howls, stick structures, stick knocking, foot print casts, rock clacking, moving stones around, scat, hair, etc. ... where is the DNA? Cant we do better than this? Someone get some good clear photos or videos! Tired of stumpsquatches, blobsquatches and ink blots in nature. BEST VIDEOS? Freeman? Gray Harbor thermal? I Think I Saw a SkunkApe? So few are somewhat convincing. SO many hoaxes. And, PLEASE, no UFO /alien connection or CLOAKING!!! All of these so-called or self-made researchers OUT IN THE FIELD, BOOTS ON THE GROUND and still NO evidence that is truly tangible or worthy. ... get REAL.................. I would sooner believe in shape-shifting demons. In reality, I think it is simply a MANIMAL. Some so-called missing link, but a creation done by fallen angels, alluded to in Genesis, chapter six, not to mention elsewhere in scripture.
You know, I was with this guy right to the last line or two. It's a comment on a YouTube video, one of several thousand that purport to capture Bigfoot howling and screaming at night.
The howls are a damn site more substantial than the visual clues, which seem to include drunk hillbillies, strips of co-ed underwear and slimy beer bottles. But I have to tell you, I've been freaked out by inexplicable sounds all my life, and there's a reason why.
Maybe.
I remember reading that Alfred Hitchcock always included weird and graphic sounds in his movies, but nobody really noticed. Nobody really noticed because the visuals scared the shit out of them, but that's just what they thought.
Watch the shower scene in Psycho. Then watch it with the sound off. With the sound off, it's almost ridiculous, funny, a parody, and certainly not scary.
Listen to it with the sound ON, and you have that agonizing shrieking Bernard Hermann score going EEEEK, EEEEK, EEEEK, EEEEK, EEEEK, not to mention the sound of the knife entering Janet Leigh's flesh: chhhhk, chhhhk, etc. A shoop-shoop sound. Horrific.
Why does the soundtrack "make" the scene without our knowing it? Because sound is primal. Visuals are more mundane, just the thing we use to get around every day, to navigate. Sounds are visceral and instinctive. We hear before we see, in the womb, not just the massive rushing noise of our mother's heartbeat but clangs, beats, rhythms, probably even speech.
My daughter played music to her first child while in the womb. I don't know if this was to make her smarter, or what. I'm sure it didn't hurt, but nothing was needed to make Caitlin any smarter than she turned out to be. But it was an experiment that might have some merit.
I posted earlier - let's see if I can find it, now that I can embed videos in the body of this blog - a whole series of weird noises that were inexplicable. One or two sounded like they might be animal noises of some kind, but extremely loud. But one thing people don't take into account is the fact that wild animals can vocalize in all sorts of bizarre ways. This is how they communicate and mark their territory. As their territory shrinks due to the raping of their environment by humans, they probably have to vocalize more, and louder, to stake out their claim. (Make sense?) It isn't just wolf howls we hear, but cougar shrieks and bobcat screams. Even deer make strange loud chuffing noises, and the bugles of elks sound like harmonic Middle Earth woodwind instruments played by hobbits.
I proved my theory of sound once, very late at night, when I found a YouTube video of the bizarre underground film Eraserhead. This was the whole movie, a surprise to me, though I think it had foreign subtitles of some kind. The next day it had been taken off YouTube, and I never saw a trace of it again except in tiny excerpts. I watched the whole thing with the sound off, and boy was it stupid! When I replayed bits of it with sound, my guts became queasy and I had to turn it off. And that's AFTER I had already seen the whole film and knew what was coming next.
OK, so, Bigfoot. I don't really believe in it, or we would've found some concrete evidence by now. Video after video after video depict men crashing through the underbrush with rifles, saying "holy shit" to each other. Probably corned to the gills, as they used to say back in Arkansas. These often have a Blair Witch quality to them (and just try watching THAT with the sound off - you'll either be in stitches, or bored.) The "sounds" may well be manufactured and spliced in. But this last one, this apocalyptic one, I just don't know. There are so many different ones, in different settings, and no one seems to know what they are.
