Halloween 2010...the return of the SCARE!

YEAH!

I'm ahead of the curve, friends! Thanks to some dietary changes, a new exercise regime, and an increased motivation I decided to uphold an age-old time-honored Family P tradition and set up:

THE SCARY FRONT YARD/PORCH DIORAMA!!!

Many of you (two of you) may recall my frassin about how from my earliest love of horror films/Halloween a desire to replicate the special FX was born. From probably 4th grade until well after I left home, we would haul down crates and musty boxes filled with decorations, ghoulish masks accumulated from pricey costume shop and thrift store alike, and particle board tombstones and make a frightening front lawn and garage display in our old ancestral Brrrooklyn Park homestead. After several moves and before landing in my current NE abode (and after my folks moved to their new digs) I "inherited" the big plastic box of goodness, vowing to keep it inside to maintain the integrity of the costumes and latex masks. (Some things, tombstones, signs, etc...were lost to the ether)

Annnnd...I promptly never did s#it with it. Oh sure, every year I'd WANT to make something high-falutin'. Something to eclipse those masks, once stuffed with newspaper and propped on sticks and torn up box with a brides dress and a plastic skeleton stuffed on top. But my motivation was lacking. (As, usually, was time. Since I am, you know, a Procrastinating Pendergrass) So usually I'd manage a few window dressings...a scary mask on my porch, my "macabre" orchestral album "Fright Night" (A find, indeed. Instead of dumb "haunted house" noises it has Mussorgsky, Beethoven...stuff like "Danse Macabre" and such) and a seizure-inducing strobe light which is...ahem...very old.

Not...friends...in 2010.

So a few weeks back I made a pledge- With materials I have and can scrounge, I wanted to create a diorama that was slightly more three dimensional and infinitely more terrifying. And with scraps of wood, old costumes/robes, Mom's help, and a loooot of duct tape, I'm about to show you kids some of the early renderings. (An album will be created on Frassbook of the finished product. My happiest comment is that, since I started this a few weeks back and gave myself time to do it- I'm ahead of schedule. And, all done on a budget. Except the fog machine. It was on saaaale though!) Please note- WORK IN PROGRESS!

From a suitcase in my basement, puppet dummies are intrinsically scary. I have since, added an ancient dummy head from the 40's that this guy is holding. Don't believe the scary? Watch "Magic". You're welcome.



This guy was one of two cheap plastic skeletons that I'd just throw up. I'll be adding detail to the ribs later, but I found a Fright Skull mask with hair and two big plastic skeleton hands. A T-Frame to mount the head and position the arms later, this guy is two feet off the ground.

Another mask we purchased ages ago at my former PT employer in their "Discount" bin. The mouth and snout protrude (like a "Dementor") but I didn't want to mask the face. I shoved an old karate head gear with a weird protuberance around the jaw to keep it in place and stuffed newspaper around the head for shape. Another T-frame and a monks robe. Still need some hands. This one, as well, is 2 feet up.
I first picked this werewolf mask at the height of my werewolf/horror spaz nerdery in 1987 and wore it out to what was to be my last trick-or-treating session. Found in the deluxe sections at Knightcostco in Brookdale Mall, I wore it with a grey fox fur vest turned around and a shirt over it. And it promptly became decoration for the following H'weens. ($36 in 1987 dollars well spent, I'd wager) An old flannel of my dads and my old overalls/boots. A cheap pair of gray skelton "fright" hands (doctored with gray crepe hair) The legs are stuffed as are the arms, and will be reinforced with cardboard tubes then "handcuffed" to the chair. (Bought in the Dollar Store toy section. Chair is a wrecked "princess" relic) The chest form is an old "Roman Gladiator" chest piece reinforced with a inflatable body form (More on that in a second). The head, stuffed and rested. (Incomplete project as of today)

Along with "Freddy" (who is still being built*) This was my big project and the first one I started building before the weather went to pot. A mannequin body form was used, then arms measured and cobbled from an old pair of 1x4's from the cabin and affixed with duct tape. The legs were the same, but ended up with a "Satyr" quality due to the bodies "posed" shape. I found some old sturdy 2 x 4's in the garage, ran them up the leg holes and sawed them to shape then ran a screw in. (I ended up doing the same for the arms after dressing it. Since the overalls were snug)

My had the overalls, the head was an old Don Post "Rotting Corpse from the 'Father's Day' sketch in the film 'Creepshow'" that we bought at a Woolworths 20 odd years ago. The hockey mask was an old garage sale find, painted to look like Jason's. The hands/gloves were tricky. I used old thin foam cut to shape, then duct taped to seem like it was jointed. I formed the right hand over the ax (Originally, I wanted to use a real machete but it was too heavy. A licensed "Jason" machete was f#ck all expensive, so I found this plastic axe for under $4) The arm sagged, so I jury-rigged it to the porch curtains to look like it was raised and I hope people don't notice he's wearing cowboy boots. All told, this effer is over 7 ft tall.

