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Crass Fiction: The 7:03

Author’s note: Baconcat loves Gothic horror. He loves it for the atmosphere and the over the top lurid descriptions (oh, the Victorians, what wonderful hypocrite prudes they were!). However, if you don’t, you’ll probably want to skip this one.

 

Okay, you’ve been forewarned.

The 7:03

The blast of the train’s steam whistle ripped through the snowstorm and told Hannah she had guessed correctly. The sound emanated no more than 30 yards directly in front of her. The snowfall was so thick that when she fled her house only a few minutes ago she was forced to lay trust in only her feet to guide her to the train station. But her feet had run true, taking steps they had taken perhaps a thousand times before. Now, with only a few more steps she would be aboard the train and free of her dreadful pursuers. She wondered, if only for a moment, if she had truly been able to escape them. But if she had heard the whistle, they heard the whistle. Were she to make the train though, there would be safety in numbers.

How horrible the demons that forced her from her home had been!  She imagined her pursuers’ blackened hands grasping at her, the greasy flesh falling off in terrible chunks, the sooty tallow leaving streaked stains on her dress. So nightmarish was this thought that she failed to see the step to the train platform and fell over it, almost spilling the little money purse clutched desperately in her hand. ’30 dollars.’ she whispered instinctively, as if by speaking it aloud she guaranteed its safety. 30 dollars was not much, but it would be enough for her to start a new life in Cleveland, maybe even Chicago. It was all her father had to his name. All of his savings, and yet only five minutes ago he had pressed it so willingly and firmly into her hand while he shuttled her out back door of the only home she had ever known.

“Just please go, child!” he said while pushing her reluctant body out into the cold night. He hadn’t even had time to tell her he loved her before the mob knocked down the front door. “Just go!” he cried as he ran to bar the kitchen door and buy his only child a few more precious seconds to flee. Just then, in the moment the front door had fallen, she’d seen the demons again leading the charge; Their burnt faces turned in a permanent toothy death smile, their white bones peeking through the torn and scarred skin as they forced their way through the house and slammed against the kitchen door. Hannah took one last look at her father mustering all the strength his 58 year old frame could manage to hold back the door, and then she turned and stumbled blindly into the raging storm.

The whistle blew again as Hannah ran down the platform, racing for the train. As she boarded the train, she heard the desperate cries of her pursuers. They too had reached the platform, but devil be damned, they were too late! The train was already pulling out of the station. Even if they got aboard, they couldn’t hurt her here; not on a train, not with all the passengers for witnesses. In the town she may be a pariah, but here on a train full of strangers, she was an unknown damsel in distress. The demons could not touch her here.

She found her way into the cabin and fell into the first available seat. Even though the seats were the uncomfortable wood and wrought iron benches of coach class, the cabin was warm, being heated by the coal fired oven, and she was so tired and relieved to be free of them that she drifted into a dream filled sleep.

Her sweet, departed mother came to mind first. She had been so beautiful! While she was alive all had been well in their small town. Her father had been happy then, for he considered himself the luckiest man alive. Having reached 40 with no mate, he had resigned himself to a life of solitude. Yet, when he met Hannah’s mother on a supply trip to Boston, he knew within an instant that he would marry her. It didn’t matter that she was a poor immigrant daughter and he a successful shopkeeper, nor that he was twice her age. After only a day, he offered her work in his general store. She agreed and took the long carriage ride back with him without a second thought. By the time they arrived in his small town, they were in love. They were married in a short ceremony and within a year, Hannah arrived.

“Next stop Garvey.”

Perhaps Hannah had always had the gift. Perhaps not, but what is certain is that her first recollection of the ability was her mother’s death. Hannah had seen the mark on her mother that day. It was clear as day to Hannah, the dark blue band across her mother’s neck. Not knowing what it was, the premonition confused her. Here was her mother in her Sunday best, and yet she was caked in mud. Being only four, she asked her mother why she would wear muddy clothing to go to church? Her mother thought Hannah was playing a child’s game with her and scolded her. She remembered that; her mother had been cross with her. And yet, her mother was sweet-natured, and not one to hold a grudge. By the time service ended, she had forgiven Hannah, even though the child still insisted that she was wearing soiled clothes.

For three days Hannah watched her mother come downstairs wearing clothing caked in mud. And each time there was the same deep blue band across her neck. For three days she would ask her mother why she wore muddy clothes and for three days her mother sighed and her father told her it was not polite to make fun. It wasn’t until the 4th day that the visions made sense. That was the day Mr. Watkin’s carriage became unbuckled and rolled free down the hill. Her mother never even saw it. It pushed her into the mud in the middle of the street and the wagon wheel passed right over her neck. From there on in, father believed in her visions. How could he not? Was the bruise of the wagon wheel not exactly where Hannah had shown him?

The loss was hard on both of them, but they had each other, and together they survived. Her father was sad, but he was kind and loving. And though he had lost his wife, he had her daughter. Life began to return to normal.

“Next stop Wickham Green.”