When you DON'T KNOW the provenance of something. . . it's kind of like the sounds I hear almost continually, if I stop to listen. I can distract myself, and forget they are there. But especially at night, and especially during heavy rain, there is a sort of hum, always on the same tone, sometimes pulsating, and it drives me crazy. When I first wake up in the morning, there is a continuous noise. I call it the "urban sound". It's a bit like a vacuum cleaner noise running at slow speed. There is so much going on now, all the time, construction, cars, Bigfeet on the loose, that it's turning into one big auditory soup that I can't tune out. This is why I'm increasingly turning to white noise and even nature sounds. On the right frequency - and to tell you the truth, I have only ever found one that works - it seems to vibrate at the same level as "the noise", and thus masks it or blocks it out.
I have always had the hearing of a dog, and during the more distressing times of my life it has become agonizingly hypersensitive, to the point that I must go about with earplugs. The sound of traffic is overwhelming. One time I had to take an airplane, five hours each way, right after a death in the family, and when it landed I had a migraine that should have been declared a country in its own right. It was agonizing and didn't go away for a week.
So do I hear things that aren't there?
And if they ARE there. . . what the hell are they?
Toronto fans step up, sing U.S. national anthem, after technical glitch
Without missing a beat, Leafs fans jump in to finish The Star-Spangled Banner
CBC NewsPosted: Nov 21, 2014 8:19 AM ET Last Updated: Nov 21, 2014 9:13 AM ET
The Toronto Maple Leafs are struggling, and their coach is under fire, but at least their fans are in game shape.
On Tuesday, before the Leafs were manhandled in an embarrassing 9-2 loss to the visiting Nashville Predators, the home fans stepped in and sang when a technical glitch caused the audio to cut out during the singing of The Star-Spangled Banner.
One of them captured the touching moment for YouTube when Leafs fans jumped in to sing the song's final verses. The video had more than 888,000 views as of Friday morning.
The Leafs, who lost 6-2 to the lowly Sabres in Buffalo on Saturday, could clearly use some of their fans' collective sense of teamwork and heads-up play (although to be fair, we should mention the Leafs managed to beat the Tampa Bay Lightning 5-2 last night).
The Leafs return to the ice Saturday in a home game against the Detroit Red Wings. They may struggle again on the ice but at least if there's a problem with the national anthem, their fans will be ready.
I wonder.
I wonder why.
I wonder why, sometimes.
Sometimes, why everyone seems to have a different view than me.
I did post something on Facebook about all this, about how it made me uneasy that our country chimed in and sang another country's national anthem, and I was clobbered. I was treated like the most ungracious person who ever lived. Please! For God's sake, Margaret, how could you think like that? It was such a gracious, noble thing to do.
Such a Canadian thing to do.
The conclusion being, shut up, you have the wrong opinion and no right to express it. So here goes.
Since I first drew breath, I was aware that we lived next door to a behemoth. It was a force, an entity that determined almost everything we said, thought and did - especially TV, which was (of course) pretty much the centre of my kid-life. (Note that I say "centre"). I mean, I loved WXYZ-TV as much as anyone, loved Captain Jolly and Poopdeck Paul and Bozo the Clown from Detroit. The odd time I was allowed to stay up really late and sleep in the den on the pullout bed, I would watch TV until the channels signed off, and I heard the Star-Spangled Banner so often that I wondered if it was our national anthem, too.
For, you see, we didn't have one.
Didn't have a national anthem, I mean.
Didn't have one until the year 1967.
I can hear people younger than me saying, What?? That can't be true.
It's true. At school assemblies, we sang God Save the Queen. There was no O Canada. No, there wasn't. It existed in some form, with the lyrics in French, but that's not what we sang at concerts and events.
I don't know if we sang anything at all before hockey games, because I can't picture us singing God Save the Queen before they dropped the puck and Foster Hewitt began to call the game.
