Torched By An Angel

So, I started writing this story. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do with it, but I started writing it because it wouldn’t leave me alone. From the very first time my friend Brandon suggested the title (which he insists is awful, but I don’t care), my gears began turning and I had to do something with it or it was going to eat me alive. I started writing, little bit by little bit, and I got a few pages down. Then I sat on it.

I sat on it for a few months, until I read that Mikey Neumann, the voice of Scooter from Borderlands and Borderlands 2 (my favorite game series of all time, hands down) wrote a book called The Returners. He explained, along with his editor, that he had written it in small chunks. I have such sporadic bursts of creativity, it’s hard for me to finish a project I’ve started. I have so many half finished ideas, most of them will likely never see the light of day. I get so excited about something, put a lot of effort into starting it, then let it sit and stew for the rest of time. I wish I was better about finishing things, I try to be, but my very short attention span coupled with my chaotic work schedule makes that nearly impossible. 

After I read about how Mikey did it, I was inspired. The story is far from finished, but I intend to produce it in short form, one Chapter (micro chapter, really) at a time, and maybe it will get somewhere. If it does, I’ll be elated. If it doesn’t, at least I got to get it out, and hopefully people will like it. 

Do I want to be internet famous? Sure. Will it affect me personally if I don’t? Not at all. I’d love to receive accolades for my work, who wouldn’t? My ultimate goal is to entertain people. It seems to be the only thing I’m good at. Maybe I should put more effort into it, but then again, the short attention span comes back to the forefront there. 

Fuck, maybe I should get that checked out.

My First Horror Con: The Electrifying Climax

So, here it is, the last chapter in the tale of my very first horror convention ever. I hope you’ve liked the previous entries, and  this final section will be nothing short of immensely entertaining, or so I hope.

So, I left off going to sleep about 6:30 AM, right? Well, it’s now 8:00 AM on Saturday. I awaken to David standing over me getting his vengeance for cuddle-raping his wife the night before. I open my eyes once my ears fill with “GET UP FUCKER IT’S 8 AM TIME FOR BREAKFAST.” Yes, this insane bastard literally stood over me after an hour and a half’s worth of sleep demanding I get up and eat breakfast with him. I had no choice, for I feared the worst, and I obliged him.

We get up, get cleaned up, and head out to eat. Most of the day at the show was fun, met some more very cool people, including Travis Fessler and his merry band of sideshow performers, The Pickled Brothers Circus. Travis holds two officially recognized Guinness world records, both of which relate to his sideshow. His first record is for putting the most Madagascar hissing cockroaches in his mouth and retrieving them alive in one go. He had, at one time, eleven hissing cockroaches in his mouth at once. Travis is a really nice guy, but he had eleven. cockroaches. in. his mouth. Gross. His other world record isn’t nearly as disgusting; I’m not quite sure of the details, but while it does have to do with things in his mouth (No, not that, you perv), it’s some combination of sword swallowing and whip cracking. I think Travis is a pretty kinky guy who is just using the Circus as a cover for his BDSM fantasies, but I can’t be sure.

I do know that he is a sadist, because at one point in the day, he had me remove a sword he had swallowed from his throat. It was fascinating holding a man’s life in your very hands, I’ll tell you that. He also lay down on a bed of nails, placed a piece of wood on his stomach and had myself, tipping the scales around 350 pounds, and my friend TJ who is as big as me or more, stand on his belly while he was atop these nails.

Like I said before, Travis is a really nice guy, but I can’t help but think at some point he ate paint chips while falling off his head and living under power lines.

So, the day goes on, and I’m trying to convince my friend Charli (that’s a female) to come to the show. After much coercion, she finally concedes and heads our way. Also, I can’t help but notice David and Mimi have gone, and I wasn’t aware. I guess my cuddles would just have to be postponed. So, the show is over, people are preparing for the final party, and the night has just begun. I’m in my room, still going strong on my big one and a half hours of sleep. People start filling the room once again, and the party starts hopping. I remember talking to a girl called Beef about the kinds of girls I find attractive, and she  explains to me that you just have to shove them against the wall and force your love upon them. This sounds a little too rapey for me, so I move along in the night. I remember talking to a female, who was of the variety Beef and I had discussed earlier in the night, and getting along well. This is where I go dark. I remember talking, and then the next thing I know, we’re making out. Heavy petting, kissing, all the works, and I ask if she wants to come back to my room (which was full of people, so I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea). She said she needed to go find her friends first, and she’d come back. I took that at face value, and headed back to the room. So, I’m standing by the door, talking to someone, people are out on the balcony talking, smoking cigarettes, and generally being happy.

