The experiences of a horror writer who enjoys the creak of floor boards by unseen feet, the rattling of window panes in a storm, and the groan of rusty hinges on a cellar door.
The following story is about how I settled on a permanent icon or avatar for my weekly contributions to TheDailyColumn.com
The following are pictures of an old hotel where we had an Air Quality Conference. The rates were exceptionally cheap, in Champagne, Ill. due to the hotel being scheduled for demolition the week after.
Meet: The Chancellor.
This antiquated behemoth held surprises at every turn. Even doors that led to nowhere! For symmetrical aesthetics, I'm sure... (Pssst...No Door Knob!)
The roof top bar was closed. "The Continental." Classy, back in the seventies!
This art deco mirror should have been saved from the demolition. I woulda taken it. (Forgive the tweaked out gamma in this. It asked for it.)
Now for the stairwell where I got that pic of the piano next to the door that read, "Please Do Not Enter." More, later, about that curiously pleading, almost invitational, "daring you" sign...
Now I don't know about you, but I think that the architect or construction contractor should have been spanked for such waste. Doors to nowhere are one thing. But un-needed stair landings, rails, no door, when there should be one? WTF?
Here is your piano in the stairwell, outside the door that had the sign, "Please Do Not Enter."
I maxed out the contrast and gamma on this.
I removed the window (and piano silhouette) and inserted text. First attempt at text. Noticed that the global angle for lighting is way off. The lighting should come from the sign, ya think?
Thus, the correct version is at the top of this post. But look below. Yecch.
So who puts a sign like that on a door that is locked from the other side? I banged on it, and it was quite echoey and metallic, like the inside of a huge iron cavern on the other side.
Now its secret is gone. The building was demolished five or six years ago, and I'd been carrying these pics around all these years, and finally found a use for one of them.
Here's the latest Weekend At Willies column for TDC.
Did I ever tell you that my lady came up with that name, a year ago? It's true. I'd been dicking around with Weekend Willies, but she reminded me that one of the funniest movies I'd enjoyed a couple decades ago was the one with the dead guy tied to a motorboat, hitting sea buoys.
Here it is with the new avatar (opening picture).
I adjusted the blue willies to look a bit more creepy, kinda misty. I'll post the pictures of the hotel from where I snapped this pic.
Welcome. Pour, Pack, Puff and Put your Head Phones on.
Click one of these songs below. Warning: they are hard. But come get to know another side of willies.
God Help You.
(Hint: first one has whispers between the screaming. The second starts soft, but gets loud.)
Good for you.
You've opened the door. Let's continue.
Here are some links, something that TDC is known for doing quite well.
If you have some stainless steel balls on you, or can borrow one back from your bitch for a while, there will follow another installment of Fuckno, CA.
That shit follows below the links.
God help us all.
Links for you illiterate but clicky-happy bastawds:
Swine flu (H1N1) not working out for ya? Here's why.
Maybe you should be thinking about things in a new way like these folks have done this past year.
How about getting your holiday drink on in a new way? Here are some recipes for your bitch to make you. Or for you, if you are your own bitch.
Just don't pass out in front of your Chinese buds. You won't be able to find your remote the next day.
Probably, your Chinese friends want to cash in on the Money for Pron links?
Now why would you be wanting to steal the body of a president? Poor old Tassos Papadopoulos. He deserved better than this.
Perhaps you need some help in erecting your own political member?
Tenacious D has something to say about it.
Tomorrow, Tucky has a buttload of links for your enjoyment, to be posted as a sideshow, by me.
There Will Be Pron.
For now, here's your next Fuckno, CA. installment, to be continued in the coming weeks.
_________________________________________
Fuckno, CA. 1986
In 1986, if you were 18 years old and resided in Fuckno, California, then you might have participated in the party scene.
But first, a bit of back story.
Hmongs had introduced the first drive-by shooting in Fuckno at your high school's front lawn while after you had been there fifteen minutes earlier, and four years previous to the true story I am about to tell you.
This was Roosevelt High School, on Cedar Street, and that shit is another story I will tell you soon. Hmongs and Laotians were re-located into Fuckno due to a promise that if they helped out in Vietnam, we'd help them carry on their fucking shooting craziness here in USA. WTF.