And another thing. We didn't have a star-spangled banner or a star-spangled anything else, or even a banner.
We didn't have a flag.
We didn't have a flag, not our own official flag, until 1967. Up until then we used the British Union Jack, then a hideous aberration called the Red Ensign, which we were expected to draw pictures of in school. This had nothing to do with being overwhelmed by the States or being (as some insist, even us) a third-rate country. It had to do with an allegiance to Britain which did not rupture explosively, but eroded gently over time.
Canada is a young country. We're not 1776 - we're 1867. That is when we officially became who we are, not through revolution but something called Confederation. We're not a country that broke away in rebellion from an original founding country. In fact, Robertson Davies once said, "Historically, a Canadian is an American who rejected the revolution."
It has made us, I hope, a more peaceable country (I don't know a single person who owns a gun, and in my lifetime have only known two: an antique collector and a cop), though lately I am starting to wonder about that. But it certainly made us distinct from the behemoth living to the south of us, or so I always presumed.
Canada has something like 1/10 the population of the States, and spread out over a much wider area, with concentrated blobs of population. This is a different setup entirely. It makes us different culturally, financially, and every other way. All this, I believe, contributed to a sense that it was harder - much harder - for Canada to create and maintain an identity of its own. We were marginalized from the start.
This is why it strikes me that singing another country's national anthem as a "favour" is - it's - it's just too Canadian (especially in light of the trouncing Toronto got a little later on - that's just a little too humble, folks.) I can see, in a way, why they did it, the microphone went out, the song was hanging there unfinished and it was embarrassing, but nobody thinks of the fact that the anthem is really all about the American flag and what that emblem means. Having been sung over and over and over thousands and thousands of times before sporting events, it has lost most of its meaning, and as with most songs, nobody really listens to the words anyway.
The rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air. . . but our flag was still there.
OUR FLAG. That's what all those good Canadian folks were singing.
Canada prides itself on gun control, on being peaceable, on harbouring a bunch of goddamn hippie draft-dodgers who don't want to shoot up Vietnamese babies. We're beloved of Americans on sitcoms who decide they want to "go to Canada" for a summer vacation: "Hey, why don't we go to Canada?" "Nah, It's too cold" (or, alternately, "too far away"). All joking aside, I sometimes think this national character, if that's what it is, is eroding or even starting to fall apart.
And here we are at a very public event, jumping in and finishing an anthem about a flag which is not our flag, which is being celebrated in a song about a war which was not our war.
And it's not only OK with people, it's a "wow!" moment, an "awesome" moment (and if I hear the word "awesome" one more time, particularly after a waitress has taken my dinner order, I think I'll throw my pencil on the ground). It's a proud Canadian moment. Everyone's smiling and applauding about it. We pitch right in there and sing along with our rival team.
Yes, our rival team! The one that's out to trounce us, to take us apart, and which in fact does.
But never mind! We sang the American national anthem! We knew every word, and every note of the tune. I think Americans might be patted on the back for knowing the first two words of "O Canada" (usually misspelled in the press as "Oh Canada").
But hey. It's only a song. For God's sake, it's just something we sing at hockey games. I risk here being torn into little pieces, but I don't think ANYONE'S national anthem should be sung at a hockey game. I think it should be reserved for more important occasions like, say, the Olympics, where athletes truly compete in the name of their home countries. It's a point of pride, and an expression of identity.
But do hockey players, football and baseball players, etc., really represent their country, or just their team? Isn't it cheapening the song with casual overuse? Personally, I've always thought singing the national anthem is just a way to get the crowd whipped up for the game. It certainly does have that effect.
Why all this oversensitivity? Why does it have to mean anything at all? I'm really surprised that it isn't followed by the Pledge of Allegiance and the Gettysburg Address. You know, like in those old movies with Raymond Massey and stuff. They'll put the words up on the Jumbotron.