What happens next was all within the span of about five minutes, and it’s all just kind of a blur.

I was standing literally at the door, making conversation when out of nowhere, all I see is a police officer rush into the room, taser drawn, and he fires into the room. The room that was crowded with people. Naturally, everyone in the room scatters, and the culprit is being led outside. Remember Josh Felty, the guy I told you to remember from the previous entry? This is his shining moment.

After that, the party kind of died. A few people were still hanging around, but most went back to their rooms to shake off what had just happened. We all went to bed after everyone left, and waited until morning to think our options out.

Sunday morning, I woke up and immediately called David on Skype. We discussed what it meant for the Infernal Dreams crew, which turned out people loved us even more, so it was a partial win. Felty was in jail, sure, but he was a hero amongst our group.

The official charge was, I think public indecency. What had happened was, Felty was urinating off the balcony in plain sight of a cop, who was at the hotel for noise complaints. Imagine that. The cop had yelled at him, asked him to stop and zip up, and Felty was spooked, so he ran. The police gave chase, tasered him, and he was arrested.

So, after I play damage control for Infernal Dreams, my roommate, who was apparently chummy with the local cops as he was a semi-local himself, went to the police office to discuss bail options. He came back with the news that we would need $200 to get him out. A few of us began to formulate a plan, but as it was the last day of the show, most people had spent most of their money on movies, t-shirts, and autographs. We got a bucket, put a “Save Felty” sticker on the front, and got to work, even though we didn’t really expect much to come of it.

That’s when the magic happened.

We went table to table, explaining the details of what happened, and while most people were glad to know details, almost everyone pitched in. In just over an hour, we had raised the money to get him out. The local took our money and went to the holding facility. We all waited with bated breath, wondering if the local was going to run off with our money or if they would just decide to hold Felty indefinitely, because maybe they were corrupt as hell backwoods Kentucky police.

Some time passes, and the local comes back, money still in hand. Perplexed, he explained to us that they now decided it was going to be $300. We took to the begging once more, and once again, everyone pitched in as much as they could, until we had enough to get him out for the second time. So the local goes back to the holding cells a second time.

By this point, we’re all really wondering if he’s even going to get out, and if we’re going to have to divvy the money back out to the people who’d donated, and this was about to be a big, giant headache, but then again it was a cause worthy of a headache.

As we almost reached our cumulative breaking point with patience, who walks through the door but the local, with the man himself, Josh Felty, in tow. He was met with a large round of applause, and after he gave a heartwarming speech worthy of a Hallmark card, we all congratulated him on not only surviving a taser shot, but also surviving a backwoods jail cell for a night.

This is the story of my very first horror convention. I’ve been to many since then, I’ll be at many in the future, but I will never, EVER forget this one. Ask anyone there and they’ll tell you, it was definitely something special. The bond within the community that helped get Felty out of jail was something that made me realize what a great, close knit group the Kentucky horror community is. We may have internal arguments, we may have disagreements, but in the end, we’re all filmmakers, actors, and friends, and we’re all in this together, for better or for worse.

My First Horror Con, Chapter 2

So, we left off with me arriving at the hotel, which is where we’ll pick up.

I check in to the hotel, which was a rather painless process. The front desk attendant told me I was in room 213. I take my bags to my room, clean up, and meet my Alabama friends at the Jerry’s restaurant next door. We eat, and I head back to my room. 

I open the door, and amidst the smoky haze that has now permeated my room, is the guy I split the room with. He didn’t tell me he was there, I had no idea he had checked in, he was just kind of… there. 

“Hey…” he muttered, sounding as though he had just poured a handful of sand down his throat.

“H…Hey.” I replied, slightly scared for my life.

We made pleasantries, and set about our weekend. Most of the first day, Friday, was meeting a lot of people I had previously only known through Facebook for the first time, checking out their movies, or books, or whatever it was they were there to promote. My friends whose website (www.infernaldreams.net) I used to write for, David and Mimi Rupp, showed up, and bunked down in my room. More of the Infernal Dreams crew showed up, namely Josh Felty (this guy is a very important part of the story later, so remember him). 

I was heading back to my room for a moment, and ran into one of my friends I had yet to meet, we talked briefly, and she asked what room I was staying in, to which I replied “Room 213″. Her face dropped like she had seen a ghost. I asked her if there was a problem, and she told me that was a bad luck room. I had no idea what she was talking about, but she informed me that 213 was Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment number. I, of course, had no clue and wondered why this had any bearing on me or my room, but she seemed to think it was some kind of weird omen. I passed it off and went back to my business. 