For a while, things settled in again. But then the war between the states broke out and Hannah began seeing them again. For the week before he left to join the union, Parson Williams’ boy had a deep gash down the length of his neck. He was killed by a cavalryman in a skirmish. Joseph and Ira Collins had multiple bullet holes in their Sunday best. They were both killed at Pickett’s charge.  Ambrose Mueller was missing a head. And when she saw Clinton Smith, or what was left of him, the sight was so terrifying that she screamed every time he came into her father’s store.

Her father had always liked Clinton and felt it was his duty to tell him of his daughter’s premonition. Clinton was so terrified that he fled the draft and ran away to New York City. He was blown to pieces by a naval cannon during the draft riots of ‘63.

From then on out things deteriorated in the village. Clinton’s mother believed it was Hannah who had killed her son through some sort of magic and she spread the story Clinton had told her throughout the town. Hannah’s father laughed at first, but as she kept predicting and people kept dying, it became harder and harder to laugh.

“Next Stop Ashtabula, Ohio.”

The war ended, as all wars do, and if things didn’t exactly return to normal, they at least became less hostile. But even without war, accidents happen: threshers break, carriages flip, horses panic, guns explode. Hannah kept them to herself, sharing only the occasional comment for her father. “Old Schaeffer is going to die soon.” Most importantly Hannah resigned herself to the fate of not being able to change the outcomes. After all, they died if she said nothing and they died if she warned them. She became used to the sights of the mangled bodies. None of them were that terrible, and more importantly, they had a sort of benevolent peace to them. If she envisioned farmer Schaeffer with a broken neck, he was still farmer Schaeffer, he still spoke kindly words to her on Sunday, even if they came out of a very sideways head.

But a full 11 years after the war she saw a horrible vision, one altogether worse than Clinton Smith. In fact, it had been so horrible that when the two demons (for there was no other word for them) entered the Church on that cold morning, she fainted dead away.

Hannah rustled in her sleep as the train left the station. Though she tried to push the memory of the demons from her mind, she could not. They were townspeople no doubt, but so badly burnt that they were unrecognizable. When they walked into the church that morning, she saw the greasy black stains they left in their wake, she saw the flesh drip and fall off their legs. And their eyes, their hideous eyes were vacant of eyeballs, black and oozing, and yet, because this was only a vision, they still seemed to look at you, though they had nothing to look with.

Fainting in the church was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. While Hannah recuperated at home, a mob formed. When she awoke that night, she heard the voice of Bill Tilghman talking in the hall outside her room.

“No, you’ve got to go now, James. They won’t wait two weeks.”

“But she’s my daughter!”

“They are coming tonight. They are coming and they are going burn her! That scene in the church- it- well, it was enough.”

It was during their preparations to leave that the mob had come. Her mind drifted back to the purse. ’30 dollars.’ Se mumbled as she clutched the purse in her sleep.

“Just please go.” Her father’s last words.

And again in her dream she saw the faces of the two as they barged through her father’s door. Two evil skulls the color of onyx. Two scarred and burnt men with hate in their hearts and black deeds on their minds. She had escaped them. Even if they were here on the train now, they could not hurt her. She had escaped them. She had escaped.

The train jostled as it slowly pushed through the snowfall and inched its way across the bridge. The conductor, not expecting the quake shifted clumsily and bumped into Hannah. Perhaps to cover his mistake, he asked her for her ticket. Hannah awoke and as she wiped the sleep from her eyes she looked up to him. His face was completely sheared off and in its place a grisly mask of blood and muscle remained. He put his hand forward and she could see it was badly burnt, so burnt that it was barely recognizable. Hannah shrieked, causing the passengers in the cabin to turn to look at her. Their faces were all burnt too. Some were without heads. Others had heads, but were contorted in the most unnatural way.  She covered her eyes to hide the hideous sight, but the sights still came through, as if her hands were not there. She pulled them down from her eyes and saw that they too were burnt, so badly destroyed that only charred bones existed where once there had been flesh and blood.

Suddenly Hannah understood the meaning of the visions.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream but it was drowned out by the blast of the steam whistle on the number 2 engine. The events foretold in her vision were already in motion, and past the point of no return. Three cars up, the first engine had just passed over the broken bridge trestle causing it to give way. The engineer of the second engine gave one final blast of the steam whistle as it uncoupled from the lead engine and plunged into the abyss below. From the other side of the bridge, the #1 Engineer could only weep and stare on helplessly as each car, in turn, plunged off the gap, down into the burning wreckage below.

-Baconcat

Spirituality Corner: Embracing Solitude

“It is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be a reason the more for us to do it.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

I’ve lived with my boyfriend for the last seven years, but before that, I lived alone for several years. While I’ve grown to love the closeness of living with someone, I often find myself feeling relieved when I have some extended time for myself. There’s a breathing out that happens, and for a few days I just let my hair down (so to speak), let the dishes pile up in the sink and unwind whatever way I feel like doing. After that initial phase of embracing my inner escapist, I get back in gear with renewed enthusiasm.