Okay. More final pics to come of the graveyard, the hanging mummy, body parts, fog, before/after heads, and last but not least...MY costume.


*We found these inflatable body forms at Ax Man surplus years ago and they don't sell them anymore. They are yellow, vaguely woman shaped, and in two pieces (Torso and legs, with rubber grommets to tie them together) I have to wait with "Freddy" b/c the cold weather will probably sap the air out too soon.

Predators...a review

(Ed. Note: Today's blog is a departure, as it is a review. The original "Predator" was the 1st R-rated movie I saw in the theater, down in IA in 1987 during a family reunion. It was acceptable to see, at age 13, b/c there were no boobies. Natch. Sufficed to say, this film holds a dear place in my heart)

Let's forget, for a minute, that this film spawned a ridiculous franchise. That people pitted them against "Aliens". Superman. Batman. Dennis the Menace. Pretend for a second, that this is a simpler time. When what was to become a cult-hit, was just a really solid sci-fi/horror/action film. A true film of the 80's:

An elite team of soldiers is sent to the jungle with a "clear" mission to rescue captives deep in the jungle, aided by an old friend-turned-CIA agent with "unclear" motives. Their roles were all established. You saw their camaraderie. (This wasn't a showboat for Arnie, after all!) You got how they worked as a team. Puns were dropped like pocket change ("Stick around!") A former governor said that "There wouldn't be Blood". And when the smoke cleared, there was an uneasy sense that nothing had been accomplished.

And there was something watching them. And the s#it hits the fan. As they start to get picked off, one by one. And they don't...know...what's...out there.

A lot of you know the rest. Choppa's were gotten to. Motherf#ckers were called "ugly". In Arnold's storied career, he's only been killed as a bad guy once. (With all other deaths being "sacrificial" in nature- Culminating with his 22 foot long jump to sword impalement in "End of Days".) Well s#it, here the guy survives a nuclear explosion at close range, natch!

Then we get a lukewarm, if not anticipated sequel which was...okay. And then a franchise player is born. And the Predator had to be explained. And to brawl another franchise player (The "Alien" from "Aliens". A "xenomorph". Oops. Nerd-outed myself.) And here is where I'll start my review of "Predators" properly.

The Good:
Sequels/Prequels can be dicey at best. If they work, they keep the tone in tact with some of the basic plot points of the original. Veer too far off course or mess with the formula and you have a mess. (Even "Sex in the City 2" had this problem...I heard) It may never be as successful, but you can at least try to emulate it without aping it. And this is where I think "Predators" works the best.

The film starts with our main protagonist (Royce, played by Adrien Brody) waking up while free-falling without, it appears, a parachute. (Effectively done, too) He later meets the rest of the "protagonists" who all appear to be a group of hard-asses from various parts of the world. What happens next, is the uncomfortable alliance while our group tries to piece together where they are (at first, thinking they are in some nameless jungle) how they came to be there (the only thing any of them remembers is a flash of light before falling. Again, no backstory needed. Boom. There they are) and eventually, how to survive. (Without spoiling too much, the first scene with the hunting dogs is an intense prelude of what's to come)

What works-
The filmmakers worked hard to capture the feel of the original movie, from the lush tropical landscapes to the weird anamorphic diffusion on long shots almost giving it a dreamy quality. Along with a score that mirrors Alan Silvestri's original, and subtle conversational throwbacks ("You're one ugly motherf#cker" is said, just not they way you expect. Also, another lampooned line is brought back for what can only be pure nostalgia) The panic, reluctance to follow one and other, and foreboding sense of dread give the film a tense feel that moves forward without being bogged down with long periods of dialog or montages showing how they're going to beat the aliens.

Credit should also go to Adrien Brody and Alice Braga (who holds her own throughout) Brody has worked in such as varied and strange array of films since his Oscar win, trying on many hats. (The quiet indie "Darjeeling Limited". Being overshawdowed by a monkey in "King Kong". A scientist in "Splice".) Here, he seems to be channeling his inner Clint Eastwood or Robert Loggia, speaking his lines in a gruff (kind of weird) raspy manner.

What doesn't work-
Everyone falls into line fairly quickly, and the deductions as to what they're up against is far too pat. There is a shoehorned plot point that calls back the original that feels shoehorned in to get the message across that "yes, we're making a sequel to the original". Also, here is a team of badasses with high caliber firepower. Annnnd the death row inmate with a shiv. And Topher Grace. (Who is funny, don't get me wrong. But the whole film I was waiting for him to be either bait/dead meat, which without a gun he should have been. Or some sort of red herring/plot point who would be "more dangerous than the rest". And when that happens...it's...eh. Also, wasn't there a bit in the 1st two movies about not having a gun on you being a good thing when you were hunted because there was "no sport"?)

Quibbles, mostly.

If you are a fan of the original. If you like sci-fi/action/horror. You'll probably really enjoy this film.

