tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43155198255520660032024-03-17T23:03:02.468-04:00Secret Mountain LaboratoryTrapped On The Planet Of Hairless ApesG. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.comBlogger386125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-68784743906807663842016-10-04T22:17:00.004-04:002016-10-04T22:17:55.513-04:00Countdown To Halloween Day 4A re-post, but I love this!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8acdd3NCpGBUM7UTkDOJAoi92_DqrhZbUDqRAYkAd63ABItrp8DAmrRiwkLcMhqd96c5O9uYpO0VzuLOt318t2KE_oIw1o4KqL5fLL_PKWOvS9REl7uXSBru2oBPMXxPoOWrqUzic7Io/s1600/TorT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8acdd3NCpGBUM7UTkDOJAoi92_DqrhZbUDqRAYkAd63ABItrp8DAmrRiwkLcMhqd96c5O9uYpO0VzuLOt318t2KE_oIw1o4KqL5fLL_PKWOvS9REl7uXSBru2oBPMXxPoOWrqUzic7Io/s320/TorT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-29421735674562403312016-10-03T03:25:00.000-04:002016-10-03T03:25:14.188-04:00Countdown To Halloween Day 3CERAMIC HALLOWEEN VILLAGES???!!! How in Great Cthulhu's name did I miss out on <i>that</i>?<br />
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There I was, March 2016, and The Girlfriend had left me alone and unsupervised in this huge-ass card & gift shop, so, naturally, I had no choice but to amuse myself as best I could. I began to look for weird stuff to photograph so I could make snarky comments about it on Facebook. Little did I realize there was an entire section of <i>my kind of weird:</i> <a href="http://www.department56corner.com/department56-halloween.html">Department 56</a> Halloween houses and accessories. Look at 'em (the pics are mine; the links take you to each item's Department 56 webpage)!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIviISsz9eVma1YYj1kIiHgKawn-kM3frZ8bMyRIIBQgoERLJE8xvpPU5sGgEt5RHWOKH8Puw1VCNEe1zjduO8xfGuUJQ2LPg-NzXKF3rM3ecWYZfosTb9CZmC_YdCCH4Dajv_jkj1Flc/s1600/Village+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIviISsz9eVma1YYj1kIiHgKawn-kM3frZ8bMyRIIBQgoERLJE8xvpPU5sGgEt5RHWOKH8Puw1VCNEe1zjduO8xfGuUJQ2LPg-NzXKF3rM3ecWYZfosTb9CZmC_YdCCH4Dajv_jkj1Flc/s320/Village+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-the-pumpkin-house-set-of-2.html">Snow Village Halloween--The Pumpkin House</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZkj1siT95f-wfSnSkKDZ_ZkCXGhTYu70Vmk1ofVWJ0RutgH1HRk2DVfEZQKaGBg09IyfQ5bUO6MpWDzX70B48D4lZx6vnNymrVmrkvYhl89ZvzCuHc4wuIwOOsSiojYoYT8uaFuYTkY/s1600/Village+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZkj1siT95f-wfSnSkKDZ_ZkCXGhTYu70Vmk1ofVWJ0RutgH1HRk2DVfEZQKaGBg09IyfQ5bUO6MpWDzX70B48D4lZx6vnNymrVmrkvYhl89ZvzCuHc4wuIwOOsSiojYoYT8uaFuYTkY/s320/Village+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-the-clown-house-of-terror.html">Snow Village Halloween--The Clown House of Terror</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPBtbrFQ93B8FD3fVd9J1jKmscBOzcK4Mo22wU6eQswboc9g3jPVdgA3AsaDN27fER1iIy-jG3D6XpUUNZD3H0ODYOamJs8-aiANb6BzUnGp4H3oIAzV_IbWpNtgZKxsedgsyZRBCm0w/s1600/Village+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPBtbrFQ93B8FD3fVd9J1jKmscBOzcK4Mo22wU6eQswboc9g3jPVdgA3AsaDN27fER1iIy-jG3D6XpUUNZD3H0ODYOamJs8-aiANb6BzUnGp4H3oIAzV_IbWpNtgZKxsedgsyZRBCm0w/s320/Village+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-toxic-waste-car.html">Snow Village Halloween Toxic Waster Car</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-haunted-rails-caboose.html">Snow Village Halloween--Haunted Rails CaBOOse</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/rickety-railroad-station.html">Snow Village--Rickety Railroad Station</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eziz8yUVGQnBDyk5zuESoLRcEPO_P9P33pbhVmfH7mXOVMw8QBaH2TacYp-VckKrGJX-zOzjOq9IaPlARj-pe4mOj5x6iR_ksyukZlGgDjg9IxVykl95yDIcfSusbyXD2P_UDe5ALZE/s1600/Village+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eziz8yUVGQnBDyk5zuESoLRcEPO_P9P33pbhVmfH7mXOVMw8QBaH2TacYp-VckKrGJX-zOzjOq9IaPlARj-pe4mOj5x6iR_ksyukZlGgDjg9IxVykl95yDIcfSusbyXD2P_UDe5ALZE/s320/Village+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-creepy-clown-car.html">Snow Village Halloween Creepy Clown Car</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5zgNjiCgqn0VGvAzqC3_Uf5NJru7d9PsyS-bGqo0CSRTQW0iBnluDHc6g_cBEcKrXWT5tK-wghU_5FPnEIrVvoEuUP4bpbYKwo1Ex-9jek4rPL2GjR5JaDnBv96SRv0NZte0IhAK7M4/s1600/Village+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5zgNjiCgqn0VGvAzqC3_Uf5NJru7d9PsyS-bGqo0CSRTQW0iBnluDHc6g_cBEcKrXWT5tK-wghU_5FPnEIrVvoEuUP4bpbYKwo1Ex-9jek4rPL2GjR5JaDnBv96SRv0NZte0IhAK7M4/s320/Village+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-harley-davidson-ghost-riders-club.html">Snow Village Halloween Harley-Davidson Ghost Rider's Club</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2Fc5IBnq0PojZUYQVjHtqEGPL1K_qfzCDcNkpuHtsWQXocluBwqy_b3AmcE9d67hzT3rndqLY0Rkc7JzLfjyrI8u75yX_JoWCFV68R0XAe674eNGWPAyKQhR0OIa4iS9jGvrtv-XeSI/s1600/Village+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2Fc5IBnq0PojZUYQVjHtqEGPL1K_qfzCDcNkpuHtsWQXocluBwqy_b3AmcE9d67hzT3rndqLY0Rkc7JzLfjyrI8u75yX_JoWCFV68R0XAe674eNGWPAyKQhR0OIa4iS9jGvrtv-XeSI/s320/Village+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.department56corner.com/snow-village-halloween-roadkill-grill.html">Snow Village Halloween Roadkill Grill</a><br />
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And there are so many more! Not to mention other manufacturers, like the <a href="http://www.lemaxcollection.com/villages/spooky-town">Lemax Spooky Town Collection</a>.</div>
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Need.</div>
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All.</div>
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Of.</div>
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Them.</div>
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<b>Update:</b> Wanna know how cool my girlfriend is? She has no idea I'm writing this post, much less what it's about, but earlier today she gave me this <a href="http://www.lemaxcollection.com/villages/spooky-town/table-pieces/hearse-of-bones">Hearse of Bones</a>!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmprmQLwLKLdDMPtpwQphZfloIzUgvfxS9pae_Mg98_zH4-ZmE13q7APac6JTnzZf9khKUz13t9GUI4kXF7nbR6WGu-9fhlBbip4aL4dnVzpyxH6cuyDq8IT-tncxiDEm0RelqMuOieA/s1600/Lemax+Hearse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmprmQLwLKLdDMPtpwQphZfloIzUgvfxS9pae_Mg98_zH4-ZmE13q7APac6JTnzZf9khKUz13t9GUI4kXF7nbR6WGu-9fhlBbip4aL4dnVzpyxH6cuyDq8IT-tncxiDEm0RelqMuOieA/s320/Lemax+Hearse.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Be sure to check out the other participants! <br />
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<a href="http://countdowntohalloween.blogspot.com/2016/10/this-years-participants-cryptkeepers.html"><img alt="http://countdowntohalloween.blogspot.com/2016/10/this-years-participants-cryptkeepers.html" border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJnEZiWh9eew3CwUBKWAYWFbMUvo7Eip2yUzEJr8QnKA7y0a85_RNRfQIk_yE8kFawz4u0C3o_jhMFe-r3CgHCIXDC51nQKPJI3XFONa7lrip-4tH9QTcy3ia4FMMriul1OlV8tQvylYg/s320/halloween-countdown.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-70922189403494136742016-10-02T00:02:00.000-04:002016-10-02T00:02:00.854-04:00Countdown To Halloween Day 2<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b> On Halloween Strange Sights Are Seen</b></i><br />
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You've got to love vintage Halloween postcards. What was once cute and adorable is now strange and creepy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSQFQsURsCujuJqZxfiJvdfnPgPCGijI3jIr2zN85JZ_wg6gfWzxSkA9Xtvl6Z51K_qsqkanVOWQ5-YOE3poX1uBoVbvFFdBDYHCGTmlqJ_JtDYAw0wmXOo75i6FNqBcc4sughhCglsE/s1600/Postcard+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSQFQsURsCujuJqZxfiJvdfnPgPCGijI3jIr2zN85JZ_wg6gfWzxSkA9Xtvl6Z51K_qsqkanVOWQ5-YOE3poX1uBoVbvFFdBDYHCGTmlqJ_JtDYAw0wmXOo75i6FNqBcc4sughhCglsE/s320/Postcard+2.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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Just sitting around, carving a jack o' lantern...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t6gefjBATpN-p3rKSeMg35IL_l4sUBiMQ2Tdfyq926If2n03X26OM5emDXWAFGhj7bK8FVSon_X5gB66W1LIiM-3rBeCyinpcJtymjKcANRUn4_5DoE-eK25FW_J42xHZGt7ZkUj-EQ/s1600/Postcard+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8t6gefjBATpN-p3rKSeMg35IL_l4sUBiMQ2Tdfyq926If2n03X26OM5emDXWAFGhj7bK8FVSon_X5gB66W1LIiM-3rBeCyinpcJtymjKcANRUn4_5DoE-eK25FW_J42xHZGt7ZkUj-EQ/s320/Postcard+3.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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...then taking it for a <i>nightmare ride across the River Styx!</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDo9cg4n7Ssl3fhasCSnj-EjFSIqDXCq_jKtXTL0C6bIm5u-jvHtAeNAF4cvGnR2bgwiabQMqqemhL2eeLAtCO-B9SizfCfG5xbexcUK4NRRlh7D8meaxTTcqHiDZMDitZrjVncPh4ZU/s1600/Postcard+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDo9cg4n7Ssl3fhasCSnj-EjFSIqDXCq_jKtXTL0C6bIm5u-jvHtAeNAF4cvGnR2bgwiabQMqqemhL2eeLAtCO-B9SizfCfG5xbexcUK4NRRlh7D8meaxTTcqHiDZMDitZrjVncPh4ZU/s320/Postcard+4.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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After which the little children are led to certain doom.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8nKvv9DwIo58h49oESV2_i4OaDjPtrHK6zLuhsvaBx0EbvkFGL6S2ckAFPZBoZcUXOfvn5NglIdHGUckJZN60COLV681hsR4b4gseSP-rLeCcTfOZI9hnDBoDCEVIUATGRDSNCywQ8Q/s1600/Postcard+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8nKvv9DwIo58h49oESV2_i4OaDjPtrHK6zLuhsvaBx0EbvkFGL6S2ckAFPZBoZcUXOfvn5NglIdHGUckJZN60COLV681hsR4b4gseSP-rLeCcTfOZI9hnDBoDCEVIUATGRDSNCywQ8Q/s320/Postcard+5.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
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I mean, look what happened to <i>this </i>woman.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqeJjzCpYaFW3zVxcyYbhbNu-mdwB-RwuekZwzRqZeq85N4Y-m49YgcJb5gTBl7L16cSb8P_z4L4xe-edCcLOOS70Hun8KIX7Cu2X229DVDfRp-8K9iv8HChbLrrkaWT4KBcZtHDGJW4/s1600/Postcard+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqeJjzCpYaFW3zVxcyYbhbNu-mdwB-RwuekZwzRqZeq85N4Y-m49YgcJb5gTBl7L16cSb8P_z4L4xe-edCcLOOS70Hun8KIX7Cu2X229DVDfRp-8K9iv8HChbLrrkaWT4KBcZtHDGJW4/s320/Postcard+6.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Strange sights, indeed!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOfZuLEoAMSBiu8pjEdW_TWFa9rFppcpwgzJVlr9bkTFl2PYsSsQ3HTbrzWVKhU-dKvimNDb6Fd_0ySyRcKXs075jFxkUBm_P6vPmKIkMjosKeaHOr9jevVsLcQ7F_xr0sLQqI0MzaIs/s1600/Postcard+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOfZuLEoAMSBiu8pjEdW_TWFa9rFppcpwgzJVlr9bkTFl2PYsSsQ3HTbrzWVKhU-dKvimNDb6Fd_0ySyRcKXs075jFxkUBm_P6vPmKIkMjosKeaHOr9jevVsLcQ7F_xr0sLQqI0MzaIs/s320/Postcard+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Enough to make you wish you'd gone to bed and pulled the covers over your head.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8BMN4HBm9nGIXfqDaN1zKyLVUMCyZQoebaEFKGWMCBmJXGu50jOmBUpfmNPX3y4WuEVr0ARXC2_O3gDRsFBVMPBFgI27x7fH0RFT41BixrwQt_Z8GwyC8uRI5UbORkuUYYGKbnQ22wE/s1600/Postcard+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8BMN4HBm9nGIXfqDaN1zKyLVUMCyZQoebaEFKGWMCBmJXGu50jOmBUpfmNPX3y4WuEVr0ARXC2_O3gDRsFBVMPBFgI27x7fH0RFT41BixrwQt_Z8GwyC8uRI5UbORkuUYYGKbnQ22wE/s320/Postcard+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Or hadn't eaten those odd-looking mushrooms.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N7N5udewjUWtu7OTYatugX28KuRsfKgdMvVLdDdHMp-genFyDdxu7pSR3dYkCg5N2WwdFCrvWSSOi1F5DU8yydp37DPDAsYJRMPomLb8XR1tFtlfIsnNj4zSAyNDmmgp2_h_E8OKevE/s1600/Postcard+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N7N5udewjUWtu7OTYatugX28KuRsfKgdMvVLdDdHMp-genFyDdxu7pSR3dYkCg5N2WwdFCrvWSSOi1F5DU8yydp37DPDAsYJRMPomLb8XR1tFtlfIsnNj4zSAyNDmmgp2_h_E8OKevE/s320/Postcard+9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, high-tail it home...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqryopthffmN8KaBMQZdDKJ3hsOBxGYZ7jHTcHB1EDjzTpoDONOyuCL6iQv2wUTMl6j0cNZhL6_4E4BLealHRLRpp9DldccXeKMKDfJr2yExZxJuxHc_TTgTVoNvQBhB-Jm036epcPwM0/s1600/Postcard+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqryopthffmN8KaBMQZdDKJ3hsOBxGYZ7jHTcHB1EDjzTpoDONOyuCL6iQv2wUTMl6j0cNZhL6_4E4BLealHRLRpp9DldccXeKMKDfJr2yExZxJuxHc_TTgTVoNvQBhB-Jm036epcPwM0/s320/Postcard+10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Or <i>this </i>could happen <i>to you!</i></div>
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And remember, sometimes your friends are not really your friends,</div>
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But beware of any potential acquaintances driving a fruit and vegetable car.</div>
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Best to stick with your mom...</div>
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...but maybe not your sister.</div>
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Be sure to check out all the other participants at the</div>
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<br />G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-14024808298729958742016-09-30T09:25:00.002-04:002016-09-30T09:25:38.197-04:00Countdown To Halloween Day 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Conal Cochran: <i>{Y}ou don't really know much about Halloween; you thought no further than the strange custom of having your children wear masks and go out begging for candy.</i><br />
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<i>It was the start of the year in our old Celtic lands, and we'd be waiting in our houses of wattles and clay. The barriers would be down, you see, between the real and the unreal, and the dead might be looking in to sit by our fires of turf.</i><br />
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<i>Halloween, the festival of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samhain">Samhain</a>! The last great one took place three thousand years ago, when the hills ran red with the blood of animals and children.</i><br />
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Daniel Challis: <i>Sacrifices.</i><br />
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Conal Cochran: <i>It was part of our world, our craft.</i><br />
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Daniel Challis: <i>Witchcraft.</i><br />
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Conal Cochran: <i>To us, it was a way of controlling our environment. It's not so different now. It's time again. In the end, we don't decide these things, you know; the planets do. They're in alignment, and it's time again. The world's going to change tonight, doctor; I'm glad you'll be able to watch it. And... happy Halloween.</i><br />
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~<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halloween_III:_Season_of_the_Witch"><i>Halloween III: Season of the Witch</i></a> (1982)<br />
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Ah, it's Fall! The skies are overcast and gray, the streets are wet, the temperatures are cool when not outright chilly, the leaves are just beginning to show their true colors, and there's a certain... feel... in the air: that Autumn feel so beloved by Autumn People. We're entering what <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ray_Bradbury">Ray Bradbury</a> called The October Country, "that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain."<br />
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All of which is to say, it's time for...<br /> <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The 2016</b></span> </div>
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From an early description in a blog post I can no longer locate:<br />
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<i>"The <a href="http://countdowntohalloween.blogspot.com/">Halloween Countdown</a> is something of a virtual neighborhood to go
trick or treating in. Imagine a neighborhood where all of the
neighbors really got into the spirit of the holiday and went all out
with decorating their yards and homes and on top of that also handed
out the coolest treats whenever some kid in a costume rang their
doorbell. Well, you are that kid in a costume, and the participants in
the countdown are the neighbors with the cool houses and candy. When
you visit their blogs, you will essentially be ringing their doorbell
and shouting 'Trick or treat.' rewarded by a solid thunk at the bottom
of your plastic Halloween bucket which is their post for the day. In a
way that's even better than the actual Halloween (no way! I hear you
saying) you get to ring their doorbell and trick or treat every single
day throughout October. Not only that, but there is bound to be over
100 houses for you to visit each day as well."</i><br />
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Let's let <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Lynch_(musician)">Stephen Lynch</a> get us in the mood...<br />
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<b>Halloween</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thinking of all the cool creatures<br />
That I will meet... on this night.<br />
Ghosts and goblins and witches,<br />
Roaming the streets... in moonlight.<br />
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Bowls of candy and goodies,<br />
Delicious and waiting... in store.<br />
The sound of cute little footsteps<br />
As they approach... my front door.<br />
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Letting the children inside to drink beers,<br />
Razor blades hidden in <i>Three Musketeers</i>,<br />
Screams from the basement of kids begging to be set free...<br />
That's what Halloween means to me.<br />
<br />
Tightening the clamps that are holding<br />
Their little heads... so tight.<br />
Putting my lips to their ears<br />
As I whisper, "Please... don't fight."<br />
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I promise I'll let you go home<br />
If you swear not to tell... a soul!<br />
Well, I'll just untie these—I'm kidding.<br />
Now, where is my chainsaw? Let's rock and roll!<br />
<br />
A pinch of your brother, a teaspoon of you,<br />
With the head of your sister, would make a good stew.<br />
I'd give you a taste, but your tongue's in the stew. Irony!<br />
That's what Halloween means to me.<br />
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Trick-or-treat, smell my feet,<br />
Give me something good to eat.<br />
Trick-or-treat, smell my feet,<br />
Give me someone... good to eaaaat!<br />
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G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-28264856374963236172015-11-21T13:01:00.003-05:002015-11-21T13:16:49.567-05:00A Day At the Minute Man Minimall, Part 2<b>Or, the snark is strong with this one.</b><br />
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So as you may recall, last time I cluttered the Intarweb with <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2015/11/a-day-at-minute-man-minimall-part-1.html">pics of me running riot at the Culpeper Minute Man Mini-Mall</a>. I'd like to thank The Girlfriend for her patience, understanding, readily available iPhone, and for curbing her entirely understandable impulse to hit me on the back of the head with a military surplus entrenching tool. She's pretty cool that way, even when she crosses over to the other side of the street and pretends I'm just some random lunatic stranger she happened to encounter while minding her own business.<br />
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Meanwhile, since <i>I </i>happened to have <i>my </i>phone with me and am pretty much a Self-Amusing Personality, well, I had to take a few pics to demonstrate why I find these places so deeply fascinating. First up,<br />
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Yep. Clowns. There's just something creepy about clowns, as my friend <a href="http://frankenstein1959.blogspot.com/">Wayne</a> and a few others can attest. What <i>I </i>find deeply disturbing is that <i>someone, somewhere </i>decided to purchase this particular print and <i>have it framed</i>, more than likely giving it a place of honor in his or her home. I mean, <i>where</i> do you put something like this? The bathroom, maybe? It's a guaranteed sure-fire remedy for constipation.<br />
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Ceramic figurines of lighthouses--they're not to my taste, but I can understand wanting to collect them. They're kind of cute and, perhaps, nice little reminders of a trip to the seashore. However, notice, if you will, the central piece. That's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcatraz_Federal_Penitentiary">Alcatraz</a>. The prison. <i>That </i>prison. Which means some company executive decided it was worth the time and money to tool up the factory and produce miniature Alcatraz figurines, which he wouldn't have done unless he/she thought there was a significant market for such an item. Who buys these? More importantly, who bought <i>this </i>one and how did it wind up in an antique store in Culpeper, VA? It's thoughts like this that keep me awake at night.<br />
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Someone for some reason saved an intact and unused 1948 calendar. Someone more creative than I could get an entire novel out of this. I'd read it.<br />
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When I saw this out of the corner of my eye I first thought she was holding the deoxygenated heart of her mortal enemy. Even with a closer look I'm not convinced she's not.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeK_V_B7GkuR1sy3Tqvy4rLxS48EzpQONh_Hc0sIrJtIF_YygNF9tT6RomUT01tApqHRi8NcEMAWe_sXcZ6Qpp_59Dv1WiQypIJ3ax1yaBTBEvjTF5Eq2H-8XdUruz-Uhi6uMeXJqOu4/s1600/1120151441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeK_V_B7GkuR1sy3Tqvy4rLxS48EzpQONh_Hc0sIrJtIF_YygNF9tT6RomUT01tApqHRi8NcEMAWe_sXcZ6Qpp_59Dv1WiQypIJ3ax1yaBTBEvjTF5Eq2H-8XdUruz-Uhi6uMeXJqOu4/s320/1120151441.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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It's a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirley_Temple">Shirley Temple</a> doll from the '70s. That's not so unusual in and of itself, but what pedophile decided it was a good idea to display her on a top shelf with a clear view of her underwear? I mean, if it were a Miley Cyrus figurine, yeah, sure, but <i>Shirley Temple</i>? Ya gotta wonder.<br />