The world isn’t set up to nurture people who enjoy solitude. This is a highly ironic truth given the fact that more people than ever before are living alone. Whether by choice or by circumstance, all they can do is make the best of their situation. I would like to suggest that embracing solitude is a tremendous spiritual tool. After all, we come in to this world alone, and we leave the same way; in between, we may as well grow accustomed to our intrinsically solitary natures.

There’s a delicate dance, though, between embracing solitude and becoming a lonely, isolated hermit. The key is to remain engaged with others (in person is preferable, but via telephone or internet is better than not at all) while enjoying the stillness and serenity of being alone. Of course, it’s much easier for a person who is in a relationship and lives with her partner to tout the joys of aloneness. I recognize that it’s harder to be isolated when it’s not your first choice. All I’m suggesting is to make the most of it, rather than being at the effect of its potential to induce moroseness.

If you’re alone and in a funk, try a little reverse psychology: think of the times you were amongst people and it made you absolutely miserable. Then think of the benefits of being by yourself. Make lists if you need to; the point is to engage in active appreciation of your solitude. Then, when you’re amongst a group of people, you can easily call upon the insights culled from being by yourself. This is always useful because, as Ram Dass famously said, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

Top image here.

The Amazing Race Recap: Big In Japan

Welcome back to a busy leg of The Amazing Race! In what I think may be a race first, instead of lolling about at a resort until the morning, after the teams checked into the pit stop they were sent on an overnight train ride from The Outback to Somewhere With Airplanes. The Nerds (Zev and Justin) were the first to leave the pit stop and learned that they had to fly to Tokyo, Japan. They reminisced about the last time they were in Japan and had to eat fistfuls of wasabi. Otherwise, they were nonplused by their destination.  One person that was super duper OMG! holy cow we’re going to Japan! Did you read that? We’re going to Jah-payyyuuun!!!! Whoooo! was the Daughter half of Father/Daughter. Maybe Japan was on her bucket list, or maybe she just really likes sushi and questionable fashion trends. I don’t know. But she was excited.

Eventually the teams all figured out that there were two flights to Japan–a direct flight that got in at 6:15am, and a connecting flight that got in at 6:00am. Now, I’ve watched enough seasons of TAR to know that you do not risk a connection over fifteen minutes. But despite having actually run the race before, some teams did not know this. People, please. If you’re going on a reality television show, do yourself a favor and watch a few seasons beforehand. You can learn lots of great stuff, like never give away an immunity idol, never make a dress that could be worn by the mother of a bride, and never choose a connecting flight over a direct flight to save fifteen minutes. Sheesh!

The Nerds and the Globetrotters were waffling back and forth between the direct flight and the connecting flight, and eventually decided to go for the one that got in earlier. But, waffling takes time, and time is not your friend on TAR. By the time they went to purchase their tickets for the connecting flight, there were only 2 seats left. What would they do? Flip a coin? Rock, Paper, Scissors? Thunderdome? Nope. The Globetrotters let the Nerds have the last two seats because the Nerds had helped them out with a clue earlier. Have I mentioned that I love these guys?

Along with the Nerds, the “Couple,” The Deaf Kid And His Umbilical Cord, Mel and Mike, and the Cheerleaders all opted to take the connecting flight. The bad news is that there were engine troubles with the connecting flight. The good news is, they were on the ground when they found out about the engine troubles. But it did delay their flight, and I hate to say I told you so (that’s not true, I actually love it), but the direct flight landed first.

Once in Japan, the teams had to drive themselves to city of Kamakura and find the Yabusame Dojo. The parking garage was the coolest thing ever! The cars rotated on a giant Wonder Wheel and spit out of a slot like a vending machine. And for an added bonus, the Globetrotters looked like they were driving a little clown car, which may or may not be part of their basketball routine.

All of the teams seemed to get a bit lost, and Old Yeller started doing his yelling thing again. But, berating his daughter paid off because they got to the Roadblock first. Way to reward bad behavior, TAR.

At the Roadblock, one team member had to participate in a Yabusame training exercise. Old Yeller himself chose to do the Roadblock and was dressed as a samurai and given a bow and arrow. I would not have given an angry, short-tempered old man a weapon, but hey, that’s just me. The Sisters Who Peed In China, the Globetrotters, and Father/Daughter arrived shortly afterwards and got suited up and began practicing the routine which involved some sort of bending exercises and shooting an arrow through a piece of plywood while riding a mechanical bull set to “easy peasy lemon squeezy” mode.

The Sister hit the target first, and that pissed off Old Yeller. Next was Justin. Bam! Hit the target. Then the Father. Old Yeller must’ve been steaming at that. The “Couple”, Mel and Mike, and the Deaf Kid And His Umbilical Cord showed up at the Roadblock just as the Globetrotters completed the task. Finally, Old Yeller let out a yelp and hit the target and his daughter cheerfully exclaimed “good job, Daddy!” What a nice family, I think they’re going to really bond over this experience.

Two teams were missing in action–the Cowboys and the Cheerleaders. The Cowboys were very, very, very lost. Their navigational plan was to drive “south.” I’m not sure if they understood that Japan is an island, and too much driving “south” would lead to a very long swim.

