...In which our heroine has a malevolent mindset, part two.

I have Halloween on the brain, so today I present horror scenes I enjoy. Well, technically not enjoy, but appreciate. All of these are NSFW.

The Scariest: Audition, 1999
I hate the torture porn of the Saw and Hostel films but this film is the exception. Here, the torture actually serves a narrative purpose and isn't just there to make you vomit. This is a great horror film, and if it was American, it would be considered a classic.


The Grossest: Dead Alive, 1992
As a rule, I don't get grossed out by horror films. The gorier, the better. But this scene has literally made me want to puke every time I've watched it. And it's not even that bloody.


The Prettiest: Suspiria, 1977
This Italian film was the last to use three-strip Technicolor and thus why the colors pop. Thank heaven for Dario Argento, because then there'd be no Asia Argento, who is half goregous, half insane.


The Funniest: Evil Dead 2, 1987
There are no bounds for my love for the Evil Dead trilogy and its star Bruce Campbell. The first time we watched this movie, Kendall fell off the couch and laughed for a solid ten minutes at this scene.


The Most Entertaining (according to Katydid): Near Dark, 1987
No one has ever seen this movie, but I adore it. I remember my mom getting incredibly pissed at my dad for letting me watch it, but I turned out no worse for the wear. So sickly funny and creatively shot.


The Worst but I Still Love it Anywyay: Pet Sematary, 1989
I like a lot of realllllllly shitty horror movies, but this is probably my favorite. The movie is so bad, especially compared to the book, but I just can't help but watch.


I have a sick mind for enjoying all this so much, but I just can't help it.

...In which our heroine marvels.

This is a perfect album, especially for a COLD fall day. It breaks my heart every time I listen to it. The album sounds like it should be sung by convicts around a campfire. Although it makes me sad, Nebraska reminds me of fall and winter mornings when you're chest is on fire but your hands and face feel like they might just break off, and exhaling frosty breath makes you dream of hot chocolate. Born to Run is the quintessential Springsteen album, but this one will always be my favorite.

...In which our heroine thinks about home.

Being at home this weekend was surreal. Everything was so strangely familiar, yet so distant. Sitting on my couch, taking a shower, sleeping in a quiet, DARK, bedroom...it was just weird.

I didn't sleep on the bus Thursday night. On the exit and return trips to Chicago, married creepsters who fidgeted a lot decided I was a good seat partner. Oh, Megabus. Of course I was wired on convenience store coffee by the time I got home, and so when Dad picked me up, we had lots to talk about.

Thus I slept until 2 PM on Friday. Then I headed over to see my grandma and aunt to have dinner. But the real event Friday night was of course, seeing Cassie. She damn near killed me when she hugged me, but that embrace made the married creepsters so worth it. We went to JR's new house in Clifton, got slightly intoxicated, and watched Fantasia--a perfectly us evening. As a college student, I should drink more beer than water but the beer I had Friday night was the first I'd had since school started. It was so, so delicious.

Saturday meant Valley Thrift, Gabriel Brothers, and El Rancho Grande, three fantastically Hagen family activities. I got lots of warm clothes and boots for cheap, which was a good decision considering that winter was totally here when I got off the bus last night. Dad asked me what I needed for my birthday...I said computer speakers since mine broke. The two of us got to spend some alone time together to go get them. I then got to play all the cool stuff I've found while here for Dad--a 15 minute "Cortez the Killer," the Afghan Whigs covering "Can't Get Enough of Your Love."

Overall it really was a splendid weekend. I do miss things about Cincinnati--mostly the people--but not enough to not want to come back here.

I'm not really looking forward to slaving away over sausage gravy at Bobs over Christmas break, but its going to be necessary. Trying to get back together with those people is going to be weirder than weird. But, even weirder is going to be getting back together with the high school chaps and trying to do exactly that, be high school chaps. I just feel so different than I did even two months ago--especially in terms of people who I hang out with. Should be interesting...