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I actually think this is kind of cool. If it was authentic and affordable I would snatch it up in a heartbeat as a present for any one of my coffee-addicted friends (I'm looking at <i>you</i>, <a href="http://www.styleweekly.com/richmond/wild-child/Content?oid=1366073">Anne</a>!); as it is, it's just kind of neat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWAauyUVLECjJOwfYuB3nkAVeSaRZT-056TuTivgzUdGM8dvizzchmr30W33_zx9vhp0vTpQhz96QRLRlHx4ezOpO4XZhCe-xb5K65uN3u7k0lAz9HwSw3wxi-aGZBEhV3RwTfyPcO3k/s1600/Mall+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWAauyUVLECjJOwfYuB3nkAVeSaRZT-056TuTivgzUdGM8dvizzchmr30W33_zx9vhp0vTpQhz96QRLRlHx4ezOpO4XZhCe-xb5K65uN3u7k0lAz9HwSw3wxi-aGZBEhV3RwTfyPcO3k/s320/Mall+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This, obviously, is yer basic racoon clock. In my mind, it needs the proper setting, perhaps on the fireplace mantle of a 1950s tract house den finished in blonde knotty pine paneling. Or above the stove in the kitchenette of your mobile home. Whatever. It needs a good home, but The Girlfriend vetoed its purchase.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZDANthZrt-H1C1P9yGwf04P2da5O9UBxs5Eun02XXR37Z0dyBarIseGv0_T5MtpEZ8ey8zEC2kKOnm8DNuzWtaIZEXfvqyNXmGwyn3NENBB10OHfvMJTqBkyoFGgNuLoYfvlMqizWyE/s1600/Mall+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZDANthZrt-H1C1P9yGwf04P2da5O9UBxs5Eun02XXR37Z0dyBarIseGv0_T5MtpEZ8ey8zEC2kKOnm8DNuzWtaIZEXfvqyNXmGwyn3NENBB10OHfvMJTqBkyoFGgNuLoYfvlMqizWyE/s320/Mall+8.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I know there's an entire sub-cult of people who collect these oversized lifelike dolls and I'm sure they're all very nice folks, moral and upright, but people, we're in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncanny_valley">Uncanny Valley</a> territory here as far as I'm concerned. They're just spooky.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95HPP71UGUHvQNsTCY1Vm43ZLq_cJzUmqK19BZGC7s7fQ1nHmRpxtmpIFwI8s8DO9bVVhdz9qC3QHmhhzdpuZgaVQHoow4I_Vx9iRiZTRnLe2EI74xWkZ3_TjjC3iTMLt9i63lFWHqP0/s1600/Mall+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95HPP71UGUHvQNsTCY1Vm43ZLq_cJzUmqK19BZGC7s7fQ1nHmRpxtmpIFwI8s8DO9bVVhdz9qC3QHmhhzdpuZgaVQHoow4I_Vx9iRiZTRnLe2EI74xWkZ3_TjjC3iTMLt9i63lFWHqP0/s320/Mall+9.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Not even Santa Claus (who's also a little spooky) and a reindeer can assuage the Creepy Factor. Imagine, for a moment, walking into a <i>darkened room full </i>of these dolls:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLcMqlkz-0bFHVrdpjeUIJ3N9ZE0PfxvFty6RvmdBMzpkA7bD2yFifq-sB_uYEH26hvdfCak0HJ7XJY5eMSXaiR71i94c5nCSXbJgvcXE237ZEYOvg0dFrE_YKuif3RRcl4oI1Khk8rI/s1600/Mall+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLcMqlkz-0bFHVrdpjeUIJ3N9ZE0PfxvFty6RvmdBMzpkA7bD2yFifq-sB_uYEH26hvdfCak0HJ7XJY5eMSXaiR71i94c5nCSXbJgvcXE237ZEYOvg0dFrE_YKuif3RRcl4oI1Khk8rI/s320/Mall+15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chucky_%28Child's_Play%29">Chucky</a> is downright cute and cuddly, by contrast.<br />
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Meanwhile, in another corner of the store: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPuD4HMV_VsgoeUhJaf7Pai09Launmdr6x6UH_lMVlMD1JWdwFKlpPMRLHt9gKREC2K7H5n-RetURcEguERR0LvuzN9Ov_m-ZwcBaaR0I5UPTWkpApbSayMu4PhXSN_lEORbyCvHpa8g/s1600/Mall+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPuD4HMV_VsgoeUhJaf7Pai09Launmdr6x6UH_lMVlMD1JWdwFKlpPMRLHt9gKREC2K7H5n-RetURcEguERR0LvuzN9Ov_m-ZwcBaaR0I5UPTWkpApbSayMu4PhXSN_lEORbyCvHpa8g/s320/Mall+10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yep, it's our eventual friend, Mr. Death, <i>as a salt and pepper holder</i>. I don't even. Seriously, who's the target demographic for this? Are there such things as kitschy Goths? And therein lies a story idea, <a href="http://www.upl.cs.wisc.edu/~kilroy/redneck-goth.html">a trailer park exclusively for Goths</a> (are you listening, <a href="http://wayneallensallee.blogspot.com/">Wayne</a>? <a href="http://www.martinmundt.com/">Martin</a>?).<br />
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Then there are the other extremes:<br />
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Still, there's nothing like a fake stuffed raven for all your home decorating needs:</div>
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Or a pair of African figurines: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3F-DUOEU5FhGRp0KTPxWmfKCGMIUPv_KYdSnYO-tMqpgUb4AyUihmxu9Zzac_t_PBbPTWpKj4G_Smj55d5-MLL6FWIPjaR0mcviY2RIcw3rnZmL-CQPbf94lnBo5o9197AVyhWjlOlQw/s1600/Mall+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3F-DUOEU5FhGRp0KTPxWmfKCGMIUPv_KYdSnYO-tMqpgUb4AyUihmxu9Zzac_t_PBbPTWpKj4G_Smj55d5-MLL6FWIPjaR0mcviY2RIcw3rnZmL-CQPbf94lnBo5o9197AVyhWjlOlQw/s320/Mall+17.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Yeah, the Culpeper Minute Man Mini-Mall is going to be a regular stop for me.</div>
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Except late at night when the moon is full and the wind rustles the leaves in the trees. </div>
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<br />G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-74651304338352174432015-11-21T01:08:00.001-05:002015-11-21T01:08:36.288-05:00A Day At the Minute Man Minimall Part 1<b>Or, Why You Can't Take Me Anyplace Nice.</b><br />
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<i>Ahem.</i> (blows virtual dust off the surrounding digital landscape)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEcfSnVRXF51-IDqjMYfltNYuQ8FyKUfjdc9BS41-k4j3UzwJ1QtpjbJnBb2V2bE5ayVZBPWiZWjl_KpjJXxCmcwFu9F3BJA9pGtklT1nSbBloVOKuyLmvfvDMFz9K05JA7_q9oSgeR4/s1600/Reset.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrEcfSnVRXF51-IDqjMYfltNYuQ8FyKUfjdc9BS41-k4j3UzwJ1QtpjbJnBb2V2bE5ayVZBPWiZWjl_KpjJXxCmcwFu9F3BJA9pGtklT1nSbBloVOKuyLmvfvDMFz9K05JA7_q9oSgeR4/s320/Reset.jpe" width="320" /></a></div>
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So there have been <i>just a few little life changes </i>since last I blogged. Let's see, I retired, I bought a new car, I grew a beard, I found a girlfriend, I turned 60, I had a heart attack, I had three stents placed in two coronary arteries, I developed Type II diabetes, I had to vacate my apartment in Richmond, VA after 24 years of residency because the landlord wanted to totally gut the place and charge oodles and oodles more rent, I did a <i>major </i>purging of books and possessions thereby proving once and for all I am <i>not </i>a hoarder (stop laughing; I can hear you), I relocated to Culpeper, VA and moved in with my girlfriend and her daughter and her daughter's husband and her daughter's cat...<br />
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Yeah. It's been interesting. <br />
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But that's not what I came here to talk about. I mean, if anyone is really curious I'll be glad to go into more detail on any one of those topics if you insist, though it's my guess you'd be better served by watching several hours of Nicholas Cage hosting incontinent ninja monkey wrestling.<br />
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Anyway, The Girlfriend, knowing my deep, abiding love for all things cool and kitsch, took me to the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MinuteManMiniMall/">Minute Man MiniMall</a>, your basic antique store/curio shop/indoor flea market, figuring it would be a fun, entertaining way to spend the afternoon.<br />
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She had no idea what she was getting into, poor thing. I mean, me in a store full of oddball items with only minimal adult supervision? Hijinks ensued.<br />
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It started innocently enough:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05psl6cDq8B1O_Lxm52-f7s2rj0I4nSa1bsQv_01QD2H5owovXZY9TkQu1pAsLbQPF_SmVwbt1bmzdriXzowdjed4B-5r41lKXbcmv-ULKbfjeuS389sJd8v7pombnyqHq8xkyEORs5c/s1600/Mini-mall+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05psl6cDq8B1O_Lxm52-f7s2rj0I4nSa1bsQv_01QD2H5owovXZY9TkQu1pAsLbQPF_SmVwbt1bmzdriXzowdjed4B-5r41lKXbcmv-ULKbfjeuS389sJd8v7pombnyqHq8xkyEORs5c/s320/Mini-mall+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Look! A cool, albeit overpriced, walking stick!</i></div>
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<i>Allow me to strike a stance and look imposing</i>!</div>
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But then I started finding The Cool Stuff:<br />
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<i>The Girlfriend was unaware of the proper method</i></div>
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<i>for consuming moonshine from an earthenware jug,</i></div>
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<i>so I had no choice but to demonstrate.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVyBS7We_5nL6Kl521N1cOnl-WM0RJJODQ3nzAlCGgRBB-c_VHrKYQY_4vTVwVyAR66AbywPxHujlzLXrAAW2dcBfHgibnBucY9iDE4_2b1OdLv9AydS_qHzYm1chMckGTbZFKSG9Cu0/s1600/Mini-mall+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVyBS7We_5nL6Kl521N1cOnl-WM0RJJODQ3nzAlCGgRBB-c_VHrKYQY_4vTVwVyAR66AbywPxHujlzLXrAAW2dcBfHgibnBucY9iDE4_2b1OdLv9AydS_qHzYm1chMckGTbZFKSG9Cu0/s320/Mini-mall+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Well, it's a fez. You </i>have<i> to try</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>it on, dignity be damned. </i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvkj_Hqm3APgp4Wy8OXDzy8fOwxCOMreFVz1RjT1G4ujIFrUEHqhyYmdD3joB063I2MTwJEL8AzA9p2iTmMGS1d8JQUQJu04hlfy8l4Rrqn1xvqU6INl3L1NeZxt-mRWFYflsBgXd71g/s1600/Mini-mall+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvkj_Hqm3APgp4Wy8OXDzy8fOwxCOMreFVz1RjT1G4ujIFrUEHqhyYmdD3joB063I2MTwJEL8AzA9p2iTmMGS1d8JQUQJu04hlfy8l4Rrqn1xvqU6INl3L1NeZxt-mRWFYflsBgXd71g/s320/Mini-mall+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>It's Elvis. Attention must be paid.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_Fx9_11aYFvXdJYBjunpWL30uph5wC22zRZsTmnbqQzmdbPMczfYPp4hY3Uz2zZYQcg-YVVCQQiyMrmVVeRUDrf3Bx6HAPpHONtqUFiopmLHZ0yf1JYGlOyHIUTyPkTfGkfcP7epnYs/s1600/Mini-mall+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_Fx9_11aYFvXdJYBjunpWL30uph5wC22zRZsTmnbqQzmdbPMczfYPp4hY3Uz2zZYQcg-YVVCQQiyMrmVVeRUDrf3Bx6HAPpHONtqUFiopmLHZ0yf1JYGlOyHIUTyPkTfGkfcP7epnYs/s320/Mini-mall+6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Well, what else do you do when you encounter a plastic katana?</i></div>
<br />
Then things got downright silly:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgveFwA8N8mdxSJ86PHXEoPydnmGDykaC1_lMETvtdkQBt-TTM7YIsUVlhgjSIy4MZnN-nhUw-s7Qq28lkRe0cz9gSWgiPslZ2Cj-fx6NXXNyeQRcB8yFPrAJUeHUYGJprtosXVgdrYk/s1600/Mini-mall+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgveFwA8N8mdxSJ86PHXEoPydnmGDykaC1_lMETvtdkQBt-TTM7YIsUVlhgjSIy4MZnN-nhUw-s7Qq28lkRe0cz9gSWgiPslZ2Cj-fx6NXXNyeQRcB8yFPrAJUeHUYGJprtosXVgdrYk/s320/Mini-mall+10.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, that's Alice from </i>Alice in Wonderland<i>.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, that helmet is too damn small.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Or my head is too damn big. </i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nD8dghIMBqr1qK1eVMJtVZOOfHsk_k_mYisPA3u80JpW65MfZcULyetIjym2IvE7SOGwdj41l9DGOmuQUQDUCq219Zukgy7ALUCs5TZOFiFm3zvkpV-oIyOofvyywfkIPxPgP_PqLlM/s1600/Mini-mall+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nD8dghIMBqr1qK1eVMJtVZOOfHsk_k_mYisPA3u80JpW65MfZcULyetIjym2IvE7SOGwdj41l9DGOmuQUQDUCq219Zukgy7ALUCs5TZOFiFm3zvkpV-oIyOofvyywfkIPxPgP_PqLlM/s320/Mini-mall+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
So all in all, <i>I</i> had a <i>great</i> afternoon, I'm thoroughly enjoying Culpeper, and The Girlfriend is busy reconsidering some of her recent poor life choices.G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-66942936405059209612013-12-17T19:01:00.000-05:002013-12-17T19:01:33.069-05:00My 2013 (Fantasy) Christmas List<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiVs_MKkJYx1SDTnKtgaAEXbIYX2dEpjLRQoEOyRqmreIkceBny9IeJFFNRu_fAuBTuIUkRXh2YzoNlaN3PLTFOxSI2fwghfS7wX3h03OQMssH3nQSu-IHpp6_h391G6Cj48g4acHoPU/s1600/evil-santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiVs_MKkJYx1SDTnKtgaAEXbIYX2dEpjLRQoEOyRqmreIkceBny9IeJFFNRu_fAuBTuIUkRXh2YzoNlaN3PLTFOxSI2fwghfS7wX3h03OQMssH3nQSu-IHpp6_h391G6Cj48g4acHoPU/s320/evil-santa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Santa,<br />
<br />
Well, another year has come and gone during which I have been really good. Exceptionally good. Amazingly, outstandingly good. Not by choice, mind you, for at my age (and income level) the opportunities for being truly bad are few and far between, but we must judge people by their actions and not their intentions, right? Right? Oh, sweet Crom, I hope so.<br />
<br />
The Noodle Incident doesn't count.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the list...<br />
<br />
Kindle books: any (or...ahem!...all) of the items on my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/275RSZEQNPRFG/ref=cm_wl_rlist_go_o?">Amazon.com Wish List</a> would be greatly appreciated, but what I'd <i>really </i>like is a nice, shiny, new workspace. Okay, so maybe I don't actually "work" in my "workspace", so maybe I just want a cool-looking area to surf the Intarweb, watch YouTube videos of cute animals, suck up whatever looks interesting on Netflix, post the occasional blog entry, and perhaps write some tawdry little short stories (see <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Darkest-Richmond-1-GW-Ferguson-ebook/dp/B00EEWW8NC/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1387246932&sr=1-1"><i>Darkest Richmond</i></a>). For those I'm going to need a work surface: the <a href="http://motoart.com/airplane-desks/c-119-flap-airplane-desk">C-119 Flap Airplane Desk</a> looks like a winner. Boy, does it ever! And if I get such a desk, I'm going to need something appropriate to sit on, like a <a href="http://www.motoart.com/seating/chairs/f-4-ejection-seat">F-4 Ejection Seat</a> modified for home office use. Yeah, that's looking <i>good</i>. You know what else would be good? A new computer and I'm thinking the <a href="http://www.dell.com/us/p/alienware-18/pd.aspx">Alienware 18 Laptop</a> fits the bill nicely. But we still need a touch of class, don't we? How about a tray of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fred-Friends-Doomed-Crystal-Shotglass/dp/B005S2KUEQ/ref=sr_1_3?s=kitchen&ie=UTF8&qid=1387247082&sr=1-3">Doomed Crystal Skull Shotglasses</a>? The perfect thing for chugging highly caffeinated beverages in small doses, say, <a href="http://shop.funraniumlabs.com/brands/BBotE.html">Funranium Labs Black Blood of the Earth coffee extrac</a>t (whose motto should be <i>sleep and functioning kidneys are for the worthless and weak</i>). And, just for the hell of it, how about a fancy letter opener? Maybe <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ka-Bar-2-1249-9-Ka-Bar-Machete/dp/B001H53Q8A/ref=sr_1_2?s=sporting-goods&ie=UTF8&qid=1290709844&sr=1%20%20-2">Ka-Bar's Black Kukri Machete</a>? And a paperweight. A <i>nice </i>paperweight. A <i>functional </i>paperweight. A <a href="http://www.magnumresearch.com/Firearms/Magnum-Research-Desert-Eagle-50-AE-Polished-Chrome-w-Muzzle-Brake.asp">Magnum Research Desert Eagle in .50 AE, with polished chrome and muzzle brake</a>. It can sit next to the <a href="http://www.blackrose.co.uk/Alternative-accessories/watches-timepieces%20/alchemy-clock-dial">Time Machine Chronambulator Dial Clock</a>.<br />
<br />
*sigh* Well, a fellow can dream, can't he?G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-8800552689248824682012-11-12T13:37:00.002-05:002012-11-12T13:37:36.209-05:00Chapter Eight of My 2012 NaNovWriMo Attempt
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter
Eight</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Honey! I'm home!" Ron
shouted as he came down the stairs, clutching a plastic bag and big
red cup of something.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus, dude!" I shouted
back, startled. "You scared me! What time is it?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I'm not sure. Late. And sorry,
that wasn't my intention." Ron was slurring ever so slightly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You went across the street,
didn't you?" I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I did, I did. That's a hell of a
crew over there, y'know? Plenty of booze but not a lot of women."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Did you see Sarah?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Nope. She was around, though. One
of those big guys said she was out back doing something with sheet
metal and a welding torch. Oh, here's the extension cords." Ron
struggled awkwardly with his cup and the bag. "I got two long
ones since I figure we'd better run the heater off the kitchen
circuit rather than risk another blackout."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Good idea."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, and here's a drink for you,"
he said, handing me the cup. "It's got vodka in it."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vodka and cherry Kool-Aid, as it turned
out. A little sweet, but not bad for a freebie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron cocked his head and looked around
the basement. "What's that hissing noise?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, Jesus, The still! Ron, do me
a favor and go plug in those extension cords." I rushed over to
see what was happening.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With a slight whistle, steam emerged
from the nozzle of the condensing unit and a few drops of clear
liquid fell to the floor. I noted a distinctly chemical smell,
vaguely alcohol-like. "Bottle," I muttered to myself.
"Funnel." I grabbed a plastic gallon milk jug and a
stainless steel funnel, placed them under the condenser, and started
collecting what old-time moonshiners called the foreshots.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hey, Ron!" I shouted. "It's
working! We've got alcohol!"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron literally galloped down the steps,
almost tripping in the process, and stood beside me, an expression of
awe on his face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I smell it," he said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Me, too." We stared at the
steaming still.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We made that," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I know."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I thought it would come out
faster," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, so did I... oh, shit.
Cooling water. We need cooling water." I checked the condenser
hose connections, grabbed for the faucet, and turned it on full
force.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">THRUMUMUMUMUMUMUMSHREEEEEEEEEE!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
damn it. Not again. Please, not again," I said. "This is <i>so</i>
not the time." I looked at Ron. "We cannot catch a damn
break this evening."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
pipes shuddered and groaned as if possessed, but this time the noise
stopped after a only a couple of minutes and, to my surprise, mostly
clear water flowed freely from the condenser's cooling jacket.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Maybe
our luck is changing," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Not
surprisingly, two working heaters and a properly adjusted condenser
made a huge difference in performance. I noted a steady but not
alarming rise in the still's temperature while Ron stared,
transfixed, at the filling milk jug.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I've
got to have a taste," he said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh,
that's not a particularly good idea." I checked the thermometer.
"At this temperature, what's coming off now is mostly methanol,
you know, wood alcohol, the stuff that makes you go blind and die.
There's some other nasty crap in there, too, so you definitely don't
want to drink it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
shit. Is that normal?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
it just happens to be what distills off first, at least that's what
all the books and websites say, and it's a good thing it does or the
whole batch would be poison. The good stuff should be coming in just
a few minutes."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"How
will we know?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Alcohol
boils at 173 degrees Fahrenheit, so once we hit that, we'll start
collecting for real."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
stood there watching the thermometer while Ron paced the basement,
stopping every now and then to look at me and the still. You'd have
thought he was expecting a baby, the way he was acting, and maybe, in
a sense, he was. This was all his idea to begin with, his money
funding the project, and though I hadn't kept close tabs on our
expenses, Ron's bank account had to be considerably drained. The poor
guy had reasons to be anxious.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Suddenly,
the still started sputtering.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What's
that? What's that?" Ron ran over and looked at the collecting
jug. "It stopped. What's happening?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
don't know. Wait a minute. Let's not panic." I checked the
thermometer again, then tapped it a couple of times.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It's
not going to blow up, is it?" Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No,
it's okay, we're good. It's holding steady at 173 degrees. Let's
switch containers." I moved the first jug out of the way and
positioned a second one just in time to capture a steady flow of
clear liquid.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"That's
what we're after," I said, sticking my finger into the stream
and taking a little taste. It was hot and raw and unrefined with just
a hint of paint thinner, but beneath that was a certain grainy
sweetness.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It
tasted like whiskey.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Not
great whiskey, not something you'd serve to friends or mix drinks
with, unaged, unmellowed, and unblended as it was, but it definitely
smelled like whiskey, tasted like whiskey, and burned like whiskey.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well?"
Ron said. "Can I try it?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Have
at it, but try and keep your expectations low. It isn't smooth and
it's not a consumer-grade product by any stretch of the imagination.
It needs to rest for about three to five years in a charred oak
barrel."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
found my cup of Kool-Aid and vodka, dumped the remnants into the
sink, rinsed it with the condenser cooling jacket outflow, snagged a
sample from the still, and took a cautious sip.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Huh.
