THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: More Creepy Mannequins

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: More Creepy Mannequins: Here they are....more creepy Christmas mannequins. View at your own risk. The family that looks creepy together.... Don't let ...

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: More Creepy Mannequins

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: More Creepy Mannequins: Here they are....more creepy Christmas mannequins. View at your own risk. The family that looks creepy together.... Don't le...

More Creepy Mannequins

Here they are....more creepy Christmas mannequins. View at your own risk.

The family that looks creepy together....

Don't let the wig fool you. She's a mannequin.

So, okay, they seem needy, but, trust me, it's a ploy...

The girl of your nightmares.

No....no,no, no...so wrong.

In what universe are these images conducive to selling clothing?

Need I even try to make my point?

So, there you have it. Hope it brings you a bit of non-Christmasy cheer. Remember...mannequins are not your friends. Be advised. xxoxoxoxoxoxooxox

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: The Sordid Side of Christmas

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: The Sordid Side of Christmas: Does anyone really like fruitcake? I tend to doubt it. I daresay that, for the most part, anyone who actually professes to like frui...

The Sordid Side of Christmas

 

Does anyone really like fruitcake? I tend to doubt it. I daresay that, for the most part, anyone who actually professes to like fruitcake is playing some kind of twisted mind game, one even darker and more insidious than the unspecified games that Santa's other reindeer wouldn't allow poor Rudolph to join in. I mean, come on. Fruitcake? It's hard, sticky and made up of ingredients that aren't even really fruit. How it came to be a classic component of Christmas cuisine, I'll never know. And although I don't fear it as I do some other things...mannequins, for instance....I feel compelled to take a public stance against it at every opportunity. And what better opportunity than in this brief holiday post? In fact, fruitcake isn't the only annoying and/or disgusting element of Christmas. Let me acquaint you with a few more.

  You've seen it countless times on "Christmas Story", and replicas of it in stores, and you may even have one of your own in your very own colored light infested, holiday-trimmed home. God knows I did, until my son took it with him to college. To be fair, I actually like the damned thing, mainly because I am...well...strangely fascinated by such icons of pop culture kitsch. But there's a thin line between celebration an iconic image and falling victim to overkill. Of late, I have even stumbled across knock off versions of this holiday lamp classic. That's just not right. Not to mention that it means that the only way to restore the inherent cool of the item within the context of one's decorating scheme is to alter its appearance in some subtle but creative manner. I, personally, would opt for sequins. I always opt for sequins. They rock.

In

Inflatable lawn decorations irk me anytime of year. Whether it's Halloween witches, Easter bunnies, or Christmas-themed nutcrackers, these saggy symbols of holiday commercialism strike me as the visual equivalent of fingernails raking across a chalkboard. Colored light-laden plastic reindeer and jolly Santas might be off the scale as far as the Christmas cheese-o-meter is concerned, but they at least have a history and durability that lends them some appeal. Inflatable snowmen and elves are just oversize balloons listing on borrowed time. Say no to inflatables next Christmas. Please. The sense of pride you save may be your own.

. It's not the movie itself. I'm a huge fan of both Jimmy Stewart and Frank Capra, and "It's  A Wonderful Life" is one of their best and most enduring cinematic efforts. Any movie that still draws in viewers over sixty years after it was first released deserves to be canonized.....if movies could be canonized, that is. So, no, it's not the movie that irks me. It's that damned scene where Jimmy Stewart goes to see Lionel Barrymore (aka the nefarious, Grinch-like Mr. Potter) and is almost, but not quite persuaded to sign away his soul on the dotted line in exchange for a better job and a higher income. What's my gripe? It's that every time I watch that scene, I find myself hoping that, this time, Stewart will give in, take the money, and buy his huge family a house with stairs that aren't falling apart and refurbished windows that don't let the heat escape. I mean, it's a huge family. Self-pride and a commitment to a higher purpose are all well and good, but are they going to pay for Juju's college tuition or make it possible for the daughter who plays the piano to take lessons so that she can learn to play more than one annoying song? No, they're not. And although it wouldn't be much of a movie if Stewart caved and gave into the fat man's cajoling, it would make me feel better about the future of the Bailey clan. Sorry. Sue me. Just not on Christmas.