I don't expect to be understood for saying all this. If anyone reads it, which is highly doubtful, I'll get the same reaction I did on Facebook, a sort of offended, angry, disappointed, baffled "wtf??" A "how could you?" How can anyone even think this, let alone go on record to say it? How can anyone misunderstand an obvious act of kindness and generosity and good sportsmanship to this degree? Why such a big deal over something we just sort of do before the game? What is my problem, anyway?
We sang their national anthem, and as far as I can see, now everyone is happy and proud. Nobody else seems to have this gnawing feeling that we are slipping even farther down in our status as a non-country. But I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that we chimed in to sing their anthem like that.
This is filed under the category of found, lost and found. I listened to it years ago, back when I was first beginning to take YouTube seriously and use it as a source of information rather than just stupid cartoons and 1950s soup commercials.
And yes, I DO look at alien footage sometimes late at night when I need a thrill before going to bed. Most of it is so ridiculous that I can't even laugh at it. And I know a lot of it is deliberate prank stuff, but there's something about this particular call that doesn't sound prankish to me at all.
This is an archival recording much cherished by the conspiracy theory community. In 1997, someone phoned Art Bell's Dark Matter radio program, sounding as if he was facing the apocalypse single-handedly. Either this guy is the best actor in the world, or something horrific has just happened to him. Or he has experienced a psychotic break and is spinning into an abyss of paranoia (all that illuminati/survivalist/freezedried/freemason/jesus-in-the-cheese-sandwich stuff).
What he seems to be saying is that he worked in the mysterious Area 51, the ideal picnic spot for extraterrestrials around the galaxy, before being forced to take a medical leave. According to the distraught caller, what we call "aliens" aren't just little grey men running around in parking lots, as they so often appear in these YouTube videos, or laid out on slabs being autopsied. They're some sort of evil mind-controlling entity that transcends the physical. The buggers must be beyond evil, or they wouldn't be preparing for some sort of mass destruction of earth's major population centres (why?). I suppose one could conjecture that these entities took over the minds of the pilots of those doomed planes on 9-11, but I'm afraid that lets us off the hook too easily.
When somebody really doesn't want to own something, some evil deed or some horrendous trait they harbour, they can in some cases split it off, shove it away in a dark closet, where it doesn't die but takes on a murky life of its own. Suddenly it's not "me" or "we", but "THEM", Humanity can't be that bad, can it (?), so therefore someone or something else has to take up the slack, to become the witch or the incubus or the - alien. This habit of finger-pointing and demonizing has been around for so long that it seems inseparable from the human condition.
I don't know if it's a reaction to fear, however, so much as a way to get ourselves off the hook. Fear we can deal with, or think we can. It has always struck me as a curious thing how much humankind loves having the giblets scared out of it - look at the whole horror film industry, with people paying perfectly good money to be shocked, squeamed, squicked, even horrified. Those are all extremely uncomfortable feelings, are they not? And don't most people prefer being in a state of comfort? Don't they go out of their way to achieve such a state (alcohol, cigarettes, too much TV)? I'm just askin'.
We obviously evolved with the need to make a quick exit whenever a predator suddenly appeared (the worst predators undoubtedly being other human beings).Was that flash of raw terror necessary for the human race to keep on moving forward (in a manner of speaking - though since Roswell, I think we've been moving backwards)? Is THAT where we first developed our addiction to having the jeezly Jesus scared out of us? It must have come from somewhere.
It was weird to find this thing again, because it had no identifying marks on it that I remembered. I didn't recall the name Art Bell, the content of the call, or the fact that the transmission suddenly went dead. I just remembered a very strange video with a black screen, no picture, and someone in a lot of distress. Maybe a radio show or something like that? Things are amazingly easy to find on the internet, however, so with a few almost random search terms, the thing popped up again.
Not true, however, of psychic bridging, another mystery I want to deal with once I figure out what to say about it. Back in about 2009, while researching The Glass Character, I came across a very strange web site and an even stranger video - both of which have vanished without a trace - which purported to explain a very bizarre form of time travel sanctioned by the government during the Cold War. Moreover, Harold Lloyd was directly involved and suffered disastrous consequences. If there's any grain of truth in it at all, I could sell it to the conspiracy theorists and retire in eternal comfort.