You're right. It's not great, but it <i>is</i> whiskey. Not rum, not
vodka, not <i>Everclear</i>, but whiskey." Ron smiled. "I
kind of like it," he said, taking another sip and rolling it
around on his tongue. "It needs some ice cubes and soda or
something to get rid of that solvent taste, but yeah, I can drink
this."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
we're not going to be winning a blue ribbon award any time soon, but
for a first attempt, I think we've done pretty well. In fact, we did
far better than I had any right to imagine, given the night we've
had."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
milk jug was almost full, so I switched it out for another, snagging
another taste in the process. Yes, it still tasted like whiskey.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"So
how many gallons are we going to get," Ron asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
don't know. I'm happy to get one, but with ten gallons of mash, I
don't know. Maybe two, possibly three." I checked the
thermometer again. "Temperature's still holding. That's a good
sign."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Two
gallons doesn't sound like very much."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It
isn't, but remember, this is just a test run. I deliberately kept it
small so we could iron out any problems before committing to
distilling any significant volume, and man, you saw what it was like
earlier this evening."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"A
veritable shit storm," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We'll
do better with our next run."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
sure hope so. Oh, I was wondering, how will we know when it's done?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
I don't want the still to run dry for a couple of reason. One, we'll
never get it clean if we do, and two, eventually we'll have distilled
out all the drinkable alcohol and start getting some seriously crappy
stuff again. Fusel oils and such. We're going to have to sample it at
regular intervals and stop when it starts to taste bad."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
see no problem there." Ron grinned.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
laughed. "Really, I don't, either. Just take it easy, okay?
Getting sloshed now could be an unmitigated disaster."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Moderation
is my middle name."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
thought you were the one always quoting Robert Heinlein: 'Moderation
is for monks.'"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
whatever. I was probably drunk."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We
filled the second jug and started on a third.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"This
is where we have to be extra careful," I said, "or we could
end up contaminating our batch with what real moonshiners called 'the
tails' and the stuff will taste nasty. According to the books, this
is going to happen when the thermometer reaches about 205 degrees
Fahrenheit, but I don't trust that, which is why we're going to do
taste tests. If it starts going bad or we hit 200 degrees, whatever
comes first, we shut down."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We
sat in companionable, boozy silence for a while, listening to the
still hiss and the water run, taking occasional sips of our very
first batch of home brewed whiskey whenever it seemed appropriate.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Do
you hear something dripping?" Ron asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Actually,
I do. What is that?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
not sure."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Suddenly,
the sump pump in the corner roared to life.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
shit," Ron said. "The sink's overflowing."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Crap.
Oh, man, there's water all over the place. Unplug the still."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
meant for Ron to pull the extension cords from their respective
outlets. Instead, he unplugged the heaters and dropped the extension
cords into the growing pool of water. Sparks flew, there was a loud
bang, and the basement was immediately plunged into darkness. Again.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Where's
the flashlight?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"On
the work bench."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Where's
the work bench?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Behind
you. Be careful not to..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
was a soggy thump as Ron slipped and fell into a puddle of water.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Damn
it..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
okay?" I was feeling my way to the sink, being very careful not
to grab a double handful of hot still in the process. Tepid water
filled my shoes as I turned off the tap.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,"
Ron said. "Where's that damn flashlight? Oh, got it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"If
you're planning on changing the fuse again, I'd make sure the
extension cords were out of the water first."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Good
point."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
heard a slithering noise as Ron dragged the cords across the floor
and placed them on the work bench.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We've
got one fuse left," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Let's
hope that's all we need, at least for tonight."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
fumbled with the fuse box for a minute or so until the lights came
back on.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"This
is <i>not</i> a level floor," Ron said, looking around. "How
come I didn't notice that before?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">He
was right. There was a large pool of water in the corner under the
sink and watery pseudopods going out from there and off in several
directions following hitherto unsuspected ridges and valleys.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
think they evened this out with a bulldozer blade?" I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Tank
treads are more likely. Damaged tank treads."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Damaged,
rusty tank treads from the battlefields of World War I."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">'Damaged,
rusty World War I tank treads with bundles of barbed wire sticking
out all over."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Damaged,
rusty... you know what? We're a little drunk."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
crossed his eyes and made a goofy face. "No, we're a <i>lot</i>
drunk. I need to go to bed. We can clean this up in the morning."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
glanced at my wrist watch. "Actually, it <i>is</i> morning, but,
yeah, let's deal with this later. Let me cap that last jug."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">So
there we were, a little soggy, a little drunk, a little tired, older,
maybe wiser, with two and a half gallons of homemade hooch from an
illegal still in our basement. It was time for bed.</span></div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-83462288038401967412012-11-10T22:53:00.002-05:002012-11-10T22:53:46.441-05:00Chapter Seven of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Attempt
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter Seven</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus God," Ron said. "This
place smells like Satan's bakery. What's in that stuff, moldy
sourdough bread soaked in kerosene?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was early evening and we were in the
basement, surrounded by several vats of fermenting mash, most of them
bubbling and roiling like some kind of turbo-charged witch's brew.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"It's just bottled water, sugar,
corn, rye, barley, malt, and some of that super-yeast we got at the
wine-making store. I kind of like it."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You would," Ron said,
breathing through his mouth. "You like the smell of unleaded
gasoline."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And other petroleum distillates.
Let's not leave anything out."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So where do we stand? I'm getting
tired of waiting around with my thumb up my ass. I wanna make some
booze."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well..." I looked around,
did some quick mental calculations, and walked over to one of the
plastic buckets. "It's been five days and batch number one
should be just about ready. According to the instructions, once the
bubbling stops and the yeast settles out, we should have something on
the order of thirty per cent alcohol."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Damn. Hot damn! And that's before
we even run it through the still. What are we going to get
afterwards?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That's a good question and the
answer is, I have no idea. We'll just have to run it and see what
happens."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Then what are we waiting for?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Nothing, I guess. Help me lift
this thing onto the work bench. Gently. Try not to disturb the
sediment."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ten gallons doesn't sound like much,
but it translates to over eighty pounds of awkward, dead weight.
Since neither one of us had any real upper body strength, there was a
certain amount of grunting and groaning involved as we hoisted the
bucket onto the bench.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus God, it smells even worse
close up," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"It's no bouquet of roses, I'll
admit. Now, where's that Tygon tubing? I'm going to siphon it into
the still."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron nodded, moved over to the still,
and started trying to pry off the head assembly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Damn, that's tight. Give me a
hand, will ya?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron wasn't kidding. The head <i>was</i>
on tight. We tried pulling, then twisting, then pulling again and
still the head resisted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Bang on it with something,"
Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I grabbed a rubber mallet off the work
bench and whacked the join a couple of times.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay," I said. "That
should do it."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It didn't.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I whacked it a few more times, then Ron
and I grabbed the head assembly as tightly as we could, twisting and
pulling at the same time. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then
there was a sudden screeching of metal and the head came free.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That's one hell of a flange. We
should put some grease on that or something," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, that's a good idea... wait,
is that a dead mouse?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron peered into the base of the still.
"Yep. Two of 'em. Dead and mummified." He dumped them out
onto the floor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, gross." I took the base
from Ron, carried it over to the sink, and turned on the faucet full
force.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"John, don't!"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
room filled with a deafening THRUMUMUMUMUMUMUMSHREEEEEEEEEE as
something resembling liquid sewage spewed and sputtered from the tap.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
damn it all to hell" I scrambled to turn off the tap.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Let
it flow," Ron yelled. "The one thing we haven't tried is
flushing the pipes until they run clear. Leave it alone for a
minute."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
pipes pounded and vibrated in a manic symphony of demonic noise that
would have made Einsturzende Neubauten envious, but the sputtering
water slowly changed from sewage-colored to muddy. A minute passed.
Then two. Then three. A sulfurous odor filled the basement.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It's
not getting better," I yelled at Ron.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
know," Ron yelled back. "Maybe we should..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">And
suddenly, miraculously, the pipes stopped banging and the water
flowed in a steady stream.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Praise
Jesus," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Hail
Satan," I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
rinsed the copper base of the still, scoured it with sanitizer,
rinsed it some more, then carried it back to its place near the work
bench.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Let's
try again," I said. "Tygon, please."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
cut off a convenient length of tubing, placed one end just beneath
the surface of the liquid in the bucket and starting sucking on the
other end as hard as I could, trying to start a siphon. I got one,
alright, and a mouthful of nasty-tasting ferment in the process.
Quickly, I dropped my end of the tube into the still base and then
proceeded to retch.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
gawd, that's foul," I said, spitting onto the floor. "But
judging from the taste, there's alcohol in there." I spit again.
"Do we have anything to drink that doesn't come out of the
faucet?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We've
got some Diet Pepsi and some orange juice," Ron said. "I
could make a pot of coffee."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No,
I don't want to wait for coffee. It tastes like the entire Russian
Army just held field maneuvers in their muddy boots on my tongue.
I'll be right back." I dashed up the stairs and grabbed an
orange juice for me and a Diet Pepsi for Ron.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Somewhere
out front of our apartment someone was playing a sound system at top
volume. I looked out the front door.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Vintage
rockabilly was playing and a slew of biker types, both male and
female, emanated from the anarchists' collective and began dancing in
the front yard, drinking from forty ounce bottles of malt liquor,
cavorting, and just having a good time in general. There were the
occasional sounds of breaking glass, high-pitched female laughter,
and good-natured drunken revelry.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Huh</i>,
I thought. <i>Sarah never said anything about having a party. I
wonder why we weren't invited? Oh, it doesn't matter. We're working.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
went back to the basement.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Jesus,
John," Ron said. "Is there any faster way to fill this
thing?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
bucket was emptying, but oh so slowly. "Guess I should have
gotten some wider diameter tubing. I'll add that to my list."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We
waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, after about twenty
minutes, most of the cloudy liquid slop from the bucket was in the
still, leaving only a slimy mass of dead yeast and fermented grain.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Now
can we run the still? Ron asked</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Now
we can run the still," I said, replacing the head assembly. "All
we have to do is plug it in, hook up water to the condenser, and let
'er rip."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh,
problem."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
as I see it, the electrical outlets are over <i>here</i> and the sink
is way over <i>there</i> where there are no electrical outlets."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,"
I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We're
going to need a couple of long extension cords or some really long
hoses with fittings."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Do
we have any extension cords?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I've
got one in the train room," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We're
going to need two. Two heaters, two cords."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Okay,"
Ron said. "How about a really long cord with a power strip on
one end."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Ron,
you're a mad genius! Go get it and I'll move the still closer to the
sink."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
could tell by the way Ron ran up the basement steps he was really
excited by the prospect of running our still for the first time. Ron
never ran anywhere, if he could help it. Hell, neither did I, but his
excitement was contagious. I started pushing the still closer to the
sink.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Which
wasn't going to happen without a struggle. Thirty pounds of copper
plus eighty pounds of liquid equals, well, a problem.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">'Hey,
Ron," I yelled. "I need some help here."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
clomped down the stairs, a coiled yellow extension cord hanging from
his shoulder.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"This'll
takes care of our electrical problem. What do you need?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Help
me move the still."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Sure.
Is it that heavy?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
yeah. Give it a try."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
pushed, I pulled, and the still moved reluctantly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Wait
a minute," Ron said. "We're going about this all wrong.
Friction is <i>not</i> our friend. Hold on a sec." Ron ran back
up the basement steps, then returned with a double handful of wooden
dowels.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"We're
going to use these as rollers," he said, laying the dowels in a
path from the still to the sink. "I don't know why I didn't
think of this to begin with."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
it never occurred to me, either, not that I knew we had rollers.
Maybe our blood sugar is low."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Doesn't
matter," Ron said. "Let's push."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
dowels worked like a charm and with only a little effort, we situated
the still near the sink. I quickly attached the intake and outflow
hoses to the condenser while Ron unraveled the extension cord,
plugged it into an outlet, then attached the two heating elements to
the power strip.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
was a loud pop, a brief flash of sparks from somewhere in the corner,
and the room went pitch black.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Fuck!"
we said, simultaneously.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
betting we don't have a flashlight down here, do we?" Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
betting you're right. I think I've got one in the bedroom, though."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Let's
hope so. When you said distilling wasn't as easy as I might think, I
had no idea this kind of shit would happen." Ron stumbled a bit
making his way back to the work bench.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
it wasn't exactly what I envisioned, either. Dionysus is not smiling
upon us tonight," I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Who?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Dionysus.
The Greek god of wine, intoxication, and ritual madness. Guess he's
busy at the party across the street."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"There's
a party across the street?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
didn't notice when you went upstairs? Well, cool your jets there,
son. It's a big biker bash to which we were <i>not</i> invited and
besides, we're working, remember?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
worked my way cautiously to the steps and went off to find my
flashlight.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
party at the anarchists' collective was still going strong; in fact,
it had grown. People were milling about in the street, in the front
yard, in <i>our</i> front yard, and in the neighbors' front yards.
Motorcycles of all shapes and sizes were everywhere, their comings
and goings punctuated by loud bass engine noises I felt as much as
heard. People were having a good time. Sex and drugs and rock and
roll filled the night air. <i>Yeah</i>, I thought. <i>There's our
problem. Dionysus is too busy getting down with his twenty-first
century posse to shower us with blessings, the freak.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Where
the hell is that flashlight?" Ron's voice came up from the
basement.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
coming, I'm coming." I stumbled a bit coming down the darkened
steps.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
it's about time," Ron said. "Where's the breaker box?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We
searched around for a bit, my tiny flashlight casting a dim, barely
sufficient glow, until we came to a dusty, cobweb-encrusted metal
door in the wall.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Shit,"
said Ron. "Fuses, not breakers. Old ones." He sighed
deeply. "I don't suppose you know where any fuses are, by
chance?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Couldn't
we just jam a penny in there?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Besides
the fact that's a sure way to get electrocuted, not to mention start
a house fire, these aren't screw-in fuses. They're older than that."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"So
what do we do?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
there's nothing in the fuse box, nothing <i>on</i> the fuse box.
Let's look on the work bench."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sure
enough, there, in plain sight, was a faded box of old school tube
fuses.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"These
things are ancient. Better unplug the heaters while I stick this in."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
snickered.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What?"
Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You're
going to stick in in."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Are
you high?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No,
just a little giddy. Everything's unplugged."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
was a sharp electrical crack, a couple of bluish sparks, and the
lights came back on.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
that was entertaining," Ron said. "Let's try it with one
heating element."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
took in a deep breath, inserted the plug, then exhaled when I saw the
heating unit's little orange indicator light come on.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"And
we have ignition."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Great.
Now what?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Now
we watch the temperature, wait for things to boil, turn on the water
to the condenser, and start collecting our alcohol."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"How
long will that take?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
have no idea. Probably a while, since we only have the one heating
element. You got another extension cord somewhere?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No,
but if this is going to take a while, I could run down to Walgreen's
or someplace and buy one."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Might
not be a bad idea."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Of
course, I just might have to check out that party, too."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
gave Ron my best look of exasperation, then said, "Go ahead.
This could wind up being an all-night affair anyway. No sense in both
of us being bored."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'll
be right back, I promise."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
yeah, yeah. You'll be right back. I've heard that line before. Try
not to to pick up any STDs while you're at it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No
STDs. Just an extension cord. Got it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">With
Ron gone the basement was quiet except for the faint din of the party
outside and another noise else I couldn't quite place. Was that
bubbling? Were we at a boil already? I put my hand on the base of the
still and noted warmth and a slight vibration. Okay, something was
going right. The heater was working and the mash was warming up.
Knowing I was going to be disappointed, I checked the thermometer
and, yep, sure enough, we had a long way to go before hitting the
boiling point of alcohol; hell, we hadn't even reached body
temperature. I went upstairs to grab my pen and notebook.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Except
for the motorcycles and a few beat-up old cars, the streets were
empty, the party having moved inside as far as I could tell. No
surprise there; it was getting a bit damp and chilly. Then, too, the
police only patrolled this neighborhood at night and I was sure no
one wearing biker colors, drunk or sober, wanted to tangle with
Richmond's Finest. They had guns and Tasers and weren't afraid to use
them. In fact, if local folklore held true, the police got quite a
kick out of using their Tasers. It was cheap entertainment and I
shuddered at the thought.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I
wonder what Sarah is up to?</i> I thought. <i>I wonder what bikers
and anarchists do at a house party. They probably didn't sit around
sipping brandy and reading Kropotkin in the original Russian. Maybe
they had wild sex orgies and rolled around naked on torn-out pages
from Ronald Reagan's memoirs. Or the Warren Commission report. Who
knows?</i></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
grabbed an orange juice and went back downstairs, where I was pleased
to note a thin trickle of steam emerging from where the base and the
head joined. <i>Good deal! We're getting somewhere now.</i> I sat on
a kitchen stool at the work bench and made a few notes.</span></div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-45179109425794148282012-11-10T12:04:00.001-05:002012-11-10T12:07:11.328-05:00Chapter Six of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Attempt<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter
Six</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">THRUMUMUMUMUMUMUMSHREEEEEEEEEE!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Oh,
sweet Jeebus, "Magic Carpet Ride" as interpreted by the
entire membership of the International Plumbers' Union while drunk.
And on acid. In the midst of an epileptic seizure. I nearly fell out
of bed from the godawful noise. Why hadn't giant glowing beach towel
Elvis protected me? And who the hell was messing with the pipes? And
worse, why did my bedside alarm clock say eight a. m.?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Rise
and shine, little buddy," Ron shouted from the bathroom, his
voice only slightly muffled by toothpaste. "Time to rub the
sleep out of your eyes and greet the new day!"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Oh,
of course. Ron was one of those horrible morning people.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Who
the hell are you, my mother?" I shouted back. "What
happened to 'the crack of noon?'"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Meh.
You're going to squander the best part of the day. We've got things
to do and places to go. Stuff to move and stuff to buy."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Slowly,
painfully I attempted to focus my eyes and roll out of bed. "You
know," I said, a bit blearily, "when normal people don't
have to work they like to sleep in. Late."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"One,"
Ron said as he threw open my door, "we're not normal people and
we never will be. Two, we <i>are</i> working, or rather, we <i>will</i>
be once you get up and put some clothes on."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Are
you on meth or something? You're awfully chipper for a guy who spent
yesterday driving around all over the state."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Exciting
times ahead, John! A new day, new beginnings, new projects, we've got
to get cracking if we're going to get ahead of the game. Oh, and
there's coffee and Krispy Kreme doughnuts in the kitchen."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
looked at the window and said, "thank you, Jeebus; thank you,
Elvis, thank you, J. R. 'Bob' Dobbs."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Who
are you talking to?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Deities.
My very own short duration personal saviors with whom I will be
sharing a very caffeinated and very sugar-laden communion as soon as
I can find my pants."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
okay then."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"So
are we moving your stuff this morning?" I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Actually,
there's good news and bad news. Mostly good news for you and some bad
news for me."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"How
so?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
there's not a lot of my stuff to move, courtesy of the Girlfriend
From Hell. Apparently, she went on a rampage after I called her,
burned most of my stuff in a backyard bonfire, and now all I've got
are a couple of suitcases, a trunk, that stained mattress we were
using as a doggie bed, and my computer stuff. I got lucky, I suppose,
but some of it is kind of smoky, so heads up. I did manage to rescue,
well, you know."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
Christ," I said. "The layout."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
the layout."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Have
I mentioned that Ron is a model railroad buff? Yeah, HO scale all the
way. He got into it in his early teens and over the years has amassed
a huge, and I mean <i>huge</i>, collection of brass locomotives worth
thousands of dollars along with rolling stock, miles of track, tons
of scenery, and who knows how many itty-bitty metal figures. When he
got into model construction, he built what amounted to a small city's
worth of structures complete with weathering, advertisements,
graffitti, electric lighting, myriads of geeky goodness. It's his
pride, his joy, and his singular obsession-- excluding inappropriate
women-- an entire world on a nine by twelve foot table.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Where
is it now?" I asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
know the front room across from the living room slash library?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What
I assumed was the dining room? Yeah."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It's
has been officially commandeered and designated the Train Room."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh.
Okay. I've never been one for formal dinners, anyway," I said.
"I'm more into microwave burritos and paper plates. Where's all
the stuff now?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It's
here. Downstairs. My sister's husband helped me load it into his
truck and those four guys from across the street helped me get it
into the house."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
yeah? Was Sarah with them?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"No,
unfortunately, Ron said with a slight leer. "She's pretty hot in
a goth trash sort of way. Oh, who am I kidding? Given the chance, I'd
hit that so hard whoever pulled me out would be the rightful king of
all England."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"And
can you imagine a threesome with her and Tara? Oh, man! What do you
want to bet they both have piercings in places you wouldn't expect?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Changing
the subject," I said. "What, exactly, are we doing today if
we're not moving you in?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
thinking it's time we check out The Little Old Winemaker and spend a
little money."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Color
me confused, but who do we know that makes wine? Hell, who do we know
that drinks wine, unless it's <i>Boone's Farm</i>? Is this person a
consultant or something?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"The
Little Old Winemaker is not a person, it's this funky store in
Lakeside that sells beer and winemaking supplies. The guy in
Goochland was telling me about it, said it was your one-stop shopping
source for all things booze-related."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What,
the guy with the still?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"The
very one. He's done it all: cider, beer, wine; in fact, he had such
good luck with wine he wanted to branch out into brandy. He even had
wooden casks for aging. You know, we might want to think about that
at some point."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh,
don't count your barrels just yet. We've got a lot of things to do
before we can even think of trying out our still."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Exactly,
and time's a-wastin'. Grab your shopping list and let's see what's
what."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
got my notebook, filled a big travel mug with coffee, and grabbed a
couple of doughnuts Okay, three doughnuts, but it was early and my
blood sugar and caffeine levels were nowhere near optimum.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When Ron said the place was "funky,"
he wasn't exaggerating. Set back in a little strip mall parallel to
Lakeside Drive, The Little Old Winemaker was completely at odds with
its surroundings. It was as if a tiny piece of 19<sup>th</sup>
Century rural Bavaria had been magically transported to Richmond and
plopped down to live placidly amid the appliance stores, service
stations, soul food eateries, and 7-11s. Funky, too, were the smells
we encountered as soon as we passed through the door: yeasty bread,
dusty grains, a faint whiff of wood smoke, a hint of ripe apples... I
was reminded of when I used to visit my grandfather's tobacco farm as
a child and play in the hay loft. The walls were darkened wood and
covered in advertising posters for obscure beers, exotic wines, and
vineyards local and foreign. Well-dressed, soft-spoken customers
browsed the aisles and shelves.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was charming.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So what are we looking for,"
Ron asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, yeast for one, a couple of
ten gallon fermenters, which are just glorified food grade plastic
buckets, unless you want to go the stainless or copper route."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Are they better?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I don't know if they're better,
but they're certainly more expensive."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Then plastic works for me."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Let's see, lids for the buckets,
a couple of airlocks..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Airlocks?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"One way valves. When we start
fermenting stuff, we want a way to keep out the airborne nasties
while venting all the carbon dioxide we'll be making."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"This is getting complicated,"
Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I warned you. And we're going to
need cheesecloth for filtering, some kind of sanitizing agent for the
buckets, some plastic tubing, oh, and a decent grade hydrometer. Then
there's corn, malted barley, rye, rye malt..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Enough. Let's start shopping,"
Ron sighed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The store's layout was a little
confusing, but the sales associate was busy briefing this
nice-looking gay couple on the finer points of home-aging sherry and
port, so Ron and I fumbled around for a bit before finding all the
stuff we needed. That was fine as far as I was concerned, since even
a cursory glance would tell any astute home brewer exactly what we
were planning on doing. Let's be clear: home distilling is illegal.