Well, that's it from the tree streets. If you celebrate Christmas, have a good one. And if you don't, well, you'll just have to find something else to complain about. See you on the other side. xoxoxoxxoxooxxoxxoxxooxox

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: For Liva, My Granddaughter, This Christmas

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: For Liva, My Granddaughter, This Christmas: My dear Liva, It has now been almost six months since I last saw your gorgeous little face. It was in late August that you and your mother...

For Liva, My Granddaughter, This Christmas

,

My dear Liva,

It has now been almost six months since I last saw your gorgeous little face. It was in late August that you and your mother went back to Denmark...to Copenhagen....the city where you were born and in which you lived until you were four. When you left the US last August, you were a big girl of six.

  It was your mother's decision to go away, one based on a lack of work, ensuing financial difficulties, and personal problems that we won't mention here. The bottom line, my sweet girl, is that I have been bereft of your presence for much too long, and with Christmas (or Noel Yule, as you Danes call it) only days away,  my heart aches for you to the point of breaking. What can I do except tell you that I miss you? And what better present can I give you than to share with you some of the most important things I have learned since you went away? Perhaps, in doing so, my lessons will serve you in the future as well. Here goes. I only hope that you don't get bored and fall asleep.

1.) FAMILY

Families are about the most important thing that a person can have. Under perfect conditions, a family is something that you are born into and the people in it remain in it, never leaving, never changing in negative ways, and are always supportive, loving, and focused on doing what's best for little kids like you. But you know by now that families, like people, aren't perfect, and that even something as wonderful as love can't always make things work the way we want them to. But one thing I can tell you is that when the members of a family love a child as much as the members of your family love you, there is nothing that is not possible. Bad times can be forgotten as good times take over, sad memories can be overcome by good ones, and all of the tears that have been shed over the course of weeks, months or years can be replaced by smiles and laughter and conversations about happy things.
    But, of course, it always easy to accomplish those changes. In our family, it sometimes seems that the darkness is stronger than the light, and some of us, myself included, struggle daily with that darkness. The good news is that we haven't given up. There's an old saying, "nothing good comes without some kind of fight", and while that isn't always true, it seems to be true in this case. Families, whether they are the ones you are born into or ones made up of special people to whom you feel very close, are important enough to fight for if that's what it takes. Never give up on your family, Liva. But no matter what, I can promise you that I will never stop loving you.

2. FRIENDS

This world would be a pretty bleak place if we didn't have friends. You had some good friends here in the US, and I know that you have some good friends in Copenhagen now. One thing I have learned since you left, though, is that it's important to choose your friends carefully. Since you left, some of the people I thought were my friends turned out to be not very good people at all. One of them even stole my precious kitten! That makes me very sad, still, but I am trying my best to look at that horrible incident as a lesson. It's hard to say exactly what it is that you should watch out for when you are trying to make new friends, but I think  I can give you a fairly good assessment of what it means to be a real friend. The way I see it, a real friend is someone who doesn't lie to you, doesn't hurt your feelings unnecessarily, doesn't judge you, and doesn't put their own wants over yours when the going gets rough. In fact, when the going gets rough, a real friend is there without being asked, does whatever they can to help you even if it isn't convenient for them, and encourages you to do what's best for you, not what they want you to do. Most of all, Liva, a real friend is someone who is still your friend even when you can't spend much time with them or it is difficult to stay in touch. Like a diamond, a real friend is forever. I have a few real friends. I hope that you always will as well.

