The entire contents of Noah's Ark is coming for me in my sleep.

Meet the tiger that will haunt my dreams.

So, this weekend I saw Life of Pi. What I loved most is that, in one fell swoop, I completed eight Oscar categories. Eight! That brings my tally to 9 down, 15 to go. And if this week goes according to plan, I'll complete another seven categories.

What I did not love: most of the other stuff about this movie. Okay, here's the deal, it was beautifully shot, well-acted and directed, and visually stunning.

Okay, fine, this was very cool. I'll give you that.

Most people would really love this movie. But I am not most people. If you know me at all, you probably know how I feel about animals. I heartily dislike them. I don't wish them harm, but I also don't wish them anywhere in my vicinity. I'd rather spend a day at the dentist than a day at the zoo.

And this movie is ALL animals. The tiger (haaaate), the baboon, the zebra, the hyena, tons of hideous fish of every sort, whales, sharks, and dolphins, and let's not forget the meerkats. It was heinous. Everywhere you looked more and more animals were popping up, and popping out in my face since it was in 3-D (oh, how I hate 3-D). It was like watching a Hannibal Lecter movie. I was in a constant state of horror and disgust. If only Melis had been sitting next to me laughing at my terror, it would have been the full Silence of the Lambs experience.

Liz and Kris, you guys would probably love this. It was not for me. But hey, eight whole categories--that's not bad at all.

Quick! Someone solve this mystery!

So, there's this family with ten children, nine of whom are home on Christmas Eve, 1945, when a fire engulfs the family home. The parents and four of the children escape; the other five, aged 5 through 14, disappear without a trace. No bones or human remains among the ashes. Nothing. The parents, convinced the children are alive, do everything they can to find them. They chase down every lead, write to J. Edgar Hoover asking for an FBI investigation, they even hire a private investigator but he goes missing himself.

And then, 23 years after the fire, a mysterious photograph shows up in the mail, purporting to be an image of  the missing 9-year-old boy, all grown up. And it really does look like him. No letter from the unknown sender, no return address.

Eventually the parents died without ever knowing the truth. Four of the remaining five siblings died as well. Now, the last surviving child, who was two years old when the fire happened, still hopes to find out what became of her five brothers and sisters.

You really need to read this story. Mysterious visitors, creepy strangers watching, arson and bombs, mafia-related threats, strange noises in the night, credible sightings of the missing children, and then that cryptic photograph! Why were they taken? Where did they go? And why, if they did live 23 or more years after the fire, did they never try to contact their parents?

Oh, this story is just too much. Someone please figure out what happened. I am dying here.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Stoker.

In honor of Bram Stoker’s 165^th birthday today (thank you, Google) I am going to tell you about the ballet of Dracula that I recently saw at the Kennedy Center. It was melodramatic, tremendously creepy, and full of fake blood. Blood!

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say the scariest things in the ballet were Van Helsing’s eyebrows. I was convinced they were going to crawl off the stage and come for me, just before exiting the Kennedy Center and going on to wreak havoc in the Capital. They pulled focus, is what I’m saying. I wish I could find a photo because they were truly something to behold.

This ballet was danced by the Washington Ballet. About a week before that I saw a Russian company dance Cinderella and they used minimal sets and simple costumes, probably to set off the exquisite dancing. Dracula was the complete opposite for sets and costumes. The dancing was wonderful, but it was accompanied by crumbling castles, dank crypts, and dry ice fog rolling across the stage. It’s Dracula; it has to be at least a little campy.

Dracula catches his first glimpse of Mina in Jonathan Harker's photo.

Jonathan and the three vampires who try to devour him. Gah!

Jonathan's nightmare about his wedding to Mina.

Dracula turns Lucy into a creature of the night.

Renfield is sacrificed as vampire Lucy and Mina look on.

It was supremely creepy. There were wolves lurking in the shadows, bloody corpses crawling out of coffins (which gave me fear flashbacks to when I first watched the Thriller video at age 6), and people were getting bitten all over the place. The neck biting really creeps me out.

Tell me this does not creep you out!

In one scene, when Dracula is trying to turn Mina into a vampire, he takes his fingernail and slices open his bare chest so she can drink his blood. It looked incredibly real from the first row and I concentrated on breathing deeply and not vomiting. Vomiting at the Kennedy Center is just not the thing.

Super creepy, super fun. I like to think Mr. Stoker would have been pleased.

Il Mostro di Firenze

I just finished reading The Monster of Florence, by Douglas Preston. I picked it up thinking it was a scary novel but soon realized it was a true story. You may have heard me remark that I couldn't believe Dr. H. H. Holmes, the serial killer featured in the outstanding book The Devil in the White City, was not more well-known since he was America's version of Jack the Ripper. Well, il mostro di Firenze is Italy's version of the Ripper, and this guy is still at large. Kristen, we could have walked past him on our way to the Brancacci Chapel! Gah!