<i>Highly</i> illegal. The Feds don't care if it's a little or a lot;
if you're running a still to make alcohol for human consumption,
regardless of the quantity and regardless of whether you drink it or
sell it or give it away, you're breaking several state and federal
laws and can wind up in a dank, dark prison cell for a very long
time. Someday the laws may change, just as they did for wine- and
beer-making, but someday is not today. I was a little nervous.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We hauled our stuff over to the main
counter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay," said the clerk. "What
have we got here?" He began muttering to himself as he tallied
up our purchases, then said, "You know this is a Tralles
hydrometer, right?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What's a Tralles hydrometer?"
Ron asked</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The clerk looked at Ron for a second.
"You use a Tralles hydrometer to figure out the alcoholic
content of a liquid based on its specific gravity. You take pre- and
post-fermentation readings and from that you can calculate..."
His voice trailed off when he saw the expression on my face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You're not..." the clerk
said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stood there open-mouthed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The clerk's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because I don't want to know if you are."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stood there at a loss for words.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Let's speak hypothetically for a
moment," he said, glancing to his left and right. "Purely
<i>hypothetically</i>."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"If someone, not you two, but
someone, wanted to, oh, let's say, ferment a large volume of material
really fast, he might want something a little more powerful than
champagne yeast."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"He might want a variety of what
is called a turbo yeast. It's fast, it's resistant to alcohol, which
means it can survive when the concentration is high and make <i>more</i>
alcohol, and most importantly, it comes complete with a slew of
additional nutrients and pH adjusters so as to make futzing with it
significantly trivial. It can survive. It can kick ass. You, uh, <i>he</i>
just adds the yeast at the right moment and at the right temperature
and lets it do it's thing."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"But it's <i>tricky</i> for
<i>wine-making</i>. It brings things to a ferment <i>really</i> fast
and it generates a lot of alcohol. <i>A lot</i>. A wine-maker could,
<i>entirely by accident</i>, ruin his otherwise perfectly good wine
by turning it into something only useful if he were interested in
distilling it, which he would <i>not</i> be, in which case the
winemaker would <i>not have wine</i>. That would be <i>sad</i>. You
understand?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay." I smiled a little.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A <i>wine-maker</i> would have to
be <i>extremely careful</i> with a turbo yeast or he's going to wind
up with a <i>high-proof wine</i> that would be completely undrinkable
<i>as it was</i>. It would be beyond insolent and ill-mannered; it
would be a pugnacious bully. One would be <i>overwhelmed</i> by the
<i>alcohol burn</i>. And that's <i>not</i> what one looks for in a
<i>good wine</i>. Excuse me for a moment."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The clerk disappeared behind a curtain
then returned holding a couple of test tubes sealed with black
plastic screw caps. Inside them was a noxious-looking brown slurry.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"This is a new product, a strain
called THX-1138 from the W. A. Sallee labs in Chicago. It's for
<i>experimental wine-making</i> purposes only, though it <i>may
possibly</i> have <i>other</i> uses. You may also find it...
amusing." The clerk smiled and handed me some stapled papers.
"And these are the instructions. They reiterate what I said
about it being tricky for <i>wine-making</i>. Be sure to read them
carefully."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay," I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The clerk rang up our purchases, smiled
again, and said, "Well, gentlemen, I look forward to hearing
about your disasters in... <i>wine-making</i>. Please keep me
posted." He winked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What just happened?" asked
Ron, as we carried our stuff to the truck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"In legal terms, I think we just
gained an accessory before the fact."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Is that a good thing?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I guess we'll find out." I
looked at the instructions the clerk had handed me:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>So You Want To Make Some Tasty
Booze: A Guide to the Effective Use of THX-1138 in Home Distilling</i>.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"It's a good thing, Ron. Let's go
buy some sugar."</div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-85342808588027573522012-11-06T22:40:00.000-05:002012-11-06T22:40:18.079-05:00Chapter Five of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Attempt
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter
Five</b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Behold!" Ron said as he
walked me to the bed of the pick-up truck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Ooo. Aah. Ohh." I said
sarcastically. "A bunch of cardboard boxes and a big-ass
something or other under a moving pad. I swoon. I <i>plotz</i>."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You will in a minute," Ron
said. "Look behind the curtain."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
wasn't sure I wanted to touch the filthy, smelly quilt covering the
whatever it was, but sometimes you just have to roll up your sleeves,
say what the fuck, and go for it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I
lifted a convenient corner.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
setting sun glinted gloriously off the shiniest conglomeration of
metalwork I had ever seen.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Is
that what I think it is?" I said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It
is, indeed. That, my friend, is a genuine, all-copper, hand-hammered,
hand-riveted, hand-constructed, never before used twenty gallon pot
still. And it's ours."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Sweet
Jesus, it's beautiful," I said, slowly pulling off the cover.
"That's a work of art. It's functional sculpture at its finest.
It's glowing and shiny and curvaceous and sexy and I want to marry
it. Where the hell did you find it?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Four
words to know and live by: 'Craigslist is our friend.' Some guy out
in Goochland bought it and then had second thoughts or something.
That, or his wife raised hell when she saw the price tag. Anyway, he
put it up for sale at about half of its original cost and I haggled
him down a little more by waving some cash under his nose."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"It's...
it's... beautiful. I'm afraid to touch it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
cover it up. No sense in advertising to the neighborhood that we've
got a still. That's just asking for trouble. We'll move it in after
the sun sets, safe from prying eyes."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Actually"
I said, looking around, "we should move it in now. In these
parts, if you leave something of any value lying around unsecured
it's considered a donation to the community. Copper is a big ticket
item in distressed neighborhoods, which is why you'll never find
electrical wiring in an empty house."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
scanned the anarchists' collective across the street and said, "I
see what you mean. Okay, let's move it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"What's
in all the other boxes?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
well the big one houses the still condenser assembly and the others?
Well, take a look."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
reached into his pocket, pulled out a Swiss Army knife, slit the tape
on one of the boxes, and uncovered a dozen one liter Florence flasks.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Aren't
they cool?" Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
yeah, I suppose, but what do you want with a bunch of round-bottomed
flasks, unless..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Exactly!
You said Ball Mason jars were trite and passé and, let's face it,
with the exception of Crystal Head Vodka, most liquor bottles are not
particularly exciting, so when I saw these on Craigslist..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
bought a shitload."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
bought a shitload. A double shitload. About five hundred of them, to
be exact. For cash, so there's no paper trail, and at a huge
discount. Incidentally, there are more where these came from in case
we should need them." Ron was grinning from ear to ear. "I
could have gotten a bunch of old-school ceramic jugs, but they all
had labels and needed some serious cleaning, so I figured that was
just too much damn work. These things, on the other hand, are almost
sterile and laboratory-ready."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I've
got to admit, I think you're on to something. Then again, we're not
going to have anything to put in them for at least a couple of weeks
and maybe longer if things don't go well. There are about ten
thousand details we've got to consider." The immensity of what
we were about to do swept over me and it must have shown on my face.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"And
there go the negative waves again. You need to embrace the power of
positive thinking or you're going to become an old man before your
time. Visualize. Actualize. Synthesize."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
and in the meantime I'm tired as shit and we've still got a bunch of
boxes and one highly illegal still to move."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"So
let's get cracking," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">To
my surprise, we got everything into the basement with only a minimum
of trouble. The boxes of flasks were easy; as far as weight was
concerned they were inconsequential. The main body of the still, on
the other hand, though not particularly heavy, was big, bulky,
slippery, and awkward as hell to move, but after only a couple of
sphincter-clenching moments when it didn't look as though it would
fit through the door, we got it down the stairs and into position.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Look
at it," Ron said. "That's our future gleaming there."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"That
was almost poetic, ya big lug," I said. "Only, let's hope
our future doesn't involve prison cells and big bad men in need of
butt buddies. I'm fragile." I thought for a moment then looked
at Ron. "Now what?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"A
couple of things. I've got to get the pick-up back to my sister's
husband and I'm thinking we'd better get a padlock for the basement
door just in case."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Just
in case of what?" I asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Just...
in case. Nosy neighbors. Wandering landlords. Desperate crackheads.
Whatever."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Based
on what I've seen, our landlord is not apt to wander anywhere on
foot."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
still going to pick one up on the way back. You need anything?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
stared at the still shining in the center of our basement floor and
thought for a moment. What <i>did</i> I need? The name of a good
lawyer? Just... in case? A copy of Virginia's legal code? A bottle of
Valium? Zen mind? A nap?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Nah,
I'm good. I'm going to go upstairs, set up my bedroom, then sleep for
about a hundred years."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh,
don't forget I've still got stuff to move," Ron said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Tomorrow,
dude. Tomorrow."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
glanced at his wristwatch. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll
drag your ass out of bed somewhere around, what, the crack of noon?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"And
not before. Thanks."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ron
clomped up the wooden stairs, leaving me in quiet solitude.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
could hear a faint music and a police siren in the distance. A couple
of neighborhood dogs barked half-heartedly, then all was silence as a
profound sense of melancholy overcame me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
buddy," I addressed the still. "It's just you and me. I
suppose we're going to become close friends, eventually, but right
now I'm just a bit overwhelmed by everything."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
house creaked in response.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
suppose if Ron is right and there really is a market for artisanal
booze, then all this is going to be the start of an exciting new
venture with us right smack on the cutting edge, and let's be honest,
I've never been on the cutting edge of much of anything ever. I
should be thrilled as all get-out."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
still said nothing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"But
let me tell you something: I'm not. I'm not fond of unpredictability
and this little project is about as unpredictable as anything I've
ever encountered. And yeah, maybe Jobs and Wozniak started out in a
garage, but I bet they had access to working plumbing. I have no idea
what's going to happen the first time I flush the toilet in this
place. Maybe a sewage apocalypse. Or worse."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
dogs started barking again, then quieted.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm
broke, my girlfriend is long gone, I don't have any family to speak
of and no close friends, except for Ron, and here I am starting a new
life on the wrong side of town in one of the world's older and
shadier professions. 'John Griggs, potential urban moonshiner.'
Sounds like a Saturday Night Live skit."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Silence.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"On
the other hand, I'll be my own boss and at least have the chance of
making some money without having to say 'you want fries with that?'"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">More
silence.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
well. It's getting late and as much as I hate to leave you alone on
your first night here, I'm exhausted. See ya in the morning." I
trudged up the stairs feeling more tired than I'd felt in years.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
bedroom was in total disarray, though the Four Stooges had been kind
enough to assemble my bed, even to the point of making a half-assed
attempt at fitting it with sheets and blankets, which was a little
creepy now that I thought about it. Unfortunately, they had then
piled it high with clothes, boxes of books, a couple of suitcases,
and my two nightstands. I appreciated the effort, I did, but
really... the dresser was facing backwards, its drawers against the
wall, and my writing desk was standing on end in front of the closet.
An errant box of dishes peeked out at me from under the bed. The
floor was covered in bits of cardboard and packing tape, my lamps
were nowhere in sight, and the whole scene was more than a little
stark, gloomy, and depressing, lit as it was by a single bare bulb in
the ceiling.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You're
going to want curtains."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Sweet
screaming Jesus!" I shouted, then whirled around to face the
bedroom door, my heart pounding, adrenalin coursing through my veins.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Relax,
man," said Sarah, leaning against the door frame. "The
serial killers hang out on Southside this time of night. You're
reasonably safe here, though if I were you I'd start locking my front
door. Otherwise, you'll attract an unsavory element... like me."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
scared the shit out of me."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sarah
did an exaggerated neck-craning thing. "I dunno... your floor
and pants look pretty shit-free to me, but either way, you're still
going to need curtains."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I...
Curtains? What are you talking about?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
whether you know it or not, right now you're putting on a show for
the whole neighborhood. The way things are lit, you've got a kind of
shadow puppet thing going on." Sarah started poking through some
boxes. "Do you even <i>have</i> curtains?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Probably
not. My girlfriend took care of that kind of stuff, uh, back when I
had a girlfriend. She was the one with the domesticity gene. I'm more
of a patterned sheets in the window kind of guy."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Well,
I think we can do better than that." Sarah pulled out a huge
black and orange beach towel emblazoned with a young, svelte Elvis
somebody had given me as a gag gift many years ago.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
this will do nicely," Sarah said. "Nothing like sleeping
peacefully while being watched over by a glowing King. She moved one
of my nightstands, climbed on top, pulled a tack hammer and some
nails out of her back pocket, and fastened the towel into place.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"You
came prepared."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Told
you you were putting on a show. Moe was concerned you were going to
undress and start wagging your dick around or something, so I figured
I'd better take action before he had a stroke. He comes across as
homophobic, but really, he's so deep in the closet that he's finding
Christmas presents."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"That
was entirely too much information."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Wasn't
it, though? Cool platform bed, by the way."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Thanks.
I picked it up at <i>La Difference</i> a couple of years ago. It's
the only decent piece of furniture I own. The rest is thrift shop
chic."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sarah
held out her hand and waited until I took it to help her down from
the nightstand. I noted the faint aroma of sandalwood. "Yeah,
Curly liked it because there are so many places to attach ropes. He's
got a mild bondage fetish, loves to be tied down. Funny how so many
otherwise macho men like to be the passive ones in bed."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Again,
too much information."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Then
you definitely don't want to know how many piercings he's got where."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
I'll pass on that."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Thought
you might. Want a hand getting your bedroom organized?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Yeah,
that would be great."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">With
Sarah orchestrating, it took us all of half an hour to get the place
into some semblance of order.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Damn,"
I said, surveying the results. "I could live here."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sarah
looked around. "It's a little too multi-purpose for my tastes,
what with the desk and computer and printer and all, but get rid of
that shit, add some mood lighting, a canopy, maybe a bar and small
refrigerator, and yeah, you've got yourself a fuck pad."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh-huh,"
was all I could say.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">She
threw herself on the mattress exposing a great deal of bare abdomen
and what looked to be a diamond navel ring. "Oh, yeah, baby,"
she said. "That's memory foam. <i>Nice</i> stuff. I take it
back; this <i>is</i> a fuck pad. And I would know."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Uh,
I'll take your word for it."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh,
you won't have to do that. She shot me a huge grin. "But it's
late and I've got a pirate radio station to get on the air so, we'll
pick this up tomorrow. Later, dude!"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">And
with that, Sarah was off, leaving me to wonder what just happened.</span></div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-17213376190285747872012-11-05T19:51:00.000-05:002012-11-05T19:51:17.175-05:00Chapter Four of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Attempt
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter Four</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I hate moving. Really, really hate it.
It's right up there with my hatred of Hitler and Stalin, cancer and
world hunger, military actions and people who hog the passing lane on
the Interstate, which is why I do it as little as possible. Part of
the problem is I have too much stuff, books mostly, which translates
to dozens and dozens of boxes to be packed, sealed, lifted,
transported, lifted again, opened, unpacked, and arranged in some
semblance of order. That's the ideal; what usually happens is I
become overwhelmed, give up, and just dump them in huge piles all
around whatever living space I happen to be occupying. My poor
ex-girlfriend waged a running battle with books in the bathroom since
one of my favorite places to read is in the tub.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Sometimes I think you care more
about these damned books than you do about me," she used to say.
Well, scream would be a more accurate description. "Can't you at
least get rid of the ones you've read? Why do you have to keep them
for so long?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because. I'd rather drown kittens than
lose a book.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She didn't understand. Margaret was not
a reader. Fashion magazines, sure. <i>Glamour</i>, <i>People</i>,
<i>Us</i>, things like that, check. All of them instantly
forgettable; all of them entirely disposable. But unless by chance
she was reading the current self-help <i>tome du jour</i>, and that
only happened maybe once every two years, she never touched a book
unless it was to move mine out of her way. "There's no room to
sleep on the bed! Or sit! Or walk, for God's sake! What the hell? The
sofa is not a bookshelf. Why is Norman Spinrad in the bathroom sink?"
She couldn't wrap her head around the idea that books are my friends,
my children. Sure, some of them are bastard children, misshapen and
malformed, but I love them none the less.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In all fairness, she was somewhat
justified in her resentment. I had-- I <i>have</i>-- books
everywhere. Stacked on shelves, stacked in front of shelves, on my
desk, on <i>her</i> desk, on the kitchen counter, in the kitchen
cabinets, scattered across the dining room table, the bathroom, the
bedroom; virtually every horizontal surface was (and is) a potential
(and actual) book depository. On the other hand, love me, love my
books. Margaret chose neither.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Here's a confession for you, to my
shame: under my bed there's a huge trunk filled with yellowing
paperbacks I haven't opened since the late 'Eighties, but in no way
am I willing to get rid of any of them. The fear is I might want to
consult one of them someday at, say, three in the morning, when the
bookstores and library are closed and in my mind that would be
inconvenient at the least, mindbogglingly annoying at the worst. I do
not suffer either well. Also, in this post-literate age I live in
constant fear of <i>Fahrenheit 451</i> becoming a reality. This
should tell you the extent of my obsession.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which is one of the reasons I broke
down and got myself a Kindle. Three thousand books at my fingertips
occupying less than the space of your average self-published poetry
chapbook, plus the ability to purchase books 24/7/365 and store as
many on my hard drive as memory will hold; it's online crack for
bibliophiles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah, my name is John, I'm powerless
over books, and my life and that of those around me have become
unmanageable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Anyway, the point of all this is I hate
to move and it's mostly because of the books. Mostly. The other
annoying thing is every time I have to move I have to do it by myself
and that just plain sucks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Okay, confession two: I have a low
threshold for boredom and moving things from one place to another is
boring. And tiring. And sweaty. And just plain no fun. Yeah, beneath
my aging exterior beats the heart of a restless thirteen year old
without access to television.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And on this day in particular, a
singularly irritated thirteen year old.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Where the hell was Ron? Ron knows how
much I hate to move and I'd been counting on him to help out, but he
was nowhere to be found, leaving me with a U-Haul full of weighty
boxes and rickety thrift store furniture.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hey! You must be the new guy."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I turned around to see a punk rock
slash wet dream by way of Goth culture. She was tall and lanky with a
Bettie Page haircut, black Doc Marten's, strategically torn skinny
jeans, a ripped black camisole with plunging neckline, ghostly pale
make-up with heavy eye shadow, and a biker jacket that looked as if
it had been torn off a dying Hell's Angel.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, I guess I am. And you..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And you look like you could use a
little help."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Man, that is the understatement
of the decade."I said. "My partner was supposed to be here
an hour ago, but I guess he had better things to do."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Partner?" She gave me a
lascivious wink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, it's not what you think.
We're strictly hetero, 'not that there's anything wrong with that,'"
I said in my best Seinfeld voice."He's kind of my business
partner when he's not pulling a disappearing act."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What business?" She peered
around to see inside the U-Haul.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Uh, well, I suppose I'm not at
liberty to discuss that at present," I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A start-up or something? Computer
programming? Data mining? Amateur porn production? I've got a friend
who'll do amazing things on camera with a can of Betty Crocker
frosting and some whipped cream. And she'll work cheap."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Uh..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You're not in the recreational
pharmaceutical industry, by chance?" Sarah shot me a huge grin.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Good God, no! Why would you think
that?" My heart skipped a beat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Only that there are a limited
number of reasons why people choose to live in this neighborhood
willingly and that's one of them, but not to worry. It would be
definitely cool if you were."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"No, no. Nothing as exciting as
that, I'm afraid."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You should think about it, ya
know. Those berries in your back yard pack an... interesting...
punch."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So you know about those?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hell, yeah! Oh, hell yeah!
Everybody in this neighborhood knows about 'em. They're kind of a
thing at parties. The woman who lived here before you used to make a
kind of kick-ass wine out of them and give it away to whoever asked."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Really?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Really! Oh, I'm Sarah, by the
way. Sarah Sparks. I run a kind of anarchists' collective across the
street when I'm not pulling espressos for Instagram addicted hipsters
on Cary Street." Sarah pointed to a somewhat dilapidated house
with four gargantuan Harley-Davidsons in the front yard.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, nice to meet you, Sarah
Sparks. I'm John Griggs, occasional technical writer and, currently,
pissed-off moving man. Pleased to meet you." We shook hands.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A sweaty moving man, too, it
appears. But that's okay; I like 'em sweaty. You want some help with
all those boxes?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I hesitated before saying anything.
Sarah didn't look like the weight lifting type, but she <i>did</i>
look like the punch you in the face type if I pointed that out."Well,
yeah, that would be great, but are you sure you have the, uh, time?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah put her fingers to her lips and
let out with a bloodcurdling, earsplitting whistle. A moment later
four huge, hulking guys in dirty jeans, faded leathers, and jailhouse
tattoos emerged from the house across the street and came running
over toward us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Boxes," she said, pointing
to the U-Haul. "Inside. Now."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Without a word, the guys immediately
started off-loading the boxes and furniture and hauling them into the
house, the faint smell of marijuana and malt liquor following in
their wake.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"My Stooges," Sarah said. "I
forget their names, so I call 'em Larry, Moe, Curly, and sometimes
Shemp. Shemp and Curly kind of alternate coming and going."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Which is who?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Doesn't matter. They're all four
of them big and dumb and pretty much interchangeable."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And handy," I said. "No
household should be without one."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sarah laughed. "Damn straight! And
they're pretty low maintenance to boot, for the most part. Just fuel
'em, feed 'em, and fuck 'em as necessary. The rest takes care of
itself. And as an added bonus, they come with their own reefer and
beer."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I didn't quite know how to respond.
Miss Manners doesn't cover conversations like this one; then again,
Miss Manners had probably never encountered an anarchists'
collective. Hell, <i>I've</i> never encountered an anarchists'
collective, much less one run by Joan Jett's evil twin, but I wasn't
about to complain. The U-Haul was being emptied at blinding speed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Where do you want the boxes
labeled 'books?'" a voice boomed from the apartment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You got pizza? Or beer?"
another voice boomed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We've <i>got</i> beer, you
knucklehead. What we need is pizza," a third voice boomed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You morons gonna help with these
books?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Now you see why I call 'em 'The
Stooges.'" Sarah shot me another huge grin. "They can read
and converse in full sentences, too. And they play a pretty mean game
of D & D, when they're in the mood, except they all want to be
half-orc fighters with dragon scale armor."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What do they do when they're not
in the mood?" I asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You're better off not knowing and
we'd better go in and supervise before they find your liquor supply.