In other news, I am in love with this song currently. I seem to know where this video takes place...

...In which our heroine gets in a malevolent mindset.

Halloween has been my favorite holiday since I had a notion of what a "favorite" might be. It was a huge deal when I was little--I loved being scared but always ended up overdoing it and that's probably why I did and still do have night terrors on occasion. Crypt Keeper and Freddy Krueger were the earliest characters to scare the shit out of me, but my favorite movies as a kid were Addams Family Values and Beetlejuice. Forget Christmas, I'm all about the scary stuff.

We're having a party here in 2602 next Friday. I'm on playlist and movie selection duty. The SPB is holding a live showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show Thursday at midnight which is a must-attend.

The love of Halloween over the years has translated into a love of horror films. Yes, I have seen Halloween 1-5 and Return of the Living Dead 3, in addition to many other bad horror films Sci-Fi channel shows. I miss a certain set of twins that I used to watch all manner of crappy frightfests with, especially the zombie ones.

My recomendations for pure scare factor would be Candyman, The Strangers, Halloween, Hellraiser, either Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days/Weeks Later. My favorite genre of horror is what Sam Raimi lovingly titled "splatstick" with choice picks like Evil Dead 2, Army of Darkness, Shaun of the Dead, Return of the Living Dead, Slither, and Dead Alive. As far as obscurity, try Audition, a really freaky Japanese film from about ten years ago, or Near Dark, a kickass vampire Western with Bill Paxton and Adrian Pasdar.

Retrocrush has a couple cool lists up...100 Greatest Horror Film Performances, 20 Best Zombie Films, 100 Coolest Monsters, and 100 Scariest Movie Scenes, which has a horrible choice for #1 2 East 8th doesn't get Bravo so I don't get to watch their list of 100 Scariest Movie Moments for the tenth time.

While I'm home this weekend, I need to pick up some Stephen King book to read, although I don't think much of anything can top last year's choice, Pet Semetary, which still gives me the heebie jeebies thinking about it. (I think it's one of King's best and his scariest.)

I think my building is haunted. The boys on eight have reported shut down computers turning on and playing music, TVs turning on, and blinds magically opening. Chicago itself has a cool haunted history--just look at Candyman, yet another reason I'll never go to Cabrini Green.

Anyways, I digress. But this is the scariest thing I've seen so far all season, a Predator pumpkin:

...In which our heroine is a busy bee.

I have tons to do this week before I can head home on Megabus Thursday night--final papers to work on about Technicolor and The Professional, readings to attend for Creative Non-Fiction Week, Halloween festivities to plan. But in the meantime, lots of randomness.

• Some idiot finally agreed to it. Haunted is being made into a film by some director I've never heard of. I liked the idea of the book being an HBO miniseries, but on the big screen I bet half the content of the book will have to be cut.


• Neil Young has being doing some awesome stuff on his current tour. I can't wait to see him in Chicago...during finals week.


• Showtime ordered Dexter through season five. Dad and I aren't even done with season two yet, but this is good news.


• "Buffalo Stance" by Neneh Cherry is a great homework song. Actually, my entire synth-tastic, 800 song iTunes 80's playlist is.


• Apparently, the ending of Watchmen has been changed. I don't wanna know, but you can.


• Watching the international cut of The Professional greatly improves the film, which is already in my Top 5.


• The Bicycle Thief isn't as good as history would make it out to be, but Citizen Kane totally is.
• It's October and I need a scary book to read. Suggestions, please.


• My friend Samson found out his roommate Wes deals ecstasy out of their room (which is two doors down.) What a lovely buisiness plan. Don't do ecstasy kids--it takes ice cream scoops out of your brain.


• I am totally excited to come home with weekend. Not for the city, but for the company:

...In which our heroine wishes a happy birthday.

I have nothing today except for fangirl worship of Viggo Mortensen. It's his 50th birthday, which now places him in the category of old man crushes along with George Clooney and Daniel-Day Lewis.