Heading back to the convention, I began to hear murmurs across the floor asking where the party room was. I figured, since it was my first show, I would nominate my room. Everyone seemed to form a consensus, and the plans were set. Everyone began spreading the word, and I had no idea what I was in for. 

The show ends for the night, and I make plans to eat with m friends. I don’t remember where we ate, but that’s not really important. What’s really important is what happened next: my first con party.

This hotel room was a standard sized room, two beds, a bathroom, two chairs and a table.

 

11:46 PM: There were a few people packing in, enough to get a good crowd going, and the alcohol was flowing pretty swiftly. People would come in and out, stand on the balcony and smoke because the room was already quite permeated from everyone else in the room smoking cigarettes, among other things. The more the night went on, the more people showed up. It seemed as though with every drink I took, the people in the room multiplied until before I knew it, there were easily seventy to eighty people in one room. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I have many witnesses who will confirm there were far more people in the room than the Fire Marshall would be comfortable with. 

12:31 AM: I remember a beautiful woman, who we’ll call Stacy, in the room sitting on the bed next to me. We talked briefly, and she got up to leave. I tried to make her stay, but she didn’t want to. Talk about awkward.

1:32 AM: Someone came to the room and told everyone that Dick Warlock, who played Michael Myers in Halloween 2, was upset we were being so loud, and he couldn’t sleep; this only served us a reason to become even more drunk, loud and obnoxious. This has led to many inside jokes amongst the people there, and it comes up at just about every convention I’ve attended since then, whether Warlock is in attendance or not. Surely, some time throughout a weekend, a person will be shushed and told that Dick Warlock is trying to sleep. It is never not funny.

2:14 AM: I was chatting with the aforementioned David’s wife, Mimi and decided I needed a good cuddle. She was the nearest thing missing a penis, and I can’t be certain, but I think I cuddle-raped her. She acted like she didn’t want it at first, but she eventually relented. We cuddled for an unmeasured amount of time, at which point I immediately began apologizing to David, as he was a much bigger person than I am, and could assuredly run me ragged in a fight. He laughed it off because he found it genuinely funny (thankfully), and the night continued. It has become tradition, any time I see Mimi, that we must now have mandatory cuddle time because apparently I am an amazing cuddler. Ladies, take note.

3:10 AM: Someone shows up with a gas can. My first drunken reaction was panic, thinking my room was about to be set ablaze, but I was hastily informed that it was not gasoline in the gas can, but alcohol. I could do nothing but admire the craziness of this idea. I also took drinks straight from the gas can, because… gas can alcohol is better than any alcohol you’ll ever drink in your life. Yeah, I said it.

So, the night goes on, we all party until our eyes bled, and many Dick Warlock jokes were made, far, far too much alcohol was consumed, no one in my room got to sleep until about 6:30 AM, and everyone had a great time, as far as I know. My first horror con party was an amazingly resounding success, however this was only the first night. Trust me when I say, the best is yet to come. 

The third and final chapter is coming.

I really hope you’re ready.

 

Tomb Raider (2013)

 

This is my first game review on this blog, and it’s for a game I was kind of looking forward to once I heard about: the Tomb Raider reboot. I grew up on the original Tomb Raider games, and hearing they were doing a proper next-gen version made me pretty happy. I sat and finished the game damn near in one sitting, and I finished with mixed emotions. Here’s why.

 

PLEASE NOTE: THIS REVIEW PROBABLY WILL CONTAIN A FEW SPOILERS. I’LL TRY AND KEEP IT AS SPOILER FREE AS POSSIBLE, BUT YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

 

The story starts with young Lara Croft, before she became the battle-hardened super explorer she was portrayed as in the original games. This isn’t Lara at her peak. No, This is Lara before she became the Tomb Raider. 

The scene opens and she’s sitting on a ship listening to her iPhone… wait… This is a prequel to the original Tomb Raider… and she has an iPhone?! 

(just go with it, they did kind of bill it as a reboot and a not a direct prequel)

Fine, whatever. 

After arguing with the expedition leader about where to go, the ship captain steps up and says he’s going to follow Lara’s instinct when the boat hits troubled waters. The ship wrecks, Lara falls off the boat (more on Lara falling in a minute), and they all land on an island in the middle of the Dragon’s Triangle.

