Taxidermist
Good morning--you're Die-Sandra or...oh, Deathandra? Whatever--what can I tell you about today? Taxidermy? Right, I heard about your art project. The art teacher still on stress leave? I guess you're probably cut out for this sort of career. It may have a few bumps along the way, though.
First, you'll no doubt continue to play with roadkill while you steal the occasional fetal pig from the biology class. At some point after high school you'll take a taxidermy class or two, but it will be a learn as you go kind of thing--you'll eventually meet up with some redneck outdoorsman who's mastered the art and he'll show you the finer points of making that deer's head or bearskin look lifelike.
He's old, though, and probably drinks a bit more than he should. It will be while under the influence that he tells you the truly troubling details of his own taxidermic background. It will come back to haunt you later.
You will move on from the small town where he showed you the ropes to the bright lights of the big city--I'm assuming that stuffing dead animals or not, you probably need to be somewhere big enough to have a lively underground culture where like minded freaks hang out and share their dysfunctions for a few hours on weekends.
The city will be slow to embrace your vision of taxidermy for the masses--you'll likely have to work in a variety of piercing/tattoo places to make ends meet for a bit--but eventually you'll strike gold in partnering with a funeral home for pets. Dowagers will, in their heartbreak over the loss of Fifi, agree to have you stuff and mount their dearly departed animals.
One particularly wealthy, but odd client will bring a variety of creatures for your special care and attention. Each time she'll seemingly be more interested in you than the fruits of your labor. You are confident enough not to be intimidated by her, or by her odd requests. For instance, you readily comply with her wish to put a lhasa apso on wheels so she can continue to tow it through the park just like she did when it was alive.
Then one night she phones you late, and demands you come to her home. She seems a bit shaken, but then composes herself and leads you into her study, where the body of her most recent husband awaits. You cringe at the thought of what she asks you, but you call your old mentor and ask for his help. His stories about what he learned while in the army from some nazis he was assigned to guard after the liberation of concentration camps now come in handy.
A week after her assignment was given, you present the woman with her preserved husband and an exhorbitant bill. She pays it gladly, and then informs you that she has two other ex-husbands in cryogenic suspension and she'll pay you double to process those bodies.
You make enough from her to take some time off and fulfill your lifelong dream to tour Transylvania. When you return the police are waiting--seems you have interfered with a murder investigation by destroying the evidence of her suspected poisoning of her most recent husband--plus there's the whole legal problems created by messing with dead bodies for profit--seems there are laws about such things.
Ahh well--you can work your magic on the rats in prison to help pass the time.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future as a
Medium
Hey kid, close the door, would ya? It feels like an icy wind just blew in here. So, what do you want to do with your life? A medium--like the seance kind? Well, that's a first. I don't need to contact the netherworld to predict this one:
You'll take a job after high school in one of those creepy little "aquarian" book shops--you know, the kind with crystals and pentagrams everywhere, and you'll spend far too much time reading the obscure material that few ever wander in to purchase. You'll become an expert on people like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Houdini and other spiritist freaks. Eventually, after pestering a working medium who buys the odd piece of paranormal paraphernalia you are admitted to a seance, and you are fascinated. Soon you've become an apprentice to "The Amazing" this or "Madam" that, but as you are admitted into the sacred inner circle, the sad truth comes out--it's all a scam.
You are heartbroken, but you've invested a lot of time and effort in learning to talk the talk, so you suck it up and go into the cynical business of hustling the bereaved. Bad lighting, incense, dark eye makeup, and some well placed speakers fool those who wish to be fooled. The skeptics you can simply dismiss as creating a "bad aura" and refuse to perform for them.
Then one day, you hit the jackpot. You've recently branched off from your mentor and are working alone. You are hired by a particularly intense well-dressed man of Italian descent. He first comes to talk to his mother, and you manipulate enough information from him to feed him the lines she might say. Soon he's coming to confess all manner of guilt to his mama, and you're becoming privy to the dirtier secrets of the local mafia. You are uncomfortable, but the money he's paying you and the damage he could do to you combine to keep you from stopping the weekly sessions.
Then comes the big test--he asks you to contact a recently-departed colleague. It seems your client has a conscience and wishes to apologize for liquidating a friend. You are happy to oblige, but then he adds that he'll be back the following week to ask the dead friend about the exact location of some stolen diamonds.
You panic; he could kill you if your scam is revealed. You go to the police, and they decide to wire you with a microphone in hopes you will hear more crimes confessed.
Unfortunately, as they hide just outside your building, they communicate over radios set to the same frequency as your wireless microphone that you use to speak for the dead. Your client hears what's about to go down and sneaks out a back door, but not before promising you a death worse than anything you can imagine.
