Muah Hah Hah Hah!

Welcome, welcome my children to Uncle Otto’s Federally Censored House of Horrors. I would ask that only the bravest and stoutest of you, only those who do not crumble in the face of fear, enter this house… but I won’t. In fact, due to government imposed regulations, this vile den of terrors is now safe for small children, pets, women who are pregnant, and those with heart conditions.

I now bid you to follow me, but ONLY if you think you are brave enough, and ONLY if you are wearing the assigned safety equipment and clothing that meets the Federal Halloween Decency Standards Act.

You, Miss! You may not enter this house of evil and death. The skirt of your naughty devil outfit is clearly higher than a half-inch above the knee. Run home, young lady. Run home and tell them of the horrors you saw here, and how those horrors told you to wear pants next time.

Now, step through this door and we will dive into the murky depths of hell! ::BZZT::

(When Uncle Otto says “Hell” he is shocked by an electric collar)

Ahem, where was I?

Oh yes, GAZE upon this vile creature here. This hairy beast is known throughout the world as a Werewolf. Don’t get too close, children! You can see that his mildly extended, yet rounded and blunt front teeth can be used to gnaw ravenously. And what’s that that drips from his dull fangs? Oh no, it’s… chocolate! Yes, yes, this is the curse that this man has wrought upon himself. He has eaten himself into a chocolatey, bestial state. Quickly, give him your chocolate so that you will not eat too much and become a hairy beast just like him. Hurry, relinquish your sweets so you may avoid his curse! All of you!

Hey, you in the Spider-Man outfit. I saw you hide that Nutrageous. Cough it up, kid. The government knows what’s good for you.

Let us move on quickly. Fear not, for the Werewolf cannot follow, he is bound by silver chains. Do not worry about him. He is allowed plenty of exercise, three proper meals per day, access to a TV room, a library, and regular subscription magazines. He is currently petitioning for conjugal visits and two phone calls per week, which I’m sure he’ll have by next Halloween.

Moving on. Do you smell that? Is that the musty, mulchy, potpourri smell of the undead? Why yes, that earthy yet pleasant odor can only be the smell of rotting flesh. And HERE THEY COME!

Do not fret, my guests. They seek only what all of the zombies seek; the single form of nourishment that will sustain their ghastly existence.

Volunteer Zombie Actor: “GREEEEEEEEENS!”

Yes, they will forage like animals for their daily dose of fruits and vegetables. Woe is the man who gets between these monsters and their nutrients.

Look into their eyes children, they were once like you. Then, they got jobs within a large corporation and became-

What’s that noise? Oh no, we are being stalked by the king of the undead himself! It’s the Vampire Who Is Not Dracula (For Copyright Reasons).

Avert your gaze, for if your eyes meet his, you will become his slave (BZZT, the collar shocks Uncle Otto again), um… servant (BZZT) uh… voluntary low income employee (no shock this time); yes, avoid his firey stare, lest you become a victim of his dark desires, with minimum wage and no benefits, but an option to leave with proper two weeks notice.

Volunteer Vampire Actor: “I want to suck your blood; but only if you consent and we both submit to a thorough medical screening!”

Oh the terror! Run children, for even without your consent, he has the proper paperwork and licenses to gnaw on your neck while wearing a protective mouth guard! Run!

Whew, that was close! We barely escaped with our… um… well, we weren’t in much danger, but oh, he is a fierce one, that Vampire Who Is Not Dracula (For Copyright Reasons)!

Do you feel it? That chill in the air? Could it be that the denizens of the afterlife are breathing down our necks? Do you hear their moans? They seek arbitration! Yes, they want to speak, in the presence of a court appointed official, to the one who killed them, seeking an agreeable settlement for both parties!

Look, there’s one now! It’s a ghost!

Volunteer Ghost: “Ahem, the term is “Flesh Challenged,” thank you.

And where you find the “Flesh Challenged,” you will find the ladies whose boiling potions and mystic incantations fill the air. Beware these Witches, for they may one day establish their spells and ceremonies as religious doctrine and seek reparations for persecution from the likes of you. Until then, cover your ears! They seek lull you with their chants and songs which, though lewd and mildly inappropriate, are protected as products of free speech.

This formerly rusty but recently re-coated gate marks the end of our terrifying journey. Please return your Spooky Safety Harnesses to this bin here, your Horrifying Helmets to this bin over here, and your Ghastly Safety Goggles to the bin with the picture of the skull on it. Please, do not approach within ten feet of the Jack O’ Lanterns on either side of the exit path as they are lit with light bulbs witch may have become warm.

And beware! Beware the things that go bump in the night, because you only have the legal right to shoot them if they are on your property!

