Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Just Another Day at Work

First customer of the morning, to another librarian:

"I represent the black people, OK? My people? And the white people are always following me. I work for Farah and Farah, OK? I AM an attorney. You better contact your attorney and let them know they are going to be sued. Seriously. I work with the police in the park. I represent the homeless. Seriously. I graduated college at age 4."

"Oh yeah," asked the librarian. "What college?"

"It doesn't matter." Seriously, I come in to change clothes. I am an attorney. And you have people taking pictures. Smile, say cheese, click. You're sued! My daddy lives in Atlanta, Georgia. That's right, Atlanta. Seriously. And he's homeless by choice. I work for Farah and Farah and you will be sued. Call 1-800 fuck you."

I gotta win the lottery soon.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

I'm on a Highway to Hell

I'm on the desk watching a girl walk across the lobby.

"Look at that fucking hipster," I think. "Wearing big stupid 1985 mom sunglasses indoors, a pair of cowboy boots, some stupid mismatched sweater over an ugly skirt. Why do they do that to themselves? Why do hipsters and indie rockers go to such great lengths to make themselves ugly and childlike? Who the hell wants to be a kid? I didn't want to be a kid when I was a kid! I wanted to grow up so I could eat cake for breakfast and say bad words and drive cars and get into rated R movies. Screw that childhood innocence jazz."

"God, she's coming this way and...hey, wait a minute. She's walking sort of funny. You don't think she's... Oh shit. I've spent the last thirty seconds hating on a poor retarded woman. I am totally going to hell for that one."

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

How About a Little Fire, Scarecrow?

Ever had a movie scare you even before you've seen it? In the middle school circles I ran in, the movie Dark Night of the Scarecrow was a topic of much discussion, so much so that I knew just about everything about the plot years before I saw it. In this made for TV movie, a group of angry redneck townspeople, led by a sinister mailman blame Bubba, a kindly mentally challenged guy for hurting a little girl and go to his house to deliver some vigilante justice. Bubba's mom tells him to play "the hiding game," so he hides in a scarecrow. The gang finds him and shoots him, then they are picked off one by one by an unseen force after seeing a creepy scarecrow.

Dark Night of the Scarecrow
was recently reissued on DVD, so I decided to face my fears. Hell, I did it with SSSSSSS, so why not give this one a shot.

Holy crap, I can't believe this was on regular old TV, for little kids and old ladies and whatnot to just stumble upon. Everything about it works, lots of atmosphere, actual characterization, and you're constantly wondering who is really knocking off the gang. That little girl who keeps singing all creepily? Bubba's mother? Is it one of the gang trying to ensure their secret stays secret? Or is it Bubba the scarecrow back from the dead? And hey, are they implying that the mailman is a pedophile? Could you do that on TV back then?

The weird part is, even though I never saw the movie, the shot of Bubba's frightened eyes seen through the holes in the scarecrow's face before getting shot has been burned in my brain somehow. I guess all that playground talk soaked in.

The last five minutes or so are some pretty creepy stuff, even if one of the victims is being menaced by a tractor and never, you know, just steps out of the way. Even discounting that, the final shots made me recheck that all the doors were locked, even though I have done nothing to anger any mentally challenged scarecrows that I can recall.

It helps that scarecrows, like mummies, are inherently creepy, even though they're not the most mobile creatures, and most people won't have the opportunity to stumble across a real one. Zombies and vampires have had their time in the spotlight, evil scarecrows will be the next big thing. Trust me on this one.

So yeah, use the Netflix and get this one in time for Halloween. Now if I could only get my hands on a copy of The Legend of Lizzie Borden, my childhood terror re-viewing would be complete.