Shipwrecked on an island inhabited by a weird cult (because what kind of adventure game doesn’t have some suicidal, ritualistic cult?) Lara’s friend Sam is kidnapped by the tribe and taken elsewhere on the island. Lara takes it upon herself to rescue Sam, no matter what, as she feels responsible. Things escalate from there, and the story picks up at a nice clip throughout the entire game. 

I have a couple issues with the game, from both a story standpoint as well as a gameplay standpoint. First, for a game that’s supposedly based off the original Tomb Raider series, they relegated the raiding of tombs to SIDE QUESTS. Seriously? The name of the game is TOMB RAIDER. You would think that RAIDING TOMBS would be the main focus, but I guess they wanted to focus on the story they created for the game, however bland it was. It wasn’t a bad story, it hit the right notes at the right times and punctuated the gameplay pretty well. It just wasn’t anything extraordinary or anything we haven’t seen, read or heard a million times already.  For such an iconic series, I feel like the story should have been a little stronger than the average cookie cutter nonsense. 

My second beef with this game is the tiered skill trees aspect that every game seems to shove in for no apparent reason these days. Don’t get me wrong, I loved watching Lara grow into her bad ass character, but I think making you earn experience and skill points doesn’t really feel like Tomb Raider. It feels like a clone of games like Uncharted, when it should be the one to step up and say, “Look, we’re going to do something new, and never seen before, because we started this genre, and we’re going to push it forward like you’ve never seen.” Instead it was more of a “Let’s just apply the Tomb Raider name to the same exact structure of the myriad of adventure games that are already on the market, and add a dash of our own flavor, but not enough to really set us apart.” It’s disheartening, because this game had such potential. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed it, but I really feel like it missed a lot of opportunities to both push boundaries and tickle the nostalgia bone gamers have these days, myself included. 

Something else I noticed about this game is Lara falls down a lot. I’m not exaggerating when I say she falls down in practically every cut scene in the game. She is either drinking the antiseptic or she has the worst case of vertigo I’ve ever seen. It is almost literally impossible for Lara to keep her two feet on the ground. She must be one of those people who say, “Gravity is just a theory, you know”, then goes on to prove it to you by hurling herself at the ground at every possible opportunity. There is a cut scene towards the end of the game where she literally falls about seven or eight times in a row. It plays out something like this: Lara falls on a bridge, said bridge collapses; hits a rock ledge, and the ledge crumbles; falls onto a slippery slope, and rolls/slides down the slippery slope for a bit before it chucks her off the edge of a mountain and she tumbles some more. You get the point, and if there were a drinking game based on how many times she falls in the game, you’d be drunk by the first tomb raiding side quest (and with good reason, because I’ll still never understand that decision.)

The last thing I was going to complain about was the lack of a good boss fight, which most games forego these days. It was set up to be the same “wave after harder wave of enemies” that most games throw in at the end instead of one massive, truly challenging boss fight; however, I was proven very wrong, and that’s all I’m going to say.

In closing, I enjoyed the game. I had fun seeing this portrayal of Lara in her formative years. I wish they had done some things differently, but in general it’s a fun game with a few glaring flaws. If you can look past most of the nitpicky little problems, you’ll enjoy this game. I, however, am a very nitpicky person, and even though I found a few big things to have a problem with, I still had fun, especially towards the end. 

My First Horror Con, Chapter 1

A lot of my friends already know this story, or some version of it, but I’m going to tell it again, because I love telling stories, and this (as my friends who were there will tell you) is a hell of a story, so grab a drink, sit back, and prepare to be entertained. I’m going to break it up into chapters, since, as I’m writing it, I haven’t even really started the story yet and I’m already at 700+ words.

I am a fair-to-middlin’ fan of horror movies. I have a lot of friends in the horror industry, and as such, get into some pretty cool horror parties, meet some pretty cool celebs, and drink until I’m falling over drunk (which is extremely dangerous when you’re on a twelfth floor balcony).

I had never been to a horror convention until 2009. My friend had put together a show he called “Dead Woods Con” “Dark Woods Con” (Thanks, Jason. I have a cup of coffee now, so I’m good), and it was to be held in Pikeville, Kentucky. I live in Louisville, Kentucky, and this is about a five or six hour drive for me. My friends assured me that it would be well worth the trip, so I made plans and began saving money for the trip.

