Perhaps a new trend?

Horror didn't work out so well, I burnt out on it. So let's try something that's been an interest of mine for a while longer, yeah? Springfield and Kirksville, my two homes, got something in common: They're both college towns. Kirksville's just a smaller Springfield, really. Fewer people decided to stick around there, I guess. It's too cold. But there's one thing pretty much any college town is guaranteed to have (Except maybe Provo, Utah)--A bar. Probably more than one, but at least one is almost a guarantee.

So I'm going to use this place to talk about them. The ones I've been to, the ones I've heard about, what I'd recommend, etc. This is the internet, after all, and I think this site has been a pretty good soapbox for me to stand on.

First in this series: The New Key Largo, on Republic Road, Springfield, MO. The place has been around for three years, recently under new management.

The front of the bar faces away from the street, with a small parking lot leading straight into the entrance. A small alley could cause some problems for two-way traffic, but the place is small enough that doesn't seem like much of an issue.

The owner doubles as the main bartender, a fellow named Matt. Decent guy, pretty attentive, chattier with females than males unsurprisingly, but aware of what's going on in the place.

As for the bar itself, well...it's a theme bar. From the name, that should be no real surprise. It tries to capture that lackadaisical Florida Keys feel, including some indoor decorations of palm trees and what are meant to look like cheap, tin roof shacks. Lots of green abounds, with lazy ceiling fans and plenty of AC vents.

The setup looks like a small concert venue, with tables and bar near the door, and a dance floor by the far wall. The front half of the bar feels like a dive, albeit an accepting one. The back half is definitely the draw on weekends.

Music is live, or there's a juke box that defaults toward predictable-but-comforting club music when nobody's paying. Nothing really jarring for the atmosphere, but nothing novel either.

Drink prices aren't bad at all, especially not by Springfield standards. Beer flows cheaper than it does at most places downtown, but the selection is limited. Hard alcohol, again in rather limited supply, also runs a little below the average.

The crowd looks to be on the younger side, mostly under 30, which makes sense given that the bar's draw is music and dance. I'm sure the cheap alcohol doesn't hurt, either.

In short, this is a place I'd recommend if you're looking to go out with friends and have a good time. It's a little loud, and a bit small, so don't expect intimate conversations, but Key Largo walks a pretty solid middle line.

Father's Day

Father's Day has been around for about 100 years now. We shouldn't need it, we should remember to thank them for what they do every day. But some days, that's harder than others. So we have a day to remind us all about what they do for us.

So today is about them. Happy Father's day, Dahl. Happy Father's Day, fathers and grandfathers of my friends. Hell, I hope you make today count even if I've never met you, or you're not a father yet.

Today is about celebrating the fathers, the fathers to be, the fathers that might be someday, and the fathers that have been. The grandfathers, too. Even the uncles and cousins. I even celebrate today for the sons who make fatherhood possible, because they're an integral part of the equation.

Water, Whisky, beer or coke, raise up your glasses for menfolk.

One Fine Day By Ed Gray

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,
One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don't believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hitchhikers Disappear some more

This is the final version of my vanishing hitchhiker story for class purposes, I'm thrilled to be done with it for a few weeks. Any thoughts?

Personal Note

I feel there are certain facets of my life that I should share with you, friends. First, finals time is approaching, which means I'm becoming more polarized than usual. When happy, I am happy, and when sad, I am sad. There is no middle ground. When feeling introverted, I really want to be left alone, and when feeling extroverted, I will make or find a party.

Second, my knee is alternating between hurting like a motherfucker with every step and hurting only when I twist it. I need to get this checked. Hasn't happened yet.

Finally, I pretty much have the best cast ever for this one-act, and can't remember ever enjoying semi-legit theatre so much, except MAYBE Antigone.

How are you? What are you up to?

This is hard!

Okay, not really. It's actually quite easy, but I'm finding that I have trouble remembering to think of things to write about. So I'm just going to inanely babble about my life for a while. Is that a way to become a famous blogger? Well, no, probably not.

But I don't want fans. I like friends.