POST-BLOG. As so often happens, I have a few more things to say. That psychic bridging web site/video was one of the strangest things I've ever seen. In almost every case, no matter how weird the subject matter, you can google a topic and find SOMETHING on it. Not so in this case. I realize now I should have cut and pasted and printed out the content, which I probably could have done, but it was just so freaky that I kept avoiding it. The video was long and strange and, frankly, boring. It starred a dull young Englishman from an industrial town (the accent) called Paul Simon - not "that" Paul Simon. (Can't find that, either.) He went on and on about experiences he had with psychic bridging. I don't know how this relates to remote viewing because I really don't have much familiarity with it. All that tin-foil-hatted/Jiffy Pop-headed stuff does kind of make me disgusted, or at least extremely skeptical, because there are lots of nuts and fanatics out there who seem to WANT the world to come to an end. Maybe they crave excitement, like that Wallenda guy who seems to want to go on and on until he's half an inch deep on the pavement like his ill-fated granddad on that YouTube video.
So if there was or is such a thing as psychic bridging, and if it really is a form of armchair time travel (i. e. you don't exactly physically GO to these eras, but envision or view them from the present), what happened to it? Was it an experiment that failed? The Jiffy Pop-head league might seem so absurd as to be completely dismissable, until you look into the LSD experiments of the Cold War. Some of these were methods of keeping soldiers awake for days and days, but some of it was an elaborate form of spying. So imagine the possibilities of going back in time and spying on them Russkies before they even dropped the fat one on us! Maybe we could even do something about it, to make them stop. Better yet, look into the future to see what they WILL be up to. Sounds good, doesn't it?
But there are problems.
What would be the freak-out margin of someone going back in time from the comfort of their armchair and seeing THEMSELVES scurrying around, doing all the things they did in the past? What if you discovered you had the power to "bend" those actions somehow, to change the past - and here we run smack up against the time travel paradox that always makes me go "oh for Christ's sake" when I read science fiction novels.
It's a riddle trapped within an enigma inside a pickle jar. My husband is a certified Big Bang Theory-type scientist who knows all this stuff to a degree that is a little bit spooky. Over the years, he has evolved into a sort of science Yoda, folding philosophy into pure science through long reflection and experience. I sometimes ask him science questions, though one time he made me cry just by talking about Einstein's theories. I just couldn't help it, it was so beautiful and terrifying. Not long ago, I asked him in a come-on-it-can't-really-be-true way if you could really be in two places at the same time, and he said, "Oh, yes, of course you can. Theoretically, it's quite possible." In quantum physics, a particle can actually exist in two places simultaneously. Then I envisioned the alarming possibility of meeting yourself and wondering (as in Star Trek and so many other sci-fi dramas ) "which is the real Captain Kirk".
I didn't want to spend much more time on that subject, but I had to ask him about that related subject: time travel. "Yes, it's quite possible," he said, and if my hair could stand on end like Harold's, it would have. Time and space, he explained to me, are not etched in straight lines but infinitely curved. The folds can touch each other and double back like switchbacks in a road or river. And then there are wormholes! Like black holes, they really do exist. I knew it was true that an astronaut comes back from a space voyage younger than when he left, and if this went on for long enough we might see a fetus in a jar rather than a grown man. Time, like all the other immutable "laws" of physics, might not be the straight-ahead boring thing we assume.
I am reminded of Wiggs Dannyboy, the Timothy Leary-like "immortalist" of Tom Robbins' masterpiece Jitterbug Perfume, who claimed that the universe doesn't have laws: "It has habits. And habits," he went on to explain, "can be broken."