...In which our heroine reviews "The Wrestler"

Despite it being Parents Weekend, Kathleen and I made the trek up to our very first film festival last night. The Chicago International Film Festival started Thursday night, premiering with The Brothers Bloom and last night The Wrestler was one of the sold out shows.

Without giving too much away, The Wrestler is Darren Aronofsky's newest film. It stars Mickey Rourke as a washed-up wrestler, Randy "The Ram" Robinson, whose former glory has now faded, and spends time in the small-time, hardcore wrestling circuit, trying to relive times gone by. He's estranged from his daughter, Evan Rachel Wood, and is trying hard to make a spark with someone else past their prime, a stripper played by Marisa Tomei, who just for the record looks fantastic for someone in their 40s.

That's all I'm giving away in terms of plot because it's better left as a suprise. I was admittedly a little worried by the premise of pro-wrestling, but that worry all faded away once the film started.

You can't talk about this film without talking about how utterly brutal and wonderful Mickey Rourke is. He was the famous bad boy heartthrob before my time, so my reference point for him is of the half-crazy character with the messed up face. I loved him as Marv in Sin City and this film makes you feel even more sympathy for that kind of pathetic brute character. He's just so heartbreakingly pathetic and at heart, a decent guy, that it makes his struggles incredibly difficult to watch. Again, without giving too much away, I will be shocked if his name doesn't come up around Oscar time.

The Wrestler is a huge departure for Aronofsky in terms of content and style. Gone are the lush images and dreamscapes of Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain and in their place is a highly brutal film, shot by a documentary crew Aronofsky hired to get maximum realism. No more montage sequences of shooting up or visits to Mayan ruins. Mickey Rourke looks like shit now, and Aronofsky uses lots of close-ups to not shy away from this.

In a lot of ways, The Wrestler was my favorite Aronofsky film so far. It was more relatable, more about character than style, more intimate and moving. I felt so totally drained at the end I couldn't even cry. The year's other films are going to have to be pretty damn great to be better than this. But you'll be able to see for yourself when it rolls out in December.

And to put icing on the cake, Aronofsky (right) was at the screening and did a Q&A after. He's the dork you'd expect, and was very complimentary to the world of wrestling and the talent of Mickey Rourke. He talked a lot about Pi, Requiem, and The Fountain being one chapter of films, and this movie starting the next. I totally agree. I just wish Aronofsky would have brought his lovely and talented wife Rachel Weisz along so I could gawk.

...In which our heroine presents her random 5.

Autumn Sweater- Yo La Tengo
Yo La Tengo is a little too noisy for my taste most of the time, but I like this song. I heard but not saw them play it at last year's Lollapalooza. I think the first time I heard it was with Isaac in Odin's Word, as I heard a lot of songs for the first time.

Honey White- Morphine
I acquired this song after the 'rents saw the 2/3 of Morphine still alive on tour with Concrete Blonde. Morphine has an interesting jazz section and the saxophone section always kicks ass. Lead singer Mark Sandman (great name) also has the infamous distinction of being one of the few musicians to ever actually die on stage. Speedballs are bad, kids.

Letter to Memphis- Pixies
This was a part of the "Kate needs every Pixies song ever recored on iTunes" binge at the beginning of the month. It's one of the better songs on their most mediocre album, Trompe le Monde, but still not as good as anything on Surfer Rosa or Doolittle.

Good- Better than Ezra
I remember exactly which WOXY tape this was on--it also featured Live, Dinosaur Jr., and the Smashing Pumpkins. I remember the first time I heard it, on a seventh grade bus ride. I remember the exact point in the song where my tape used to skip. Sigh.

Straight to You- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Here's my inner Goth getting out once again. I started listening to Nick Cave and his very Bad Seeds sophomore year and got really into their moody blues (ha). This is one of the more cheery songs by the band, especially they have an album entitled Murder Ballads.

...In which our heroine is amused.

