The Cliffs of Insanity

The above subject line has less to do with the content of this post and more to do with my general hatred of all-confining subject lines. Sometimes, I like to let my mind wonder whilst writing these and Flying Weasels allow me to that much more easily than "I got my hairrr did today."

Off and on I've been watching Avatar on the computer today. I must say I've enjoyed it much more in this format than on the TV. I could never get the sound balanced out which made the movie unbearably loud or so low, I couldn't make out the dialogue. With my handy-dandy ear plugs, though, this wasn't an issue and I followed along much more easily and without a headache. Always good things in Tin's Land. Uncle Michael wants his movie back my Monday, so I'm probably gonna watch it a couple more times before grudgingly handing it back over to him.

One movie I've been wanting to see again is Pee Wee's Big Adventure. There are just so many comedic gems in that movie and to sit back almost 30 years later and be able to watch the birth a beautiful working relationship heartens me in a way. The world would never have been the same if Tim Burton and Danny Elfman hadn't struck up a working friendship. It's such things as that, that make me believe in a higher power.

My nails have grown out and are exceedingly strong. I'm gonna see if I have any decent nail polish and polish them sometime tomorrow. They're the longest right now than they've been when I worked at the Pit. I'm typing with my nails instead of my fingers. Yes, that long. I may just say "fuck it" and cut them down to nubbins like I've been doing. I can't see myself being concerned with nail polish right now. Just...not interested.

I'm keen on working on The Moon Myths, but I've vowed not to touch that project until I'm finished completely with The Vampire Relics. I just wonder what the Father Unit would have thought about it all. He wrote a great deal. The Mother Unit writes too. I recall reading part of a manuscript that put me in mind later on of I Am Legend, but there was a real freaky twist to it. I wonder if she still has it and would be willing to maybe collaborate. The Father Unit tended to write more comedic material and pieces that one might find in The Saturday Evening Post. Not my thing, but I respected his ability to do so. I think I fall more in the Mother Unit's category of The Strange and Unusual. She trained me early, letting me watch Dark Shadows from my crib.

I'd like to also touch on my memories of the Beezers, actual phenemona that happened to me when I was a baby and a toddler. I'd be very interested to make contact with Whitley Streiber and see what he thought about the Beezers. Personally, I think I was being dicked around with by the Greys. I'm going to be as objective as possible, but you know how time and the ebb and flow of memories can affect one's objectivity.

There are just so many projects on which I could work once the proofing and rewrites on The Relics are completed. I honestly got a little antsy toward the end of The Augury of Gideon. What would I do with my time? What would I write? Almost immediately, the answer came "write and write whatever you damned well please!" It was refreshing to hear that ~ liberating. So that's what I'm gonna do. I've lived with my Vampires for almost a quarter of a century. It's time to move onward and upward, and see where it takes me. Here's hoping Fey is on board for that particular journey.

My pain levels are high today, so my mind is bouncing around like an under-inflated beach ball soaked in BP tar balls. Lovely metaphor...shame we have to 'get it.' Aunt Tudi and I have quibbled a couple of times, mainly because I'm arse when I'm hurting and she's always the strong, hard rock of a pioneer woman who won't let anything get her down. I just want to slap up-side the head on days like today. I'm going to watch Wipe-Out, laugh at the slapstick, then go to bed early. Because I can.

Sometimes I feel I have the world's shittiest luck. First I couldn't get my recorder to record, then it was my microphone. Got all that sorted. But, each time I go to record my lines (and screams) for HG World, some sort of crap happens. And, just now, when I thought I was gonna get away with it, the happy sounds of children in a pool came bleeding into my car. I'm trying to do this in my car because of the flat acoustics and the lack of any fan or A/C sounds that are rampant in the house.

So... I asked Janice to call me when her grandkids are out of the pool. I also told her that, if it were after dark and she heard bloodcurdling screams, it was just me being killed by my husband and turning into a Zombie. She looked at me like they all used to look at the Father Unit, who often got into strange and unusual activities. Just that one look made me feel totally victorious.

And so I wait.