In contrast to the Cowboys’ lackadaisical approach, the Cheerleaders rammed right into another car. They hit a side mirror, and the car’s owner called the police. The Cheerleaders broke a mirror. Ha! Throw them in jail for Extreme Irony (and Horribleness)! Although the police did not throw them in jail (they ordered the Cheerleaders to hug the other driver, figuring forcing these women to be nice was the cruelest punishment of all), the incident did slow down their race considerably.

All teams eventually completed the Roadblock and were sent to a railway station to find a statue and their next clue. The Nerds and Father/Daughter got there first. The teams had a choice between two tasks–Prayer of Purity or Frog of Life. In Prayer of Purity, the teams had to complete a cleansing ritual and then stand under a freezing cold waterfall for one minute. In Frog of Life, teams had to strip down, get into a mud pit, and search for a plastic frog while being pelted with mud by boisterous locals. Please choose Frogs of Life, please choose Frogs of Life, please choose Frogs of Life!

They chose Frogs of Life! Whoo hoo! The task looked absolutely awful. Not only were they looking for a small frog in a mud pit while wearing nothing but a diaper, but the locals were serious about pelting them with mud. The Nerds found the frog first and had to drive to the pit stop in Kuriyama, Japan. Father/Daughter were close on their heels, so to speed things up, the Nerds hopped in their car pantsless.  I am now performing a purity ritual on my eyeballs.

Speaking of purity rituals, Old Yeller and the Globetrotters were the only teams to choose this task. I hope the ritual cleansed the evil out of Old Yeller, because he was in rare form. The Globetrotters made quick work of the task and completed the task first.  While grabbing their backpacks to leave, they accidentally picked up Old Yeller’s fanny pack which contained Ron and Christina’s passports. Whoops!  Realizing their mistake, the Globetrotters left the fanny pack in the changing room. This left Old Yeller fuming because he had spent a few minutes berating his daughter for not being more careful. Good work, Globetrotters! You pushed that man one step closer to the edge.

As the Cheerleaders headed to the frog task, the Nerds were running to the mat. For the second week in a row, the Nerds were team number one. Good for you, pantsless boys! Father/Daughter were next, followed by the Globetrotters and Old Yeller. Old Yeller was not happy about the fanny pack situation and complained to Phil, who gave the Globetrotters a 30 minute penalty. Fair enough I suppose, but still, it was a bit of a snitchy thing to do.

Meanwhile, more digging through mud, more frogs and diapers, and the Cheerleaders finally made it to the mud pit. The sun had gone down, and the only other team left was Mel and Mike. Poor Mel was a wreck. Mike had the good senses to take his father to a nearby ambulance to warm up. Unfortunately, getting into an ambulance is never a good strategy for winning TAR.

The Cheerleaders found the frog pretty quickly, which meant Mel and Mike were the last ones left at the task. The Cheerleaders never saw Mel and Mike in the ambulance, so when they got to the mat, they assumed that they were going to be eliminated. When Phil told them that they were team number nine, something horrible happened. One of the Cheerleaders (I don’t know which one, they both look the same, it’s kind of creeping me out) said “shut the front door!” as a substitute for “shut the fuck up!” No. Just no. There is no place for cleaned up churchy-speak on TAR, and I hope that the next time one of them pulls crap like that, the producers bleep it out so that my ears do not have to be offended by their non-potty-mouths.

Mel and Mike didn’t finish the task and were eliminated. That’s too bad, but it was bound to happen eventually, and Mike did say that he didn’t want to kill his father, so mission accomplished. The teams are off to China for the next leg, where it looks like the “Couple” takes a long drive in the wrong direction. Fun!

So what did you think? Did the Globetrotters deserve the penalty? Were you hoping this was a non-elimination leg, or would it have been cruel to force Mel to continue?

Netflix Sunday: Who should (and shouldn’t) catch up on ‘Doctor Who’

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We all have them.  The TV shows we missed out on when they originally aired because we  didn’t know about them until ages later, or hadn’t heard of them because they’re on the real BBC, but BBC America won’t air them because they want to show the non-BBC Star Trek, TNG at the same freaking time as Syfy.  But I digress.

Your solution is Netflix.  We all know Netflix and we should all have Netflix, because, well, it’s eight damn dollars a month for streaming only, and if you can’t shell that out for some awesome entertainment you missed out on the first time around, there’s nothing I can do for you here.

*ahem*

Speaking of the BBC, my first suggestion is no surprise to anyone who knows me or has asked for TV suggestions on or off the internet: Doctor Who.

If you’re not familiar, Doctor Who is about a humanoid alien who travels through all of space and time, having adventures and saving the day (or all of eternity).  Not bad for a lonely Time Lord.

Doctor Who is a blend of sci-fi, fantasy, and a little bit of British wit and is always fascinating, exciting, and never boring.  The show provides a fantastic mix of serious, heart-wrenching episodes as well as those with the perfect balance of suspense and humor.  Each incarnation of The Doctor has his own personality and sense of style, and creates his own reality that seamlessly ties who he once was to who he is now.