Soon, you young and scared student, you would be transferring out of that hell hole to another high school. You see, there were six in that city at the time, each with about 2,000 kids attending each year.
Bullock High on the upper west had the rich kids. Roosevelt in the southern east had the Mexicans. Edison in the lower west had the blacks. Clovis, high up on the east end, had the rich hicks: wealthy farmers and yuppies. No one ever speaks of the fifth school. No one must ever speak of it.
But my new school had the wannabe surfers; (Fast Times At Ridgemont High was big back then), poor rednecks (Oakies), the obligatory Jocks, potheads, and Punks. Yes, Punks were the underground. Amen.
That new school is where I met Joey, whom I still call each week. Last names will only harm those who haven't given their permission. Yet. He'll come around.
More stories remain, like the one where we discovered that the cops were actually capable of using nightvision. More on that next weekend.
But here, now, we are talking about "after graduation," which was before I got my head together and left the shit hole that is known as Fuckno, CA.
Here we go.
In 1986, one could purchase a sheet of 100 hits of purple dragon yellow blotter for $100, if you weren't a total dickwad. OK, maybe you needed to be a bit more shady than just a "non-dickwad." This blotter was actually quite potent: nice visuals like swaying buildings and wiggly streets (and between "swells," you saw chinese designs in the tree leaves.) But the sounds really rocked. Mucho Echo and slith-th-th-th-ers. Good times.
And, as always, you could drink like a motherfucker, which was fun, but you had to be mindful of the come-down, when those fucking birds started going off with their accusatory chirping at you.
Cigarettes? Holy fuck, best thing in the world when you were up on a swell. Fuckers would always bum off you, bastards.
But eventually, it would majorly suck to become wasted from all the beer you'd been chugging all evening, just when you were done grinding your teeth with the permanent grin you'd had on all night.
Come-downs were not all that good.
So, these hits were pre-perforated, but you never, ever handle this shit without plastic gloves. And you store it in the freezer, lest it turn into strychnine, which makes you ache the next day when your body turns it into that stuff after, anyways. We put five hits in tinfoil packs and sold these as $25 packs.
Anyways, after a night of doing our profits a little, it was Joey's idea to go hit the punk gig down at the abandoned Baptist church on Shields Ave. and make some cash. Some group covering the MisFits were in town.
Fat Jerry promised to take us there in his Hearse. He had the MisFits' skull spray painted on the back of his leather.
We were young and into the New Romantic scene, but Fat Jerry had spikes everywhere. Shoulders, wrist cuffs, ears, even in his fucking Doc Martins, and of course, he had his two-foot-tall red spiked hair. He had to drive with his head sideways, the big, fat fuck. He used krazy glue.
Now mind you, it has been said that the brain is depleted of serotonin and/or endorphins or whatever the hell, the day after dropping some of this shit.
Fuck that, we thought. Bullshit.
Two hours before Fat Jerry was to come by with his Hearse, (Quite a lux ride, actually, if you didn't mind the hand cuffs and rings in the back) we decided to test this theory.
Yes, It did not work. Yes, we continued to take more. Yes, we took eight hits apiece. Yes. This did not end well.
You will see.
Here's a song to elucidate this idea.
At the club, ex-church, we jumped in the mosh pit. This was back when folks used elbows and knees, but not fists. If you fell, someone would pick you up, not kick you.
Punks were quite hardcore, but not fuckwads back then. It was a community, you see.
Anyways, This guy's foot-tall hair spikes in his mowhawk started to wave around like fucking Medusa, and that was the first sign that I needed to get the hell out of there.
NOW.
I found Joey, but he was talking to this hot chick all dressed in white who spoke with a British accent.
"Hey, [willies] this is Charlese." Joey was flying well. Me, not so much.
"Nice ta meetcha, Shshshshareiisssssee" I sputtered, then pulled Joey aside.
"Get me the fuck outta here."
One thing about a battle buddy, they got your back. True that.
He helped me navigate out, through the fucking mosh pit, and we actually had to stagger back a couple of miles along the city streets, of Fuckno, always diving behind orange trees and shit.
We made it back without popo intervention. But what a fuck of a night.
Comedown:
A week later, Fat Jerry told us that night he had fucked an English chick and woke up with these words scrawled in lipstick on his bathroom mirror:
It's this: I need to stop spending so much time doing three things for TDC.
