist more closely. Interestingly enough, this very week I heard crazed, manic, wild music coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the dentist’s office. Was it he, the mass tooth murderer who was playing the diabolical music to cover up the screams of his victims? Is he even now busy at work, dismembering limbs from a scheduled root canal gone wrong? How long will he get away with his dastardly deeds? Stay tuned to find out if the dentist is scurried away by the bobbies of the town, or if he eludes the long arm of the law…

Monty Python Destroys the World (film at 11:00)


So yeah, Monty Python ruins everything for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love MP. The clutches of Monty Python go far and deep into my life. As a kid, when I spent the night or weekend at my uncle’s apartment, he would get a “Me -n-  Ed’s” pizza, stay up late to watch Johnny Carson, and then even later, to catch an episode of The Flying Circus. At my high school “prom” (in parenthesis because i didn’t really go to prom. my junior and senior years were spent at a private parochial school, and dancing leads to fornication, so there was a banquet. because food leads to overindulgence, sloth and obesity, but not the dreaded pre-marital naughtieness) my date and another boy at my table spent the entire evening reciting lines from Search for the Holy Grail. Our table had the most fun, it seemed, out of the whole group present that night. And though we raised not a few eyebrows with our hearty infectious laughter, we weren’t dancing, naked, or making out, so they really couldn’t do anything to punish us that evening.

By my early twenties, I was developing a settled fondness for the Python. Back when VCR’s weren’t archaic dinosaur remnants, I bought the tape of Search for the Holy Grail, and watched it on a regular basis. I sometimes watched it with friends, or when I was bored or lonely. I often had it on in the background while I was washing the dishes, or doing housework. I’d be scrubbing a bowl and hear a line in the kitchen, and just chime in where I was, “How do you know whether she is a witch?” The random quoting of Monty Python became a fun little game for me and my sister. Actually we quoted from The Grail, because that’s the one tape I had, that we watched so often. I need to get more of the episodes and movies so my quotations have more variety to them. For now we are limited to “You could call me Dennis” and “Have at you” and the like.

And there lies the rub. As much as it is fun to randomly throw out a “Bring out yer dead”, these lines are sometimes troublesome, as well as funny. While watching Lord of the Rings, in a very high energy, nervousy and tense part, Gandalf rides a horse up a mountain to rescue someone or save the day, I can’t remember…because I just kept thinking, “How do you know he’s King?” “Because he hasn’t got shit all over him”.

I’m a fiend for anything from the late 1800’s (serious interest in the Ripper, for all the awful goriness) so when we watch period movies, we are forever making the cat noise, when the old woman is “cleaning her cat” like she is dusting a rug. Or quoting the old man, “I’m not dead yet”.  The spontaneous quoting happens a lot with movies, and can ruin a whole scene, which later then becomes a humorous memory my sister and I laugh over. But it comes up in “real life” as well (as though life is any more real than the movies; it’s all the same playing field to me)

Still, I guess there are worse things than occasionally spouting out “Bring me a shrubbery”, or “WHAT is your favorite color?” I guess if I were a more learned, educated and sophisticated woman I would be quoting The Bard. Or Edna St. Vincent Millay. Or some great work, instead of a bunch of silly Englishmen. Well, one day maybe. For now, it is a cursed thing to be addled with so much strange humor in my head, but I’ll make my way. It’s far worse to have too little humor in one’s life, than too much.