Years ago, I used to do horror movie reviews during the month of October. Each week was themed, like Hellraiser week, Old Mansion Week, Halloween and The Kitchen Sink Week, etc.
Hello Dear Reader! It’s been a minute!
I’m attempting to reignite my enjoyment for blogging. I thought I might do that by getting back into the swing with HORROR MOVIE MONTH. This also presents an opportunity to introduce new friends and readers to my work. So if you’re new here, welcome! And if you’ve been around a while, thanks for stopping in and checking up!
Years ago, I used to do horror movie reviews during the month of October. Each week was themed, like Hellraiser week, Old Mansion Week, Halloween and The Kitchen Sink Week, etc. I’ll be reblogging some of those old reviews here for the remainder of October, and I’ll start it off with – drumroll – WEREBEASTS WEEK!
Please enjoy these oldies but goodies about people who are hairy, scary, and usually unfairly judged:
Being American (from Florida, no less), anything over the age of a hundred impresses me. I was Home.
In 2018, Jen took her first ever trip outside the United States. She was lazy and never posted the rest of the trip, but it kind of worked out because she hit the mental wall recently and needed an escape, and figured that you do too. Please enjoy Part Three of this multi-part series chronicling her tale abroad, along with the requisite musings. Part One can be found here. Part Two can be found here.
Note: The internet is full of posts by smart, photogenic people taking meticulously staged selfies at famous landmarks, so this travelogue is restricted to actual personal thoughts, including things I found fascinating and/or hilarious and VERY OCCASIONAL selfies. This entry contains terrifying staircases, clotted cream on scones, a tiny castle on an island, and the End of the World!
How to Get Lost, Found, and Fed
The next leg of my trip took me from Oxford aaaaaalllll the way down Cornwall to Penzance. But first, I had to get lost in Puxton.
Leaving Oxford was hard – not just because I loved my Airbnb either. No, the reason it was so difficult was because I was undergoing HORRIFIC MENSTRUAL CRAMPING. Naturally, this made driving even more of a chore than the whole ‘left side with roundabouts’ thing.
Things are not alive. They don’t have meaning other than that which an individual imbues in them. Things are myriad and ultimately worthless to others but priceless to their owners: A 20-year-old band T-shirt that looks more like a fishnet these days; a favorite cooking pot; a piece of shit lawn mower that should have been replaced years ago but whose quirks are known and familiar; a tiny car that zips between tractor trailers on wet highways but always brings its driver home safe.
Everyone was sitting outside on the patio as if it was Tuesday, June 9th 2019 instead of Tuesday, June 9th 2020. Imagine my shock at realizing that if we ignore a deadly disease, it just goes away.
Join me, won’t you, on a strange little journey that functions as a peculiar microcosm of everything going on right now.
So I eat bread sometimes. Not often, because carbs and blood sugar and blah blah blah, but once in a great while I get an Urge.
Lately, meaning in the time of COVID-19, I have been listening to my Urges. This is because Urges represent bright flashes of effervescent excitement in what has otherwise become a slog through a gray, repetitive world. Urges are a sign that I’m alive.