"Revenge of the Mud Run"...or "Ghost of the..."

(Note- This may or may not fall into the realm of overshare. I don't really give a rip. My blog, my rules. And it's kind of funny)

It was along few weeks and I managed to avoid doing laundry for quite some time. This would normally be no biggie, however I made the error of waiting until the weekend to wash a load or two and my roommate-who has been juggling work and rehearsals and therefore busy as well- asked if he could co-opt the laundry room today. (This wound up being a 9am to 6:30 pm task. He told me later that he fell asleep in the afternoon and woke up drowning in the clothes he had carefully set folded around him.) What does this all mean, you ask? Well it's quite simple. I was relegated to the back of drawers. Where the old concert t-shirts live. The pants that you only take out to do lawn work. Or wear as pj's when no one is around. And most devastatingly of all...

It's where the terrible underpants live. (shudder)

Not terrible, just not nice. A little old (read: smaller sizes) and usually the pairs I break out to go on outdoor runs in. This particular pair, we'll call them "Hamburglers", for their particular print- We're worn while doing some manual labor over the weekend. While stripping down for my evening shower, I heard the unmistakable sound of sand or grit falling on the floor. When I looked down...a long...lingering glance...sure enough- There was a pebbly dirt like substance by the sink. (Okay, fine. I kicked them off of one leg in the air and caught them. And some of this dirt showered down on my face. Happy?) I was confused, since I wasn't in the garden or doing anything that got me overtly dirty. And when a few more dusty grit pieces came off I...

Okay, so there's this pocket under the crotch-al region on guys boxer-briefs. Where the fabric crosses over and together? Forms a natural pocket. Okay? And I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger towards the way back. (Read: Where the dudes 'tween' begins) and it felt...bumpy. I turned them inside out and almost immediately realized what I was holding:

These were the drawers I wore on the Mud Run. These went in the bag with the rest of my ensemble and were thrown in the communal bucket with both my and Moda's clothes for the pre-wash then subsequently the washer. So some silt/grit/bog bits/puddle pebbles/brown frown must have gotten trapped in there. (Remember how long I said my shower took? How there was dirt, literally, everywhere? How many Q-tips I needed? The biggest piece I found in the Hamburglers was much smaller than a BB pellet, but still)

I'll need to re-check this next year when I make a list of pros and cons of doing the run again.

Gross.

Skeery Spooky Stuff

I'm skipping ahead of the friend nostalgia and kitty eulogies to take in something more recent- I was asked to do the good old scary tours again this year in Stipples. Fun, huh? It's pretty streamlined from what I remember (short tours are 90 minutes, and the long ones with the cave business- 2 hrs) After getting practice tour, driving the route myself, and finally the schedule- I started on October 17th. Coincidentally, mom's birthday. And so, I birthday'd her a free scary tour.

Please understand that (A) even though the 3 people who read this will more than likely never go on the tour (Or in the case of one, had worked there so long she's seen/heard most of the s#it I'm going to tell you any way) that (B) I can't get into to much spoiler-y story detail anyway. It's a paid public tour, and people deserve to get their surprise. However, there is a disclaimer-

Muck Muck Moreau (my fellow tour guide) and I have had this weird history of doing tours together. Since going on sabbatical 2 years ago, it was nice to get back into a routine with him again. We have the timing down pat. We know when to move on from site to site. How to work up the appropriate feelings of fear and dread. And for his part, he stopped giggling so much. He's still incredibly bad at math though. (I had to correct him on decades versus centuries)

Except the Muckster is a tried and true believer. The guy sees ghosts coming out of car exhaust. On my earlier tours, it was almost a goofball/straight man schtick. Later, I was worried that his excitability over it might invalidate the mystery. And then, this'd be about 4 years into touring together, even I couldn't help notice that every year at least ONE f#cked up thing happens on our tour. After this long intro, and my first tour back in 2 years...no less than THREE things happened. And they were alllll f#cked up.

1) First tour, small tour. (14 peeps) We shut people in a pitch black cave and tell stories. When we're done- I can't find the rope to open the garage. I get a little help, but it wasn't from Muck. He looks at me stupidly and said "Did you hear that scraping?" I said yes, that it was me, and I was frantically trying to get the door open. We're quietly arguing on the bus, when the last people come on and a lady says-"Is that why you turned around? We thought we hear something too!" I brush that clear off, and we depart.

2) We're driving away from Mounds Park and have just finished a scary hospital story, when I see an old man in the back row holding court. I'm talking, and get a little miffed that he has 3 other people listening to his pow-wow so I yell (very sweetly, mind) "What's so very interesting back THERE?" And the older gentleman raises his hand (RAISES his HAND) and says "Sir, I think the window was shot out."

We're on big coach tour buses. Windows don't just get "shot out". But sure as s#it stinks, the exterior tinted window (they're two ply, and thankfully the interior window was in tact) had a fracture and was raining shards of shrapnel down periodically whenever we'd hit a bump. The man then says "Didn't you hear that?" (From what we gathered, it either had to be a kid with a b-b gun or someone with a rock getting hurled super fast and hard. I just don't know how I could have missed that.)