1. Creating a fresh Icon for each weekend post. It takes too much time, and is quite temporary, temporally. (Repetitive redundancy? Yeah, I caught that, too.)
2. Wasting my one day of awesome opportunity I could be using to create some good "willies-osity" in the intrawebnet-tubes by continuously extolling the virtues of TDC and its front page contributors, and trying to get more people to join in the forums. Ya know what? Show by example, not by exhortation. This awesome opportunity to have some fun should be explored and exploited!
3. Trying to tell folks how to live their lives. Who the fuck am I to do this? Hoot already offers self-improvement hints and help. Me?
I am the willies.
And the willies is what you'll get.
So here's my new steadfast icon. From now on. "Please Do Not Enter."
This pic is one I took in an old hotel at an air quality conference, and this building was due for destruction the following week. I explored this old building, saw a corridor that would have been suitable for a young boy on a Big Wheel to encounter a pair of ghostly twin girls, and later then came upon this here stairwell door.
I took a pic, and then used image altering software to max out the contrast. The weird colors came through on their own.
I quite like it. I had to black out the arbitrarily placed piano to the left of the door. I played it, and found it was badly out of tune, which added to the echoing spookiness all the way up to the sixth floor in that dank, hollow stairwell.
Most people have a healthy fear of dangerous things. Sometimes, these fears can become phobias, when they immobilize you, or if they are based upon irrational reasoning. Even innocuous objects can evoke fear from otherwise healthy, sane people.
Vertigo is not a phobia of heights; that's acrophobia. Vertigo is a reaction that differs from fear in one way. It is physical.
On the other hand, agoraphobia is the fear of wide open spaces. Where I live, much of the time, there are hills, or else a narrow strip of sky between the big trees that line the roads everywhere you gaze.
But at the Grand Canyon, Vertigo sets in. Too big. When you first see it, it's a bit overwhelming. Two months ago, my second time, it was still overwhelming.
I have to post the vids from last year of my dotta walking on the friggin edge of the Canyon, showing off. I got pissed.
Wherever you go, whatever you do, take a moment to look around.
When I am coming back home from having traveled around because of the work that I do, something I see can make me missing my lady, my One, become even more poignant.
Such as this short vid below, not intended to be creepy, but I noticed how this one chick loves her one man, coming here from overseas, when they got on this connecting flight seated next to me, and a thought struck me.
It's this:
When a couple goes venturing into the world, you need to have trust that your One is there with you, and you for them. After chatting in French (I'm not French, and neither were they, but it's a Common Language, one that I can manage to mangle quite badly) these two exhausted fellow travelers fell asleep. Or perhaps they were ignoring me. At least they weren't sketched out by me. Yet.
I took a vid. Yah, I know, "Sketchy." But check it out. It's kinda sweet.
She has her right foot safely put under his leg, and is all curled on him. This made me miss my lady even more.
Song is "You're All I Need," by Radiohead.
The idea here is that when you have the opportunity to travel; try to visit the locals, and stay away from the tourist traps. Eat the local food, meet the real people, enjoy their nightlife, and Do Not Be The Tourist.
Be the Traveler.
When traveling, try to mangle a common language with those around you.
But above all, whatever you do, travel safely with your One. Keep her safe. Ya know.
This is where your Weekend At Willies guide asks you to get yourself all prepared for a carnival show, and this means whatever it takes for you to do this thing.
You see, no one here will judge you for whatever you do; because this is the Last Outpost of Free Speech in the whole inter-tube thingy.
Now go get your morning mug of coffee, ale, or hooka of catnip/chamomile or herbalishiousness, while your bud "the willies" plays you a tune.
Press play while you pour, pack, and/or puff.
Let's have us a time, my friend.
You good? Let's go. Follow your tour guide Weekend At Willies into the depths of delirium.
The Mastaw Richie has lent the use of the keys for this weekend crypt of the Mighty TDC to a deviant mind who intends to wake the dead. (Or, well, help you to start your lazy dayz off correctly.)
We three men here at the Mighty TDC work in tandem to make your life enjoyable each day of the week with Trivia, Discussion in the TDC forums, (join in, ya lurker) and Consideration (of forum members' thoughts) for your enjoyment and general fucking off at work. All for free. How sweet is that?
Trivia, Discussion, Consideration.
TDC.