I'd love to tell you more, but at that point my crystal ball just kind of gets foggy. Have fun.
Hey kid, close the door, would ya? It feels like an icy wind just blew in here. So, what do you want to do with your life? A medium--like the seance kind? Well, that's a first. I don't need to contact the netherworld to predict this one:
You'll take a job after high school in one of those creepy little "aquarian" book shops--you know, the kind with crystals and pentagrams everywhere, and you'll spend far too much time reading the obscure material that few ever wander in to purchase. You'll become an expert on people like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Houdini and other spiritist freaks. Eventually, after pestering a working medium who buys the odd piece of paranormal paraphernalia you are admitted to a seance, and you are fascinated. Soon you've become an apprentice to "The Amazing" this or "Madam" that, but as you are admitted into the sacred inner circle, the sad truth comes out--it's all a scam.
You are heartbroken, but you've invested a lot of time and effort in learning to talk the talk, so you suck it up and go into the cynical business of hustling the bereaved. Bad lighting, incense, dark eye makeup, and some well placed speakers fool those who wish to be fooled. The skeptics you can simply dismiss as creating a "bad aura" and refuse to perform for them.
Then one day, you hit the jackpot. You've recently branched off from your mentor and are working alone. You are hired by a particularly intense well-dressed man of Italian descent. He first comes to talk to his mother, and you manipulate enough information from him to feed him the lines she might say. Soon he's coming to confess all manner of guilt to his mama, and you're becoming privy to the dirtier secrets of the local mafia. You are uncomfortable, but the money he's paying you and the damage he could do to you combine to keep you from stopping the weekly sessions.
Then comes the big test--he asks you to contact a recently-departed colleague. It seems your client has a conscience and wishes to apologize for liquidating a friend. You are happy to oblige, but then he adds that he'll be back the following week to ask the dead friend about the exact location of some stolen diamonds.
You panic; he could kill you if your scam is revealed. You go to the police, and they decide to wire you with a microphone in hopes you will hear more crimes confessed.
Unfortunately, as they hide just outside your building, they communicate over radios set to the same frequency as your wireless microphone that you use to speak for the dead. Your client hears what's about to go down and sneaks out a back door, but not before promising you a death worse than anything you can imagine.
I'd love to tell you more, but at that point my crystal ball just kind of gets foggy. Have fun.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Poetry by Dythandra
I See You When You're Sleeping, I Hide When You're Awake...
It comes but once a year,
I can hardly wait--
My father's office party.
He's third in command,
But our house is best suited for a party
(so his bosses tell him)
For two weeks they prepare
Calling caterers, baking, buying booze
Putting a padlock on my room for safety
Of all who might glance in.
It's really a matter of taste;
I've decorated in Nouveau Nihilist,
With a touch of goth, although my mother's
"My god what's wrong with that girl?"
Catches the essence of my design.
As the party approaches, my plan is executed.
They know what is coming--
My eating meals with them is one of the signs
...of the coming apocalypse.
"So Daddy," I smile, hiding the fangs for his comfort,
"How will I tell the 'stupid slut' from the 'menopausal cow' again?"
He blanches. I continue:
"Your boss--will it be awkward for him
To have both wife and secretary here--
Considering everything...?"
"How much?"
His hand shakes as he pulls a wad of bills from his wallet.
"How much for you to go out?"
I shake my head
"I wouldn't miss it for the world--
I even have new makeup and jewelry for the occasion."
I swear he palpably shudders.
I hide in my room for a few more hours,
Then come down with a list of my... 'requirements'.
The last vestiges of a curfew surrendered,
The garage given to my band--he can park on the street,
And my own key to the liquor cabinet.
(We both know that taking the lock off
Would be a bad idea--have you met my mother?)
He looks relieved, surprised I didn't take the cash
That can wait--after all
This year Christmas is at Grandmamas.
It comes but once a year,
I can hardly wait--
My father's office party.
He's third in command,
But our house is best suited for a party
(so his bosses tell him)
For two weeks they prepare
Calling caterers, baking, buying booze
Putting a padlock on my room for safety
Of all who might glance in.
It's really a matter of taste;
I've decorated in Nouveau Nihilist,
With a touch of goth, although my mother's
"My god what's wrong with that girl?"
Catches the essence of my design.
As the party approaches, my plan is executed.
They know what is coming--
My eating meals with them is one of the signs
...of the coming apocalypse.
"So Daddy," I smile, hiding the fangs for his comfort,
"How will I tell the 'stupid slut' from the 'menopausal cow' again?"
He blanches. I continue:
"Your boss--will it be awkward for him
To have both wife and secretary here--
Considering everything...?"
"How much?"
His hand shakes as he pulls a wad of bills from his wallet.