Here's batch number one, with closed captioning, behind the cut. Warning!! This is a very image-heavy post and is absolutely unfriendly to dial-up users. May the Mighties have mercy on all our souls.

( ai yai yai )

I'll do more tomorrow, if'n I get my way. For now, though, I must take my exhausted behonkie to bed.

• His high-pitched howl when my three-year old hand clutched on to his partial erection through his shorts and the subsequent laughter when I asked, "what's this, Daddy?"


• Daddy coming in the middle of the night to see me, his arms overloaded with brand new board games.


• Daddy and me leaving the Mother Unit's new residence, Daddy crying and driving erratically while "Seasons in the Sun" blared on the radio.


• In a big plastic pool with Daddy, the two of us having farting contests and laughing at the bubbles in the water. I am most definitely my father's daughter when it comes to flatulence.


• His practicing with his folk-country band, many songs he wrote himself, like "Carolina Mountains."


• Daddy coming for visits, guitar in hand, and the two of us singing together.


• Daddy teaching me how to play "Third Man Theme" on his guitar.


• The original version of "Buggy Buggy," when it was still a rap song.


• How he was left by his mother-in-law at the hospital, dazed and confused from the meds the doctor had given him. Aunt Tudi and I went and got him, and brought him home.


• Him and the Stepmother Unit taking me to a friend's house where I saw my first VHS movies: Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Cat Ballou.


• Having to call him to tell him that Granny (his mother) had died. He was in Japan and, as usual, by himself. He grieved in solitude.


• Our arguments about the British Isles. He didn't like living there (he lived in Haverford West, Wales) and tried to convince me how bad it was. I wouldn't hear it. When I finally got to go, I returned to tell him that I still thought the UK was fantastic.


• I remember Daddy, Aunt Tudi, Granny, and the Mother Unit making up songs and singing them together, or singing the "Hawaiian War Chant" and getting me, a toddler, to hula like mad.


• Daddy and me fighting over his buying me stuff I didn't ask for, didn't need, and didn't want.


• Daddy taking me to the USS Yorktown, to the beach (for my first time), and to my first seafood restaurant (The Trawler). I was 14.


• Him chasing BB through the house with his hat, and the bird just fussing up a storm at him.


• Him calling Aunt Tudi "Ott" and her calling him "Ott." That's how they always addressed and signed their letters.


• The night Daddy and I saw a "walking tree" outside our house. It put it's gnarled hand on the window and we both screamed with fright. I contend that this was an alien encounter now. I discussed the incident with him years later and he remembered it clearly.


• Him coming in to rescue me from the Beezers that swarmed my crib at night.


• Him yelling at me for throwing a popcorn box out the car window on the way home from seeing Dumbo at the drive-in. I was 4 and I never littered again.


• Daddy yelling in general. To this day, I can't stand really loud anything because it triggers panic in me. I can trace that back to Daddy yelling in anger so much when I was a kid.


• Listening to his radio show in the early 70s.


• Watching Law & Order with him and trying to determine who did it. It's his fault I'm such a Law & Order junkie now.


• Re-enacting scenes from a number of Mel Brooks films. Daddy was the one who got me started on Mel Brooks. We could quote entire scenes from his movies. Daddy shared a birthday with Mel Brooks and I always felt there was a special reason for that.


• Him sitting with me trying to explain why he and the Mother Unit had broken up, and not doing a very good job of it. His subjective account wasn't the healthiest thing in the world for me.


• Him making me his famous "Ham what am, and cheese to please" sandwiches, complete with a pickle on top.


• Daddy showing me how to draw and giving me all manner of art supplies over the years.

I'm sure there's so much more lodged in my head, but I can't go on with this for now. I need to focus on something else for a while. I need to stop hurting. Comments are disabled, as they aren't necessary.

Thanks to everyone for your support. You all mean more to me than you can possibly imagine.

Thank you to everyone who sent me their condolences. It means more than you can imagine.

I found the last picture I had made with Daddy.

( Dad & Me )

It's difficult for me to fathom that he's gone. All that keeps running through my mind is the song he wrote back in the 70s, "Carolina Mountains." It was so pretty and he sang it beautifully.