3. LOVE

This is, perhaps, the most important thing that I have learned since you've been gone. Do you remember that game we used to play at bedtime...the "Would you rather?" game? You used to ask me if I would rather be a princess or date a rock star and things like that. When I asked you those same kinds of questions, you always chose the answer that included a boyfriend. You so wanted to have a boyfriend! Well, I have met someone who is very nice, but even though he's a wonderful person, I have learned that the best way to have love in your life is to make sure that you keep some for yourself. I made a mistake before. I gave all my love away, and when that person stopped loving me, I felt like nothing. That's not a good way to feel about yourself. I had to learn to love myself all over again. I am still learning to do it. That's why I hope that you will go forward in life already loving yourself and feeling good about who you are without trying to fit someone else's idea of who and how you should be. You are perfect the way you are, Liva. You are unique and special, and even if you weren't already the most beautiful little girl in the world, your smile would make people think that you were. Your smile is more beautiful than any Christmas tree lights, or even the stars, because it comes from a heart as pure and loving and kind as any heart could possibly be. Whatever course your life takes, please remember that the world is a better place because you are in it, and if you weren't, there would be one less reason for anyone who knows you to smile. You are the perfect flower that grows in the wilderness, the brilliantly colored bird that sings from the branches of an old, twisted tree. You are the loveliest chord on the piano, the most melodic note of a song, the warm ray of sunshine that kisses the winter snow and melts it so that spring can return.

 You are my year round Christmas present, Liva. I love you.

 

And here are some of our family members who love you as well.

                                                       xoxoxxoxoxoxoxo

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: Creepy Christmas Mannequins

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: Creepy Christmas Mannequins: You knew they had to come. As usual words are superfluous. Enjoy. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Joyous Kwaanza, Nifty Noel....

Creepy Christmas Mannequins

You knew they had to come. As usual words are superfluous. Enjoy.

 Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Joyous Kwaanza, Nifty Noel.....see you on the other side.
xoxoxoxoxxoxxoxoxo

Nuns With Guns Are The Bomb

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: Let us begin with a disclaimer. We are not Cat...: Let us begin with a disclaimer. We are not Catholic. We have attended Mass for years, possess a small, but highly prized collection of C...

    Let us begin with a disclaimer. We are not Catholic. We have attended Mass for years, possess a small, but highly prized collection of Catholic saints miniatures and other religious icons, and eschew meat on Good Fridays (although we absolutely, unequivacably cannot and will not eat fish, not even for Jesus). But we've never actually taken the eucemenical plunge, mostly because we don't really see the need for it when we already believe what we believe and, if what we believe is correct, are pretty sure that God knows that we believe it, too. But that being said, we have to admit that, despite our lack of official status as a Catholic, we have always been strangely fascinated by nuns. Yes, that's right. Nuns. But not like the one below, who, while no doubt a fine person and nun in her day,  pretty much seems to embody the nun "ideal."

  But while we are fascinated by Sister    ability to be a nun at all in a world increasingly at odds with all of the things that the vocation represents, we are even more fascinated by those nuns who, even within their specialized little world, are considered oddities. What do we mean? Well, take a gander at the bullet-totin' brides of Christ below.

  The picture, which we found on the Intelligent Genealogy websiite, isn't captioned. But our guess is that these sisters are members of an archery team. "Rifles For Redemprion" or some such thing. No doubt charity is involved in some way And from the smiles on their faces, it's clear that the Beatles weren't far off the mark when they sang, "Happiness is a warn gun." But it's not always smiles...

   Not quite sure where these sisters are showing no mercy, but you probably wouldn't want to be counting your rosary beads there. But wait! There's more!

The last image is, of course, from our new all time favorite movie, Nude Nuns with Big Guns, the 2010 nunsploitation epic that introduced the world to Sister Sarah (played by Asun Ortega), who, after being raped, beaten, brainwashed by corrupt members of the clergy, recieves what she believes is a message from God telling her to mow down the grimy bastards responsible for her...uh...duress. She isn't always naked, but she does pack a couple of big pistols, which she uses to carry out the Lord's work, a task made even harder when the clergy hires a morotcycle gang to kill her. The end result is a holy mess of twist and turns in. this B-movie cult classic to be, which, I confess, I have watched at least as many times as I've attended Mass in the last year. (Seven). For fans of nunspolitation films, it's probably the most exciting addition to the genre in years. And it makes a wonderful Christmas gift for the person who already has all the glow in the dark saints.