I started by making reservations at the Landmark Inn in Pikeville where the convention was being held. I got a reasonable rate, and split the room with one of my friends, so it was pretty cheap.  I was pretty confident this was going to be an awesome time, and my anxiety grew day by day as the date approached. I had heard so much about these conventions, but I had never attended one. I had heard all the stories of copious alcohol, VIP parties, celebrities, and crazy room parties. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

The day came, and I was so anxious, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake on the couch, and decided to watch some horror movies to pass the time and simultaneously pump myself up for the blood soaked weekend I was about to endure. I ended up watching Laid To Rest, which if you haven’t seen, I highly suggest. If you enjoy super simple, super gory horror movies, definitely check it out. Anyway, back to the story.

The movie ended, and I was still far too anxious to sleep. I decided to say fuck it, I packed my bags into my car, and headed out. After all, it was a six hour drive, might as well get a head start, right? Oh, did I mention it was 5am when I left? Yeah, it was 5am. I decided to leave at the ass-crack of dawn, because I am a sadist. I get on the road, and follow the directions I had printedfrom Google Maps because at this point I didn’t have a GPS, and back in the old times, we had to print hard copies of our directions, we didn’t have all this new technology to hold our hand every step of the way and gently reproach us when we made a wrong turn.

I had been on the road for about two hours, decided to pull off, grab a beverage, empty the previous beverage from myself, and stretch my legs. I refuel myself, then take a look at the directions. It says to go down Mountain Parkway for two hundred something miles. I thought, surely that must be a chocolate smudge or something, so I looked again. Nope, it really said two hundred something miles on one thoroughfare.

Whatever, I think, I got this. I’m a road warrior, man. This won’t be shit.

I found the parkway, and headed out on my way. I am not exaggerating when I say it was one of the most grueling driving experiences of my entire life. Most of the time, even on a long stretch of road, there are things to see. Buildings or small towns sit off the interstate, and there are people milling around the town, billboards, things of that nature. On the Mountain Parkway, however, there are none of these things. No, whoever designed this highway must have had a Master’s in torture. There is nothing. When I say nothing, I mean NOTHING. No billboards. No towns. No people except other drivers. Hardly any radio selection. It’s you, the road, and mountains. That’s it. For TWO. WHOLE. HOURS. Let me tell you, I didn’t even mind that the first place to stop, get gas and load up on snacks was a place that looked like it was literally ripped out of a movie that would be celebrated at the very place I was destined for.

It was a small convenience store, log cabin style. I walk in, and the place smells warm. Yes, I swear, it smelled like hot. Not like fire, mind you; it just smelled like… body odor, I guess. I can’t really describe it. If you can imagine that smell of a building that hasn’t had air conditioning apart from a ceiling fan in the life of the building, that’s exactly what it smelled like; just… funk. I walk in, grab a six pack of Ale-8-One as a gift for my Alabama friends, a soda and some candy for me, and walk to the register. The man behind the counter looked like the stereotypical movie redneck. Flannel shirt, big scruffy beard, unimpressed demeanor. He rang my things up, and to my surprise, they took credit cards which was a blessing, because I had zero cash on me at that time. I paid for my things and left as quick as I could before I heard any banjo music. Back on the final stretch of the Torture Parkway, I’m determined. I’ve made a hotel reservation, I’ve come this far, I’m almost there. Just this last stretch of about thirty or forty miles, and I’ll be at the hotel, and can relax for a minute. I can tell I’m getting closer as the average IQ is dropping like a swallow carrying a coconut. I check the directions again, surely I’m getting close. I watch the signs, check the map. I’m looking for the Pikeville exit. I’m checking the directions one more time, I look up, and… FUCK. I literally blinked and missed it. This town really is that small. I take the next exit, loop back around, and find the hotel.

We’ll stop here, since It’s already become quite wordy, and I’m sure you’re already bored of reading.

I’ll post Chapter two some time in the near future, probab;y within a week or so.

Colors!

So, I was bored with the standard white on white, and decided to add a splash of color to the blog. Things will most likely change a lot, as I am quite indecisive almost all of the time, and prefer to change things often to keep it fresh. Don’t expect much to be the same for very long stretches of time. I guess this is kind of like the old MySpace shit, where things are so customizable, it’s always changing.