So I don't know if Harold Lloyd went nuts over Cold War experiments, but I do know that he had a fervent desire to serve his country which up to then had been thwarted by the severe injury to his right hand. (And that whole accident/bomb thing was murky, too. A plot by Charlie Chaplin to blow up his rival? After all, he turned out to be a flaming Communist, not to mention a statutory rapist.) As a magician and the highest muck-a-muck in the Shriners (Imperial Potentate - could there be a more Freemasony/Illuminati-ish name than that??), he may well have been open to alternate realities and the expansion of human consciousness. Or not - maybe it was just an accident.
Some nut, some Paul Simon wanna-be may have made up psychic bridging, or hallucinated it, or specifically cited Harold Lloyd for obscure reasons of his own. But he did mention that the breakdown occurred while HL was "filming" in the 1940s. Yes, he did make his last film in the 1940s, and it was a disaster, taken over by the increasingly weird machinations of its producer, Howard Hughes. (Do you hear the theme from The Twilight Zone? That strange popping sound on the stove?). The way he described it was: "Actor Harold Lloyd became self-detached during filming in the 1940s and was hospitalized." That's all.
So did his brethren in the Freemason/Shriner community help him out there? What happened exactly, or did any of it happen at all? Probably not, but it's an odd one. The fact it all vanished is also odd. I do remember bits and pieces of the rest of it, something about spirit entities getting trapped in cell phones. Not a common belief in anyone except major psychotics. I remember when email was new, everyone seemed to think there was something mystical and a little intimidating about it. Someone wrote a popular novel, an absurd thing about a woman who began to receive emails from a mystic in the 17th century.
Oh no!
The movie version didn't fly, though for a while it looked like it might. Reminds me of the bristling paranoia in the old Twilight Zone series, with computers taking up a whole room, rattling and whirring in a menacing manner and sometimes even talking, not in the slightly fey and sinister manner of HAL in Kubrick's 2001, but sounding more like Mr. Ed or My Mother the Car. Reams of paper would spew out like vomit, covered with earth-shattering messages of doom. Technology was coming, and it was the end of the world as we knew it.
And, as a matter of fact, it was.
POST-POST BLOG. Maybe it's the pale light of reason the next day - I don't know. But when you play the Art Bell Area 51 call again, it sounds phony. It sounds like bad acting. There WAS someone who called in later to say "I'm the Area 51 caller", but the voice didn't sound the same at all, leading the Jiffy Pop crowd to cry "Coverup! Conspiracy!" So now I don't know what to think. I don't know much about Art Bell's program except that it was extremely hokey. And they went through a suspiciously large among of Reynold's Wrap.
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(and this is the kicker): Lord forgive me for adding to this, but it has been a while since I've written at length. My blog does not live by gifs alone, though you'd never know it sometimes. I found some interesting stuff on Wikipedia about the influence on pop culture of the infamous Area 51 call:
This incident formed the basis of the song "Faaip de Oiad" by the rock band Tool which features said interview (with Art Bell's part cut out) dubbed in over frantic drumming and buzzing static.
The interview was also sampled in Konkhra's track "Religion is a Whore", The Faceless's "Planetary Duality", experimental Texas quartetThe Paper Chase's "It's Out There and It's Gonna Get You", MC Lars' "Lars Attacks!" and Sweet Valley's "So Serene" (around the 22:40 mark).
Anyway, this is what I found in WIkipedia. I've listened to them all, and yes, they do exploit this poor gasping sobbing man (or actor - I swear it sounds actorish to me now) in all SIX recordings. Most of them aren't listenable to me, so I won't bother posting them.
Just ONE more eekie fact, which I found out on the Wiki entry for Art Bell: the mysterious Area 51 call was made in 1997. . . onSeptember 11.
At some point in the marketing madness that pushed cigarettes down everyone's throat, a medical note began to sneak in. Nobody is quite sure why.
Mad Men dealt with this creeping uneasiness, and the frantic efforts of the tobacco companies to stifle it and play down any possible health effects. Oh, sure, cigarettes might cause a scratchy throat, a little bit of coughing, something like that. But here's this medical-looking man, this guy with a round silver disc strapped to his forehead (and what is he, a miner or something?) telling us to "smoke a FRESH cigarette." Camels! Something fresh about Camels, no doubt about it, though no one could quite say what it was.