3) At the cemetery, someone had left a birthday cake in front of one of the children's graves. Not supernatural, really. Just sad, and a little creepy. While there, our driver has to knock out the remaining pieces and clean it up off the street. I feel bad for the guy, but happy he has a broom and bucket on the bus. ("What, Irvin?!??! You have all that and no DUSTpan?!?!)

And we were late. F#ck.

4) Tour #2. Mama and her friends show up and it's hard to mask our agitation and weird out factor. I'm sweating even though it's 40 degrees. We agree to make it a story and lead the group back to the caves. (Our cave liaison went to look at it and almost yelped "What the F#CK?") I end up having to corral a little blonde chain smoker who was flying solo and smelled of Bacardi and wouldn't shut up about how much she LOVED the tours and LOVED the history. I fend off my mom's withering glances (She thought it was being flirty.) I get the last of the tour in when the cave liaison comes up to me and whispers:

"Um. Just so you know, right before you came in? One of the candles in the glass holders...exploded everywhere."

Oh. That's not all. The slide show? That she's done dozens of times before and has so much time to reset and prep? Kept jumping to the last slide. For 3 minutes.

5) We tell the group the story of the window. A big group (30 or so) they seem less than impressed. There are a few takers, but apparently they don't share our disbelief. We get to the sight of a gruesome death at a meat packing plant. When my partner goes out to shine the spot on the building, a couple comes out to walk their dog. Turns out, it's the new owner. And he has stories. And they. Are. Weird. (Braced and locked windows opened from the inside. The ghost of a boxer on the loading dock with a matching poster from 40 years ago downstairs. Tools missing and found lined up the next day. Automatic toothbrush being turned on in the middle of the night, spinning around on the counter.) He leaves and I tell everyone: "That beats my story".

6) We make it back on time and see everyone off and collect our things. I go to say good bye/happy birthday to my mom etc. when blondie from earlier in the tour comes over to us. (I wonder if there are Ghost Tour Groupies) She insists we all look at her camera and she shows us pictures from the cemetery. She said she kept the flash off, like she was asked, and showed the silhouette of the group, my big-ass spotlight, and then the next two were of the weird green orbs she said she took behind where we had convened off into the deeper part of the cemetery.

While this isn't indicative of ALL of the weird stuff that has happened to us over the years, it certainly is the most in one evening.

Jeebus. I'm gonna need to start brining an old priest and a young priest on board my next tour.

NCOD

(National Coming Out Day, fyi) This blog'll be a departure from what I usually write so I'll be fine if you want to skip it.

There's been a lot of fuss in the media that wasn't mine-related having to deal with bullying. Kids are mean. There is that awful time when we all start to identify with what our identities are and who we think we are and...all the confusion. And you don't want to be confused. And it's so immensely frustrating. Awful. And for those who "develop" earlier, the one's who people say have bad self-images so they put down others- They end up being in power. I was bullied. Over stupid shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn't wear the nice shit other people were wearing. I didn't wear deodorant like other kids. I couldn't afford good cologne so I wore what was in the bathroom closet. I was pushed. I had gum put in my hair. Someone even got on my case for wearing a 1987 Twins sweatshirt in 1988. And the best one? I was told I look like a girl. Great.

The bottom line, is that kids can be mean. Like little rattlesnakes who can't control the amount of venom when they bite, they will let loose with both barrels and have no idea of the consequence. Or care. I always thought that bullying was more of a physical thing. When I was in High School, I was in a class with a kid who was put ahead. He was portly. Acne scarred. Pale. And ripe for the guy I sat next to to rip on. And one day when I saw him flicking the kids ear when they walked into class, I up and punched the guy. He never touched the kid again so long as I was around.

So I wish that I was the hero, but I guess the truth is I wasn't.

Last night, Moda and I watched this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax96cghOnY4&feature=player_embedded

Bullying. It's been all over. It's on Facebook. I've seen celebrities rally against it. I think the one we watched last night above took me by surprise when he talks about his dad. I lost it. And I wanted to take a sec to tell my 4 or 5 readers about one of my best friends.

Steve. (Or is it...Sssssteve)


I've known Steve since 1991 when he was a Sophomore at my high school. We were in the One-Act Play together that year as well as the musical. And we big kids teased his ass ruthlessly. The Seniors. Juniors. It wasn't the horror show you'd think by reading the newspapers. We didn't beat him. Shove him in a locker. A lot of what we did was because he was new. He was young. It was hazing "lite". We'd circle around him calling him "soph" (Oooooo). And on occasion...once in a while. We'd call him faggot.

Gay.
Fat.
Pimple face.