Random Inspiration: Describe The Ghosts That Live In This House

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house:  

The ghost that lives in this house is the ghost of a very simple man. This is the man who woke up every day at the same time. He would open his eyes, go to the kitchen, fix himself a bowl of oatmeal, or maybe some toast and butter, a glass of milk, and get ready for the day ahead of him. He worked from sun up to sun down, probablty in some kind of manual labor job. It was tedious work, but he didn’t mind. His father raised him to appreciate hard work for good pay. He made a decent paycheck, enough to get him by and leave him a little extra for a few luxuries, enough that he wasn’t completely destitute. His name was Daniel, or David, or James, something simply, but strong. He was never married, he lived alone most of his life. He would have roommates here and there, but he generally preferred isolation. There were ghosts in this house long before his untimely demise, though. Ghosts of his past, ghosts of lost opportunities, squandered relationships, paternal discord; all these ghosts were present long before this man decided to take his own life. He didn’t mind his job, but it wasn’t fulfiling. He was happy to be able to stay up on his bills, but he never really took the time to pay his internal debts, either. He forgot to realize, tragically too late, that you have to be true to yourself, as well as the electric company. Humans need social interaction, but not this guy. He didn’t need anyone. He enjoyed his personal time. He enjoyed it so much, it became all he knew. He never wanted to leave, except for work, or a few errands here and there. After a while, it began to wear on him. He forgot how to socialize. He would occasionally go out to a bar, or a restaurant; always showing up alone, always leaving alone. He never had enough gumption to get a girl to come home with him. This, among other things, led to his ever-present and constantly growing introverted narcissism. One night, it just became too much. After having far too many Jack and Cokes, he took the belt out of his pants, wrapped it around the ceiling fan in his room, and fastened it around his own neck, He stood on the edge of his bed, contemplating what was about to be his own demise. As he stood there, on the uneven mattress, he felt his foot slip. He felt his balance go, and he felt himself fall forward. His eyes grew three times their normal size as they protruded from his skull. He panicked and clawed at his throat. He knew, in this merciful instant, this was the end, even though he now regretted it, as the pain was far too much to take. There was nothing to gain his footing on, either. His existence on this planet was done, whether he wanted it to be or not, by his own hand. The final thought that crossed his mind before he was to return to the cosmos was how no one would find his body for God knows how long. He was out in the middle of nowhere, he had no family and no friends to ever come and check on him, and now he was dead. What a stupid decision he had made.

Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

Six Flags Over New Orleans, a.k.a. Jazzland

In my last post, I talked about my love for abandoned places, and my hopeful attempt to get into some of these places and explore. I mentioned Pripyat and Wonderland, but there is another place I would love to visit as well, and that’s an abandoned amusement park in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was formerly known as Jazzland before Six Flags bought it out in 2002, and renamed it Six Flags New Orleans.

Here is the front gate before the SF purchase. Looks… jazzy… I’ll show myself out.

I have to say, that’s a really bland name. I mean, even when SF bought out Kentucky Kingdom (and subsequently ruined it with their insane prices and disgusting over-saturation of characters, but that’s another story for another day), they still kept the same name, (Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom) Six Flags New Orleans doesn’t sound very fun, I mean apart from knowing Six Flags is an amusement park chain.

The front gate after the SF purchase.

The park was only open for three years under the Six Flags label, and then Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. Pretty much giving up on the park even though some attempts had been made to salvage what remained, it sits in a state of waste to the present day. There had been plans to demolish it, but from what I understand that there are plans to turn it into a strip mall. I really hate to see a place this beautiful go to waste like that, but really, it’s already a wasteland and the state of Louisiana is losing money with it just sitting there. I understand why it has to be done. I really wish I could get inside the park and explore, because from what I saw, it’s just the perfect kind of eerie.

See? Creepy.

Unfortunately, with the demo date being so close, there’s very little to no hope of me getting to go explore, even if I had the stones to get inside in the first place.

I think part of the reason I love, at the very least the IDEA of urban exploration is because, at the heart of it, it’s one of the last great adventures we as humans can take on this planet. We’ve pretty much covered every square inch of the planet surface. Underwater exploration is getting better and better each passing year, and space exploration is set to explode any time now as well. However, with abandoned buildings, these are places to be rediscovered, already discovered once, lived in, used, and left to rot. I think there’s an odd sort of beauty in that. It’s just left to let nature run it’s course over however many years, and then rediscovered again after sitting blank and barren for what must seem like an eternity. Anyway, back to the park.