Otherwise, you'll get a live demonstration."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Three Stooges (four, if you count
Shemp) were nothing if not energetic. They had my stuff moved
astoundingly fast, wrangling even the heaviest boxes with an ease and
grace that reminded me of ballet, if there were such a thing as two
hundred and eighty pound ballet dancers. Sarah and I didn't have to
lift a finger, except once to dial the nearest pizza delivery joint.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
All six of us were sitting on the front
porch, finishing off the pizza crusts and drinking lukewarm beer
while the Stooges described their latest <i>Ravenloft</i> campaign in
excruciating detail, when Ron the Nerd finally made his appearance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus God, John," Ron said,
as he exited a pick-up truck that had seen better days. "Who are
your friends?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Our new neighbors. Come and say
'hi,'" I said. As Ron mounted the porch, I couldn't resist
whispering, "And don't show any fear. They can smell it. It'll
make them go berserk."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron actually gulped as I went through
the Stooge introductions, grimacing as he shook each powerful hand in
turn.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And this is Sarah, the ringleader
of this motley crew."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Motley Cr<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">üe?"
one of the Stooges said. "I know those guys! They're par-TAY
animals!"</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Down,
Curly. Up, Ron," Sarah said when she noticed Ron's attention was
focused on her cleavage.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Oh,
uh, "Ron stammered. "I was just admiring your tattoo."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"That's
Neptune, King of the Seven Seas. And of my boobs. That's Curly, king
of shallow graves in desolate wooded areas."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">An
awkward silence followed, but to his credit, Ron at least had the
decency to blush. "Gotcha. No offense intended."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Nah,
I kid. Look at them all you want. I was just yanking your chain."
Sarah laughed. "I'm kind of proud of the twins. Grew 'em
myself."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Okay,
now that we're all friends again, where the hell have </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>you</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
been? You do remember we were supposed to move in today, right?"
I said.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"I
didn't forget, but man oh, man, something came up that you're never
going to believe! Uh, could we talk privately for a moment?"</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Okay,
guys," Sarah said to the Stooges. "That's our cue to leave.
These boys have business to discuss and I'm in the mood for a little
</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Risk</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.
Nothing like some world domination to round out an afternoon."</span></span></div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-46295492571109042592012-11-04T20:53:00.002-05:002012-11-04T20:53:59.861-05:00Chapter Three of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Attempt
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter Three</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, that was different," I
said. "And why the hell were you haggling with the guy? Jesus,
he was pissed off. What if he had a gun or something?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We were headed to Ron's car.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"He wasn't going to use a gun,"
Ron said. "I did a little fact checking and found out he needs
money, really, really bad and really, really fast. No sense in paying
full price if we don't have to."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Agreed, especially since you're
the one who's paying. But still, what a character. He's the kind of
guy who'd get profiled in <i>The New Yorker</i> if he did anything
more interesting than drink, smoke, and spit."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron shot me a look. "He's the kind
of guy who'd get profiled in <i>Gotcha</i> for running an all-male
animal prostitution ring."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I snickered. "Yeah, well, there's
that. 'Otto the Landlord's All-Cat Cathouse.'"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Or worse," Ron added. "
He's the owner and operator of 'Uncle Tickle's Secret Touching
Club.'"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We got in the car and started heading
towards the Willow Lawn Starbucks via Monument Avenue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So what's the deal with the
berries?" I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I don't know, but you've got to
admit, it sounds intriguing. Also a little silly. 'Farkleberry' wine.
Who ever heard of such a thing? And talk about your bizarre
coincidences. If this were a novel people would start booing right
about now."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Apparently not Otto's aunt and
neighbors. Did the stuff sound just a little psychoactive to you?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yes, it did," Ron said. "And
I'm thinking that merits further investigation. Deep investigation."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Speaking of deep investigation,"
I said, as I shifted around in the passenger seat, "I've got a
buttload of notes on distilling."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron glanced at me just before swerving
slightly to avoid some loathsome a bright yellow Hummer's abrupt
right turn.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Don't those things come equipped
with signal lights?" Ron muttered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"'Your penis must be <i>this</i>
small before you can buy a Hummer,'" I said as I started in on
the papers in my bulging accordion file.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Holy moley, Batman! That's a lot
of notes!"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, I've been doing my homework
and the bottom line is this: home distilling is not as simple as you
might think. In fact, there's as much art to it as science. Plus,
we're going to have to buy a shitload of stuff just to get started."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Like what?" Ron asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I shuffled through some papers. "Sugar,
corn, malt, yeast, and, oh, boy, you don't even <i>want</i> to know
about all the ins and outs of yeast. And we're going to need gallons
of bottled water if that crap from the tap is any indication, or
maybe rain water. That's a possibility. A hydrometer..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What's that?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A hydrometer measures alcohol by
volume. Bar owners use them to make sure the bartenders aren't
watering down the liquor. We'll also need a decent-sized fermenter."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Which is?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Nothing fancy, just an
appropriately-sized copper or stainless steel tub into which we dump
the ingredients and allow them to ferment. They don't have to be
expensive, but they can be."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What else?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, the still, and that's the
big ticket item."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Can we make one and cut some
costs?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, we could, but here's the
thing, <i>Dukes of Hazzard</i> and <i>Li'l Abner</i> notwithstanding,
stills are fairly tricky things to build. They may look cobbled
together in the movies, but every part has its purpose. Plus, use the
wrong solder and everybody gets lead poisoning. You can buy smaller
ones made out of beer kegs for not too much money, but you're
thinking volume and for that you're going to need something in the
ten to twenty gallon range at least."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Ten to twenty gallons of what?
Alcohol?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"No, mash. The fermented stuff.
That's what the still does, separates the alcohols from all the other
stuff."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You said 'alcohols.'"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, well, you don't just make
drinking alcohol when you ferment stuff. You get all kinds of other
stuff, some of which distills on through. Wood alcohol, ethyl
acetate, fusel oils, stuff you don't want to be drinking. You throw
away the first and last parts, keep the middle, then run it through
the still again. Part of the art is knowing when and what to throw
away and when and what to save."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Don't you lose a lot of stuff
when you do that?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yes, you do, but if you want a
drinkable product, which translates to a salable product, you just
deal with the loss, otherwise, people will go blind, die, and whammo!
There goes your entire customer base. And, more than likely, you're
going to run your product through the still at least twice with a
little additional loss each time."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Wow."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You know how in cartoons you have
a bunch of hillbillies sitting around a still with earthenware jugs
marked with a triple X? Well, each X indicates one time through the
still. But there's a payoff, in a sense: each run yields a higher
concentration of alcohol."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Which is a good thing, right?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, that depends. If you're
just going for alcohol alone, yeah, that's a good thing, but you said
you wanted something special, unique, something you can't get in a
liquor store. High proof alone won't do it, unless you're just
looking for your run of the mill skullbuster. Or rocket fuel. And
there's already a variety of straight moonshines on the shelves.
<i>Virginia Lightning</i> out of Culpeper. <i>Shine On Georgia Moon</i>.
<i>Junior Johnson's Midnight Moon</i>. If you want to distinguish
yourself, now we're talking about aging, flavor profiles, alcohol
concentration versus taste, mouth feel, nuances of aroma, all sorts
of things that master distillers spend years learning how to do."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus. Who knew?" Ron was
starting to look a little worried.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I sure didn't, not until I
started reading up on this stuff. Did you know there's a guy in
Colorado who runs a distillery and makes, of all things, a limited
edition whiskey at $79.95 a fifth when you can get it? Stranahan's.
It's won awards."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Whiskey awards? There are such
things? Sheesh. I just wanted to make a little moonshine, get a
little cult thing going, make some quick money."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, I'm starting to think
that's not impossible, so long as we don't become too ambitious at
first, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's a fairly steep
learning curve ahead of us and the sooner we get started, the
better."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So what else do we need,"
Ron asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Lots of odds and ends:
thermometers, funnels, cheesecloth for filtering, siphon tubing, I
already mentioned water, mixing vats, and bottles for our end
product. Which reminds me, what were you thinking of using to put the
stuff in?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Aren't Ball Mason jars
traditional?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"There are at least three products
on the ABC store shelves in Mason jars, not to mention Mason jars
seem a little low-rent to me."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, we'll figure that out
later." Ron was starting to sweat a little. "What else do
we need?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We're going to need a decent heat
source to operate the still. Something more powerful than a hot
plate, but no open flames."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So, a propane tank and one of
those burner rings wouldn't work?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hell, no! I'm not working in a
closed basement with alcohol fumes and an open flame. With the volume
and concentrations we'll be working with, that's a recipe for
disaster. And we're going to need to do something about ventilation
or even the sparks from that knife switch are going to turn us into
one righteous fireball."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So what are you thinking?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Immersion heaters like they have
on hot water tanks. They're cheap, they're safe, and they have the
added advantage of giving us some significant temperature control
which, by the way, is very important."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay, now back to the still. You
say they're difficult to construct?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Not difficult, exactly, but
tricky. Fortunately, there's a simple solution."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Which is?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We buy one."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What, we wander down to the local
still store at the mall and say 'one whiskey maker to go, please,
hold the indictments?'"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Sort of, but not exactly. We buy
one online."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Are you kidding me?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Not in the least. Trust me when I
say there are a slew of websites offering stills for sale; they're
common as sin, especially among the survivalist types. As near as I
can tell, and I'm certainly no legal expert, it's not technically
illegal to <i>buy</i> a still; it's just illegal to <i>own</i> one
and hideously illegal to <i>operate</i> one."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, <i>that's</i> some
fucked-up logic. How the hell does <i>that</i> work?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I have no idea. It's just one of
those weird-ass legal chimeras, like Virginia's switchblade law. It's
not illegal to <i>own</i> a switchblade, it's just illegal to <i>sell</i>
one; however, possession is considered <i>prima facie</i> evidence of
intent to sell, so go figure."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I'd rather not. It makes my brain
all explody."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We managed to find a parking space in
front of the Willow Lawn Starbucks with relative ease, skipped
around the obnoxious three-man writers' group commandeering the best
outdoor table, and proceeded to order <i>venti</i> non-fat lattes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So," Ron said. "If
we're not going to build one, what's the bottom line on a still,
costwise?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I've been thinking about that a
lot. I've even done some serious comparison shopping and what I'm
going to recommend is this very traditional pot still from a company
in Texas. It's all copper, which is a big deal as far as avoiding
off-flavors, the top comes off, so it's easy to clean, which is
another big consideration. I mean, you boil twenty gallons of corn
mash for a couple of hours and you have the potential for a
righteous, gooey, burned-on mess. The coolest thing, though, is with
the top off, you have a stand-alone fermenter. And it comes with a
built-in thermometer, so it's not like it's going to need any serious
modification. Except..."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Except...?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, I told you I don't want to
work with alcohol fumes and open ignition sources, not in <i>that</i>
basement, so we're going to have to drill a couple of holes to insert
some immersion heaters."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Is that a problem?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You tell me."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron thought for a minute. "It
shouldn't be. I've got tools, I've got an electric drill. I've got a
little sheet metal experience. Probably the trickiest thing there is
sealing the holes around the heaters so there's no leakage."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay, then. Well, the still
itself, complete with condensing unit and thermometer, is going to
run about five hundred dollars."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron winced a little.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And then there are all the
peripheral supplies I mentioned earlier. All told, just to get
started, I'm thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of xxxx dollars.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron winced again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Give or take a few hundred,"
I said. "And that's not accounting for our time and labor. You
sure you want to do this?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well," Ron sighed. "It
takes money to make money and it beats hanging out in bars. Where do
we begin?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We order the still, start laying
in all the other supplies, try to make that rat hole of an apartment
livable, start fermenting some mash, and do a trial run or two. We
time it right and we should be able to run our first batch just as
our still arrives."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, then, as Gary Gilmore once
said, 'let's do it.'"</div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-22384155306061867672012-11-03T13:45:00.002-04:002012-11-03T13:46:16.184-04:00Chapter Two of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Effort<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter Two</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You the guys?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We'd been waiting patiently at the
corner of Cary and Randolph, Ron and I, as patiently as I wait for
anything, when the purple hearse drove up emitting blue exhaust and
the reek of cheap cigars.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Uh, maybe," I said. "You
the owner?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The driver was a large... oh, let's be
honest... an immensely fat man in cargo shorts and a too-small
sweat-stained undershirt. He belched loudly, sucked on his cigar,
eyeballed us for a moment, then blew an immense cloud of smoke in our
direction.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, I'm the fuckin' owner. Ya
wanna see this place or what?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I'd like to check it out, sure."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He grunted, grabbed a set of keys off
the passenger seat, and held them out to me with his kielbasa-sized
fingers. "I'll be waiting for ya here. Don't take too fuckin'
long 'cause I got things ta do."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That's quite a ride you've got
there," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Fuck you, asswipe."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, Ron," I whispered.
"Don't. Be. An. Asswipe."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay, okay," Ron said,
stifling a snicker. "Unclencheth thine sphincter."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The apartment was a run-down two-story
affair, dim and dusty, with some random pieces of long-forgotten and
well-worn furniture scattered about, but obscenely spacious for this
part of Richmond.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Bookshelves," Ron said, as
we glanced into the a room facing the front. "The living room is
full of bookshelves."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"The living room is full of
pre-Columbian cinder blocks and pine planks," I said. "And
how do you know this is the living room?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I hereby declare this to be the
living room slash library. So it is written and so it shall be."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Let's not get too possessive too
fast," I said. "We've got a specific set of needs and you
get attached to things whether they're reasonable or not. Remember
what happened when you bought all those Zunes."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, how was I supposed to know
they'd be the electronic equivalent of an Edsel?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And that damned leather jacket
you shelled out a thousand bucks for."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hey, it was vintage and it looked
cool."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, but when you wore it you
looked like the bastard love child of Marlon Brando and Maynard G.
Krebs."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron sighed. "Well, it's completely
shredded now, thanks to the Girlfriend from Hell."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And the world is indebted to her
for that. What's back here?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
'Back here' turned out to be an immense
kitchen space.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I glanced around. "Uh, not the
most up-to-date I've ever seen."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Pink? Ron said. "Who the
hell has matching pink appliances?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A gay couple from the 'Fifties,
perhaps?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The refrigerator, the stove, a chest
freezer, even the double sink were a shocking shade of pink. There
were even a few small, heavily-used appliances on the white Formica
counter, including a mixer, a milkshake maker, and an
industrial-looking blender, all in pink and all clashing fiercely
with the mint-green walls.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"No dishwasher? Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We've each got two." I held
up my hands.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You so suck."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wandered over to the sink and turned
on the faucet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which was a mistake.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know the opening to Steppenwolf's
"Magic Carpet Ride?" The part with the shuddering,
pounding, shrieking feedback just before "I like to dream, yes,
yes / Right between my sound machine..."? Yeah, that. For a
minute or so, that was the yammering of the pipes before a sputtering
stream of murky, brownish gunk issued from the faucet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus God!" Ron said. "What
the hell was that?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That," I said, "is an
omen."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron joined me at the sink. "Oh."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"'Oh' is right." I shut off
the faucet. "Next question: what's with the back yard?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wiped the window above the sink with
my sleeve, dislodging several dead flies in the process, and gazed
upon a vast jungle of overgrown weeds and tangled bushes, some with
scattered white flowers, the rest harboring large, shiny black
berries.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"One thing's for sure," I
said. "We're going to need a compass to take out the trash."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron stared at the overgrowth. "Jesus
God, there could be an entire lost civilization out there. Pygmy
suburbanites with ways different from our own. Or something."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I guess we'll never know because
there's no way in hell I'm ever going out there," I said. "I
prefer to confront nature from a safe distance, say, The Discovery
Channel or online. That's a spider and snake paradise if I ever saw
one."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, we'll deal with that later,
if at all. What I'm curious about is whats behind Doors Number One
and Two."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Door number one opened on a pantry of
sorts, empty shelves, some prehistoric cleaning supplies, a rusting
mop bucket with a particularly toxic-looking scum in the bottom, and
a variety of rodent droppings. Door number two, however...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"There's a basement," Ron
said. "A big one." Wooden steps led down into Stygian
darkness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Where's the light?" I said.
"Oh, shit, check it out." Ancient porcelain insulators
stuck out of the wall, supporting what appeared to be
asbestos-covered wiring. A large Frankenstein laboratory-style knife
switch completed the circuit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, this is so not good," I
said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Relax. Obviously, the place
hasn't burned down yet."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"The operative word here being
'yet.'" I took a deep breath, grabbed the switch, and braced
myself for flying sparks and humming generators.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lights came on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, that was anticlimatic,"
Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As was the basement. I don't know what
I expected, maybe an operating table with restraining straps
surrounded by unfathomably complex laboratory equipment, maybe a
fully outfitted S & M dungeon, but what we found was a slightly
musty, partially finished basement with linoleum flooring, knotty
pine walls, a large furnace, a water heater, a washer and dryer in
pink, and a tool bench running the length of the room. Pipes and duct
work ran helter skelter beneath the ceiling. In the corner was a
large galvanized sink next to a sump pump. The only odd thing was the
windows, of which there were several; they had been painted over with
the same mint-green as the kitchen walls.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We're in business," Ron
said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What?" I stared at Ron in
amazement. "This place is a dump." I walked over to the
sink, turned the tap with some effort, and covered my ears as the
pipes began to rattle and thrum. Oozing brown sludge splattered the
drain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, but it's cheap, it's
spacious, and the basement is perfect for our little, uh, business
venture. Hell, with a little TLC and elbow grease this place could be
downright livable."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Only if they sell elbow grease in
fifty gallon drums."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Negative waves, man. You've got
to stop with the negative waves. Dumpiness works in our favor. It's
just another distressed property in another distressed neighborhood.
So long as we're not cooking meth and filling the area with toxic
fumes, who's going to suspect or even care if we're running an
illicit distillery here? Hell, our neighbors might wind up being our
best customers."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I suppose you're right, but
still, I don't know."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You got a better idea in our
price range?" Ron said. "Look, we'll stock up on Pine-Sol
and Lemon Pledge, scrub the place from top to bottom, add some thrift
shop furniture, and call it home. Besides, we not going for glamorous
digs; we just want a place to eat, sleep, and make illicit liquor
quietly and quickly. McMansions come later."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay, okay. Trendy squalor it
is."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Cool. Now let's check out the
upstairs."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second story was, well,
interesting, consisting as it did of two huge rooms filled with
wooden furniture and bric-a brac on opposite sides of the narrow
hallway. Someone with borderline hoarding tendencies had stacked
piles of odd pieces of driftwood, aged barn timbers, and 19<sup>th</sup>
Century wooden farm implements along the walls of both rooms.
Everywhere I looked I could see dusty spiderwebs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Interesting décor," I
muttered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Actually," Ron said, "it
kind of is, in an <i>Addams Family</i> kind of way. A little artistic
arrangement and we've got a showplace."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"A showplace for whom? The police?
ABC agents? The BATF?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, a showplace for us. Maybe a
few female acquaintances or something."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You're thinking about Tara again,
aren't you?" I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Maybe."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Dude, you have got to stop that.
This place will never be a love shack and Tara is never going to be
your love slave. Give it up." I brushed a few cobwebs off my
sleeve.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron sighed, a bit dramatically as far
as I was concerned, but said no more on the subject. We continued our
exploration.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Ya know," Ron said, "one
of these front rooms will make a great model railroad layout. It's
got enough room for a workbench and some display shelves as well."
I noted the dreamy look on his face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"'Will.' You said 'will."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, yeah." Ron looked at
me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So, we're renting this place."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, yeah. I think so. Big
basement, decent kitchen, some furnishings, some appliances, roomy,
what's not to like?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I snorted. "Even though it may
burn up in the middle of the night while we lie in our beds
helplessly contorted from tetanus as the neighbors loot our valuables
and later hold unspeakable rituals with our charred skulls?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We don't have any valuables."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay," I said. "Let the
record show I remain dubious, but you're the money guy in this
instance. I live from one irregular paycheck to the next. You're the
one with the steady income."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Noted," Ron said. "Let's
see a man about a house."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, and John?" Ron said as
we stepped out onto the front porch. "I swear to you you won't
regret this."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Ron, I already do."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To my amazement, our future landlord
was still out front in his purple hearse, puffing on another
vile-smelling cigar and taking occasional swigs from an ill-concealed
bottle of whiskey. Ron walked up to the driver's window, wrinkling
his nose a bit at the combination of smoke and stale liquor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So," Ron started. "What
do you want for this place?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Future Landlord made a disgusting
hocking noise and spat onto the pavement in front of Ron's feet. "I'm
thinkin' nine hunnerd a month, you pay two months in advance and
another month for a security deposit."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And that gets us what, exactly?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Hey, asswipe. Did you even read
the fuckin' ad? Ya get the whole fuckin' place, everything around it,
and all the crap in it. Ya want a discount on the rent, ya do the
yard work, ya clean the gutters once inna while, ya clean out the
upstairs, and I'll knock off a couple a hunnerd bucks a month. That's
a helluva deal. But don't be calling me alla time for maintenance and
shit and don't do nuthin' that brings down the police. I got better
things to do than deal wit' you two nitwits."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"'Nitwits,'" I whispered to
Ron. "He's got us pegged."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron shushed me over his shoulder, then,
turning back to Future Landlord, said, "Three thousand dollars
in cash now, we do the maintenance, we clean and paint, and you
charge us five hundred a month thereafter. That seems fair."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Future Landlord grimaced and spat
again. "Fair, my ass. That's a prime piece o' property there.
Nice central location. Cops patrol the area pretty regular so there
ain't no crime to speak of and the firehouse is around the corner.
Gimme eight hunnerd."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Judging from the wiring, it's a
good thing the firehouse <i>is</i> just around the corner. A building
inspector would have a field day in that basement of yours. Six
hundred."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Jesus, Ron," I said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Future Landlord started looking
positively apoplectic. "Couple a wise guys, aren't ya?
Seven-fifty and that includes the asshole tax."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron turned and smiled at me, then said,
"Seven hundred. And no phone calls to the Housing Board."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Future landlord took a long swig off
his whiskey bottle, spat yet again, then stared at us for what seemed
forever. Eventually he said, "you got the three thousand now?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yep," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You're screwin' me wit'out the
lube, but you got yerselves a deal."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You won't regret it," Ron
said, handing over a huge wad of bills.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Present Landlord blew an immense cloud
of smoke in our direction. "I already fuckin' do. Move in
whenever the hell you want."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"One last thing," Ron said.
What's with all the berry bushes in the back yard?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Fuckin' farkleberries," our
new landlord said. "That was my goddam aunt's doin'. She ruined
tha place growing that shit, said they had 'medicinal properties,'
whatever the fuck that means. She made pies from 'em and brewed some
kinda sweet wine she sold as 'tonic' she sold to summa the righteous
assholes that live around here. Stuff would get you drunker than hell
after a couple a glasses, but then you'd have crazy fuckin' dreams
all night and your shit would turn purple."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron and I looked at each other.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Interesting," Ron said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Chop 'em down, burn 'em up,
sculpt 'em into fuckin' topiary, for all I care. It's your place now
and I don't wanna hear shit about it. We done here?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I think so. Pleasure doing
business with you, Mr. … uh?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Otto. You'll get a lease in the
mail and don't be dumb shits and fergit to sign it or nuthin'."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Understood."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Otto the Landlord took another swig
from his bottle, stuck it between his gargantuan thighs, coughed, and
drove off leaving a noxious cloud of exhaust in his wake.</div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-40422979440978208412012-11-03T13:41:00.000-04:002012-11-03T13:41:32.977-04:00Chapter One of My 2012 NaNoWriMo Effort<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>MOONSHINES</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"...the
main appeal of alcoholism, and the reason why it will never be
eliminated, is that it provides an opportunity for the honorable and
even heroic failure."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">~
J.G. Ballard</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"This
is one of the disadvantages of wine: it makes a man mistake words for
thought."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Samuel
Johnson</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"The
harsh, useful things of the world, from pulling teeth to digging
potatoes, are best done by men who are as starkly sober as so many
convicts in the death-house, but the lovely and useless things, the
charming and exhilarating things, are best done by men with, as the
phrase is, a few sheets in the wind."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~H.L.