In fact, here's a good story (Thanks, memory) There were student reviews of that One-Act. On one of the slips of yellow review paper, it said: "I liked how Steve played the fat and greasy guard so good". Now, to be fair I'm sure a lot of the kids didn't think we'd be reading them, but there we sat there after school in a circle, crossed legged on the stage and read them all. And I'll never forget his reaction...

"Well fuck them!"

(Gotcha. He wasn't sad. He was pissed. And the rest of us felt really bad for him. We lightened up a lot after that)

After High School, Steve started up at North Hennepin. (With yours truly being a seasoned community college boy). And when the theatre dept. musical rolled around, we found ourselves back together onstage. We started hanging out together and before you know it, we're buddies. Parties. Cabin trips. Roller blading. Bike riding. In fact, he helped us find out some of the best places to go dancing. (Best, meaning "where you wouldn't get carded") And one of those joints was the Saloon.

We liked going there because they gave us wristbands even though we were all underage. Sure, we kinda figured it was a g'bar but who cared?!?! We could drink our Sex on the Beaches and Bud Lites in peace! We could dance on the speakers! They played awesome TECHNO!!!

After a while we all sort of started to wonder about our buddy. We'd unsuccessfully tried to get him laid a couple of times. When the girl (I later ended up dating) confessed to having the hots for him, we few got in his face about it. "Dude. She wants you. If you don't get with that, you're gay. End of story" (Ah. How funny it is when you aren't in high school and say it.) We even got them to play a paraphrased (albeit awkward) version of "Seven minutes in heaven". He was on his way. 20 years old. Time for somebooty.

Shortly after that, I was dumped. On my ass. And I was maudlin. And suuuuper-depressed. And Steve was there for me. Most of my other close friends would say "too bad" or the super comforting "whatever"- but Steve took the time to listen. He listened at Benchwarmer Bob's over beers as I cried for her back and said to me "Do you really want her back?" And one night when I needed to vent the kid had me drive him back to the Saloon. I remember how weird it was. It wasn't a party night. The dance club wasn't open yet. It was just a depressing Sunday. And we sat in the bar area for a long time. In the quiet. And this, friends, is where some of my favorite dialogue of our friendship came up:

Me- "Man...if you can't communicate...you can't have a relationship. ______ and I? We couldn't communicate, man. Trust. Trust, and talking. Yeah." (Our writer sniffles)
Steve- "Well dude. It could be worse"
Me- "No. No way."
Sssssteve- "Well. I'm gay."

And that was it. He told me I was the first straight person he told. He hadn't even told his family yet. And I guess it would have been a bigger deal had I not kiiiiinda figured it out. (Oh. He did tell me if I told anyone before he had a chance to, he'd kill me) Within our immediate circle of buddies the reactions varied. The aforementioned girl who liked him...well, he probably shouldn't have came out to her at a Perkins after she bought them tickets to see Wynona Judd. (Her expression, when I met them later. Was legendary) My other best friend...well he had a more nuanced and tactful approach. ("Wait, what? You're a gay? Do you like wearing womens shoes or some shit?" Please note- It was shortly after this that I learned that calling something you don't like "gay" is considered rude. Thanks for the sensitivity lesson, friend.)

The biggest reason he is one of my best friends is that the kid has been there for me. Time and again. When shit flies in life, as shit is wont to do- (In my case, getting dumped. Or losing a dad) He's been there. And I think that is a pretty good average.

Okay, so why this lengthy gay ramble, you ask? (Or "Gramble"). But sir, you've been in theatre for nearly 20 years. Clearly this is not to absolve your mind of teenage transgressions? Good for you for being so cosmopolitan. Or something.

Well, if you've come this far. And if you do know of this kind of bullying behavior. Or know someone who needs support. Please tell them-

It does get better. It does. You do have friends. And you should never have to live with that kind of hatred. Or anger. Saying it doesn't matter because they are young and say dumb things doesn't make it right. There are people that care more than you know. More than you might be willing to believe. And you should cling to that like it's a life preserver. It is hard. Being yourself is hard. But you need to believe that you can be. Because you might be a best friend to someone who needs you to be there for them someday.

Sleep tight forever, sweet Georgie Teh Kitteh.

In the words of my S.O's sister- take note: The following post is sad.

In case the title fooled you, Georgie shuffled off his mortal coil last August. It happened so suddenly...it was kind of a blur and shock. And then it wasn't. And then it was.

See...

A week or so before we went camping up North, Geo had been acting peculiar. Meaning, we were pretty sure he wasn't doing so hot. He was slow going. He wasn't jumping into bed or on the couch. He wasn't eating or drinking. Stopped using the bathroom. And moreover, did that awful things dying animals seem to love to do in order to act MORE pitiful in their last days- Finding a place to lay down and die.

Unfortunately for me, this was in my closet. And I'd be damned if I'd let that happen on my watch.