I don’t know what it is about amusement parks, but they seem to be what I’m most fascinated with. Maybe it’s the huge, open expanse of property, maybe it’s the extremely climbable structures, maybe it’s the thought that the entire area which has now been abandoned was originally home to many, many families seeking a day of fun, bonding, and laughter (which probably gave way to yelling at each other, whining about blisters and sore feet, and couples bitching at each other about paying six dollars for a GOD DAMN CORN DOG that didn’t even come with MUSTARD while the children stand idly by hoping people around them don’t think they’re beaten nightly). Needless to say, these places were built with one thing in mind: fun. When I see a place like Six Flags New Orleans that has been utterly and hopelessly devastated by something as terrible as Katrina was, it kicks down the dichotomy door in my brain and makes it do backflips. I am sucked right in to pictures and videos of the place. I want to go there, I want to feel what it feels like to be standing where hundreds of thousands of people have stood, and see it in an entirely different light than any one of those people. Just explore every aspect at my very whim, take my time, stroll through the park, and soak it all in. It is as close to post-apocalyptica as any human can get sans nuclear war, and it’s an experience that can truly shatter any boring story most people can come up with.

This video really gives you an idea of how creepy this place is. (Video circa 2010.)

Sources:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/11427010@N00

http://lostlosangeles.org/artifacts-of-industry.html

(I can’t find the source for the original Jazzland front gate picture, as the website I had bookmarked with it apparently forwarded itself to a spam site for “Free Disneyland Tickets!” and wouldn’t let me back up a page. If it’s your picture, contact me and I’ll update it accordingly.)

The Concrete Jungle

Everyone finds solace and peace in different ways. Some people enjoy complete nothingness, totally shutting off all the senses and just escaping within themselves. Some people enjoy hunting, being at one with nature, and providing for their family the way man has done since the dawn of time.

I don’t prefer either of these. I prefer to be in a city. I prefer to be surrounded by concrete and glass. I prefer to be lost in a large group of people. It’s almost like anonymity by proxy. I can’t explain it, but as long as I have been alive, I have had a lust for the city. There have been many bored nights where I just wander aroud my city. Just me, maybe my camera, exploring new parts of the city that I have never known about.

It never ceases to amaze me that in twenty eight years, I still haven’t discovered all of my city. I know there are parts of my city I have never, and will never see, and that’s alright. There are parts of this town I never wish to see.

However, there are many parts of this city I yearn for, parts that haven’t been touched by human hands for years and years. The underground tunnels are the biggest instance. Underneath Louisville lies a series of (alleged) tunnels built by notorious gangster Al Capone to evade the police. It is well known and documented that Capone as well as other prominent gangsters from the bootlegging era spent time in the Seelbach and had special rooms built for quick escape in the case of police trying to bust up their back room poker games.

ANYWAY. I want to get under the city. I want to explore those tunnels. I don’t care if it’s illegal, I don’t care if it nets me a trespassing charge, I want to get down there and explore. Urban exploration is something I have a huge interest in, but I’ve never had the courage to do. I’m not in any kind of shape to run from the police, I am not a climber, I would be utterly fucked if I got caught, but it’s so thoroughly fascinating to me. Ever since I found out this was a thing, I’ve been completely enthralled with the idea of exploring these abandoned places.

Some noteworthy places I would love to explore are places like Pripyat, in the Ukraine.

Look at that. Tell me that doesn’t make you want to go all Indiana Jones on that bitch.

I know it’s typical amongst urban explorers. There was a multiplayer map built around Pripyat in Call Of Duty. It was a city, built around a nuclear reactor. They had everything. They had office buildings, apartments, everything conducive to a functioning society, but the coolest part of Pripyat is a ferris wheel. I want so fucking badly to go and climb that ferris wheel. I don’t care if I die, that would be an awesome death.

Look at that. Doesn’t that just beg to be climbed on?

The second destination on my urban exploration bucket list is Wonderland, in Beijing, China. It began as a Chinese answer to Disneyworld. The park was never completed, and now, out in the middle of a cornfield in China, is this half built amusement park. It was planned to cover one hundred twenty acres, so you know it’s massive, and it’s just sitting there. I mean, it’s surrounded by farmers, and I don’t think officials do much to stop people from going there short of warning signs. It just sits there, rotting from the inside out, waiting for wayward explorers to get inside it’s guts.

It’s like if Cinderella survived a nuclear holocaust.

I mean, I know it’s nearly impossible for an American to get into China, but a man has to have dreams. My dream is to break into these places and find all the dark, seedy places that I’m not supposed to be. I don’t know where this urge has come from, but I do remember a few memories from when I was a child. My father, who worked in the heart of the city at a printing company, would take us downtown at all hours of the night to pick up orders, or do some last minute work. I always loved the way cities look at night. There are so many interesting people in cities, I think my love for the city comes from imagining all of these people’s stories. Every person has a story, sure, but in the heart of the city, there is a much higher concentration of people and thus, a higher concentration of stories.