No one else in the interwebnet-tubes works harder than Richie in bringing you a Daily Column of weird news, pics, and discussion. Seriously. Give him a reach-around for his good work here for chrissakes, and maybe join in the forum for a further exploration into what TDC is all about. Dude puts his column in your face everyday without you asking.
No blinking banners, no intrusive questions to join in the forums, and no asking for donations of any sort. WTF? Pleased ta know ya dude. I like free stuff, sure, but I like free stuff when it is really good free stuff.
The Humble But Never-The-Less Mighty Hoot helps out on Thursdays. He has a solid column for your delicates. He's gentle, but unstoppable, so watch out. He "heals" with his deft and clever bean flicking.
Me? I'm the willies. That's all you need to know. Here we go. Keep up.
Falling falling falling... Dude takes pictures of himself falling the fuck down.
You know how cheap video games have really big polygons in their curved surfaces? This guy made a Halloween mask a couple months ago. Kinda neat, and mucho freaky, two of my favorite things.
So what to do with all those Mountain Dew cans, you addict you. Make a tree for Xmas!
Pron research stopped. Couldn't find any men for Control group: Pronless. Chickencrap's Crap blog article.
You don't need to read about the teen Indiana sociopath who murdered of his little brother. Scroll on to the next link below it.
But if yo'd like a little sumpin sumpin to consider, here's this: Who is the sociopath that you know? Aww, sure psychopaths are cute because they are easy to identify. They are the naked dudes always pointing their junk at cops and saying that they are Jeebus.
But sociopaths? According to the Psychiatry manual DSMIV, sociopaths make up 12% of our population...No wait, 1.2% of our...No, maybe it's 120%... well, no one actually knows, because they are undetectable, until they decide that they would like to kill you NOW. SLASH ...SLASH ...DISMEMBERMENT
Thoughts in the forums? Sleep well tonite, and don't piss her off...
Everything is better with a bag of weed, according to Stewie and Bryan from the Family Guy. Warning: if you click on this gay ass song about a bag of weed, and listen though, you'll probably click it again later, and then it will stick in your head all day. Good luck with that, mistah.
Tucky (from the forums) always helps a buddy out; he contributed these.
Dude tweets and facebooks at altar. Weddings in the 21st century. Huh.
Tucky Says, "This here landlord should be tarred and feathered, and run out of town." I agree. Even if I can barely understand Tucky when we chat on the "teleeephone." Ayuh, dude talks wicked funny, chummy. Not me, tho.
Well, thank you for taking the time out of your leisure dayz to visit the Mighty TDC.
Check in on Monday, when Richie starts off a new week with more of our craziness.
The Mastaw Richie has lent the use of the keys for this weekend crypt of the Mighty TDC to a deviant mind who intends to wake the dead. (Or, well, help you to start your lazy dayz off correctly.)
We three men here at the Mighty TDC strive to bring you a whole week's worth of enjoyable Trivia, Discussion in the TDC forums, (join in, ya lurker) and Consideration (of forum members' thoughts) for your enjoyment and general fucking off at work.
Trivia, Discussion, Consideration.
TDC.
No one else in the interwebnet-tubes works harder than Richie in bringing you a Daily Column of weird news, pics, and discussion. Seriously. Give him a reach-around for his good work here for chrissakes, and maybe join in the forum for a further exploration into what TDC is all about.
No blinking banners, no intrusive questions to join in the fray, and no asking for donations of any sort. WTF? Pleased ta know ya dude. I like free stuff.
The Humble But NeverTheLess Mighty Hoot helps out on Thursdays. He has a solid column for your delicates. He's gentle, but unstoppable, so watch out. He "heals" with his deft handiness.
Me? I'm the willies. That's all you need to know.
Soooo, this is where your Weekend At Willies guide asks you to get yourself all prepared for a carnival show, and this means whatever it takes for you to do this thing.
You see, no one here will judge you for whatever you do; because this is the Last Outpost of Free Speech in the whole inter-tube thingy.
Now go get your morning mug of coffee, ale, or hooka of catnip/chamomile or herbalishiousness, while your bud "the willies" plays you a tune.
Press play while you pour, pack, and/or puff.
Let's have us a time, my friend.
You good? Let's go. Follow your tour guide Weekend At Willies into the depths of delirium.