"How much for you to go out?"
I shake my head
"I wouldn't miss it for the world--
I even have new makeup and jewelry for the occasion."
I swear he palpably shudders.
I hide in my room for a few more hours,
Then come down with a list of my... 'requirements'.
The last vestiges of a curfew surrendered,
The garage given to my band--he can park on the street,
And my own key to the liquor cabinet.
(We both know that taking the lock off
Would be a bad idea--have you met my mother?)
He looks relieved, surprised I didn't take the cash
That can wait--after all
This year Christmas is at Grandmamas.
Monday, December 19, 2005
writer's block...
I've got nothin' folks.
I was going to write a rundown of the NY trip briefly, so maybe that will suffice for now. I'll probably do it in a couple/three installments so as to reduce the boredom.
We left late Wednesday night (dec. 7) from here--flew to Vancouver, then our plane to Toronto left late so we missed our connection to newark and got in to around 10:30 a.m.--about two hours late. Our guide met us at the airport and we were taken to our hotel--the Bentley on the upper east side near the queensborough bridge. Problem was, even though we'd been awake for more than 24 hours (aside from a lucky few who could doze on the flights) we couldn't check in--we had to stow our stuff and head out.
We rode the subway for the first time--something we were to become very used to. We headed to the big tree at Rockefeller Center, next to the skating rink, and turned the group loose (following the minimum of 3 with at least on cell phone rule).
We came back to the hotel eventually, checked in, unpacked and then eventually headed ck downtown to eat--"barbecue" for our first meal. That night, it was the Empire State Building--and a couple of our group actually witnessed a guy go onto one knee and propose there.
What struck me was that the security there is pretty much the same as at an airport and also how amazingly quiet it is up there, above everything. It is kind of an amazing view. Unfortunately it was bloody cold up there that night, and the cameras didn't do justice to the view, on the most part. Here's a little example, though:
Friday morning we woke up to 3 - 4 inches of snow and some of the biggest flakes falling I've ever seen. It was actually quite pretty walking around Manhattan in it.
When we had eaten breakfast (most of us at a deli near times square) we then headed to a two-hour improv workshop in a studio right near times square. By the time we were finished, the sun was out and the sky was blue. We had great weather for the rest of our trip.
I'm tired, so I'll post more later...
I was going to write a rundown of the NY trip briefly, so maybe that will suffice for now. I'll probably do it in a couple/three installments so as to reduce the boredom.
We left late Wednesday night (dec. 7) from here--flew to Vancouver, then our plane to Toronto left late so we missed our connection to newark and got in to around 10:30 a.m.--about two hours late. Our guide met us at the airport and we were taken to our hotel--the Bentley on the upper east side near the queensborough bridge. Problem was, even though we'd been awake for more than 24 hours (aside from a lucky few who could doze on the flights) we couldn't check in--we had to stow our stuff and head out.
We rode the subway for the first time--something we were to become very used to. We headed to the big tree at Rockefeller Center, next to the skating rink, and turned the group loose (following the minimum of 3 with at least on cell phone rule).
We came back to the hotel eventually, checked in, unpacked and then eventually headed ck downtown to eat--"barbecue" for our first meal. That night, it was the Empire State Building--and a couple of our group actually witnessed a guy go onto one knee and propose there.
What struck me was that the security there is pretty much the same as at an airport and also how amazingly quiet it is up there, above everything. It is kind of an amazing view. Unfortunately it was bloody cold up there that night, and the cameras didn't do justice to the view, on the most part. Here's a little example, though:
Friday morning we woke up to 3 - 4 inches of snow and some of the biggest flakes falling I've ever seen. It was actually quite pretty walking around Manhattan in it.
When we had eaten breakfast (most of us at a deli near times square) we then headed to a two-hour improv workshop in a studio right near times square. By the time we were finished, the sun was out and the sky was blue. We had great weather for the rest of our trip.
I'm tired, so I'll post more later...
Friday, December 16, 2005
Actually I am still alive...
Just a post to say a real post is coming soon. Here's a few random pics from the New York trip:
Central Park last Saturday
Statue of Liberty last Sunday
Van Gogh's "The Olive Trees" on Tuesday
More to come soon...
Central Park last Saturday
Statue of Liberty last Sunday
Van Gogh's "The Olive Trees" on Tuesday
More to come soon...
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The pedestal was uncomfortable, but,
You'd been on it so long it seemed natural.
Stretched out, balanced on a fine point, spotlights bright.
When the bumps would come, a slip, a fall--some cracks...
It took time to repair, and then you were back
Balanced once more.
It didn't look very comfortable, but we accepted it
As the way things were--lots of people liked the pedestal.