The Big McCain: Mark it Zero



Oh, now the Beasties are in Dayton. Godamnit, first The National and the Breeders, then Sisters of Mercy, now the Beasties with Sheryl Crow and Ben Harper all after I leave. And on the day before Halloween. I am perturbed.

...In which our heroine is quite the domestic.

After nearly two months here, the role set in our room has become apparent. This means I cook the majority of the time. As it turns out, I find myself really enjoying cooking on a regular basis.

I haven't been doing a lot of fancy stuff, but it's better than Ramen. This weekend I made barbeque chicken and garlic potatoes Friday night, enchiladas Saturday night, and the one I'm most proud of, my very first batch of biscuits and gravy Sunday morning. I do have some Kentucky blood in me, as my Sunday brunch turned out better than expected.

When I was at home, my mom always did all the cooking, no questions or hesitations. She enjoyed doing it, and I would mostly just watch. Now that I'm forced to make stuff on my own, I've found that I retained a lot more of her methods than I would've ever thought. Okay...so I guess she does know what she's talking about in the kitchen.

Cooking is calming for me. Whenever we roommates cook, it's an adventure. Motown, Micheal Jackson, and dancing are absolute musts. We've been trying to teach the boys how to cook, but I think its hopeless. (Kris wanted to cook individual portions of spaghetti for the five of us in a sauce pan.)

The only original thing I've come up with is a variation on something that Cassie's boyfriend JR made back in the summer. It's called Hot Apple Pie:


1 gallon of apple cider
1 gallon of apple juice
2 cups sugar
1 cup brown sugar
A jar of cinnamon sticks
A sliced orange
Cinnamon to taste
1 bottle everclear (optional of course, but hey, I'm in college. You can use vodka or rum also.)

Bring apple juice, cider, all sugar, cinnamon, and cinnamon sticks to a boil in a large pot. Once boiling, reduce heat and skim off impurities. Keep the mixture on low and drop sliced oranges on top to infuse. When ready to drink, add alcohol. Recipe can be halved or drank cold.

Hot Apple Pie was a big hit Friday evening and is a good fall/holiday punch. The kids around here enjoyed it quite a bit and the full recipe makes lots of leftovers.

...In which our heroine puts it on shuffle.

No organization to today's post, just a lot of odds and sods:

• The Beastie Boys are playing shows in Wisconsin, Virginia, and Minnesota in support of the upcoming elections. DAMNIT. And they have lots of cool special guests.


• PG Porn, from James Gunn and my future husband, Nathan Fillion. Don't worry, it's just porn without the boring sex part.


• Everyone's favorite Golden Girl, Betty White, calls Sarah Palin a crazy bitch.


• The AV Club's list of embarassing early celebrity crushes. All I have to say in Val Kilmer in Batman Forever.


• Angelina Jolie is the most beautiful person on the planet.


• Making of Zack and Miri: Money Shots


• Kathleen and I bought tickets for the Chicago Film Festival to go see Darren Aronofsky's latest, The Wrestler, which stars Mickey Rourke. There were lots of other good choices at the fest: Let the Right One In, Synedoche New York, Zack and Miri, The Brothers Bloom, but we limited ourselves to just one film since tickets are $22. But Darren Aronofsky is going to be at the showing (!) and the film is generating quite the buzz.


• I'm officially out of the pointless freshman seminar, New Millenium Studies. It turned out that AP Euro had given me the credit for that class and me taking it now was absolutely worthless. I'm officially sophomore status. HOLLA.

...In which our heroine shares.

A certain pseudo Greek warrior I know has asked for the posting of certain pieces of my creative writing. Here's the first thing I'm proud of that's not in the drafting stages. The prompt was to write about someone not in our family that we've known for our entire lives. Enjoy or ignore kids.