Well, there you have it. Our little post with the big potential to inflame our readers, but, really, why should it? The Christian God of the Old Testament was all about vengeance and smiting stuff, so why shouldn't the brides of Christ shoulder an uzi? Nunsploitation films may raise a few eyebrows here and there, but my only issue is with the ones that portray nuns as sex-starved sisters of mercy coinstantly on the look out for a fallen angel to help them find heaven. Bottom line, for me, is that nuns and sex is absolutely, unequivocably taboo. But nuns with guns? That's entertainment.

This sister is one bad mutha.

Thanks for reading our post. See you next time. xoxoxoxxo

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: This Week's Strange Fascinations.

THESE STRANGE FASCINATIONS.: This Week's Strange Fascinations.: What constitutes a strange fascination? The criteria is obviously subjective, but, this week, at least, we're pretty sure that the thing...

This Week's Strange Fascinations.

    What constitutes a strange fascination? The criteria is obviously subjective, but, this week, at least, we're pretty sure that the things we have fascinated by are on the periphery of the usual demographic spectrum. But why waste time analyzing? It's time to show and tell. To wit...

               ANTIQUE PLUMB BOBS

Antique plumb bobs. Couldn't you just eat 'em up?

    Who knows why? We have no carpentry skills that we know of, and symmetry has never been our strong suit (or even a remote contender), but there's just something about the shape and construction and purpose of these quaintly named little tools that makes us feel strangely comforted in the face of ongoing personal upheaval and conflict. Oddly, we have never even owned one of these gems, nor even had the pleasure of a close, personal encounter, but, nevertheless, we can't seem to keep from scouring the internet for new photographs to add to our burgeoning collection.  While we're especially fond of brass plumb bobs, we've experienced a few extra heartbeats at the sight of ivory plumb bobs, which we think add just the right touch of haute coutre and glamor to the otherwise mundane task of making things level.    

   Whether our fascination comes from a previous life spent utilizing these little tools, or we're just reacting to some undefined longing connected to the distended state of our personal life, we just can't get enough of antique plumb bobs.

            NUDE NUNS WITH BIG GUNS

     We've never been a big fan of the action movie genre, although we have a soft spot in our duct-taped heart for the image of Clint Eastwood in a poncho on a windswept plain. But from the moment we took our first gander at a clip of Nude Nuns with Big Guns (2010, directed by Joseph Guzman, starring Asan Ortega), we were absolutely in love with Sister Sarah (who isn't always nude, by the way, and never fully so) and her holy resolve to gun down the drug cartel monsters who robbed her, beat her, raped her, and left her for dead. You would think that Mexican drug dealers would have had a little more respect for a woman married to Christ, but their folly is our gain. Nuns with guns is B-level cheesiness with A-level cult potential. And Sister Sarah is no soft-spoken angel of mercy in conflict over mowing down her would be murderers. She is, as the movie tag line goes, "one bad mother," Say your prayers, sinners. She's coming for you. Just like your next bad habit. We'll light a candle for you.

       RUBBER CLOTHING

The cat's meow

 As a kid in the 1960's, we used to play "secret agent" a lot, and somehow or other, always ended up in the imaginary persona of a character based on "Catwoman", the slinky, sexy, salacious nemesis of Batman and his frumpy little sidekick, Robin. Perhaps that's the reason that, now,  all these years later, we can't stop thinking about how exciting it would be to add a rubberized dimension to our wardrobe. Spandex is fine, of course, and we have no issue with leather (sorry, Peta..well, kind of), but we just find ourselves strangely fascinated by the idea of walking down the street decked out in something like this.....

 

 or this....

 

                                                                  and especially this...

                                                                      
    Of course, at 52, there's a chance that we might take a few hits for dressing inappropriately for our age, but we couldn't care less. The Europeans get it in a way that Americans never will. It's all about the spirit. The body obeys the spirit, not the other way round, and our spirit is a dominatrix cracking a whip of fire. Someday, that may change. But for now, we'll stack our rubber clothes wearing rights up against any 25 year old's. You got it, flaunt it. And we've always been good at that.