The show also tells multiple stories as the series goes on.  Some are complete after a few episodes, and others continue through seasons and between incarnations of the Doctor.  There’s plot development with most episodes, even if it’s in a minute amount.  There are some that are great episodes seemingly independently of the rest of the series, but then the theme or character turns up unexpectedly in another storyline and another time.  It’s not as complex as Lost* was in that you don’t have to keep a database updated with every line of every episode, but it does require some attention to detail – and the end in the stories of the Whoniverse actually make sense!

Doctor Who, as it exists now, is going into Season 6 this spring.  However, it’s technically season 32, which requires an explanation that I’ll give…. now.  The show originated in 1963 via the good people at the BBC.  An older gentleman by the name of William Hartnell played the role of the Doctor, and the show became so popular that by the time he wanted to retire, the producers decided to give the Doctor the ability to regenerate.  Per the show, when the doctor is so sick or injured he cannot recover, he has can regenerate into a completely new person.  He gets a new look, personality and fashion sense because the Doctor is never a jeans and t-shirt type, the man’s got style, dammit.

In any case, the show premiered in 1963, went off the air in the 80s, and was re-launched as an American version in 1996 which failed miserably.  In fact, that might be the origin of “epic fail”, but then was finally relaunched by the BBC, as it should be, in 2005 with the introduction of the 9th Doctor.

The Doctor gets lonely, so he usually has at least one companion with him on his adventures to add a human element, give him company, and most conveniently for the sake of exposition.  Typically the companions are young and female.  It seems the 900 year old Doctor is probably secretly a dirty old man, but we don’t get to see that on camera.  Only his genius, charm, and distinctive sense of style are visible to us, the lowly human audience.

Season 1 of the relaunch, (or season 27 if you prefer), stars Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor, and Billie Piper plays his companion, Rose.  You might be familiar with Piper from Secret Diary of a Call Girl, and Christopher Eccleston because he’s awesome, and also because he sort of recently played the invisible guy on Heroes.  I mean, when he wasn’t invisible at least.

Seasons 2-4 brings about the 10th Doctor – one Mr. David Tennant of Barty Crouch Jr (and some of those Shakespeare guy’s performances) fame.  At a young age, Mr. Tennant decided to be an actor and would tell people that one day he would grow up to play Doctor Who on TV.  Now, my childhood plan of living at Disney World never panned out, but I’m happy for him anyway.

The newer series has plenty of nods to the original, so there’s still the Doctor Who familiarity for those who have seen the older ones but not this new set.  There is a variety of original series villains, such as the classic Daleks, Cybermen, and the living plastic Autons.  New villains and characters are introduced, such as Lady Cassandra O’Brien Dot Delta Seventeen, the Face of Boe, the (farting) Slitheens, and my personal favorite the Weeping Angels.

Since the BBC employs approximately 37 working actors, there are some familiar faces through the series such as Billie Piper of Secret Diary of a Call Girl as the Doctor’s first companion, Rose, Simon Pegg in a delightfully creepy role, Freema Agyeman, now of Law & Order, UK, and Catherine Tate, of the hilarious Catherine Tate show (which you should also watch).  You’ll also be able to pick out a variety of Harry Potter actors; Rita Skeeter, Barty Crouch Sr, Moaning Myrtle, and freaking DUMBLEDORE (not as Dumbledore).  Also, Carey Mulligan, some actors from the British Being Human, and some kick-ass Shakespearian actors.

Seasons 1-4, plus all the applicable specials are on Netflix streaming.  Unfortunately, though season 5 is out on DVD, it has not yet been added to the streaming queue.  BBC America will likely have a season 5 marathon someday soon before season 6 premieres though, so you’ll be able to catch up then if you so desire.

Still not sure?  Maybe this will help:

Watch Doctor Who if:

  • You have a soul
  • You’re ok with a budget production and suspending disbelief when it comes to several special effects
  • You like any sci-fi series: Battlestar Galactica, any Star Wars, etc.
  • You enjoy cliffhangers, recurring characters and themes, and having to pay attention to a plot.
  • You find British Accents sexy or just generally nice to listen to.
  • You enjoy action, but not really much killing and almost zero blood and guts (there may be one time, I can’t remember)

Do not watch Doctor Who if:

  • You have no tolerance for fantasy, nor any ability to suspend disbelief.  There are some slightly holey plot points that may require this ability.
  • You hate sci-fi.  In fact, if you hate the genre, we’re probably not going to do too well here overall.
  • You think British people sound funny and you don’t like them.  Again, if that’s you, we’re not going to get along.
  • You hate having to follow a plot over several episodes to know what’s happening.

In the meantime, happy Netflixing!

*that show will never end up in this series

 

The Reconciliation of Lucas Lygram: Prologue

Author’s Note: in 1859, Charles Dickens founded the magazine All the Year Round, which published serialized novels in weekly formats. Many of Dickens’ own novels were in this format, but he didn’t write a novel and then break it up, he wrote it as it was being serialized in order to maintain proper deadlines, as well as switch up the story based on what people liked and did not like about the work. I hope to continue the tradition with this series for Crasstalk.