The Bean noticed too, and after a brief talk he agreed to vet it up. We aren't made of $, so I know his sadness at his kitties sickness was tempered with the fact that he wasn't able to do $1,000 vet bills like some owners can. And so, after an initial visit and return. (And the night before we were leaving) we had a note on the dry erase board. Nutshell- Say your goodbyes now. I was crying. I tried to get him out of my closet and into my bed. Moda and I took our turns saying farewell. And in the morning, after looking at the cat carrier sitting forebodingly on the porch we took off.

And, uh, then we started getting a flurry of texts the next day. "Hold tight, Geo in for observation"/"Geo getting fed intravenously"/"Geo unhappy, but spry". I had a feeling that after all that energy spent mourning, we'd be returning to a fat and crabby tabby. Which, after 4 days in observation, we got.

He seemed fine. Eating. Pooping. Sleeping in my bed and being his cantankerous self. We received this wonderful respite. He was his old self and we were glad. If not a little poorer.

And then he slipped back. I found him in my closet again. I put up books as a barrier to keep him from going in there. Bean noticed it too. However, fortunately (if you can call it that) this time our sadness and grief had morphed into a grim resignation. I mean, we cried so much. And Georgie was suffering. We could tell that much.

And so I heard the commotion on a Monday morning. I usually stay in my room w/the door shut while he's doing his morning business but the front door shutting and locking had a sense of finality. And about an hour later we got a text. "Geo was really sick. More details later. Put him down this morning". (It turns out he had kitty cancer of the most advanced state. The IV feedings gave him his strength back but it wasn't enough to keep him going)

And just like that...the food is donated. The litter. The toys are tossed. And I'll be really honest, I love my girl but I'm missing that hot and furry orange lump that'd wedge between us on the couch or in bed.

I miss my friend the cat. He felt as much mine as it was the Bean's. And as much as people have mentioned replacement, I don't think that I'm there right now.

Bye Georgie. We loved you a lot.

Nort Country

Good NESS- This post-a-ble takes us back to the last weekend of July. Summer is bittersweet for many reasons, but for my actor S.O. Summer can come to a screeching halt well before a calendar indicates. In her case, Summer was ending approximately the beginning of Fringe, as she was tapped to be a Fringe Blaugger, From there, it would be gig to gig to git until, when was it, dear? 2012? (I kid)

Since we started dating, we had both desired to go on a camping trip up to the North shore. Filled with magical hikes, nature, and campfires, we hadn't been on a proper camping trip since South Dakota. We had briefly planned going up last year, but as some readers remember the timing wasn't all that great. So finally, we made some reservations and we made it happen. Grand Marais or bust. (And of course, again, tragedy would arise juuussst before we left. However that is a blog for another time. Meow)

It is here, on our 3+ hour commute, that I was tasked with the monumental job of helping her name her Fringe Blog. I thought I did okay. I mean, I'm no Don Draper but I was able to rip out a goodly list. (I figured the title's that were "good" weren't met with an eyeroll) My personal faves were "Re-Fringerator Perry" (Can you see it? Her picture at the top, wearing the Bear's jersey with a tooth blacked out?) And "WTF?!?= What...the Fringe?!?!" For the record, all of these GENIUS titles were shot down by management. Continue)

It had been a hot summer, so you can imagine our surprise when we arrived and it was...pretty chilly. Really chilly. As in, we had to toodle around town to see if we could find blankets. Grand Marais is touristy, all right. Packed w/peeps, the shops take care to remind you that even if you can find a blanket at home for less, if you're unprepared you 'd better get ready to shell out $200 for one. (We didn't) It was a little surreal. Finding the camping site we did up North During the summer (The "Honeymoon Suite" it was called, for it was tucked away. Shut up) is nigh on impossible- but Moda is a crafty and gifted campsite finder. The campsite itself was...well-

You had the die-hards. The people who brought up their campers and were settled in. They had front lawns. Flowers. Gardens. Gazebos. The works. And then...this is what we weren't anticipating- The ladies dragon boat races. Man. The campsites were overrun with groups wearing their matching T-shirts. (I made the comment that some of them looked like they should be selling turqoise and silver jewelry in Santa Fe) According to Mo when she was in the bath/shower area- she's never heard a group of bigger trash talkers. ("You're goin DOWN!"/"No YOU'RE going DOWN!!!") Crazy.

Outside of the smoked fish, food and nature, the highlight had to be our "EPIC TRAIL HIKE". See, we were itching to regain our status as "Varsity Trail Hikers" after a few setback hikes. So we got in our gear, threw on our Camelpacks (Natch. And hey! I had one at my folks! Unused!) and hit the Superior Trail. We asked for challenging routes and after surveying our physical forms (both of us, taut steel of hiking precision) the park ranger drew us a "Challenging" 8 mile hike.

And it nearly beat us. Holy crap. Not just that it was hilly. Or long. But, and this is weird, almost all North Shore forest trees are birch and not pine. And they have an invasive root system. So all trails had thick coiled and hard roots that were both trip hazards and murder on your arches. Oh...and they had hills that were so steep they were a scramble just to get up. No. Fun. We did it. And boy, were we glad it was over.