One ad I found, which I can't conjure up here, said, "I want a treat, not a treatment." This is an obvious denial of some sort of sneaking suspicion that cigarettes might be, uh, er, um, bad for you. The ironic thing is that if you have enough of those "treats", treatment is almost inevitable - unless you just drop dead without it.
Hmmmm! Not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels! Why such strident insistence, I wonder? Who brought the subject up, anyway? Humphrey Bogart?
I only wish I could read the testimonials of those tiny figures, each gleefully holding a lit Camel. I'm sure they'd be eye-opening to read.
NOW. . . Scientific Evidence on Effects of Smoking! A doctor does this razz-ma-tazz test on a whole bunch of smokers, and concludes there were "NO adverse effects on the nose, throat and sinuses of the group from smoking Chesterfields." They don't mention the lungs.
In our house, a chesterfield was something you lay down on to take a nap or watch Another World. And that guy, you know who he is, don't you? Christ in a rowboat - it's Arthur Fucking Godfrey, whom I hoped I would never have to look at again!
But this excerpt from a report on advertising, provenance unknown, kind of says it all. At least it's a lot more logical than what we've just looked at.
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As a kid, the only thing that scared the shit out of me worse than The Twilight Zone was The Outer Limits.
The Outer Limits was way better, is why. It had monsters, lots of them. The Twilight Zone had Philosophy. It had Rod Serling making pronouncements on the emptiness of life in the 20th century, the blinding pace of progress, the depersonalization of society, and all those things nobody had a clue about back then.
This show had monsters in the basement with really ugly legs. It had terrified women hiding in the shadows. The way this chick is acting, that creature is probably her husband who swallowed a nuclear bomb and got a little bent out of shape. Radiation was a very big thing back then.
Sometimes we laughed at the monsters. I think we laughed at this one, or laughed at the guy holding it on to his own face to make it look really scary and dangerous while this pile of poo or whatever it is pulsates in the corner. This guy obviously had it coming, because he was a Mad Scientist cooking up some sort of goo to make himself invincible.
It just goes on and on while he holds this thing on his face and the poo pulsates.
There are always actors on these shows who look familiar. This guy was in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, wasn't he? He couldn't be, he'd be 156 years old by then. But he looks like him.
I love the reactions of people to the monsters. This is what makes the show so good. The edging away, the terror, the screams. Big tough men, construction workers and wrestlers, start to shriek like little girls.
Here we have a monster montage. The guy in the hard hat is truly terrifying.
This is some years before Nimoy got his big break. I have no idea about the headgear, if he's in space or just some sci-fi beekeeper.
And here's his best bud, who had no qualms about taking jobs for bitter rivals like Outer Limits and Twilight Zone. A job's a job, right, Bill? This also applies to the Loblaws commercials he made in Toronto between the demise of Star Trek and the rise of T. J. Hooker. Better than living out of your truck, like you did for a while, eh, Bill?
This is one of my all-time favorites. It looks sort of like a leaf-shaped cookie cutter. I've never seen anything less scary in my life, and yet, it has the power to blow papers all over the office.
I really wanted to make gifs of that classic opening: "There is nothing wrong with your television set." This REALLY scared me as a kid because my brother Arthur told me it was true: they did control the horizontal; they did control the vertical. I was paralyzed with terror and stuck to my chair, so I never could test the theory. The opening lasted about a minute and a half, so wasn't a good candidate for giffing. Just try to imagine a theramin playing the theme song.