The Reconciliation of Lucas Lygram

Prologue

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been seven weeks since my last confession.”

“What ails you my child?”

In the past seven weeks, I had committed 89 acts of homosexual conduct. I had lied 897 times. I had stolen 37 grapes from the Trader Joe’s in Union Square. I had murdered twelve flies, seven spiders, and thirty seven cockroaches. I had cheated on my taxes. I had eaten shellfish even though I deplore the taste. and I had sworn exactly 1,432.5 times (the half swear was accounted for in 27 interrupted conversations) to name a few infractions. I knew all this because I kept a daily journal with a daily count on all of my sins so that I might go participate in the sacrament of Reconciliation. I went every seven weeks, in honor of the seven sacraments.

The irony was not lost on me that I, at present, could only partake in six of those sacraments, and, given that I was not dying, the seventh, Anointing of the Sick, could not be performed, thus making the number of sacraments that I could partake in at five. However, in reality, I only partook in four sacraments as I had no desire to be chaste or in poverty (I mean, I already was in poverty, it’s just that I had no desire to be in poverty) which was what would have been required of me had I partaken in the priesthood. How savage it is to be so slavishly devoted to a religion that has sent you to Hell.

I nearly forgot to tell the priest about bedding that lesbian lumberjack. We were both drunk. She had short hair. I shave my body hair. Once we’d realized we were with members of the opposite sex, we just decided that we might as well go with it given we were on a flannel electric blanket in a clearing in a wood upstate. This would have come back to bite me had I not noticed the loose page in the back of the sin book reminding me to tell him since, according to the notes, the original page died in a tragic coffee accident. Oh, yeah. The book. I should probably explain that.

Introductions first. Mother taught me to be the consummate example of a proper gentleman . My name’s Lucas. Lucas Lygram. It’s an awful name. I hate it, but mother would kill me if I changed it. At the very least,  she’d leave me out of the will and has threatened to do so on numerous occasions. I don’t particularly see how that’s threatening since I wasn’t raised in a wealthy household, but, still, she feels the need to make that threat.

The only other things that are relevant at the moment are that I’m currently dating and in love with a complete ass of a human being named Samuel Grey and that I have an obsession. This obsession stems from an emotionally violent incident with my grandmother after my first confession at the age of nine in which she gave me a very graphic description on the consequences of not accounting and atoning for each and every single sin that I committed. Deciding that that certainly wasn’t going to happen to me, that I certainly wouldn’t be a singed, shell of a corpse that Virgil and Dante just happened to come across on their journey to Paradise, I began a quest: to make sure that every single thing that I did that was considered, well, unholy by The Bible would be written down for future reference, and it was. Sam stems from getting drunk at a club. The sin book was truly a masterwork. A series of fine, leather bound notebooks (that I could barely afford), each with the word “Sin” and a number corresponding to their order in the series embossed in gold leaf sat on a bookshelf in my Brooklyn apartment. There’s currently 4,942 of them, but I only keep the latest group in the apartment. The rest are in a storage unit on Staten Island. I just don’t have the space, you know? I head up to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and take up a few hours of their time every seven weeks before sitting down for Mass. I’m fascinated by the sacraments, particularly Communion and Confession. They say confession is private, but I’m pretty sure they know who I am. Then again, these are the same people who believe in transubstantiation, but I guess that doesn’t really have any influence on their observational skills. Who cares, really?

“My son, you have sinned much. To atone, you must say eighty rosaries, one hundred four Our Fathers and the Act of Contrition, let’s say, thirty times. I’d also suggest going to see Sister Ann about volunteering to help in the Church Bazaar. For the heck of it, toss in a couple creeds. Your choice, Luke.”

I sat in the pews and began to pray. My rosary wasn’t anything particularly special, but I did get it blessed by Pope John Paul 2 when I visited the Vatican as a teenager. I thought I’d start with the Nicene Creed though. That one’s easy. A homeless man had taken sanctuary in the cathedral and sat down on the opposite side of my pew. Mass had already started and he began to sing with the rest of the congregation, until he didn’t. He started throwing up.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life who proceeds from the Father and the Son and is worshiped and glorified. We believe in violently upchucking in the one, holy Catholic and apostolic church. We look for the…fuck it.

I proceeded to leave. I could finish that shit at home.

 

Sin Catalogue O6.29

Judgement. One Count 13.28

Swearing. Two Counts 13.29

 

Found Footage Saturday (whoops)- The Junior Christian Science Bible Lesson Show

Due to my personally bringing Crasstalk down last week. That’s right, I did it. Me. Muahahahahahaha!

Ahem.

Where was I?

Right, we were down last Friday, so my planned post about this didn’t go up then. Anyway, we’re still in the realm of cable access with a staple of Los Angeles community access television for years (it ended in 2008). It will be one of the weirdest things you’ve ever seen. Opinions are divided about whether or not it’s genuine or some sort of very dedicated performance art. The man behind it, David Nkrumah Liebe Unger Hart, is quite a story unto himself and a well known L.A. personality who may or may not be pretty nuts. There are terrible puppets, awful songs, women going in long, untranslated speeches in German and, of course, Jesus. I present… the Junior Christian Science Bible Lesson Show!