She still spells my name “Katy.” Even when people called me Katie, they certainly never spelled it like that. I wish they would have, it’s more unique. Maybe Ava recognized my uniqueness and I just never caught on, at least until now.
Ava lives across the street from the house which was once home to my father, grandmother, aunt, and great-grandmother. Now it is only home to my aunt and grandmother. Ava has been alone a long time, outlasting her husband by at least twenty years. So it made sense that she was always a presence in my life, seeing as I did a lot of my growing up in that tiny, hot house on Wicklow Street.
I don’t know exactly how old Ava is. She is into the latter half of being an octogenarian but still drags her trash to the street every Sunday, and until a few years ago, mowed her own lawn. She is tiny, shorter than even me, and wears her pants all the way above her stomach, right beneath her breasts, always with a belt. Angels, crosses, and other religious relics always dot her collar—pins and necklaces mostly, the kinds you order out of catalogues or are sent to you for donating to various missions.
I wish I could tell you how she smells, but I’ve never encountered anything or anyone that smells like her. A mix of mothballs and Old Spice, only with a sharper undertone, it hits you when she clutches you tightly for a hug, squeezing your ribs to the point of discomfort.
Ava likes to talk. A lot. She speaks in a high, shaky Kentucky drawl. Her stories begin with some horrific tale of one of her brother or sister’s children. Or grandchildren. Or niece. Or hairdresser’s second cousin. The story will begin coherently enough, but soon, she begins to throw out so many names, go on so many asides, that within a few minutes I don’t know what she’s talking about anymore. No one understands her stories, which she tells at great length, especially at the holidays, which she spends with us because her family only takes her out when they want her to pay for all of their meals.

But we all listen. We might go get a drink and come back and she’ll still be talking, scarcely noticing the interruption, but we keep listening. We listen because she is family to us. Not of blood, but certainly of bond.
For every holiday, I and my three cousins get an envelope from Ava. A dollar at Halloween, five for our birthdays, ten at Christmas, all from her husband’s pension and social security. The little she has, she gives it away to us, who aren’t really children anymore, but she still puts stickers on the envelopes. Ava never had children so we acted as surrogates.
Every envelope is the same: “To my friend Katy. Happy Easter. God Bless. Love, your friend Ava.” The writing has started to get a little shaky, sometimes illegible. Most of the time, I don’t open them right away. Of course it’s partly because I know already what’s inside. But the past few years, it’s because I wonder how many more envelopes I’ll get from Ava. She’s old, no contention about it, and I’ve grown up from Katy to Kate.
But I don’t look forward to the first holiday when I won’t get the small stationery envelope with wobbly black handwriting and religious stickers.
When Ava passes, my childhood will truly, permanently be over. No one will ever call me Katy again, just Kate or Katherine. Those names aren’t very unique, and they certainly don’t come with a crisp dollar bill.

...In which our heroine gives a diner's tour.

I am a broke college student, and therefore when I eat out, I eat cheap. It isn't that much different then when I was at home, but since Waffle Houses and Steak n' Shakes are nowhere to be found, I've had to use my navigational skills:

Closest to our building, in the same block actually, is the South Loop Club. I won't pretend like this place is anything special, because it isn't. On the weekends, the bar part is pretty happenin' with the thirty-five and up set, but the real magic is in the takeout food part. Instead of going into the bar, you walk to the carryout counter and watch your food get cooked. The fare is simple--burgers, hot dogs, gyros, and fries--but there are some more exotic choices like swordfish sandwiches.My personal favoriete there is the brat, which comes with a huge helping of fries for $4.50. Oh and then there's the fact that the SLC serves food until 4 AM, which is beyond awesome, especially since it's a two minute walk.

In one of the trendier neighborhoods, Belmont, we have Clarke's Diner, which is 24/7. I've only been there once but the atmosphere is very high energy. We were there around 2 Saturday night and it was filled to capacity. It attracts much of the CCC crowd, and patrons who need somewhere to go after the bars close. Clarke's has a ginormous menu with tons of breakfast choices, and huge portions. Kris and I split an omelette, which came with potatoes and pancakes, for $9. They also have a big dinner menu and apparently, amazing gyros. Seven of us ate there and the total bill was $57 with tip. So cheap for Chicago.