A few minutes after the kids dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had left, a pair of older kids, maybe 13 or 14 came up to the door. One simply wore basketball shorts and a Celtics jersey. The other wore jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Both held out pillow cases full of candy.

I reluctantly gave candy to the kid in the sports jersey; it may have been a costume, even if was also the exact same outfit he wore to basketball practice.

I turned to the plainclothes trick or treater.

“And what are you supposed to be?” I said.

There was a long pause as he tried to think of something clever. Not only had no one else asked him this question, he hadn’t even asked himself.

I interrupted his thought process. “That’s what I thought. Get the hell out of my yard.”

I closed the door, and the kid dressed as the mooching teenager walked away without any candy from me.




(Note: This is not how it really happened. Mainly because I hate cleaning egg off the siding of the house.)

This will likely be one of those periods in my life that I will look back on and say, “Did that really happen, or was it all the lighter fluid I was drinking at the time?”

We were nearing the end of our pre-designated trial period with Annie. It was time to decide if we were a compatible family for her and vice versa. We were also working against a kind of biological deadline. Let’s just say that Annie was looking out the window at all the boy dogs and barking, “Work it! Work it, baby!” If we were to keep her, she would have to be spayed. If she was going to return home, she would be allowed to breed. If I were in her place, I know what I’d want.

It had been apparent early on in the relationship that there was some strain between Annie and my parents.

There were the normal issues related to everyone adjusting to each other; the early morning dog-tongue-in-the-face alarm clock, the aggressive defensiveness of the house, the sudden dissolution of quiet time in the evening, and one of us, I won’t name any names, had a bladder control problem whenever new people visited the house.

This was normal doggie behavior, behavior that could be modified with time and patience. The fundamental problem was our different personalities. Annie was an excitable, high-energy dog. We are dull, low-energy people. I don’t mean “dull,” in a negative sense, I just mean that we are not really prone to running around the yard and wrestling in the living room unless we have to.

This discrepancy would have been apparent even before we took her in for a few weeks if we had done more reading beforehand. However, the opportunity presented itself so suddenly, and it all happened so quickly, I barely had time to buy a doggie dish and a pooper scooper before she came to our house.

Our biggest concern was that we could not provide Annie with the attention and exercise that she needed. Our respective schedules meant that she was alone for a sizable chunk of the day. Aside from that, even when we were home, we were each only capable of an hour or two of catch, chases, and walkies before A) it was time to go to bed, or B) we collapsed from exhaustion on the nearest piece of furniture.

Annie was not the type of dog to settle down your chair with you, or gnaw on a bone for a while. If one could somehow harness the energy of a Jack Russell Terrier, the world would find itself rich in clean energy that was almost pollution free (you know, aside from poopies). While she did settle down for a nap from time to time, she was capable of going from 0 to 60 in half a second when a car door slammed outside, or the heater turned on.

Natural behavior. I know. She’ll settle with time. I know.

As I mentioned, this was only our primary concern. There were a number of factors that led us to decide that we should bring her back to her brothers and sisters at the breeder’s home. Not an easy decision, because frankly, Annie was such a sweetheart.

I told my parents that I would support whatever decision they made. It had largely been their choice to try and adopt Annie, so I was going to let it be their choice to send her back home or not. But, by the end of the trial period, I feeling the same strain that so thoroughly effected them, and I began to support the, “We’re not the right family for her,” position.

In the end, everyone is still happy. Peace and quite has returned to the house, and Annie gets to go home to raise her own litter.

There’s a new girl in my life, and her name is Annie.

We’ve been spending a lot of time together, although we haven’t known each other long. We met for the first time last Sunday, though I’d been hearing about her for a while. My mother had known her, or at least known of her, for a while now through one of the other ladies at work. When we finally met, we hit it off right away. She’s spent the last few days hanging out with me at my house.

She seems to like me, and mom and dad. Though, she hasn’t quite warmed up to Jen yet, (they’ve only met briefly), but I’m absolutely certain Annie will love her too, given a little more time.

I think she loves me. I know that there’s a special place in her heart for me; she snuggles with me while we watch television, and when we’re alone, all she wants to do is lick my face.

Everything seems so wonderful. The hardest part is getting her to pee in the back yard.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Annie’s a dog? Sorry. Whoa, you must have been getting the wrong idea. Geez.

That's right, we got a dog. We. Got a dog. If you'd like some ice in your drink, try looking in hell.

(old joke, new reason to use it)

Annie is a three year old Jack Russell Terrier. She comes from a good home run by experienced former dog breeders. They were noticing that Annie, being completely non-aggressive, was being picked on by the other dogs, they’d been stealing her toys, nipping at her, etc. The owners finally decided that Annie would be happier in a one-dog household. My mother volunteered our household.

This is a huge leap for us, and it’s still going to take a lot of adjusting, but she seems to love it here. And we love her. So it's working out for everyone.