Then one day, after another bump, I heard the other sound
The falls hurt, more than I had realized.
There had to be a better way.
There was a chair. It wasn't on a pedestal, but it was comfortable.
Friendship instead of perfection
No spotlights to blind, and in seeing without the glare,
We realized that comfortable and safe were better
Than living life as an icon.
Every so often, I see you step towards the pedestal,
Perhaps I even push without realizing.
Tomorrow I'm going to smash it.
We don't need it any more.
I don't normally ever write anything that isn't tongue
in cheek when it comes to poetry, but maybe I'm just
maudlin tonight. Sorry if it's not relevant for most--
I hope the intended audience can relax and feel safe.
You'd been on it so long it seemed natural.
Stretched out, balanced on a fine point, spotlights bright.
When the bumps would come, a slip, a fall--some cracks...
It took time to repair, and then you were back
Balanced once more.
It didn't look very comfortable, but we accepted it
As the way things were--lots of people liked the pedestal.
Then one day, after another bump, I heard the other sound
The falls hurt, more than I had realized.
There had to be a better way.
There was a chair. It wasn't on a pedestal, but it was comfortable.
Friendship instead of perfection
No spotlights to blind, and in seeing without the glare,
We realized that comfortable and safe were better
Than living life as an icon.
Every so often, I see you step towards the pedestal,
Perhaps I even push without realizing.
Tomorrow I'm going to smash it.
We don't need it any more.
I don't normally ever write anything that isn't tongue
in cheek when it comes to poetry, but maybe I'm just
maudlin tonight. Sorry if it's not relevant for most--
I hope the intended audience can relax and feel safe.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
and on the 2nd Sunday of Advent...
Some opinions:
1) Dumbledore isn't very good--the actor, I mean. I know some have problems with various of the kids in the Potter movies, but really, Michael Gambon has neither the power nor the twinkle in the eye that one expects from Dumbledore. I never was all that keen on Richard Harris's casting in the first one either. Now--attack me if you must--but I would have given the role to Patrick Stewart. I know his recognizability from Star Trek and some other things might not have made some keen on him, but I think he could have been made to "look" enough like the character and he would've had the fire in his performance to bring more life to Dumbledore.
2) Christmas pudding. I don't really hate it, nor like it much, but if you're going to eat it at all, make sure you've got the sauce and maybe a little of the really expensive vanilla ice cream.
3) Turkey--if you're a vegetarian I may love you but I won't eat Christmas dinner at your house. I will find you something to eat if you come to mine, though. Crackers, perhaps...
4) "Elf" is not yet a Christmas classic. Neither is the Jim Carrey "Grinch". Sorry. The only movie made in the last 30 years that has made it into that elite category is "A Christmas Story" with Peter Billingsly--I love so many moments from that movie.. They played a clip from "It's a Wonderful Life" at church this morning--I still think that's my favorite.
5)Egg nog--it's a good thing. With rum it's better. With nutmeg... well--that's a personal preference, I suppose.
6) ICICLE LIGHTS!!--Please please take them down. Seriously. Especially if you have a string of colored lights and hang the white icicle lights over them. You are no longer allowed to decorate or dress yourself if you do that.
Three more sleeps 'til we leave for New York...
1) Dumbledore isn't very good--the actor, I mean. I know some have problems with various of the kids in the Potter movies, but really, Michael Gambon has neither the power nor the twinkle in the eye that one expects from Dumbledore. I never was all that keen on Richard Harris's casting in the first one either. Now--attack me if you must--but I would have given the role to Patrick Stewart. I know his recognizability from Star Trek and some other things might not have made some keen on him, but I think he could have been made to "look" enough like the character and he would've had the fire in his performance to bring more life to Dumbledore.
2) Christmas pudding. I don't really hate it, nor like it much, but if you're going to eat it at all, make sure you've got the sauce and maybe a little of the really expensive vanilla ice cream.
3) Turkey--if you're a vegetarian I may love you but I won't eat Christmas dinner at your house. I will find you something to eat if you come to mine, though. Crackers, perhaps...
4) "Elf" is not yet a Christmas classic. Neither is the Jim Carrey "Grinch". Sorry. The only movie made in the last 30 years that has made it into that elite category is "A Christmas Story" with Peter Billingsly--I love so many moments from that movie.. They played a clip from "It's a Wonderful Life" at church this morning--I still think that's my favorite.
5)Egg nog--it's a good thing. With rum it's better. With nutmeg... well--that's a personal preference, I suppose.
6) ICICLE LIGHTS!!--Please please take them down. Seriously. Especially if you have a string of colored lights and hang the white icicle lights over them. You are no longer allowed to decorate or dress yourself if you do that.
Three more sleeps 'til we leave for New York...
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