There are many clips on YouTube, so I’ll just post a couple and you can find more for yourselves. I would give more commentary, but really, they just speak for themselves.


‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’ – A 72 Year Old Movie Review

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‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’ (1939) Robert Donat, Greer Garson
D. Sam Wood

The Oscars ended last Sunday and in doing so, brought the month of Smarch to a close. Smarch is that 31 day month (with lousy weather) between February and March. While February is famous for St. Groundhog’s Day, when thousands of lovers emerge from their winter burrows to see if they are going to have 6 more weeks of sex; and March is famous for killing Caesar, Smarch is famous for 31 days of Oscar on Turner Classic Movies.

This event is greeted with much rejoicing in the Baconcat household. Both Mr. and Mrs. Baconcat are rabid fans of the classics. Every Smarch the DVR quickly fills up with oft-quoted and much beloved favorites like Casablanca, The African Queen and The Lion in Winter.

BACONCATS!
Mr. and Mrs. Baconcat take a break from solving hilarious crimes to eat 35 eggs.

Most of these films count as a fond trip down memory lane for us, but just occasionally there will appear a classic (Oscar worthy no less!) in the list that we haven’t seen. These moments of newness are precious things. They are special one-time only events like the birth of a first child or a Male-Male-Female threesome.

This year TCM’s crop produced a doozie for us: Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939) based on the novel by James Hilton. Not only was this a film neither of us had seen, but it was a bona-fide Oscar powerhouse, not one of those ‘Oscar’ films TCM tends to barf up as space filler with dubious Oscar claims like a solitary  nomination for best film editing (I’m looking at you On The Beach). No, here was a film that was nominated for Best Director, Best Picture and Best Actress in a Leading role, and a film that won Robert Donat the Best Actor statue over a field that included Jimmy Stewart (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), Sir Laurence Olivier (Wuthering Heights), Mickey Rooney (Babes in Arms) and Clark Gable (Gone With The Motherfucking Wind). To top it off it had the delicious and fun Greer Garson as second billing.

The plot is pretty simple: Via flashbacks it tells the story of Mr. Chipping’s (‘Chips’) life as a teacher at the prestigious English Brookfield Institute. From his first arrival at age 22 to his death, the movie chronicles his struggles, loves and losses within the walls of the venerable institution. Over the years he teaches the kids, who grow up and their kids come to Brookfield and so on for several generations. It was for this portraying of a Mr. Chips in the spring, summer and autumn of his life that won Robert Donat the academy award. And there is where my problem with the film began.

In the film Donat portrays Chips at four periods of his life: 22, mid 40’s, mid 60’s and mid 80’s. He does fine with Chips as a young man, and also with Chips at 40 (since he was roughly the same age) but Donat’s idea of acting old is putting on a mark twain mustache, mussing his hair and shuffling around muttering the same phrases over and over again in a high-pitched codger voice. He’s one flatulence joke away from being an Eddie Murphy character. Unfortunately, most of the movie is from this period.

Chips are called 'Crisps' in England, except for this dude.
Robert Donat at the exact moment he realized a mustache would make him look older.

Ahoy!  Spoilers be ahead matey.

As I watched, I kept thinking ‘When is Greer Garson gonna show up’? The answer is not until a third of the way through the film (and a third of the way up a mountaintop). She then proceeds to marry Mr. Chips, make him trim his mustache and teaches him that children will like him more (and come over to his house unescorted) if he bribes them with cake. Then, she dies during childbirth. It was at this point that I turned to Mrs. Baconcat and asked:

“When did she have time to get pregnant?”
“Perhaps it was the one time they kissed?” She replied. “That’s how Victorians got pregnant you know.”

So that’s it for Greer Garson. The excellent and underused Paul Heinreid has more screen time than her. But this fits a disturbing theme I noticed about the movie: this is a sausage fest. There’s a creepily high level of man on boy spanking and caning. There are also heartfelt, tender handshakes and prolonged eye-gazing amongst the men. Plus lots of butch men in uniforms.

What unkempt hair! How old he is!
Mark Twain once famously said: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco watching ‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’.

The rest of the film is basically Chips learning that though his wife was fun and all, he really, really loves the boys of the school and he is meant to instruct them. And then the movie ends, except it doesn’t. Like a successive level of baddies in a Bond film that must be killed before you can get to the final credits, Chips goes through level after level of events that would qualify for most filmgoers as end-worthy: First, he retires. Then he comes back to be headmaster for the duration of WWI. Then he retires again in 1918. Then he wakes up in 1933 and has a talk with a young student named Colley (the 4th such Colley kid to come through the halls of Brookfield), and then, FINALLY, he dies in bed.