We pulled out the next day, stopping for a brief photo op at Split Rock lighthouse and then Gooseberry Falls. (Never again. It was like an ant hive of pampies, picture takers. Anything scenic was nigh on ruined by families. Sorry) We made our pit stop for a pint at Fitger's before rolling back into town.

And this is roughly where I lose my beeb for a few months. But we had ourselves and EXcellent summer.

The gawdam Mud Run

(Pictured above, "Humble Beginnings". File this under "It seemed like a good idea at the time")

So during the half mara in June, I was tapped early run my friend Pogmyster. About 3 weeks later he sends a FB message w/a link to this Mud Run deal and asks if Team Awesome would be interested. I look it up and it looks like a dirty blast. Obstacle course. Mud. In my mind, a total throwback to Boy Scouts and Rum River when we'd race through tires/rope ladders/yeti ladders. I'm in without question. And the more people who I tell, the more they get interested. Soon enough, we have a team. (SupercalifragilisticixpyaSclerosis. Don't ask. RPK's idea won) Besides sounding awesome, it's for a good cause (Raising money for MS Prevention) and it started getting some friends into this running craze which has o'er took my girlfriend and addled my own brain.

Race day was on September 11th. Packet pick up the day before. I had my race costume picked out. (Torn up Spidey shirt, camo pants, bandana...natch, and my old running sneakers. Everything was meticulously planned out. The shoes'd be great, since I accidentally bought them slim so no fear of them falling off and they were still in good shape)

Then I read the race packet. And, as Moda would say later, it was intimidating. Most of the warnings were for the "formal teams", but the biggest was that it almost ORDERED you to wear combat boots/hiking boots b/c...it assured, you would twist your ankle or lose a shoe if you didn't. So my shoes were chucked in lieu of my 21 year old Asolo trail boots. Fine. When we got up that morning, it was cold. (Strike one) Moda wasn't happy (Strike two) and the course was over at Trollhaugen...which was a ski course. Which meant that it could be 10K of the same type of trail we struggled through when we tackled Afton mid-summer. (Strik...eff it. We pocketed our mutual bad attitudes. Or at least vented on the commute)

On the way out there, I made relentless fun of the douchey race packet by lampooning all the rules they established...for example:

"If you're in a team of women...and you don't have hard nipples after the race for next years promotional pamphlets...you're disqualified"
"If you're not cold and miserable by the end of the race, we will be spraying you with a freezing hose and pelting you with mud balls that we froze the night before. Or you're disqualified"
"If you complain before the race and we hear you, we'll ridicule you...call you gay or something...and you'll be disqualified"
"If we don't find at least 78% of your team attractive...you'll be disqualified. Ugly."

It's amazing what's funny at 7am on a cold Saturday morning.

Our team grouped. We waited an indeterminable amount of time while announcers announced things (We couldn't hear a GD thing. The speakers faced the crowd and not the runners. There was probably some good advice in there somewhere) The banner was sang and spangled. And then there was the gun, and us in our uncomfortable shoes. And then? Things went kind of downhill.

I know this isn't brief, but I'll try and keep it Cliff Notesy. Before you've traveled 100 feet there is a knee-deep pool of water. And then a second. Whee. It was here I was almost elbowed in the face. (In case you're wondering, it's hard to run in water. In boots) And when I exited the 2nd pool...that's about when my boots decided to keep the water in them. For the rest of the run. And as we went up our first hill and down the massive ski hill and hit the bottom to re-group, that's when I realized this wasn't going to be a proper run at all. What you had was:

• A trail run. Complete with all the lousy ass hills. And they were steep. And many. Even unencumbered and in trail shoes it'd have been challenging. And they were. I confess that by the last hill, I almost gave up. I'm not proud.
• The trail was punctuated by mini-ponds. That smelled of sewage. By the 2nd pond, you didn't notice.
• Dickhead Course Guides. Oh, they thought they were funny. But they would say stupid shit like "Last hill!!!" or "It's all downhill after this!" around the 3rd or 4th mile. Which is dick race behavior. (Never give a runner false information about the course. Ever.) I had to quell a fight at mile six when another runner started shouting at a course guide that they were lying (In regards to the final distance. I told them there was only .2 miles remaining)
• Injuries. Our team sustained a few, with the visible ones being some nasty bruises/abrasions. There were these successive "hurdles" made out of logs which got progressively higher. At this point, my boots were so sodden that swinging my leg over was akin to swinging a ball and chain. Meaning, I'd throw my leg and it the momentum would take you farther than anticipated. Which meant the last one I went up, over, back down, and landed flat on my back knocking the wind out of me and seeing stars. It was so loud, Moda screamed.
• The shoe debacle...Those...f#cks. I would have been fine with my trainers. More than fine. Besides feeling like I had two cinderblocks tied to my feet (Go on. Strap on three leg weights. I'll be here. Go upstairs. Then back down. No fun, huh?) The silt and mud wedged it's way into the top most portion, causing a mounting pressure. I've never experienced swollen ankles but my feet were pins and needles by the end. I lost a sole and was running off-kilter due to being 1/2 taller on one side. (If you see the picture of Moda and I finishing? That's not a strong finish) I had to throw my boots away at the end.
• IT WAS FIXED! Not really. But after the one, ONE obstacle I couldn't do (The cargo net ladder. I got to the top, and couldn't get my heavy foot over. Sorry) there was a rope walk with a rope to hold onto. And the assholes started shaking the rope midway across. I actually looked at the gal doing it and very seriously and deadly told her not to touch the fucking rope. At that point I would have went back and threw her in the water below us. (Thing is, I later found out they were video taping that point and wanted some footage of people falling in for the website next year)

