The Kelton Avenue Mystery Head

I was bleeding when I first saw it. Not badly. Just a skinned knee from a pratfall a few blocks back (I walked the neighborhood for exercise.)
A face peered out a window several houses ahead of me. Its plaster skin and glass eyes made me think it was a prop or an educational model. Closer inspection proved it could only be an educational model about hallucinogens.
Two heads fused at at cheek level, sharing a chin, neck and twisted mouth of clenched teeth. My depiction is stylized. The original had realistic features and was creepy. There it was, propped in the front window like a vase of silk flowers.
What is this thing? I wondered. Where did it come from? And why is it propped up in the window? Did it freak out the neighbors? The local kids? (I'd have flipped if I saw it when I was little.)
I wanted to know more. Someone had designed and built this awful/funny/fascinating thing. Someone wanted it in the front window. Why?
I considered knocking on the door and asking. What would I say? "Sorry for interrupting your dinner, but what's with that freaky thing in the window?" I never had the nerve.
Then the Mystery Head got coy. Sometimes it was there, sometimes not. I often passed the house with friends on the way to the shops and eateries on Pico Blvd. I anticipated pointing it out to them. Would they think it was as weird as I did? Would someone recognize the artist (or horror movie) behind it? Invariably, it was gone when I passed with a witness (Why? Did the homeowners bring it to the table for meals? Borrow it to freshen up the bathroom?). A few days later, I'd pass the house and there it was, staring me down with four eyes.
It's been years since I've seen it. The house was demolished and rebuilt:
I checked the windows of the new home when I passed it. No mutant heads peered back.
I still wonder about it.

100 Most Beautiful

**click image to enlarge
I see People Magazine released their 100 Most Beautiful People issue.
I didn't read it because:

1. I didn't make the list.
2. The people who did make the list have nothing to do with me.

Seriously, why would I want to read details about a bunch of celebrities in a "aren't they wonderful!?" context? Get out of here. They probably wouldn't make eye contact with me if I met them on the street.
I've seen issues like that before. They usually toss in a few toads to show how deep they are. As if to say "Yeppers, this three eyed, toothless leper has made our beauty list because she rescued baby seals. We see her inner beauty. Aren't we profound? (Okay, enough of this inner beauty crap! Turn the page for more gods and goddesses!)"

Gutterball!

I knew a radio psychic. It was an act. He knew what to tell callers to sound credible. Most calls were hits but a few bombed. When that happened, off air, he and his co-host exchanged looks and said "gutterball!"

We had a mini party at work. I chatted with some friends, then worked my way to the tortilla chips and salsa. Some strangers stood nearby, one joking loudly about some "f*@!ing" thing that was drove him nuts.

"You said the F-word!" I teased. This shtick worked among friends. They'd drop profanity and I'd react in mock indignation. The childish nature of the observation (compared to, say "Geez, you talk like a sailor") made it clear I wasn't serious. Or did it?

He shot me a Huh? What's wrong with you!? look.

"I was kidding," I assured, touching his forearm to prove I was friendly. It was like touching a mannequin. "Just fooling with ya!" . No smile, no laugh, no "Dang, for a moment I thought you were serious."

I'm not the best body language reader, but his message was clear:

What the f*@! is your problem and why the f*@! are you touching my arm? Freak! His friends stared like I was a leper, a vibe I hadn't gotten since junior high .

Gutterball!

Killer Bunny!

I love this scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. It's funny (and ironic) in many directions:

1. They expect a ferocious beast to emerge, but it's a white lab rabbit.
2. Yet, they're warned, he's vicious.
3. Surprise! He really is vicious!
4. His attacks (and gore) are ridiculously fun-house fake.
   

I also like how King Arthur (Gram Chapman) speaks in a formal, medieval style, but is reduced to modern slang when he's disgusted or frustrated- a shtick that runs throughout the film.

Swine-chronicity

I'm borrowing someone's desk this week. As I scooped up my supplies, I considered bringing my beloved flying pig with me, but chose not to. I feared I'd break him. I figured I could last a week without my desk ornament.
When I got to my temp desk, I found it had a single ornament too. Another flying pig!

Weird without Trying.

Critic Namowal: I told you it was a dumb idea! Didn't I? Didn't I?

Loser Namowal: It was worth a try!

Critic Namwoal: And it gets better. Not only was it a bad idea, but you botched it! I'm not sure how this was botch-able but you found a way. Amazing.

Loser Namowal: I did my best.

Critic Namowal: "Your best?" Fat lot of good that did! Might I add you made a fool out of yourself? Why don't you just write "weirdo" on your forehead?

Loser Namowal: I don't wanna be a weirdo. I'm not trying to be a weirdo!

Critic Namowal: That's the problem with you. You're weird without trying.

Namowal's Ghost

"There's Namowal's Ghost!" a catty gal in my college dorm would say. "She looks awful! If only she'd get some color! " Catty Gal went to the tanning salon regularly. So did friends. The only person who didn't say I was too white was my dermatologist. My light freckling meant I was getting too much sun. He insisted use sunblock daily.
In the late 1980s, a marshmallow complexion was uncool. Self tanners looked orange and streaky on me, so I was stuck with the vanilla soft serve look. Friends goofed on me, and even strangers sometimes called me "Snow White" or "Casper."
Flash forward twenty years later. The pasty look doesn't stand out the way it did in the eighties. I know sun worshipers in their twenties with more wrinkles than me. I guess the dermatologist was right.
I'll end this post with an open letter.

Dear People Who Made Fun of Me for Not Getting a Tan in the 1980s, We're almost forty. I still get carded. How about you? Nyaaaaaaaaaaah! Sincerely, Namowal's Ghost