But even his death isn’t the end. First, we have the death itself which ends with him fading out whilst mumbling a very NAMBLA-esque ramble about how he had ‘thousands and thousands of boys’, and then if that wasn’t enough, we get to experience his last fleeting memory which is literally a parade of young boys capped off by young master Colley in more eyeliner than a Bollywood star pulling off a ‘cheesecake’ turn and bidding Mr. Chips adieu.

Even this was not the end, because they remade this film three more times. I think in an alternate universe I am still watching this film.

I kinda want the hat.
Goodbye, Mr. Chips! Don’t worry, Colley is in good hands

-Baconcat

Why Are Immortals Always So Miserable?

Immortality, which seems like it might be something of a blessing, is often portrayed in books and movies as an abject curse.

 

 

 

 

From Tuck Everlasting‘s accidentally immortal family, unhappily traipsing through time…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to Wild Seed‘s crazily intense power-play between two African immortals: Doro, a shape-shifting, seemingly evil male and Anyanwu, the quietly wise woman who tragically loves him through the eons…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to Oscar Wilde’s brilliant cautionary classic of unchecked immortal hubris that leads to self-destruction…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to the spellbinding tale of a gorgeous immortal couple implausibly tainted by decidedly mortal problems…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to the story of sword-wielding immortals who must duel each other to the death, because only one of them can be immortal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The exception to the “miserable immortals” rule is this book.

 

 

 


 

 

It is a joyous, sexy romp through the ages with deposed King Alobar and his lady love, Kudra, master of dance and perfumes.  Together (along with the goat-god Pan) they travel the world in search of the guardian of a flask containing a mysterious beet-extract elixir which holds the secret to their continued everlasting life.

Tom Robbins has crafted the only story of immortality that I’ve ever encountered that has a delightful end (and the beginning and middle are equally wonderful). These immortals laugh, play, and make highly erotic, gymnastic, deeply passionate love.

To  me, that sounds like a much better way to spend eternity.

 

Here are a couple ditties about immortality:

“Immortality” by Pearl Jam

 

“Eternal Life” by Jeff Buckley

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cU97rdGYbBI&feature=related

Following are links for those interested in the books and movies mentioned above:

Tuck Everlasting

Wild Seed

The Picture of Dorian Gray (book review)

The Fountain

The Highlander

Jitterbug Perfume

The Spirit of Animals

“May all beings everywhere plagued with sufferings of body and mind quickly be freed from their pain. May those frightened cease to be afraid, and may those bound be free. May the powerless find power, and may people befriend all life. May those of all species who find themselves lost, the young, the aged, the unprotected, be guarded by beneficent celestials, and may they swiftly attain Buddhahood.”

—Buddhist Prayer for Peace

 

I received an email from a dear friend this week informing me that six weeks ago, she had to have her precious 9-year-old Silky terrier – a joyful little girl named named Mattie – euthanized, due to multiple health problems. Although it had been years since I’d seen Mattie, I wept for half an hour straight. They were tears that hadn’t come that forcefully since I had to have my rescued Schnauzer Lucky euthanized at the age of 2, also due to multiple, unresolvable health problems, last August.

 

When I finally thought I had composed myself enough to call my friend Bobbie, I found that I was reduced to tears again at the sound of her voice. Then she cried, as she recounted the excruciatingly difficult journey of losing her beloved and devoted pet child. Through the tears and commiserating, I came to an insight that has stayed with me: the only reason I can think of that precious animals should have such short lifetimes is so that we may be able to love more of them: to provide uniquely loving homes for the animals who are meant to be our companions. In my case, I have a passion for supporting animal rescue, since so many are unwanted, but no matter where an animal comes from, the important thing is that he or she is adored and cared for throughout whatever time it has on this earth.

 

So I invite each of you who are present or past pet-parents to join with me in a timeless prayer for the spirit of animals, in memory of all beloved animals who are no longer physically present with us. Rest in peace, precious Mattie (12/20/01-1/10/11).

 

“Hear our humble prayer, o God, for our friends the animals who are suffering; for any that are hunted or lost or deserted or frightened or hungry…. We entreat for them all Thy mercy and pity, and for those who deal with them we ask a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals and so to share the blessings of the merciful.”

– Albert Schweitzer


(pic of Mattie courtesy my friend Bobbie’s Facebook page)

Snoop Dogg joins the war on cybercrime?

Snoop Dogg, prolific gangsta rapper, crack dealer, pimp, dog fighting breeder, felon, Norton Internet Security spokesman? Yes.

That was the OLD Snoop Dogg. 19 years later, he’s teamed up with Norton to bring you the “Hack is wack” contest, where if you spit the best rhyme on why hacking is “whack” you’ll win a free laptop (Loaded with Norton Internet Security 2011!!!!) a trip to LA to meet Snoop and his management, and tickets to a Snoop Dogg show! (2)

OMG HOW STOKED DOES HE LOOK IN THAT VIDEO?! Really, my life is complete. Snoop Dogg has legitimized heuristic discovery of suspect processes, polymorphic software, and x86 stack overflows. I can now walk through Watts and have street cred!

Creep with me as I crawl through the drive,
Maniac, lunatic, pay the bills to stay alive,

Hey. Its a job.