I'm Lookin' Up From Somewhere Below The Atmosphere Is Warm And They've Got Plenty Of Coal Maybe Someone Above Can Hear My Story How A Fool Lost His Soul For A Moment Of Glory
Chorus And That's All, That's All, That's All THAT'S ALL THAT I CAN REMEMBER
Now Bill Was My Friend, Throughout My Short-Lived Life 'Til I Caught Him Out With Mary, My Wife Then The Wheels In My Head Started Turnin' A Death Plan I Made Up For Both Of Those Concernin'
REPEAT CHORUS
They Took Me To Prison And They Locked Me In A Cell They Gave Me My Last Big Meal Then Strapped Me To A Chair Then They Turned On The Juice, And I Felt Somethin' A Burnin'
REPEAT CHORUS TWICE.
SPECIAL NOTE... Alternate First Verse exists... it was only ever used in Burl Ives' rendition of the song... Neither Lefty Frizzell nor Cowboy Copas used it in their renditions. Frankly, I like the first verse in the Frizzell and Copas versions better... however I have printed the alternate first verse below:
Come Listen While I Tell You 'Bout A Man That's Gonna Die Be Patient With Me Won't You Please, If I Should Start To Cry Maybe One Of You Can Understand My Story How A Fool Lost His Soul For A Moment Of Glory...
As usual, this came in the back door. My dear friend David West is facing a medical crisis, will soon be having what amounts to emergency surgery to install a pacemaker, mainly because his pulse is dropping to as low as 30 beats per minute. He needed a ride from Abbotsford to Vancouver and back, had no prospects, but suddenly after a Facebook request, two people stepped forward who are happy to be of service. I pray this is a good sign and that he'll come through it and feel better than he has in a long time. Pooh and Piglet can't be separated. At any rate, in the midst of all this, David finds a skinny little stray cat hanging around his place, obviously direly cold and hungry. He took it in and began to plump him up, though Kitty is still understandably wary. In reading about all this on Facebook, suddenly a song sprang into my head, a song by Burl Ives that is lodged in my head forever:
Well, here it is! A few months ago I looked for this album and couldn't find it. When we first got our cat Murphy back in 1990, I kept singing this song, and my kids kept saying, "That's not a real song. You're making that up." I got most of the lyrics wrong, so they were almost right. But here it is! And it's about someone finding a stray cat and taking it in. But that led to something else, and I still can't find it. On one of his more obscure, darker albums, Ives recorded a song called That's All I Can Remember. It was sombre and almost sinister, with Ives singing in a very low-key and almost resigned voice. Very spooky. It reminded me a bit of Long Black Veil, and the story is essentially the same except that in this one, like in a gangster movie from the 1930s, the guy gets "the chair". One can almosts see him screaming and convulsing and clutching the arms of the chair as the plumes of smoke rise above his head.
I can't find the Ives version anywhere, though I know it will sneak onto YouTube some day. There are only a couple other versions, and this one is nice, but a little too cheery and Latin-sounding. There are some variations in the lyrics, with Ives introducing and setting up the story in a more dramatic fashion. Understandable, since he was such a kick-ass actor. Ives was supposed to be folksy and recorded lots of children's songs, but in his soul he was Big Daddy, surly and menacing, with a sense of restrained power that might fly out and do terrible destruction. As in this song. It's literally sung from the pits of hell, where he will fry for all eternity. Not exactly a song you want to sing for the kiddies. Look at the little kitty cat A-walkin' down the street I bet he's got no place to go Or nothin' good to eat Look at the little kitty cat With tiny tired feet He ought to have a place to go 'Cause he's so very sweet Here kitty, here kitty, Here little kitty, here little kitty Here kitty, here kitty, Here little kitty cat.
I'm gonna ask my mama If she'll let me take him home Where I can hold him close to me So he won't have to roam He oughta have a lot of milk And lots of fish and meat Instead of finding what he can In the alley or the street
(Musical interlude) Now look at the little kitty cat A-sleepin' in his bed He's got a place to rest his feet and lay his weary head I'm going to see that he will stay As happy as can be And now when he goes walking He'll go walking next to me Oh kitty oh kitty oh how I love my sweet little kitty Oh kitty oh kitty Sweet little kitty cat.