Wizard World Boston. What else can I say? The premier magazine about comic books had been hosting their “Wizard World” parties all across the country for years. They had finally decided to come to Boston, and God bless them for that.

To be honest, I think they simply piggy backed on a normal large-scale comic book convention that makes its way to the area every year or so. I don’t mean that in a negative way, but I’ll just say that the show wasn’t anything that hadn’t been done before. It was still a fine and grand thing.

Of course, I have celebrity stories.

For filing under “brief brushes of fame,” I almost walked into Joe Quesada, Editor-In-Chief of Marvel Comics. I was bringing some things back out to my car when I nearly slammed into a gentleman at the door who was rushing to get in. It wasn’t anything major, in fact, it wasn’t until after I said, “Oh, sorry, excuse me,” and walked by that I realized that was Joe Quesada. I turned around to see him vanish into the crowd. I wanted to say something, something profound, something no fan boy had ever said before. Of course, I couldn’t think of anything. In retrospect, I can think of a million things I should have shouted out. “You RULE!” or “Keep up the good work!” or even, “Tell Kevin Smith to get off his ass and finish writing the comic books he started.” (Chris thought of that one, but if it had popped into my mind at the time, I would have said it right there).

Don’t you hate it when you’re in a long line, waiting to buy lunch at the only concession stand at the convention when you notice there’s one personal pan pizza left and you’re almost next in line, then, out of nowhere, Kane Hodder, who plays Jason Vorhees in all the Friday the 13th movies, steps in line and snatches up the last pizza? I hate when that happens. Seriously though, I wasn’t mad or anything. He was a celebrity guest, a V.I.P., and a genuinely cool guy (he did ask politely before he went ahead of us). Also, a genuinely big guy (the physical requirement for his role). I’m not saying I couldn’t have taken him, but he was probably packing a chainsaw somewhere.

That was about it. I can’t say I actually waited in line to see any of these celebrities. There are a lot of reasons why I didn’t. There is no doubt in my mind that all of the celebrities who attended were cool, friendly people. But, why would you want to line up to see them? Why would you pay $20 to have your picture taken with them? (What’s the matter Lou Farigno? Not making enough money from lifting things? Whoa there. That was uncalled for, Jon). Anyway, as I was saying, I think getting a picture taken with these celebrities would be cool, but not $20 of cool. In the end, it was probably very good that I did not wait in line to meet Eliza Dushku, I would have made an ass of myself.

Eliza: “OK, who’s next? Well, hello there. Hey, I like that t-shirt, “Chicks dig scrawny pale guys!” That’s awesome!

Jon: “Gaaaaaa…”

Aside from celebrities, there was a wide selection of artists. It was tough to muster up interest in most of what was on display. Granted, there was some incredible stuff, but I think I was on the lookout for artists who were different than your standard super-hero or mythic scenery works. I didn’t really find that there. Further drowning out the joy of visiting artists was the guilt I felt whenever I passed them by without looking at their stuff. I felt like I was neglecting a puppy, that is, in the cases where no one else was visiting them either. They’d just look at you with their big, sad eyes, holding out their portfolio for you to peruse. As I said, it was all stellar stuff, very enjoyable, but that particular day I was on the lookout for something new and fresh.

Though I picked up many a comic that day, the non-comic-related merchandise was just as juicy. Every action figure, like, ever made was on sale. Books full of spectacular artwork, even the kind I was looking for, stood on displays in booths next to lunchboxes, light saber toys, and Battlestar Galactica mugs. Bootleg videos were aplenty. Frankly, I think if the copyright police where in there, they’d arrest half the vendors; selling DVD’s of cheaply made television recordings, copied movies in cases with poor inkjet labels meant to represent the original cover, and obscure porn tapes by the boxful. In reality, most of the movies available were illegal and overpriced, not to mention hack versions of better commercial material and videos found free on the internet. There are always gems in the pile though, I’ve discovered those in years past. There’s always that obscure foreign film that you heard so much about, but never saw stateside, or that extended edition of a movie that was never released (of course, with DVD these days, they release every last crap of useless footage they have to begin with, so the bootlegs are nothing new). I can’t claim to be free of the vice of buying a bootleg, but I’ve made certain just to buy the stuff that I can’t get anywhere else.

In the end, I walked away with several good books at bargain prices, some posters and stickers, and, my prized purchase, an 18”x24” print of an Alex Ross painting of Super Grover. Those of you who know who Grover is probably think it’s ridiculous for a grown man to buy a poster like this. Those of you who know who both Grover and Alex Ross are will probably break into my house to steal it for themselves.

Oh, and I took this picture.

I managed to forget I had my camera for the rest of the day.

Overall, a great time was had.