If my love for the city started when I was young, this video is what began my complete and total fascination with urban exploration. At twenty seven minutes and change, it’s a bit longer than most videos, but trust me, it’s worth the watch and if you’re anything like me, you’ll be so engrossed you won’t even notice the time go by. Seriously, you’ll appreciate this, I promise.

Sources:
Trey Ratcliff, Stuck In Customs – http://www.fluidr.com/photos/stuckincustoms

http://www.abandonedkansai.wordpress.com

http://ameenanil.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html

The Experience

I’ve always been a fan of “experiences”, which is to say, taking something in entirely and as the creator intended.

Let’s start with movies. I’ve always been a fan of movies, ever since I was little. My grandparents would regularly have my cousin and I over, we would rent movies, stay up all night and watch scary movies. My grandmother loved scary movies, btu her favorite movies were buddy comedies. Lethal Weapon, Die Hard, anything with a good mix of comedy and action. We would go to the drive in during the summer, bring coolers full of snacks and sodas (since the concessions were far too high). We would go to the lake house, a property my grandparents owned on Nolin lake, and spend weeks in the rickety, yet comfortable trailer there, build campfires, rent a couple scary movies, and torture ourselves until none of us could sleep (the area was the exact definition of remote, a few neighbors here and there, but otherwise surrounded by nothing but wilderness.) This is where my love of movies began, and now I find myself trying to relive that feeling in other ways, most notably midnight releases.

Midnight releases, especially for big releases, are fucking electric. Let’s use The Avengers, arguably last year’s biggest release. When you get to the theatre, there are swarms of people throughout the theatre, all giddy with anticipation. Everyone is so excited, which transfers into almost raw, kinetic energy. You can feel the excitement bubblng over from everyone. Giggling, joking with their friends, cracking wise, showing off their costumes (yes, costumes, because some people enjoy being uncomfortable for two and a half hours for the sake of nerd cred). Everyone lines up, waiting for the witching hour, bursting with anticipation. Midnight comes, the fans file into the theatre, find their seats, settle into their snacks, and then the magic begins. For about two to three hours, everyone in the theatre is a family, bound in mutual love and adoration for their favorite protagonist.

This feeling, that feeling of bonding with people you don’t even know over a mutual interest you’ve all been waiting seemingly forever for, is something that gets under my skin in a big way. I love it, there’s nothing like it for me in the world, because it’s an experience. It goes for movies, video games, or just about anything that garners a midnight release. I love being in a big crowd, I love feeling that frothing anticipation. Everyone chomping at the bit, watching the clock in sheer impatience.

Thsi doesn’t just apply to midnight releases, though. Music can be an exeperience, as well. Some of my favorite albums, and some of the best, in my opinion, are albums that tell a story from the first track to the last. Surprisingly, a lot of old school rap albums do this. For instance, Notorious B.I.G.’s album, “Ready To Die” does this really well. The very first intro track is kind of a cliff’s notes of Biggie’s life. You hear his mother and father, excited during his birth, then move on to biggie as a teenager adn his parents arguing, then him as a teenager, which leads into the first track. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with albums who just play the songs in a linear fashion, it’s eben done that way for years, it’s a tried adn true method that doesn’t leave much room for error. However, if your album tells a story, then it’s much likelier to grab my attention.

Experiences obviously exist outside media, as well. I’m plannign a trip to Cincinnatti in about a month and a half with my father and brother for a Reds game. Now, those who know me know I’m not a fan of sports whatsoever, but I’ve needed to spend some quality time with my brother and father for quite some time. My father has been a Reds fan his whole life, and never attended a game, so for Christmas, I scored three pretty amazing seats for a decent price. I don’t much care for the sport, but I’m not going for the sport, I’m going for the experience. Going to a baseball stadium, especially a professional stadium, on a warm spring day, chomping down hot dogs, soaking them in beer, and rooting for the home team along with good company, the seventh inning stretch, exploring the stadium, enjoying some of the local cuisine before (or after) the game, it’s all part of an experience I’ve had too little of with my father and brother.

There are lots of ways to have a true experience, you just have to be willing to open up, be a little patient, and think about what it is you want to do, and what it is you want to experience. I highly suggest taking the time to really find out what the best parts are about wherever you are, and exploring them. It doesn’t take much time, and especially if you’re in a new location, it can really help enrich your experience much more than you imagine.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is, wherever you are, stop, smell the roses, pick a rose, and take it back to someone who means something to you.