Before the babble, though, there's one more element of the horror story to discuss: Status. Have you noticed that macho guys like watching scary movies with girls? Yeah, it's because we like reaffirming that we possess one of those ancient greek ideals. Manliness or something. And because you want the girl to snuggle up next to you.

Horror stories are the same way. The jumpy guy loses status. The cool-headed guy gains status. Oh yeah, sure, I'm sure all you alpha males out there are getting indignant, so let me clear something up: You can say that you're testing yourself, or you like the suspense, or that you're preparing your nerves for a real situation. That's fine, you're lying to yourself, too. You enjoy your ephemeral superiority.

Shifting gears.

I've been using this "skype" thing for a day or so. It's okay. Free phone calls? Sweet, I'm on board. chat program? Also cool. It's just redundant for me, since I have google voice. Same capabilities. But fewer of my friends have it. So NYAAAH. Farts on you, friends, for not using google.

Plus facebook chat, which is I think my most commonly used method of communication. Yay for friends using that.

Unrelatedly, if you know a girl in Romania, give her a hug.

I'm out of things to say.

A digression from horror

This is a quick break from my discussion on horror, because I wrote a 19 page paper on it, and don't want to think about the subject for a while. Instead, let's talk about male relationships, shall we? I don't mean hot guy-on-guy action, here, so stop picturing that.

Last night, my roommate and I were watching Sherlock Holmes, and we realized two things: First, Bartitsu is the manliest and silliest looking of all martial arts. Second, at any given moment, our relationship was exactly like the relationship of Holmes and Watson. Is that normal? It's certainly normal for me. I have the same type of friendship with Jonathan that I do with Jake, Bob, and Matt. Sorry ladies, I adore you all, but it's a different kind of friendship.

So, gentlemen, what say you? Does that seem like a pretty normal friendship for you? Ladies, is there an equivalent sort of friendship in your gender?

Also, if you missed the subtext, you should watch Sherlock Holmes. It's awesome.

Part Two

It's now time for the second installment of our conversation, friends. You might be wondering "Why, Scott, are you telling us about horror stories?" Well, this semester has revolved around creepiness for me. A class on American Gothic Literature, a Cognitive Science research project on the Uncanny Valley, and a Folklore research project on Boy Scout Campfire Stories, all in one delightful semester of mindfucks.

So what has this taught me? First, all the stories I told at camp this summer sucked, with maybe one exception. Second, I seem to have more of a fascination with the creepy and scary than most people.

Let's consider one winner I've collected in multiple forms over the years, called Green Hands.

Native American Brave out hunting, sees a beautiful girl, gets to know her, returns to his tribe. Finds out she's the daughter of the chief of a tribe with whom they compete for resources. Brave continues to seek out girl, and is one day caught by the opposing tribe. He's killed and buried in a shallow grave, where his hands are left above ground because they got him into trouble. His hands putrefy and rot, still sticking out of the earth. The spirit of the hands still roam the earth, looking for his love. When you feel a cold chill, or a touch when nobody is around, those are the brave's hands.

I first heard this at a scout camp. You know Boy Scouts, those teenage guys that are at the perfect age to sneak out at night as an act of defiance, and starting to get pretty interested in girls? And is there anyone who hasn't felt something brush their arm, or gotten a cold chill when they're walking around the woods at night?

You see the sinister agenda of camp counselors, now, don't you?

Bump in the Night

I've been away for a while. Sorry about that. This is the start of an ongoing series that will discuss horror, so please stay tuned, and stay patient.

My folklore class this semester has discussed two technical terms that I've been using in daily conversation since middle school: The Mindfuck, and The What-The-Hell. For those who aren't into the idea of technical jargon, you can call the same feeling "Cognitive Dissonance." The feeling is what's at the heart of gothic and horror. It comes from the unexpected, chaotic beauty of the sublime, the inhuman humanity of the grotesque, and the un-homelike things that are called uncanny.

So what is the mindfuck? It's getting someone to expect one thing, and then snatching it out from beneath their feet. Goodnight, children. Sweet dreams.