Mencken</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Drunkenness
is nothing but voluntary madness."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Seneca</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"I
drink only to make my friends seem interesting."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Don
Marquis</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Of
the demonstrably wise there are but two: those who commit suicide,
and those who keep their reasoning faculties atrophied by drink."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Mark
Twain</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Teetotallers
lack the sympathy and generosity of men that drink."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~W.H.
Davies</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"Alcohol
gives you infinite patience for stupidity."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Sammy
Davis, Jr.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"There
are better things in life than alcohol, but alcohol makes up for not
having them."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~Terry
Pratchett</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"The
worst thing about some men is that when they are not drunk they are
sober."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">~William
Butler Yeats</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Chapter One</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a mad plan, a drunk plan, the
kind of plan a couple of guys might hatch after consuming just enough
alcohol to shut down logic and reason and go all artsy and
right-brained. <i>Our</i> plan, as it turned out, simple,
straightforward, and it made a certain kind of sense at the time.
Unfortunately, we had no idea how wrong things could go.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was a Thursday night and
Ron-the-Nerd and I were hanging out at The White Chip, this seedy
little bar and restaurant in the Fan District of Richmond, VA,
drinking bourbon and Cokes, getting mildly plastered, and
commiserating about the state of our lives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"She gave me the boot," Ron
said. "Kicked me out. Threw all my clothes into the front yard,
trashed my CD collection, smashed my good laptop, took a knife to my
favorite jacket, and worst of all, tore up all my model railroading
magazines, the ones I've been collecting since high school, for God's
sake. Used condoms get treated with more respect."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I snorted into my drink glass. "Used
condoms don't work all night making HO scale model buildings on their
girlfriend's birthday. Did you at least get her a present or some
flowers?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron sighed. "I forgot."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"And you wonder why she dumped
you."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Like <i>you</i> can talk."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron was right. I <i>was</i> in no
position to criticize, having just been asked by <i>my</i> girlfriend
to leave our apartment earlier in the week, but, honestly, it wasn't
entirely my fault. I'm a freelance tech writer with a moderate case
of OCD and that means sometimes I get so wrapped up in whatever
projects I'm working on, professional or otherwise, that I forget
little things like, well, paying attention to my significant other.
In other words, I have no excuse. Margaret had every reason in the
world to move me out and move herself on, and really, I understood.
An information junkie with marginal social skills is a poor choice
for a boyfriend.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As if on cue, "Love Stinks"
by the J. Geils band started playing on the jukebox.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"So we're a couple of middle-aged
geeks, footloose, fancy-free, and about as pathetic as one can get,"
I said. "We need... something. A place to live. A life.
Something."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah. I imagine sofa-surfing gets
kinda old after a while. But you know what we <i>really</i> need?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Besides an apartment and a total
personality overhaul?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Another drink." Ron smiled
and signaled to Tara, our usual waitress. "No, what we need is a
distraction. Something new and different and exciting. Something
that'll take our minds off things and change the course of our lives,
maybe even make a little money in the process."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, dear God, you've been
thinking again, haven't you?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I have, indeed."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You know how dangerous that is.
Remember the noodle incident?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"First of all, no one ever proved
anything and I will continue to deny it till the day I die. This
time, however, I think I'm really on to something."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I sighed. "You're going to rope me
into some kind of totally insane scheme worthy of Lucy Ricardo,
aren't you?" I paused, then, with resignation, said, "tell
me."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron leaned towards me and with an
exaggerated whisper said, "Moonshine."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What?" I gave Ron a raised
eyebrow. "Say that again."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Designer moonshine. John, I'm
telling you, there's an unexploited market here that someone needs to
take advantage of Real. Soon. Now."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"<i>Designer</i> moonshine. That's
what you said."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well, moonshine, but we slap a
fancy label on some fancy bottles, call it something hip and
happening, sell it to hipsters and wealthy West Enders, create a kind
of underground buzz, and start raking in the dough."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"'Hip and happening.' Who talks
like that?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron smiled and said, "anyway, as I
see it, there are a couple of possibilities. One, the simple way, is
we buy Everclear from the liquor store, flavor it or something,
repackage it, and sell it at some ungodly inflated price. Or, and
this could be the more cost-effective measure, we set up a still and
make moonshine ourselves."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Uh, you do realize that, either
way, what you're suggesting is illegal as hell?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That's what makes it interesting,
fun, and exciting! We get the thrill of making a product we're not
supposed to, our customers get the thrill of doing something just a
little bit naughty and illicit, and we take the cash to the bank."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Naughty and illicit? What are you
two reprobates up to now?" Tara had arrived with our drinks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We're going to revolutionize the
liquor industry and make whiskey out of fermented psychoactive
mushrooms," Ron said. "Never again will you have to worry
about being arrested for drunk driving; you can fly home."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Oh, yeah? That sounds...
incredibly stupid."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Ah, Tara," Ron said. "Dear,
sweet, Tara. Tell me you wouldn't jump at the opportunity to get
trashed on something sweetly illegal. Especially if it packed a magic
kick."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tara snickered, placed our drinks
neatly on some cardboard coasters, and headed back to the bar. "Yeah,
let me know how that works out for you," she said over her
shoulder.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ron stared longingly at Tara as she
walked away.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Cool it, Romeo," I said.
"You're old enough to be her father. Hell, you're probably older
than her father."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but a man can
dream, can't he?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Not like that, he can't. She'd
kick your ass from here to the asteroid belt. Get back to the subject
at hand: why moonshine?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Because everybody and their
grandfather makes wine, craft beer is almost a cliché, and I'm
thinking home distilling is the wave of the future. Sooner or later
the government is going to legalize it, at least in small amounts,
and when they do, we'll be right there with the goods. In the
meantime, you know as well as I do that moonshine has a certain
mystique. We'll have a built-in clientele of the curious and
adventuresome."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We'll have a built-in clientele
of hillbillies and Sterno drinkers. And how do we make the stuff?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"That's where you come in. You're
the tech guy, you thrive on research, you'd be my first choice to map
out the method. Me, I'm the hands-on guy, the guy who can build
stuff. You figure out what we need and I'll put it together."
Ron was starting to sound excited. "John, seriously, I need a
project. My life sucks so hard right now and I need an escape. You're
the only guy I know who could understand that."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I did, more than I cared to admit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Okay," I said, staring into
space. "You can ferment just about anything with enough yeast,
sugar and time. Prison inmates do it with nothing more than canned
peaches and a convenient toilet. All distilling does is separate the
alcohol from the crap so you've got something more concentrated."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"See? See? You're the guy; you
know about this stuff."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I know a little. Not enough. I'm
going to have to do some serious reading first, like how to make a
still and not get arrested in the process."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"There's that, but first we need a
place to work. A nice cheap apartment or something, preferably with a
basement."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I pondered this for a moment, then
sighed. "Okay, I'll start checking Craigslist and read up on
whiskey-making."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"I knew I could count on you."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Why does that fail to inspire
confidence?"</div>
G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-186569011184646292011-10-09T18:19:00.000-04:002011-10-09T18:19:26.717-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 9 (Coffins!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6202/6095670555_66a34241b0_o.png" /></a></div><br />
Halloween <i>should </i>be a time for spooky gift-giving; in fact, no less a luminary than <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neil_Gaiman">Neil Gaiman</a> has <a href="http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/10/modest-proposal-that-doesnt-actually.html">modestly suggested</a> a new tradition, <a href="http://www.allhallowsread.com/">All Hallow's Read</a>, wherein we give one another scary books during, or during the week of, Halloween. As a tried and true, through-and-through, book junkie, I cannot express how much this idea thrills me! On the other hand, sometimes a book just isn't enough, especially in this, the Post-Literate Age, in which case something else from the spooky category might be appropriate.<br />
<br />
Say, coffins.<br />
<br />
Well, maybe coffin-shaped objects; <i>real </i>coffins/caskets are a tad on the expensive side, $2000 and up plus as much as $500 shipping (yes, I've done the research. Go away.).<br />
<br />
Got a cat? Want a Gothic Kitty? Check out <a href="http://www.coffinitup.com/index.htm">Coffin It Up</a>'s <a href="http://www.coffinitup.com/catbed.htm">cat bed</a> (found via <a href="http://www.catsparella.com/2011/10/morbidly-adorable-coffin-shaped-cat.html">Catsparella</a>):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDuPQ-XfZGJoghQVsLknswX3I98y-RxC8gHSvI0D_brPCEj6KDgNLpg6xANl6LeZqomSmo4y44sdGBL0snhrWAUvVa253EzVOGig8YrO3cJF8GmHcqKfYKvtsrAPPD7txFzXzSQSed1U1/s1600/cat-bed-lestat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDuPQ-XfZGJoghQVsLknswX3I98y-RxC8gHSvI0D_brPCEj6KDgNLpg6xANl6LeZqomSmo4y44sdGBL0snhrWAUvVa253EzVOGig8YrO3cJF8GmHcqKfYKvtsrAPPD7txFzXzSQSed1U1/s320/cat-bed-lestat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYltTqKnxO3T4wvOEOZLmxofPkRabQPL4RDkLNq4QLB2W6f4zY-iL4tqFJfTnTVbvFWTPsilMUPNl_oyaxDZU4ozY03tqYUS6hogVInuf6ceMJzc3JWYvFTiJNCJPpZlpzuFKgnR-I_b_g/s1600/cat-bed-open.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYltTqKnxO3T4wvOEOZLmxofPkRabQPL4RDkLNq4QLB2W6f4zY-iL4tqFJfTnTVbvFWTPsilMUPNl_oyaxDZU4ozY03tqYUS6hogVInuf6ceMJzc3JWYvFTiJNCJPpZlpzuFKgnR-I_b_g/s320/cat-bed-open.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Got a Gothic Kiddie? Check out <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Monster-High-Draculaura-Jewelry-Coffin/dp/B0042ESJ0I">Monster High's Draculaura Jewelry Box Coffin</a>-- part jewelry box, part doll-sized coffin canopy bed:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1EeOLUGFlSAk9AsJhwg_7-IjXAOJ_uE3i6pJMceGnCgZ8O9uBrvVawvbCsaesBvY-fKsay-MBuomrnRBugOeGplUDfjW_iuPngZdTzokPJq64lWHdEfuPPKT1SGu6fXFnI16YPJn4VQ/s1600/Coffinbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1EeOLUGFlSAk9AsJhwg_7-IjXAOJ_uE3i6pJMceGnCgZ8O9uBrvVawvbCsaesBvY-fKsay-MBuomrnRBugOeGplUDfjW_iuPngZdTzokPJq64lWHdEfuPPKT1SGu6fXFnI16YPJn4VQ/s320/Coffinbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTjGPksaGbx4-iBLzsi8HtXJOhaH7CiNpRAQ9JaE0hFgB-itjGVrQUYOD8GajKRDOBCNckoFNb6Kr785_lKdwXiHcLgFkYy2XcIghve0vrCiyeVdxAKwZBJsvNP7sZlJaCWtCNpt7UYc/s1600/Coffinbox2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTjGPksaGbx4-iBLzsi8HtXJOhaH7CiNpRAQ9JaE0hFgB-itjGVrQUYOD8GajKRDOBCNckoFNb6Kr785_lKdwXiHcLgFkYy2XcIghve0vrCiyeVdxAKwZBJsvNP7sZlJaCWtCNpt7UYc/s320/Coffinbox2.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Need that perfect finishing piece for your Gothic mantle? <a href="http://www.blackrose.co.uk/">Black Rose Gothic Clothing Emporium</a> has a simply lovely <a href="http://www.blackrose.co.uk/index.php?leaf=AAP1&PHPSESSID=8960e8a05c3f3367f728206f0da070ac">coffin clock</a>:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJB-jxOd5zaCiJdo6ncpkwO3tye8jN-JOHLmYODSrpwWZLeHqGMFp65yaW7MQG-cFUZ2s_GXB-ykVp4ENOFfq8h4zVmrwPO1PV20Od1pNTro9UP9YNZuH_-PaqkqBH1E0aomtYZpjx_H0/s1600/Coffinclock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJB-jxOd5zaCiJdo6ncpkwO3tye8jN-JOHLmYODSrpwWZLeHqGMFp65yaW7MQG-cFUZ2s_GXB-ykVp4ENOFfq8h4zVmrwPO1PV20Od1pNTro9UP9YNZuH_-PaqkqBH1E0aomtYZpjx_H0/s400/Coffinclock.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For big-budget items, there's all sorts of coffin furniture at <a href="http://www.casketfurniture.com/">CasketFurniture.com</a>, including the <a href="http://www.casketfurniture.com/prod/caravagio.html">Caravagio Gothic Display Cabinet</a>:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qXoXyFbGAjeF0VnDUndno567UaqH-63buAOJwPPzmlCHATNcaYrdPor8smw4TSSLfhB9zmUdj3qGCSPVeIpRKwcDRb_U7tjRopWTOUgC-5EK_ROBGZGKgkCSdU28QqK26RiUZ4rx__4/s1600/Coffincase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qXoXyFbGAjeF0VnDUndno567UaqH-63buAOJwPPzmlCHATNcaYrdPor8smw4TSSLfhB9zmUdj3qGCSPVeIpRKwcDRb_U7tjRopWTOUgC-5EK_ROBGZGKgkCSdU28QqK26RiUZ4rx__4/s320/Coffincase.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But sooner or later, most of us are going to need a <i>real </i>coffin, of which there are gazillions on the Intarwebs. I'm partial to this particular model from <a href="http://www.tributedirect.com/index.html">Tribute Direct</a>:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynZVNVnQe8_C6H3dB68qzYuICmyvwH1yAqcuFvjmzcAZuTJ3w6baMCOk-9DN6I4gcG7NzBdLDFhJmJhMamiaLcoeF-6PgaBwK-Wr24IJjOyid9u3Q0VxUdG7xc-XYNEUwYDeuo8bTdJQ/s1600/Casket.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynZVNVnQe8_C6H3dB68qzYuICmyvwH1yAqcuFvjmzcAZuTJ3w6baMCOk-9DN6I4gcG7NzBdLDFhJmJhMamiaLcoeF-6PgaBwK-Wr24IJjOyid9u3Q0VxUdG7xc-XYNEUwYDeuo8bTdJQ/s320/Casket.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Might also make a nice bed, if you're of a morbid bent of mind. Not that I would ever consider such a thing... no, not I!</div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-55625091900157714912011-10-08T10:55:00.000-04:002011-10-08T10:55:01.636-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 8 (Minnie the Moocher!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6081/6096213820_d7a9f6c13f_o.png" /></a></div><br />
Not exactly about Halloween, but it fits the mood...<br />
<br />
Ages ago I wrote about the things that scared me as a kid in <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2008/08/cant-sleep-clown-will-eat-me.html">"Can't Sleep; Clown Will Eat Me."</a> I left out one particular item, a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betty_boop">Betty Boop</a> cartoon so damn... <i>surreal</i>... so outright... <i>spooky</i>... it haunts me to this day.<br />
<br />
It starts out simply enough: Betty take a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pro-ana">pro-ana</a> stance with her parents, infuriating them, and so, after calling her friend Bimbo (ahem!), she runs away from home. Night descends, things get spooky, and the two of them seek refuge in a convenient cave (yeah, <i>that's</i> a good place to hide), whereupon a ghostly walrus strutting in the style of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cab_Calloway">Cab Calloway</a> sings (with the help of Cab's voice and band) "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minnie_the_Moocher">Minnie the Moocher</a>." Weirdness ensues.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpc3RKJZrODyhU7d6JKqSCgzRuGVPCfcbkb-9LKPO0-uhlrpoQhRrvgnvEJn-rGiwd2e9qIO0vbT5QsSGrNQCux5pTRDXR3Fm1Wq5ab_EFLOjFSv6l3riD1MhidR5H6rgpiONiW9sAH9kv/s1600/Minnie1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpc3RKJZrODyhU7d6JKqSCgzRuGVPCfcbkb-9LKPO0-uhlrpoQhRrvgnvEJn-rGiwd2e9qIO0vbT5QsSGrNQCux5pTRDXR3Fm1Wq5ab_EFLOjFSv6l3riD1MhidR5H6rgpiONiW9sAH9kv/s320/Minnie1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Scat-singing skeletons drink themselves to death...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2h-DPCwJCRx_kbzGRYP57kdbNU9Q7WQ_hram0zrB3vDAijn2LSwXqmxMhkZ11cP_bKrfGOyO4jGyC0PwQ7gowkkzVSHMG6oBH0hR8UX5vfyh1UWCzHFd5xzX5OiQJ9b_4sQPE2MSpM5Dl/s1600/Minnie2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2h-DPCwJCRx_kbzGRYP57kdbNU9Q7WQ_hram0zrB3vDAijn2LSwXqmxMhkZ11cP_bKrfGOyO4jGyC0PwQ7gowkkzVSHMG6oBH0hR8UX5vfyh1UWCzHFd5xzX5OiQJ9b_4sQPE2MSpM5Dl/s320/Minnie2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...And reappear as ghosts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldp5RQ1OAid9aorzSIgkjop0LsDhOWaWsBej9CbY5dRcGphdFziHYUvugEUVV1U6IDtD_iXF10yn3IjNGUUX02woi0JfwQNLSGSkWqe28XjdKiWTeblgo5HwqrD1k1b36RF0SJ_U8EqzY/s1600/Minnie3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldp5RQ1OAid9aorzSIgkjop0LsDhOWaWsBej9CbY5dRcGphdFziHYUvugEUVV1U6IDtD_iXF10yn3IjNGUUX02woi0JfwQNLSGSkWqe28XjdKiWTeblgo5HwqrD1k1b36RF0SJ_U8EqzY/s320/Minnie3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The backgrounds are particularly disturbing when you're 5.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So is the idea of a dancing, singing, ghostly walrus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgUGroogPqDJNG2ti1z96SHAflAPCGuUgzkBRhEYfeYPQd5E44qvCaIhdZWJqsWnvJ0H3Ul4ZkHuzmeOC8maV-GB8gaI2iTMtCnJ-a2diaiccO9liKtMzvV8DS2yJWhK7OXvfPOXIS5pW/s1600/Minnie4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgUGroogPqDJNG2ti1z96SHAflAPCGuUgzkBRhEYfeYPQd5E44qvCaIhdZWJqsWnvJ0H3Ul4ZkHuzmeOC8maV-GB8gaI2iTMtCnJ-a2diaiccO9liKtMzvV8DS2yJWhK7OXvfPOXIS5pW/s320/Minnie4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My little brain, conditioned to <i>funny </i>cartoons, had</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a bit of difficulty assimilating all this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz_tLSoxzQZ0AXOq_Y89_zl7_RNX6tiebLLA0urJPV5VZ6frAfwwUzVuRHGOga5D1uqokqc1aTQDlCqgGlJjUjaAQnn8Sq-N8VeIVjfQ8bQZWH381rPO_1eqFEoGekhyBq7w1aMSgjClop/s1600/Minnie8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz_tLSoxzQZ0AXOq_Y89_zl7_RNX6tiebLLA0urJPV5VZ6frAfwwUzVuRHGOga5D1uqokqc1aTQDlCqgGlJjUjaAQnn8Sq-N8VeIVjfQ8bQZWH381rPO_1eqFEoGekhyBq7w1aMSgjClop/s320/Minnie8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Three ghostly prisoners are politely escorted to electric chairs...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUGjfcztjJT7JTpd62XRnjP5463kApYDzq63pRsC2k99jm6Oy-4UO8M6MFeCR6rZNanqbum4yF-tGMiEBB3Jdiw_Qq7_KreVS2aK9ZCLxUgdn82Lt2G-2loJp-Gs-28FYmDtC3NRthmp6d/s1600/Minnie5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUGjfcztjJT7JTpd62XRnjP5463kApYDzq63pRsC2k99jm6Oy-4UO8M6MFeCR6rZNanqbum4yF-tGMiEBB3Jdiw_Qq7_KreVS2aK9ZCLxUgdn82Lt2G-2loJp-Gs-28FYmDtC3NRthmp6d/s320/Minnie5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...take their seats <i>willingly</i>, scatting all the way...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPtQxJge4RoEM9G8MKJTN7sqBoVbO2Fcp0mv4_4iGd1i3HgT1q0BvTGobTP7tMeAtITUKQty7KVXEqiY4aEm4U2J6uJhRhLixCojeP0_0KjQ98FbPFlU4yaFf-PHRuvPwV86xu-FovPmY/s1600/Minnie6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPtQxJge4RoEM9G8MKJTN7sqBoVbO2Fcp0mv4_4iGd1i3HgT1q0BvTGobTP7tMeAtITUKQty7KVXEqiY4aEm4U2J6uJhRhLixCojeP0_0KjQ98FbPFlU4yaFf-PHRuvPwV86xu-FovPmY/s320/Minnie6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...And are executed, only to pop up for one more chorus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fe3hgn1uKzLxLJNWRDYChLlG6op3qdp3cpBo8wHIFzVvAonKSFkwZrgIb24ZH-9OCsmUa_jtK6NiJTcUi96ZKCbzcXKSjyYJs8xm5V0p7jzwgUElFVIyO_ZBQRZQz52qZoEfkIH671xf/s1600/Minnie7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fe3hgn1uKzLxLJNWRDYChLlG6op3qdp3cpBo8wHIFzVvAonKSFkwZrgIb24ZH-9OCsmUa_jtK6NiJTcUi96ZKCbzcXKSjyYJs8xm5V0p7jzwgUElFVIyO_ZBQRZQz52qZoEfkIH671xf/s320/Minnie7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another disturbing image for a 5-yr.-old.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT8nOLzH9eGjz-n932JcezfR_aDmotuTc9ff_Il3K_vHvDEGhkPEC7ZvqVOkhItma0AFTHBOTrc1ROBSRbYZzddA9YnHveINpp-yZKoTpp1yG_IAcHEtrW8QbkyjDFGRLEe0-Q15N1PBC/s1600/Minnie9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT8nOLzH9eGjz-n932JcezfR_aDmotuTc9ff_Il3K_vHvDEGhkPEC7ZvqVOkhItma0AFTHBOTrc1ROBSRbYZzddA9YnHveINpp-yZKoTpp1yG_IAcHEtrW8QbkyjDFGRLEe0-Q15N1PBC/s320/Minnie9.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">And wtf is going on with Momma cat and her kittens?</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Here's the all-singing, all-dancing portion of the cartoon:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PHqjMhD04uA" width="420"></iframe></div><br />