    So, that's it for this week. Hope we have raised your spirits in some, small way. If not, well, at least we haven't robbed you ar gunpoint and stolen your plastic go-go boots. But that's another post, and one which has a happily resolved ending. (Thanks, Sister Sarah). See you anon, xoxoxoxxox

                                                         

Strange Fascinations: Forgotten Minor Celebrities: Totie Fields

Strange Fascinations: Forgotten Minor Celebrities: Totie Fields: If you're under 45, you've probably never heard of her. If you're over 45, you may have heard of her, but have somehow confused her with...

Thanksgiving? Stuff It, Please.

Guess who won't be floating the gravy boat this year? That's right. Moi.

 

"The Pink Goes It Alone"

 It's hard to believe, but next week will bring yet another reason for misanthropes, depressives and the socially disenfranchised to feel bad about the world in which we are forced to live. That's right...Thanksgiving. That most quintessential of American holidays is only a week away, and if, like me, you can hardly bear the thought of being exposed for the loner and/or social or familial pariah that you are, you've probably been doing your best to shut out the reminders of its encroaching presence. Hard to walk around stores with blinders on, though. Even harder to avoid conversations with friends who are all hepped about the advent of the holiday season and insist on gushing about their plans as though they can't imagine anyone not sharing their enthusiasm for a holiday that deifies the concept of family and togetherness and, in doing so, marginalizes those who don't have the option of celebrating in that time-honored manner.
    It's ten times worse when you're a woman. In fact, from what I can tell,  for most people, the only thing more incomprehensible than being a woman alone on Thanksgiving is being a woman who would rather be alone on Thanksgiving than be the designated "outsider" seated in the "pity chair" at a family gathering. There's nothing worse than being the person in that chair; especially if, until recently, you were the hostess at your own holiday gatherings and are still smarting from the cessation of the familiar, cherished rituals. Somehow, though, it's almost impossible to explain that to the well-meaning friends who invite you to share their tables because they can't stand the thought of you sitting home alone. The ensuing discussion never seems to resolve anything and , invariably, ends with the well-meaning friend sighing and patting your arm and saying, "Well, the invitation stands, if you happen to change your mind."
    I won't be changing my mind. When the holy turkey day rolls around next week, I won't be sitting among the fortunate members of a happy, intact, thriving family with a forced smile on my face as I try to pretend it makes me feel better to be included in their holiday festivities. I won't be dusting off my own gravy boat, either. I'm doing the only thing that I feel like doing under the circumstances. I'm going to ignore Thanksgiving and shun its accourtements like bubonic-carrying fleas on a Macy's Department Store basement rat. No mixed nuts, pumpkin pie or leftover turkey in a Tupperware bowl for this gal. No witty repartee over pre-dinner cocktails whilst trying to pretend that I really am glad that accepted the invitation, after all, and am, despite my previous misgivings, actually grateful for the chance to forget my sorrows for a few hours before going home and resuming my close relationship with them. Nope. Next week, I will be eschewing the classic eats and turning my back on the trappings of a holiday that seems to have been tailor made to torture people like me. Patti Smith sang it best, in her dark hymn to alienation: "Jesus died for your sins, but he didn't die for mine." I don't know about Jesus and my sins, but Smith was definitely on to something. To paraphrase: Tom Turkey died to feed your family, but that basted bastard didn't die for me. Not this time anyway.
    And now, in an effort to show that I'm not a complete sad sack with a chip on my shoulder the size of one of those hideous inflatable pilgrims that have been decorating lawns for the past several weeks, I offer the following random images for your perusal, enjoyment and possible edification.

Cry me a river....again.

She was very funny. (I think.) And dead now, too.

John Taylor of Duran Duran. That is one very lucky bass guitar.

Mermaids are very distracting, one must admit.

 What's better than a Butterball? Greta
in the long haul. His loss.

 Jimi Hendrix. Always appropriate. The wind cries
Mary still.

Our eerie-eyed blog mascot from "Wisconsin Death Trip." We take her everywhere.

Sister Sarah from Nuns With Big Guns. Best acted nunsexplotation film ever.
This is no nude bimbo with a bad habit and a Saturday Night Special. It's
Sister Theresa meets Rambo in a cult classic fandango.