But we made it. The last of our team. We finished at about 2:20, more than double either of our PRs for "normal" 10Ks. We could barely walk back to the car and slowly disrobed and changed. We didn't even have the energy to get hosed off...we just got into dry clean clothes and called it a day.

Did I mention my 45 minute shower? Yeah. I ate a pound or so of mud when we did the crawl toward the end. That was the worst. Not being able to see came in second. I think I went through 17 Q-tips just trying to flush out my ears. Gross Gross Gross...

And do you want to know the really, really fucked up thing? After all that grousing and complaining. After all that pain? After doing what is now arguably one of the toughest physical challenges I've ever engaged in? Even harder than the 1/2 marathon?

Is talking about what we'd do differently next year. Shoes. Clothes. (My Spidey shirt? Big Badda Idea. The first water hazard I took in all this mud and water. It looked like total muffin top. And since I tucked in my shirt, it stayed. Yummy) Definitely a pair of trail shoes or something that won't retain water. And an UnderArmour top that has a tight lycra turtleneck. And...

What? I mentioned it was for a good cause, right?





The first "under" hazard. We had yet to become our dirtiest. And at least we didn't have to submerge on this one.

Around mile 4-5. Amy, Michelle (We adopted her when her team bailed) Pog (Trying to hide from Predators) Moda, and I. I'm not smiling. I'm unhappy.
The posed ending. At one point, our team was clothed in vibrant colors. The true ending had me wanting to leave and get a beer. Some dude told me walking backwards helped him to his car.
Pam N' Sam...our alter egos. Moda looks like she's mall-walking and I managed to make a running pose but we're actually doing a zombie shuffle to get across the finish line. Not pictured, mud-streaked tears of anguish.

Case of the runs...

So 2010 is clearly the year of the race. The last post I made about running was somewhere post half-marathon and in spite of thinking it'd be a one-time thing I ended up participating in a crap-ton more races. With July being a clear winner in terms of number of runs.

July 3rd was a 10K around Lake Harriet. We had a large number of buddy participants and while I PR'ed I also started cramping up pretty hard toward the end of the second loop. I put on speed when the finish was near and ended up almost throwing up and the guy who smoked past me.

We volunteered at the Red, White, and Boom the next day. I ended up meeting some folks who Moda was getting to know on the local running forums. Volunteering at water stops etc. creates good "race karma" I'm told. Unloading the 7 trucks on a 98 degree day creates a lot of perspiration. And the wetness doesn't end- We headed over to the water stop to set up and ended up getting drenched in a monsoon. (We wore garbage bags as makeshift rain suits) Still, this is the first race I'd ever watched and it's great to feel the appreciation from the runners.

July 21st was the Aquatennial 5K. I PR'ed and had a Jabasian running partner which was swell. It was a big frassy mess of people and instead of waiting in line for the free beers we all moseyed over to the Bulldog. Yahoo. I also realized that I wear a "race costume". This is my theme. And I love it.

The Villagefest 5K was on August 7th and by this point we had registered for the Mud Run. Dangler and FeeJ ran this one with me and finished with extremely respectable times. For my part, I did not throw up. And finished with a new PR.

It's around here that I want to note that running has become steadily easier. We had some bitchin' trail runs that were a pain in the ass when it got so hot it felt like you were breathing soup. (Afton was mostly trail hike/run. And I mentioned Hyland being our first epic trail run) But now when we get outside, going 5 or 6 miles is light. This was coming off our first 10K where crossing the street afterwards was treacherous. Now going 2-3 days without running makes me feel sluggish. I'm still a pudgy puffy pancake, but I'm liking the way my legs are feeling/looking. For real.

The final test run we went on prior to the Mud Run was the Victory 10/5K on Labor Day. Mo smoked us (of course) Dangler smoked me wearing his race costume (Or as I call it "Business Casual Fitness" Khaki shorts? Really?) And FeeJ and I plopped in w/our own PRs that were sub-60. (A goal I desperately wanted) Almost puked. Didn't. Yahoo again.

Finally...the gawdamn Mud Run. That warrants a post to itself. And pictures. Jesus.