Nor is this an anomaly for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleischer_Studios">Fleischers</a>; check out the musical portion of their version of <i>Snow White</i> (doubly disturbing backgrounds here, by the way):<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aDATXtewPrg" width="420"></iframe></div><br />
A far cry from, oh, say, Hugh Laurie:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WUz-WqUw4Ic" width="420"></iframe></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-74827550629032178212011-10-07T09:41:00.000-04:002011-10-07T09:41:14.461-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 7 (Poe!)Today, as you may know, is the 162nd anniversary of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Edgar_Allan_Poe">mysterious death</a> of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Allan_Poe">Edgar Allan Poe</a>. I've babbled about this before, in <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2008/10/wearing-clothes-that-were-not-his-own.html">...Wearing Clothes That Were Not His Own</a> and in <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-time-burial-isnt-premature.html">This Time the Burial ISN'T Premature!</a> (where you can see Sarah J. and me paying special tribute to Edgar at the <a href="http://www.poemuseum.org/index.php">Poe Museum</a> here in Richmond, VA), so I won't belabor the point. What I will say is, long before the Intarwebs decided <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._P._Lovecraft">H. P. Lovecraft</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu">Great Cthulhu</a> were <i>über</i>-memes, cultural poachers <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Allan_Poe_in_television_and_film">focused their attention upon Poe</a>.<br />
<br />
And who better? While Lovecraft grappled with dark, unspeakable cosmic forces infesting the universe with malign intent with humans merely inconsequential window dressing, Poe dealt with what were essentially human tragedies, albeit deeply macabre ones. Nothing wrong with either approach, but there's something more... <i>personal</i>... in Poe's stories.<br />
<br />
Which makes them that much more unnerving.<br />
<br />
And perfect for late-night October reading.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U-4KZbNGqEexF_hRlLkj_ZhZdea8NvkAeJLXs9GyBzuBDtGUywxC1aHkVMlaoigox-e6hDOqIvR2jmG5BX9D9BSlviZ7SUxEd-aNf2-0NPXuW4GKEuymnI7iugYkkddmOCQraOzQzC1o/s1600/PoeBox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U-4KZbNGqEexF_hRlLkj_ZhZdea8NvkAeJLXs9GyBzuBDtGUywxC1aHkVMlaoigox-e6hDOqIvR2jmG5BX9D9BSlviZ7SUxEd-aNf2-0NPXuW4GKEuymnI7iugYkkddmOCQraOzQzC1o/s320/PoeBox.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-fu3VzGVeUeqKVsJSHYWUGVvsbkZ7DwQwE-e4Tm7qjJXnX93cD3Y5AqlYgfba809sxLvk_4rAP5KwK2-2ssliQHySAOwrbY_K4gvd0J5B2r2F6PddZMjWAuPooGn3gHuCJPjfYagD230/s1600/addams-nevermore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-fu3VzGVeUeqKVsJSHYWUGVvsbkZ7DwQwE-e4Tm7qjJXnX93cD3Y5AqlYgfba809sxLvk_4rAP5KwK2-2ssliQHySAOwrbY_K4gvd0J5B2r2F6PddZMjWAuPooGn3gHuCJPjfYagD230/s400/addams-nevermore.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5Gvw3uAgNh18h3FrBK5HQWU-N2qgODoQft1FfX8rdT99c1GUkmqHhKzeL6zJJorS0nvwtw5sv4e78kLMQ28LX0sL0oEeM2_RsPfOdEZS93Sth4rTPiANOz9u15162aVuhs5fY_RgRq1n/s1600/PoePortrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5Gvw3uAgNh18h3FrBK5HQWU-N2qgODoQft1FfX8rdT99c1GUkmqHhKzeL6zJJorS0nvwtw5sv4e78kLMQ28LX0sL0oEeM2_RsPfOdEZS93Sth4rTPiANOz9u15162aVuhs5fY_RgRq1n/s400/PoePortrait.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7-oH_o4yvU0BbKt5AAoLVTOVhnXcZ3_nZZx1qC6W5RR2KOrdzwgrpUmnjyskx9E2UzygxUf30tyXpp63YWYZhkC4IsB4kudLKw_Fy5QVNLQMv-LZ3VKbIgtFedh76BO_4MASZL2BCV-N/s1600-h/Poe2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390030213501532290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7-oH_o4yvU0BbKt5AAoLVTOVhnXcZ3_nZZx1qC6W5RR2KOrdzwgrpUmnjyskx9E2UzygxUf30tyXpp63YWYZhkC4IsB4kudLKw_Fy5QVNLQMv-LZ3VKbIgtFedh76BO_4MASZL2BCV-N/s400/Poe2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1D_mLTAIG_EKQupWxUABJ1OHroUYEZtcftFPo31mI3313JC2dduKZmlXAxfSqW29gAlEcufzB0nhMbWz8JT1BO-6K_4gvj-1OT1U3vVdwsDPG1ZXTPNmJ9HjSq-FGVZYGY8quBlsSpQ4/s1600-h/Poe3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390031096598346162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1D_mLTAIG_EKQupWxUABJ1OHroUYEZtcftFPo31mI3313JC2dduKZmlXAxfSqW29gAlEcufzB0nhMbWz8JT1BO-6K_4gvj-1OT1U3vVdwsDPG1ZXTPNmJ9HjSq-FGVZYGY8quBlsSpQ4/s400/Poe3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9Ctl23O1RZiKuyzSEsN6GngbfJ6kDqhX839_7Zego81yYYLiIiOt5ZugcuTjYGAo220EP5SjocetcqesC-0IUfogm8w-3izzWMkwA-bdX2dHDE1Ig7KZoNafnz9js25lUTR1S-39O2l8/s1600-h/n1497283436_30190687_524.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390022899135089026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9Ctl23O1RZiKuyzSEsN6GngbfJ6kDqhX839_7Zego81yYYLiIiOt5ZugcuTjYGAo220EP5SjocetcqesC-0IUfogm8w-3izzWMkwA-bdX2dHDE1Ig7KZoNafnz9js25lUTR1S-39O2l8/s400/n1497283436_30190687_524.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Occasional fake date Sarah J. and I pay tribute at the <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2009/01/poes-birthday-bash.html">Poe Birthday Bash</a> in Richmond, VA, January 19, 2009<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Snv7fpF6RPF16bpNRLYZ81mQdU4GDvUf8ZkEDhYjtsibi4QjbzzCRjehT41IGLfRSR8gSPSvNXczgsxS-NtbLFNnY8dtrl4HdQ0Q_Kg363iwE_t8Z5bbsYueOpqG0dSvPJHKgBlYDFZi/s1600-h/poe.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390029349130872018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Snv7fpF6RPF16bpNRLYZ81mQdU4GDvUf8ZkEDhYjtsibi4QjbzzCRjehT41IGLfRSR8gSPSvNXczgsxS-NtbLFNnY8dtrl4HdQ0Q_Kg363iwE_t8Z5bbsYueOpqG0dSvPJHKgBlYDFZi/s400/poe.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 349px;" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5p76xQfZntZsqS2VvGi1oj_oRuiaMeEHOPtiKS-yQfUvrlhG8dnLtlAfz4oXb-wmFye0hp__vflwch_v-IKqOSTC8D778gkSPm23s8bqHkWST1FrD9Jg45v81wkwvl9Q_Y8KQ36EFnRNM/s1600/Poe+Tomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5p76xQfZntZsqS2VvGi1oj_oRuiaMeEHOPtiKS-yQfUvrlhG8dnLtlAfz4oXb-wmFye0hp__vflwch_v-IKqOSTC8D778gkSPm23s8bqHkWST1FrD9Jg45v81wkwvl9Q_Y8KQ36EFnRNM/s400/Poe+Tomb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlcMhKZokRo8hIz6tU3gGcqSwGklKAL9Mba9aT1Vt2LkE_zAhmUo14n-553FBNnGpK6euXuFiSs7iUlmG1QjSfxuvIJ0M935xH-BBKsulwTvOMnTFnM8jCRyaAkj0L6XyBi0voKmHCdAI/s1600-h/happypoe.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390033243465036898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlcMhKZokRo8hIz6tU3gGcqSwGklKAL9Mba9aT1Vt2LkE_zAhmUo14n-553FBNnGpK6euXuFiSs7iUlmG1QjSfxuvIJ0M935xH-BBKsulwTvOMnTFnM8jCRyaAkj0L6XyBi0voKmHCdAI/s400/happypoe.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 319px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">"Happy Poe" by JSam<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62tk4jGx5SHGwOIix3M4A2Go3f6Zt69FXrJFed3v5vqa5g8T7g9B8Ne30n4E6xADOCiNCVm4KeyhGncnp-fbZe0a9Xr5kGolWZGHeCWmhO4i27HDqcqx25yaOKt8T6bVRRcVSiV7RapGQ/s1600/gh_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62tk4jGx5SHGwOIix3M4A2Go3f6Zt69FXrJFed3v5vqa5g8T7g9B8Ne30n4E6xADOCiNCVm4KeyhGncnp-fbZe0a9Xr5kGolWZGHeCWmhO4i27HDqcqx25yaOKt8T6bVRRcVSiV7RapGQ/s400/gh_05.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgKr2qmBD3SMQbm7RxetUVo6yuNgRpL4plcL7x2jPp8L87J9had1SKr3NScPapUyhyphenhyphenp7YPDZaVdSPFMzfQNLmypfqtGf5sb_FVEUgLzTE3qFgA01nEpvUh-wH-JkhgYkJHH5w5T_dCeWI/s1600/wiertz_burial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgKr2qmBD3SMQbm7RxetUVo6yuNgRpL4plcL7x2jPp8L87J9had1SKr3NScPapUyhyphenhyphenp7YPDZaVdSPFMzfQNLmypfqtGf5sb_FVEUgLzTE3qFgA01nEpvUh-wH-JkhgYkJHH5w5T_dCeWI/s320/wiertz_burial.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-71844805769321525912011-10-06T00:01:00.003-04:002011-10-07T09:59:25.138-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 6 (Repost!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6204/6095670823_c3ca685f16_o.png" /></a></div><br />
It's just not Halloween until someone posts a seasonally appropriate dessert recipe, only this time, instead of pumpkin bread and somesuch, we have...<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Penn & Teller's Bleeding Heart Gelatin Dessert</span><br />
(from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Penn-Tellers-Play-Your-Food/dp/0679743111/ref=ed_oe_p"><span style="font-style: italic;">Penn & Teller's How To Play With Your Food</span></a>)<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_0LKuLNukWnnmE-xCP-ns2NZBzedXUMv6-xD_ij5J3Ae0_fjxRFFdR7ly9qBYGSHOXdQLnpfu1gjM9b0T59qc6WzFFMQLz_U3OnorATLfFM6H-jz7V8GW7FubEeP8PBudgdwFw4qqNcA/s1600-h/Bleeding+Heart_1-1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252036932017295714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_0LKuLNukWnnmE-xCP-ns2NZBzedXUMv6-xD_ij5J3Ae0_fjxRFFdR7ly9qBYGSHOXdQLnpfu1gjM9b0T59qc6WzFFMQLz_U3OnorATLfFM6H-jz7V8GW7FubEeP8PBudgdwFw4qqNcA/s320/Bleeding+Heart_1-1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The title says it all. It's the perfect </span>coup de grace<span style="font-style: italic;"> for your intimate dinner at home. As your guests sip their coffee, you unveil a glistening pink gelatin heart on a pedestal cake stand. Then you whip out a carving knife and stab it. Dark, gooey blood issues majestically from the wound. You cut dainty slices off the lobes of the heart and flip them onto dessert plates. You hold each portion under the oozing gash until it is nicely sauced with gore, add a dollop of whipped cream, and serve.<br />
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</span> </div><span style="font-style: italic;">INGREDIENTS</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">4 cups of water</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">4 3-oz. boxes or two 6-oz boxes of peach (pink; think of lung tissue) or strawberry (redder; think of livers and hearts) gelatin dessert mix.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">4 envelopes unflavored gelatin</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1 12-ounce can unsweetened evaporated milk</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1/2 cup grenadine syrup</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1 cup light corn syrup</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1 small bottle (0.3 fl. oz.) red food coloring</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">3 drops blue food coloring</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1 1-gallon food-storage bag (the plain kind without the zip closure)</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">6 1/2 cup heart-shaped gelatin mold or cake pan</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">PREPARATION</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Boil the water. Put the packaged gelatin dessert and unflavored gelatin in a bowl and pour the boiling water over it, stirring constantly. Cool to room temperature (very important or the next step may present problems). Stir in the condensed milk. Note how it already is acquiring the color of freshly skinned flesh.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Pour the mixture into the gelatin mold. Cover the bottom of the mold (this will be the top when you serve it) with a layer about half an inch think. Refrigerate until it gels firmly.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Meanwhile, prepare a nice bladder of blood. Stir together the corn syrup, grenadine, and food colorings (we do it right in the measuring cup to save dish washing--every erg saved in preparation is an erg one can use to enjoy the Payoff). For the bladder (the bag that keeps the blood together inside the mass of gelatin) take the gallon-size food-storage bag and turn it inside out. Pour the blood mixture into one corner of the bag and twist it closed so that no air bubble is caught between the sauce and the twist. Tie a knot in the twisted plastic. Adjust the position of the knot so that when the bag lies on the counter, it's about 1 1/2 to 2 inches high, and tighten the knot. With a pair of scissors, snip off the frilly extra plastic outside the knot.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">When the gelatin on the bottom of the mold is stiff and firm, position the bladder of blood in the mold, with the point of the bag just inside the point of the heart. Make sure there is at least 3/4" of space between all sides of the bag and the walls of the mold (this will ensure that your guests don't see clues ahead of time). Pour in the remaining gelatin until the mold is as full as you can handle. Don't worry if you see a little of the blood-bladder grazing the surface of the gelatin, as longs as it doesn't project too much; the side you are looking at now will be the bottom when you serve it.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">Refrigerate until gelled firmly to the texture of fine, lean organ meat. It takes about 4 hours.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">To unmold, put about 2 1/2 inches of hot, but not boiling water in your sink. Set your mold in the water so that the water comes just below the edge of the mold for 15 to 20 seconds; the time depends on the thickness of the mold pan. Remove the mold from the water, and run the blade of a knife around the edge of the gelatin. Invert your serving platter, ideally a white pedestal cake plate, on top and hold it firmly in place. Then use both hands to turn over the mold and the plate. Remove the mold; you may need to tap or shake the mold slightly to free the gelatin.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">PRESENTATION</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">The blood looks prettiest when it flows over white plates, doilies, and table linen, which it may stain permanently--but what the hell, it's the effect that matters. To serve, use a nice, big </span>Psycho<span style="font-style: italic;">-style chef's knife and stab the side of the gelatin about one third of the way up from the pointed end of the heart. Twist the knife slightly, and blood will start to ooze out. Bare your teeth like a Marine jabbing with bayonet, and widen the wound. When the blood is coming at a good slip, grab a dessert plate, and cut a slice from one of the lobes of the heart. Flip it onto the plate, and drizzle it with blood by holding it under the edge of the pedestal. Add whipped cream and serve.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
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</span><span style="font-style: italic;">This dish delights all five senses:</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">1. Sight: red, glossy, and elegantly surreal when the blood starts to flow.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">2. Taste: sweeeet.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">3. Smell: classic artificial-fruity</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">4. Touch: cold and wiggly.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span style="font-style: italic;">5. Hearing: the screaming of guests.</span>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-50018627382172851982011-10-05T22:20:00.000-04:002011-10-05T22:20:00.704-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 5 (Charles Addams!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6206/6095670779_0870e88e13_o.png" /></a></div><br />
Probably no one could do Halloween like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Addams">Charles Addams</a> (nice profile <a href="http://www.american-buddha.com/cia.skull&bones.charlesaddamscartoon.htm">here</a>)!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAjCWL2QxeThcEg-K7DldihFiaxLPn_m9WGp7ld9hZv7fdjGo15LMXYxfwEqRiv7kdjXS-LjvfnCY_AH38hCU_Ho2YcumTHAC1HvXy4VqT78rbn8FEc9u5vNwpg7JxYj_VwJhnBicHYi1/s1600/U3ZIF00Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAjCWL2QxeThcEg-K7DldihFiaxLPn_m9WGp7ld9hZv7fdjGo15LMXYxfwEqRiv7kdjXS-LjvfnCY_AH38hCU_Ho2YcumTHAC1HvXy4VqT78rbn8FEc9u5vNwpg7JxYj_VwJhnBicHYi1/s400/U3ZIF00Z.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU__s7UuIbrbhbC8_l4FHi8yKn19fO0V4pJ_o0jbp-So1hFeOosuZI3B3CWBPUIGBlOnOxjtV0y4IImTBuUiRgQDpytlDu6d6lUw9ThM9w-SNJJX8ZPIElVEYziUJ9SboOP8sFV6Z1BESu/s1600/ADDAMS+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU__s7UuIbrbhbC8_l4FHi8yKn19fO0V4pJ_o0jbp-So1hFeOosuZI3B3CWBPUIGBlOnOxjtV0y4IImTBuUiRgQDpytlDu6d6lUw9ThM9w-SNJJX8ZPIElVEYziUJ9SboOP8sFV6Z1BESu/s320/ADDAMS+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqq_tDkYcWrcGFF3CdwI9qDkx_xLVqT6VKhXnlhuvDTrLhhuGici7TQLlLi57R6L0-4en_NuZoNmmkQqtB8qE5LoAbpNzmvvpc426CVA3iod9Z2Y2DMsx4KIjBBeNRJvdwXhuFyI_o4N9/s1600/13_homebodies_addams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqq_tDkYcWrcGFF3CdwI9qDkx_xLVqT6VKhXnlhuvDTrLhhuGici7TQLlLi57R6L0-4en_NuZoNmmkQqtB8qE5LoAbpNzmvvpc426CVA3iod9Z2Y2DMsx4KIjBBeNRJvdwXhuFyI_o4N9/s400/13_homebodies_addams.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphrgo97FyVMwt7-PYm02cuMUfB5T2WusnedwtaUJLKpfik9iur95qMsTXNlwYyPX5JO7_IOh0LtVqSPajSJ9KfT_dTSweLGuzthMDpoZg5mJUfxp1jv7_WOAVA9C4AxeqiGGUZB0gPkHM/s1600/addams.28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphrgo97FyVMwt7-PYm02cuMUfB5T2WusnedwtaUJLKpfik9iur95qMsTXNlwYyPX5JO7_IOh0LtVqSPajSJ9KfT_dTSweLGuzthMDpoZg5mJUfxp1jv7_WOAVA9C4AxeqiGGUZB0gPkHM/s320/addams.28.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0z4B-aBDkEmsa3l2RMJbp78LuTPOHBTbJw3oQOHlsGVKmZ1mXlDfmPO-H5Ui6KxBWTojIfywzIlrpgj8J7QnCNQ2zCUGoFiJpcvmmAYGc1GQiMsgIs6Xqn-qZ9ZNQifNMws81gL3520IY/s1600/NYkerAddamspumpkins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0z4B-aBDkEmsa3l2RMJbp78LuTPOHBTbJw3oQOHlsGVKmZ1mXlDfmPO-H5Ui6KxBWTojIfywzIlrpgj8J7QnCNQ2zCUGoFiJpcvmmAYGc1GQiMsgIs6Xqn-qZ9ZNQifNMws81gL3520IY/s400/NYkerAddamspumpkins.jpg" width="291" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8XOIQ-0eQTzpyARnrdg7N5KvUMtZjLl0nU3-QwWkDRoYC1K2zw7_FiVR0qENDbIt_GG2ap3uszsfmrZ9MNOt3Yxois-GVXBdX-8AQcfjZ7VjPTV1tmJa-c3Vb4IVfmyFTHUsyVRB8aDM/s1600-h/Addams5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719846828764546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8XOIQ-0eQTzpyARnrdg7N5KvUMtZjLl0nU3-QwWkDRoYC1K2zw7_FiVR0qENDbIt_GG2ap3uszsfmrZ9MNOt3Yxois-GVXBdX-8AQcfjZ7VjPTV1tmJa-c3Vb4IVfmyFTHUsyVRB8aDM/s400/Addams5.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 298px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYsluE4kmZlrWb0fQlUd7dClBd-cPrE_rK9-CgJlSKEXpVQfYpl82l2hR8zxa2CmufMBayQeCVqEvAWpnz8H06_u4n4Q90KwpFeMB10yH3JXJJKZTgOr58nYDWqL3l872Ol2sHepgjyN3/s1600-h/Addams4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719753228320018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYsluE4kmZlrWb0fQlUd7dClBd-cPrE_rK9-CgJlSKEXpVQfYpl82l2hR8zxa2CmufMBayQeCVqEvAWpnz8H06_u4n4Q90KwpFeMB10yH3JXJJKZTgOr58nYDWqL3l872Ol2sHepgjyN3/s400/Addams4.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 301px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN0Q1PtQWRO8Kh1LHyk2CG6hzs9B50t3qXudhZW9-HZW3XqMrntHfZFYzdNuqCj56rqWV6my2V_9B3ulk_RJ0gRDLli0qfWCFcOHwRp5SvnhN6Zi-Rw1IdW-XboBsLAL5TU4keYgDPjfn/s1600-h/Addams3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719676205995554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN0Q1PtQWRO8Kh1LHyk2CG6hzs9B50t3qXudhZW9-HZW3XqMrntHfZFYzdNuqCj56rqWV6my2V_9B3ulk_RJ0gRDLli0qfWCFcOHwRp5SvnhN6Zi-Rw1IdW-XboBsLAL5TU4keYgDPjfn/s400/Addams3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 308px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC-iFDOlD4B2pG64tCLcE0OeUGJ2nRfkUNPLek-1JQdteNsM3U72V3BncwURsp0dpwAr_mFvK7Koc4wYUEz0ztsrf3Ysi4K3oppOu3z8crgBNt4_ENpcdCY1M1CVPjX9E5Eu0dldJASQi/s1600-h/Addams2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719575859814034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC-iFDOlD4B2pG64tCLcE0OeUGJ2nRfkUNPLek-1JQdteNsM3U72V3BncwURsp0dpwAr_mFvK7Koc4wYUEz0ztsrf3Ysi4K3oppOu3z8crgBNt4_ENpcdCY1M1CVPjX9E5Eu0dldJASQi/s400/Addams2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 296px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAkyYOZe7SVLxpMFEnQRAzjf4FBZAm1oBdwkBJbVkBisxZ1VRokHPmQ1emPu-NLGPbeb5LaEp9R3VHOIeULDpSDC0EeoNBvWEhh8GoUOM5s6rs3eoAQHCsBMrL9JVm2iaHhBujYYr15H4/s1600-h/Addams1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719474782390754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAkyYOZe7SVLxpMFEnQRAzjf4FBZAm1oBdwkBJbVkBisxZ1VRokHPmQ1emPu-NLGPbeb5LaEp9R3VHOIeULDpSDC0EeoNBvWEhh8GoUOM5s6rs3eoAQHCsBMrL9JVm2iaHhBujYYr15H4/s400/Addams1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 296px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>In searching <span style="font-style: italic;">The New Yorker</span>'s online archive I happened across two non-Addams Halloween covers I particularly like:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9CJqHXCJ1QVX55ERQRKNBuMfkNrTreSrc9WGBMUEFfzlimXodMOCQdSx62VHyt6kLRl_vPTOM5izMzPTTiHNibW_euZ7HXi5892SlCInQHLy4Lxt6mnUdLpmd6As_uQf7h1MNthfpbv8/s1600-h/Eicke.