And finally, Katydid's personal favorite: White Palace. When my mom was here two weeks ago, we ate there for dinner Saturday night and breakfast Sunday morning. I love diners, and White Palace is like Waffle House on steroids. Even on a packed Sunday morning, we were able to sit down in less than ten minutes. For dinner I had a patty melt, fries, and chili and the next morning, I had french toast (which was delicious and tasted like it was soaked in essence of Cap'n Crunch) eggs, and sausage. Both meals were $7. Mom had a huge chorizo omelette with potatoes and toast, also for $7. White Palace is been in the same location since 1939 and the waitresses are perfectly sassy. There is also a decent movie with James Spader that takes place partially there, which is the only reason I'd ever heard of the place. It's a new favorite however.

***

I haven't really talked to Matt since I've been here, but he texted me today to tell me to listen to his--shock--own radio show on Bearcast Radio from 4 to 6. So Emily and I did and he played us a lot of cool songs (Radiohead, The Black Keys, The Raconteurs). He was talking to me without saying anything. It reminded me of the scene in The Virgin Suicides when the boys call up the Lisbon girls and play them music over the phone. Those tones of home, Matt's monotone voice. And just for a moment, I missed home.

...In which our heroine is mavericky.

Oh Tina Fey, how I love thee...

Reason 349859 that I love Cassie, for waking up to texts like these:
"Imagine if all the bricks that made up a building or wall talked to each other. Imagine if they all spoke at the same time. Then said, "Oh, I'm sorry I interrupted. Please go ahead." All at the same time. It would be loud and chaotic!"

...In which our heroine is quite the social butterfly.

...And thus why she is spending her Friday night updating this.

This one's got some scandalous content, so proceed with caution. Scandalous, but something I still feel compelled to talk about.

Columbia is such an interesting school on the weekends--it's a dry campus, so absent are the insane Greek parties and sporting events, but the clever ways people smuggle alcohol in are quite entertaining. Most people turn to other forms of "recreation" as opposed to risk getting caught by the security at the door for alcohol. It's actually a counter-productive system, as liquor gets brought instead of beer, and therefore, the degrees of drunkeness are profound. Watching the live feed of the security camera at two in the morning is quality entertainment.

College drinking is so much different than high school. In high school, it was all about speed and not enjoyment. Now, we have the luxury of making actual drinks that taste a whole helluva lot better than vodka shots. In all honesty, I hate drinking and regret it almost every time. Most of the time, I'd rather babysit and laugh.

It's weird seeing pictures of my friends on Facebook at those huge frat house parties and the like. There is absolutely nothing like that here. Parties are contained to usually less than ten people in apartments, and there certainly aren't the themed extravaganzas that movies have taught me to expect.

The party culture here is so different. I'd say that drugs, mostly marijuana, are far more popular than alcohol. Instead of keggers at the Tri-Delta house, it's getting high, watching Magnolia, and having deep conversations. So I've heard. And I've met people that have done every substance under the sun. Compared to them, I am positively a square.

I guess the drug as opposed to drink mentality comes from the fact that this is an art school, and we have some delusion about tapping into our creativity. I enjoy having a totally different experience than most of my other friends.

I mean, look how hard our heroine parties. Midnight on a Friday and she's on her blog. I better slow it down.

...In which our heroine recognizes the changing of the seasons.

Fall has found its way to Chicago and within a matter of three days, t-shirt weather has become hoodie weather.

But I love fall, it's my favorite season. This apartment is going to be so cozy once it gets really cold outside, seeing as we'll be able to view the conditions outside from a bird's eye view. Fall means Halloween and my birthday, which are both on Fridays this year. That's going to be dangerous. Fall means sweaters and Stephen King books and coffee. Fall means long-term projects and apple cider and crushes.

I love the state of flux fall puts us in. But as they say in my favorite book series ever, A Song of Ice and Fire, "Winter is coming."

And for whatever reason, these songs mean fall to me:


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