Douglas Preston is an American crime novelist who moved to Florence with his wife and children in order to write a thriller novel about Masaccio and the Brancacci frescoes. While researching his novel, he spoke to a journalist friend of his, Mario Spezi, and Spezi told Preston the astonishing story of the Monster of Florence killings. Preston was shocked to find that two of the victims had been murdered in the olive grove just outside his Florentine house. He soon abandoned the Masaccio novel and he and Spezi set out to discover the identity of the killer. What starts out as a creepy story ends up as an indictment of the Italian justice system, as you would not believe the whacked out theories that have been posited in this case.

Fascinating book, highly recommended.

Yamahama, it's fright night!

I refuse to believe I am the only person being utterly terrorized by this SNL skit.



I swear these guys are coming for me in my sleep.

More from the mental institution where I spent last week

This is the building I was in. I never made it to the attic, but the third floor was super creepy.

I kept waiting for ghostly faces to appear at these windows.

Many of the buildings remain abandoned.

The institution had patients with tuberculosis and the prescription for that was fresh air. These porches were covered with fencing and the patients would sit in these little cells in the air. This is what's left of them.

Creepy!

I must be crazy to be in a loony bin like this.

I am on Long Island this week facilitating a training class for work. Our classroom is located at a school that was once a mental institution. Are you imagining something creepy? It is every bit as creepy as you imagine. And more.

We arrived at our imposing building and were directed to the second floor. When the huge (for accommodating patients strapped to stretchers) and slow elevator arrived and the doors creaked open, we peered down a long, wide, really dark hallway. We tried to find our way by the eerie red glow of the exit signs and made it to the end of the hallway. When we found a set of double doors that led to a long, even darker hallway, we gave up and called for the guards to turn on some lights.

Now the floor is lit up and it’s still quite creepy. I’m sitting in a room next to a window. It is dark and stormy. The wind is blowing and the trees outside are casting shadows on the window and hitting against the glass. Every half-hour or so, the wind shudders the window so it sounds like someone is tapping on it. I jump every time. Atmosphere!

Our contact here showed me his office and informed me with glee that this was where they used to do the lobotomies. That’s why there’s a ramp leading to his door. The entire campus is twisty and confusing and designed to keep people in.

If I'm never heard from again, somebody take over my fantasy football team!

Oscar doesn't look grouchy. He looks kinda psycho.

So, you may know from my photo blog that Julia's Oscar balloon had to ride home from Philly in my car. I had dinner with Jen, Jules, Melis, Brian, and Drama Club Eric tonight, so I took the balloon to give it back. I thought I had anchored it pretty well toward the floor of the backseat, but I guess it dislodged itself. So, picture it: I'm driving along and in my rearview mirror I see this face rising up slowly from the floor of my backseat:


GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Look, I know it's a cartoon balloon (How many of you spontaneously started singing Elton John's Levon just then?) but all I saw was a psychotic face rising up out of my backseat and for a split second I screamed in fright. Then I nearly wrecked, and took almost two miles to calm myself down. That split second may have been the greatest terror I have ever experienced.

I know now that if a murderer is ever really hiding in my backseat, I will die of a heart attack before he ever gets his hands on me. I can only hope that he's horribly disfigured in the wreck that is sure to follow, but not too disfigured to serve a life sentence for manslaughter. I want my vengeance, even from the grave.

So, I'm watching Gigi...

...which I DVR'ed off of TCM, and it's creeping me out. Has anyone else ever seen this movie? This is one creepy-butt movie. You know, like in the same way that The Major and the Minor is totally creepy and could never be made today? Yeah, like that.

Oh, and that flipping "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" song isn't making anything any better.

Thanks, Turner Classic Movies.

Is this making anyone else uncomfortable?

I really must insist that he be stopped.

I subscribe to Entertainment Weekly and I have to say, every time Stephen King refers to himself as my "Uncle Stevie" in his poorly-written columns, it makes me feel unpleasant in ways I cannot articulate to you. I hesitate to call it disturbing, but it's creepy at best.

Well, that was unsettling.

Have you ever looking in your rearview mirror and thought to yourself, "Oh, that guy is definitely a serial killer."? I have. Just yesterday, in fact. I looked up and saw reflected in that rectangular piece of glass a man who looked like the biologically impossible love child of John Wayne Gacy and the Unabomber. Seventies-era car spray painted flat black, Stars and Bars hanging from his own rearview mirror, beard like Uncle Jesse (the Dukes’ uncle, not the Tanner’s uncle) had stuck his hand in a light socket, dark sunglasses even though the day was dreary and overcast, and a scowl that screamed, "I brake for knife shops." It’s a pretty chilling sight when you’re just out and about and on the way to Wendy’s for a spicy chicken sandwich.

Has anyone disappeared in the West End lately? If so, I just described your suspect.