There will be no service, per Daddy's will. He is to be immediately cremated and his ashes saved until Mary dies, at which time their ashes will be mingled. There will be no ritual of any kind during which I can properly say goodbye, so I'll have my own ritual here at home.

According to their next door neighbour, who called me earlier this evening, I am supposed to just lie low until Mary calls me. This dude talked down to me like he thought I was some sort of idiot and it kind of pissed me off. If I haven't heard from Mary about the arrangements by tomorrow afternoon, so at least I'll know when my father is being cremated, I'm going to call her despite what the neighbour said. He instructed me not to call her, but to wait for her to call me. I'm sorry, but I can only give 24 hours. I'm not going to risk having to talk to the neighbour again. It's not his place to be the messenger and I think I deserve a bit more than his patronising me as though I were a brainless intruder.

The Father Unit and I had a tumultuous relationship. It seemed sometimes that I was forever frozen in time to him as the 6 year old he lost when he and the Mother Unit divorced. He always wanted to go back in time and redo some of the things he did, or do some of the things he didn't and wanted to or should have. There was a bit of resentment on my part where he was concerned. It's there with the Mother Unit too. Despite Aunt Tudi always being there for me, I couldn't help but feel just a tad abandoned by both parents. They were too young to start a family and too immature to maintain one. It doesn't mean I don't love them, though. I'll always love them. Daddy was always on my case to forgive him for his past transgressions, and I had, but he couldn't let it go. I think it's because he could never completely forgive himself. All I hope is that he's found the peace on the other side that he wouldn't allow himself over here. We wasted far too many years on the past instead of trying to enjoy our present, much less think about our future.

I wish things had been different.

Aunt Tudi and I zipped down to Moncks Corner to get some luggage from the Father Unit. The gigantic case we use for all our stuff was damaged by Northwest Airlines during the NYC trip, so it's no longer viable for travel, especially international travel. The Father Unit offered up his luggage, so off we went for a road trip from hell. 3.5 hours to get there, 4 hours to visit, 3.5 hours to get back home, and in time enough for LOST!

And now we have luggage fit for queens for to place all our duds and toiletries. The goodies I'm taking over to the UK will be more protected in these cases too, I'm thinking. If I can bring myself to pick up the phone tomorrow, I need to call the airline and see about lugging some Cheerwine over the pond. I have two little English people who've got a jones that's around 6 years old now. That's just wrong.

And jelly. Apple jelly for my incredibly kind hostess. Yeah. I need to talk to Continental. Or maybe The Continental. "Champagne?" Heh.

It looks like 16 May is the day I'll meet Barry Andrews face-to-face. My memorial service will then be on 19 May. Please come and ogle what's left of my dead body and sign the register. The funeral will be 20 May. "Eldorado" by the Electric Light Orchestra will be played. Since Aunt Tudi's birthday is 24 May, please make sure all of you coddle and spoil her really good in my absence. She'll need all the lovin' she can get if I'm dead. Woe is I.

First, I want to declare that canned crab meat tastes like San Diego's ass water mixed with the unwashed juices emitting from an aged French whore. I will not attempt that again, nay nay nay.

Now that I have that out of the way, I can continue with my happy little post.

Aunt Tudi and I hit the road a little before 9 this morning and got to the Father Unit's shortly after 12. All we've done since is pretty much chitchat with each other while Aunt Tudi and the Father Unit play some sort of Roy Rogers pinball game from their childhood. The Stepmother Unit is with her mother in Irmo yucking it up for Easter, but the Father Unit couldn't accompany her because he had surgery on Monday and isn't recovered enough to travel. So here we are. This is the first Spring holiday I've spent with him since 1974. Whoa.

We're having tilapia for dinner. Why have I just recently started hearing about tilapia, like in the past couple of years? Was it called something else before that or is it a newly discovered edible fish? Or am I just ignorant?