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719320346930642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9CJqHXCJ1QVX55ERQRKNBuMfkNrTreSrc9WGBMUEFfzlimXodMOCQdSx62VHyt6kLRl_vPTOM5izMzPTTiHNibW_euZ7HXi5892SlCInQHLy4Lxt6mnUdLpmd6As_uQf7h1MNthfpbv8/s400/Eicke.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 293px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvEVMISYgcx-PsHJEoGs1hk-lXOAKfjC6lJ3QqV7izZ4hOlbXNgVItxUKhRoSdSEX0ObHbmMYhJlXdoh3hh8V2D-J3S4oOA5rJbV-05HFXnsmnePFshow_6Q9LMSxXTefz-oTWiXw6gDh/s1600-h/AHHalloween.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391719206967406210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvEVMISYgcx-PsHJEoGs1hk-lXOAKfjC6lJ3QqV7izZ4hOlbXNgVItxUKhRoSdSEX0ObHbmMYhJlXdoh3hh8V2D-J3S4oOA5rJbV-05HFXnsmnePFshow_6Q9LMSxXTefz-oTWiXw6gDh/s400/AHHalloween.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 293px;" /></a>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-1507270246649890402011-10-04T14:46:00.000-04:002011-10-04T14:46:37.583-04:00Countdown Lagniappe 2In my <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2011/10/countdown-to-halloween-day-4-make-up.html">previous post</a>, I babbled about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dick_Smith_%28make-up_artist%29">Dick Smith</a>'s <i>Do-It-Yourself Monster Make-Up Handbook</i> and its influence on an entire generation of <a href="http://www.monsterkid.com/">Monster Kids</a>. I neglected to add "And after we tore up Mom's make-up table and Dad's workshop, we went on to make our <i>own </i>monster movies." No, really; <a href="http://www.monsterkidhomemovies.com/">lots of kids did</a>... including the kid posse of which I was a part (Moriser Productions, {Severely} Ltd.). Here's the proof:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">THE FRANKENSTEIN EXPERIMENT</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ue_4WVbe5iw" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, that is your humble blogger as the monster.</div><div style="text-align: center;">See me on fire starting at 7:36 and fully ablaze at 8:40.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And that's not acting, that's panic.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">THE RING</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rLj3ElTciqs" width="420"></iframe></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-86899074607734950742011-10-04T00:01:00.037-04:002011-10-04T00:01:00.924-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 4 (Make-Up!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6068/6096213870_9d68c25cbd_o.png" /></a></div>When I was a kid, way, way back in the 'Sixties, when the world was young and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shock_Theater">Shock Theater</a> ruled the airwaves, when <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_J_Ackerman">Forrest J Ackerman</a> was nigh-on a god and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Famous_Monsters_of_Filmland"><i>Famous Monsters of Filmland</i></a> was the Word and the Light, there one day appeared on the newsstands a special edition of <i>FM</i>, the...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAdbbeJiMvpSpp1cwGQUp23q1Ed_WJ_Iw14XznyaYRi0WxnMBCvNz0cMK5uMIKmFq-lcSx-paPcnhCG1eXdqEZYuCghMVYwrnfKe3ZnNnAQE4V-mk25Q_sX_sHqj1E3Dwvez6Ab7os0eZ/s1600/Makeup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAdbbeJiMvpSpp1cwGQUp23q1Ed_WJ_Iw14XznyaYRi0WxnMBCvNz0cMK5uMIKmFq-lcSx-paPcnhCG1eXdqEZYuCghMVYwrnfKe3ZnNnAQE4V-mk25Q_sX_sHqj1E3Dwvez6Ab7os0eZ/s320/Makeup1.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><br />
And, oh! The World changed for many a <a href="http://www.monsterkid.com/">Monster Kid</a>! Now, instead of reading about monsters and thinking about monsters and dreaming of monsters, we could BECOME MONSTERS! At least, for a little while (though our parents might have disagreed).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7-x_DsfQEZAMt6pFvb6kbIYO3i_yxdcLt9YpNcofRNEMP8-pH6U8zd46LmRnY_sgaRG61VGHKPtrSKITWHIQwNBC_JA-oJ-ATPz5jgQcXFCggdjqVL4vbyqaOeCE6TRDT5sJjVxIYQyy/s1600/Makeup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7-x_DsfQEZAMt6pFvb6kbIYO3i_yxdcLt9YpNcofRNEMP8-pH6U8zd46LmRnY_sgaRG61VGHKPtrSKITWHIQwNBC_JA-oJ-ATPz5jgQcXFCggdjqVL4vbyqaOeCE6TRDT5sJjVxIYQyy/s320/Makeup2.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br />
Halloween would never be the same. The cheesy Collegeville costumes from the local five and dime? Forget 'em. Kid stuff. Let's raid mom's make-up table for eyebrow pencils and cold cream, figure out how to get our hands on some liquid latex and mortician's wax, appropriate ping pong balls, model paints, Karo syrup, food coloring, brushes and sponges and gauze and whatever, take over the bathroom and MAKE SOME MONSTERS! <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rick_Baker_%28makeup_artist%29">Rick Baker</a> started out this way during his freshman year of high school, as a matter of fact.<br />
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Oh, it was great, messy, sometimes disappointing and sometimes surprising fun!<br />
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The <i>Handbook </i>stayed in print for some years, then eventually became a collector's item. Eventually, Imagine, Inc. acquired the rights and published it as a paperbound volume through five editions. It's currently out of print, but used copies are available all over the Intarwebs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFBw5OLK9YbsW0YOOOYPUB523zzdZFc5nqHJf9rL35HgVV7eQRwK4PamTFLOhYRLw2HkX_-XAbhoB0TKJZBY4rLSuJDk7nIkBcYPgFRLUfin2Xk1AImm6B3yM-oCw_-fVyd2fEkQAazGr/s1600/Makeup3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFBw5OLK9YbsW0YOOOYPUB523zzdZFc5nqHJf9rL35HgVV7eQRwK4PamTFLOhYRLw2HkX_-XAbhoB0TKJZBY4rLSuJDk7nIkBcYPgFRLUfin2Xk1AImm6B3yM-oCw_-fVyd2fEkQAazGr/s320/Makeup3.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />
Better still, walt74 has made the pages of the original handbook <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nerdcoreblog/sets/72157623461370917/detail/">available as a flickr set</a>. If you're looking for a good introduction to fantasy make-up, if you need a few good ideas for this year's Halloween costume, if you're thinking about doing a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zombie_walk">Zombie Walk</a> but don't know how to zombify yourself (and, especially, if you want to learn the secret to making <i>gallons </i>of stage quickly and cheaply), look no further!<br />
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The blogger in his decadent Super-8 youth, make-up and fx courtesy of JSam:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikX2qFaYCvrasu0UPk9hFzqRV1gEy1b9ZW6vtH3uQzVQRjXZohq55IlTJTzgLHch916pVNeJH-Kifs1BaIqKAsVi-xvxwzeLTlYXRLRKlASATBX71P0hAUd4AcF0QcZyAbJWFG0-MvzFId/s1600/MonsterLee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikX2qFaYCvrasu0UPk9hFzqRV1gEy1b9ZW6vtH3uQzVQRjXZohq55IlTJTzgLHch916pVNeJH-Kifs1BaIqKAsVi-xvxwzeLTlYXRLRKlASATBX71P0hAUd4AcF0QcZyAbJWFG0-MvzFId/s320/MonsterLee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCLYeHa5L49XNwzGPioTK_5gFzQFjgrfdDmVX-HYndQ_oMRSvbAE7LkAdUK-cbZzswwqr61D4NnuuGPT_1D1ketY67WB3i0d0xSeETwJtLrjSHt_43RMurjNcEcml3kiS3qe4cS8HZiOx/s1600/MonsterLee2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCLYeHa5L49XNwzGPioTK_5gFzQFjgrfdDmVX-HYndQ_oMRSvbAE7LkAdUK-cbZzswwqr61D4NnuuGPT_1D1ketY67WB3i0d0xSeETwJtLrjSHt_43RMurjNcEcml3kiS3qe4cS8HZiOx/s320/MonsterLee2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmD7uhVX5Px62mpngZFrn4-RtO1UK52SicKy7HIv15816juNBBf42CzTq5dSZo7SD9Yl-j5GubDTderPnAS-dEEqavkQMh2orc2cLDD5XUG-bX-kj_69KxvZAUySoaYYEMaGMdkx8pEfs/s1600/MonsterLee1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmD7uhVX5Px62mpngZFrn4-RtO1UK52SicKy7HIv15816juNBBf42CzTq5dSZo7SD9Yl-j5GubDTderPnAS-dEEqavkQMh2orc2cLDD5XUG-bX-kj_69KxvZAUySoaYYEMaGMdkx8pEfs/s320/MonsterLee1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-12025041087558150702011-10-03T00:01:00.001-04:002011-10-03T00:01:02.799-04:00Countdown To Halloween--Day 3 (Poetry!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6203/6095670853_3180636b05_o.png" /></a></div><br />
My mother, the English teacher, loved poetry (and Greek mythology, but that's another story) and instilled a similar love in me through the simple expedient of reading aloud. Of course, being the twisted child I was, I particularly enjoyed those poems delving into the darker side of things. My mother didn't-- she particularly hated "The Yarn of the 'Nancy Bell'," wherein a sailor sings of being "a cook and a captain bold/And the mate of the Nancy brig/And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite/And the crew of the captain's gig," a circumstance that came about after being shipwrecked and eating the other survivors.<br />
<br />
Anyway, here are some suitably Halloween-ish verses.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18irPJP4WJ_-pCG2jIqd4buqlpesmGsH2FM9tEiUuIhU14HkG2JsnJMSVNFkFPLJzjk54nv6S9LoVL7DzZgHETkokZLw9HRKVAoLR731PWHANCrwK9rgVrC6zVqu0LC8dS9bmX0iNVfyV/s1600/Annie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18irPJP4WJ_-pCG2jIqd4buqlpesmGsH2FM9tEiUuIhU14HkG2JsnJMSVNFkFPLJzjk54nv6S9LoVL7DzZgHETkokZLw9HRKVAoLR731PWHANCrwK9rgVrC6zVqu0LC8dS9bmX0iNVfyV/s320/Annie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE<br />
by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)<br />
<br />
<i>INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION<br />
<br />
To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;<br />
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;<br />
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.</i><br />
<br />
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,<br />
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,<br />
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,<br />
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;<br />
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,<br />
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun<br />
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,<br />
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you<br />
Ef you<br />
Don't<br />
Watch<br />
Out!<br />
<br />
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--<br />
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,<br />
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,<br />
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!<br />
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,<br />
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;<br />
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--<br />
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you<br />
Ef you<br />
Don't<br />
Watch<br />
Out!<br />
<br />
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,<br />
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;<br />
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,<br />
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!<br />
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,<br />
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,<br />
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!<br />
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you<br />
Ef you<br />
Don't<br />
Watch<br />
Out!<br />
<br />
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,<br />
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!<br />
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,<br />
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--<br />
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,<br />
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,<br />
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,<br />
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you<br />
Ef you<br />
Don't<br />
Watch<br />
Out!<br />
<br />
<br />
HAUNTED HOUSE<br />
By Jack Prelutsky<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ifgr2JdeksMYMJPX4qANcrYE_6Gith48TQYWHOUfk5CLLKHZwWRnuuWkBV0PHQTMn2NItIiwi4TLTVXJAffKJaVJMbSBIAJtYjCv-V8_PfC0AoCD3k2A_uSd-AUZ83vP-akYDiFbR1Vr/s1600/haunted-houses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ifgr2JdeksMYMJPX4qANcrYE_6Gith48TQYWHOUfk5CLLKHZwWRnuuWkBV0PHQTMn2NItIiwi4TLTVXJAffKJaVJMbSBIAJtYjCv-V8_PfC0AoCD3k2A_uSd-AUZ83vP-akYDiFbR1Vr/s320/haunted-houses.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
There's a house upon the hilltop<br />
We will not go inside<br />
For that is where the witches live,<br />
Where ghosts and goblins hide.<br />
<br />
Tonight they have their party,<br />
All the lights are burning bright,<br />
But oh we will not go inside<br />
The haunted house tonight.<br />
<br />
The demons there are whirling<br />
And the spirits swirl about.<br />
They sing their songs to Halloween.<br />
"Come join the fun," they shout.<br />
<br />
But we do not want to go there<br />
So we run with all our might<br />
And oh we will not go inside<br />
The haunted house tonight.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">VINCENT</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Tim Burton</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vincent Malloy is seven years old</div><div style="text-align: center;">He’s always polite and does what he’s told</div><div style="text-align: center;">For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice</div><div style="text-align: center;">But he wants to be just like Vincent Price</div><div style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://www.timburtoncollective.com/vincent.html">and the rest</a>) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fxQcBKUPm8o" width="420"></iframe></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">HALLOWEEN</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Stephen Lynch</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ImnMucno1ew" width="420"></iframe></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpCmPIPTQKNbegeekZIdeXTdjld4Uo1p27vWhuRXAKS299yzkJKKaKqW_h7sfp1N45Lj_ZwEa9uejyrSt8pkmcDmqAKcBzBN634SOelIf9-Y7XbczBd2l82cfZOpirjauVquQ0nRj8UTS/s1600/Post1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpCmPIPTQKNbegeekZIdeXTdjld4Uo1p27vWhuRXAKS299yzkJKKaKqW_h7sfp1N45Lj_ZwEa9uejyrSt8pkmcDmqAKcBzBN634SOelIf9-Y7XbczBd2l82cfZOpirjauVquQ0nRj8UTS/s400/Post1.JPG" width="261" /></a></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-19165955284107192072011-10-02T00:01:00.049-04:002011-10-02T00:02:59.518-04:00Countdown To Halloween-- Day 2 (Postcards!)<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.countdowntohalloween.com/"><img border="0" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6084/6096213720_f93ed3fdbc_o.png" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kcgCU4-NCF6U8j4lUHTwVVSZ3M2F3oZbR2cSzydpZcohVDtA88Vyf6E1aFru6kiW5pPLDe6uSXSRs5z3yhSAL9Z5q2CKlElsaLDj_2XnME0iT9d_N6w1pxv00NjilWBXOTpfc_JqE0tx/s1600/Post3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2kcgCU4-NCF6U8j4lUHTwVVSZ3M2F3oZbR2cSzydpZcohVDtA88Vyf6E1aFru6kiW5pPLDe6uSXSRs5z3yhSAL9Z5q2CKlElsaLDj_2XnME0iT9d_N6w1pxv00NjilWBXOTpfc_JqE0tx/s320/Post3.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I love vintage Halloween postcards! I'd collect 'em if I could, but they're tremendously popular and, consequently, hideously expensive. And, too, it's not as if my apartment needs to be filled with any more bric-a-brac.<br />
<br />
Last year I had <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2010/10/countdown-to-halloween-day-3.html">great fun with postcards</a> and discovered <a href="http://secretmountainlaboratory.blogspot.com/2010/10/countdown-to-halloween-day-2.html">Halloween was the time for unmarried women to see their future husbands</a>.<br />
<br />
These particular ones happen to be a little <i>more</i>... interesting... than most.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA8CAg8pCEX0vWCoxc98jNuRNBIQlNtpy2Fqhn27DPFIcmpN_uSnbP-HdiGZ0YpmS198HgmVdwPLVNKev5e7mRD9zNQxqLzP-1SQJEejeCKsT1HBxBZHsnHM5SB4qQmXaz6rM8GwV-0-d/s1600/Post1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA8CAg8pCEX0vWCoxc98jNuRNBIQlNtpy2Fqhn27DPFIcmpN_uSnbP-HdiGZ0YpmS198HgmVdwPLVNKev5e7mRD9zNQxqLzP-1SQJEejeCKsT1HBxBZHsnHM5SB4qQmXaz6rM8GwV-0-d/s400/Post1.JPG" width="250" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(ahem!)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmriJ-ZqKHCVxzNJZ6nTzdpzipNrBm5bP4aE1YzQuCweoNXGYdCcxa3v0rDMZorfxQyrXvqni4OqW716ZYfI-lg-zNMDT5wqUDMDiQ8jsvnD1uWpSd-gIBEAySSa_CmECaxKFCj8FelcL/s1600/Post2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmriJ-ZqKHCVxzNJZ6nTzdpzipNrBm5bP4aE1YzQuCweoNXGYdCcxa3v0rDMZorfxQyrXvqni4OqW716ZYfI-lg-zNMDT5wqUDMDiQ8jsvnD1uWpSd-gIBEAySSa_CmECaxKFCj8FelcL/s320/Post2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Guess <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedobear">Pedobear</a> is superfluous on Halloween.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm-TpJTlppPiWk1KDRr4xV5u_j4ooRsgsPM9sFMuzMjE-etrippSRpuG4EPR5Lb8ILr-jgzzlSaK-q3-45K_rDd0zjtSc0-JDBqrmfS0TKVwzyx8bbT6llcbTVCchariG4RJaIzFntv7N/s1600/Post5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm-TpJTlppPiWk1KDRr4xV5u_j4ooRsgsPM9sFMuzMjE-etrippSRpuG4EPR5Lb8ILr-jgzzlSaK-q3-45K_rDd0zjtSc0-JDBqrmfS0TKVwzyx8bbT6llcbTVCchariG4RJaIzFntv7N/s320/Post5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This could be (mis)interpreted in so many ways.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qXMN1600PKiTET-rVNVlGIKrV5DufxYop04i1VuaDj9SMl71jquK82izrFvCKWScQcxvGiaItlALhAb3pZWDvEmwcEkNl6I3zDnp4u6_SqmW1sNl3OOF4EGInObrjACqw_b124DWtMo0/s1600/Post10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qXMN1600PKiTET-rVNVlGIKrV5DufxYop04i1VuaDj9SMl71jquK82izrFvCKWScQcxvGiaItlALhAb3pZWDvEmwcEkNl6I3zDnp4u6_SqmW1sNl3OOF4EGInObrjACqw_b124DWtMo0/s400/Post10.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ah! Hot turn-o'-the-century babes!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdji29mC8dIM5MGHtCGdezMyx-fHHKBkSS-uSGON6zcBz4fhhh2e9LAYd2axgLfc2q-u5JPxUmpqCpGfhoYHqdBUlzSN1BPgNVqbWM6VYf2T8K6vMXx7ok9X6A7GRjvK06plPUKg414Ev/s1600/Post11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdji29mC8dIM5MGHtCGdezMyx-fHHKBkSS-uSGON6zcBz4fhhh2e9LAYd2axgLfc2q-u5JPxUmpqCpGfhoYHqdBUlzSN1BPgNVqbWM6VYf2T8K6vMXx7ok9X6A7GRjvK06plPUKg414Ev/s400/Post11.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Is the moon staring at... her <i>ass</i>?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2g4DrvEJjbV_0aefEURM3QQab2EYIXl1G20STvqiqBrTJxIhHNutZMLQxqu4htYdxgfR5gLx2v6KT_4y2GdHzT1OUAmOaKHTnTpkXeyKkTDH7DFsMCmrhvpzaVAsvUr_XqIXt268K4Oy/s1600/Post12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2g4DrvEJjbV_0aefEURM3QQab2EYIXl1G20STvqiqBrTJxIhHNutZMLQxqu4htYdxgfR5gLx2v6KT_4y2GdHzT1OUAmOaKHTnTpkXeyKkTDH7DFsMCmrhvpzaVAsvUr_XqIXt268K4Oy/s400/Post12.jpg" width="252" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Her expression seems to indicate things are not all that... uh... nightmarish.<br />
Post-orgasmic, maybe, but not nightmarish. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9_1fr8VH7o4jZmGG8yZsvLvcrKxX8qlt0-Az_ewceyQ9kNWCNM70HirsfI2h4pcPncgfnT1wdkiPM2qbWKlpe0k8dGF-rr-j_iFL3DJ2eDJzZJHyU0Pw5BZjpk8n8zmuyR3NzG4UKndu/s1600/Post7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz9_1fr8VH7o4jZmGG8yZsvLvcrKxX8qlt0-Az_ewceyQ9kNWCNM70HirsfI2h4pcPncgfnT1wdkiPM2qbWKlpe0k8dGF-rr-j_iFL3DJ2eDJzZJHyU0Pw5BZjpk8n8zmuyR3NzG4UKndu/s400/Post7.jpg" width="255" /></a></div> WTF? I mean, really! WTF?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Dxc39RwiZ0SfIjZ-WPcfQoryp3MBMTT_gmtTwW4Xr_4PHp3ZFcPDu2QJCuixCE4F06YFLmQK7RZVM_DRGkd0STaSDnD3uBk6KqqJBMyQMsfkkFK9E0QkYw2eeiaVwdesXBTXlpoc17O/s1600/Post8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Dxc39RwiZ0SfIjZ-WPcfQoryp3MBMTT_gmtTwW4Xr_4PHp3ZFcPDu2QJCuixCE4F06YFLmQK7RZVM_DRGkd0STaSDnD3uBk6KqqJBMyQMsfkkFK9E0QkYw2eeiaVwdesXBTXlpoc17O/s320/Post8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What was <i>her </i>candy laced with? </div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Yep, that's me-- looking for the obscure, the <i>outré</i>, and the possibly obscene so you don't have to.</div></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4315519825552066003.post-55709084592169385602011-10-01T14:16:00.000-04:002011-10-01T14:16:45.223-04:00Countdown Lagniappe 1Spotted on <a href="http://www.reddit.com/">reddit</a> a year or so ago and I agree, it's the most amazing Halloween costume ever!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7pOP8KpNyq-Yk_j4oy9GnWLLtYQ5XVpuUYQo3Weoa6qdboJsR-nxSOnYdc5DAB_OHMUp0ovAlP3k90FglZ-4ba6EozJP30eLDsNe_KsuVZOFcChG2kDEYj_cZSOhg02OUZWPJQnOG8im/s1600/TorT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7pOP8KpNyq-Yk_j4oy9GnWLLtYQ5XVpuUYQo3Weoa6qdboJsR-nxSOnYdc5DAB_OHMUp0ovAlP3k90FglZ-4ba6EozJP30eLDsNe_KsuVZOFcChG2kDEYj_cZSOhg02OUZWPJQnOG8im/s320/TorT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>G. W. Fergusonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14581395028002255543noreply@blogger.com0