Speaking of ignorance, I've decided that Shmoop is an idiot savant. She is so incredibly stupid in so many areas, but shines through in others. Actually, I think she believes she is a dog. She wants to eat dog food, she fights the dogs for their treats (especially Pupcorns), and she fetches. Her catly skills are sadly lacking and I do fear for her wellbeing when she's outside because, really, the cat doesn't have sense god gave a toenail. The last time we left the ladies at home to come down to the Father Unit's, we returned to find that Shmoop had shut herself and Motley up in the bathroom. Via the cunning methods of deduction, I surmised that they'd been trapped in there for around 12 hours. So, this time, I've blocked the door so she can't do that again, but they can still have access to the litter pan.

I'm seriously considering going to watch Pirates of the Caribbean on the Father Unit's gigantic TV. I'm not really all that fond of the movie, but I'd love to see Johnny Depp in pirate drag on a large screen. Surely that will give me nice dreams tonight. God knows I could use them.

Right now, I'm wrapped up in one of the Father Unit's long-sleeved shirts. Both the FU and Aunt Tudi are hotter than fire crackers and have turned the AC down to 60-something. Even though it's in the mid-90s outside, I'm sitting in here suffering from a chronic and probably fatal case of chicken pimplage.

I wrenched a quiz from serifem's hands and am posting it here. The other quizzes I had saved for my Friday Quiz Party are still on my laptop waiting to be posted. I feel like a dink forgetting to post them yesterday, but I have had difficulty figuring out what day it is all week. I may post them when I get home on Monday.

( angeles )

Before making it to the Father and Stepmother Unit's abode, we stopped at....WAL-MART....to pick up a particular kind of candy for the Father Unit. They didn't have the candy, but I saw that this store from hell is now carrying Holy Blood, Holy Grail alongside The Da Vinci Code. This is, without a doubt, a serious omen of the imminent Alpaca Lips.

So yeah, I broke my New Years Resolution of never darkening the door of another Wal-Mart, but this doesn't mean I'm planning on going back any time soon...preferably never

The Stepmother Unit ordered pizza from Pizza Hut and we all noshed until we could nosh no more. While The Father Unit and Aunt Tudi discussed their myriad health issues, The Stepmother Unit and I watched "Close to Home" and I loaded some music from their collection onto iGor. I now have 4551 songs on iGor, including "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road." That's damned special.

Not sure what we'll be doing tomorrow, but I'm hoping it involves relaxation as that's one of my favourite hobbies these days. Sad, but true.

Moncks Corner that is. We made it down here around 1:30, hung out with the Father Unit for a while, then headed off to Staples so he could pick up a paper shredder. After that, we zipped to Applebees for a quick bite. I didn't get a drink, 'cos I was the one driving. Mary was still at work, so we picked her up some coconut shrimp.

We're now back at the house and I'm already eyeballing the bed like a sweet sweet lover. Tired I am, and sleepy too. And weary. That's the ticket...weary.

We drive back home tomorrow. Travelling is so much easier with iGor. No CDs to bother with. And the anticipation of what's next in Shuffle Mode is sometimes so intense, I'm tempted to pee my pants. ::loves on iGor::

I have the sneaking suspicion that today is going to be very long and arduous. Although I haven't a reason to feel this way, I do anyway.

The Father Unit wants to be taken to the grocery store today. He's a heinous backseat driver, so I'm not looking forward to being on the road with him at all. Aunt Tudi doesn't seem to be feeling the best in the world and neither does the Father Unit. I'm going to have two unhealthy, ill-tempered siblings in my car while I drive roads to which I'm unaccustomed.

Maybe I should just walk out to the street and lie down in the middle of the road, hoping someone will squoosh me like an opossum.

After Mary gets home, we're supposed to gather 'round the dining room table and play a game called Worst Case Scenario. Even though I adored them as a child, I'm really not fond of board games now. They make me nervous and uneasy, having to sit at a table for so long, most usually performing repetitive tasks. It's nerve-wracking.

Damn, I just read what I've written and I sound like a brat who just can't be pleased. Well, maybe that's exactly how I feel today. Maybe I should live up to my Inner Brat and crawl off to the bedroom to sulk. Sheesh.