K.A. Laity's Blog, page 164

Happy Halloween!

Busy weekend, busy autumn: I never got around to my traditional Halloween card, so here's a blast from the past which has come to mind several times this week, so clearly she wants to make an appearance:



Devil's Night

It was called Devil's Night in the town where I livedThat veiled night before Halloween,When goblins came out and devils ran wildAnd some said that witches were seen.We kids stayed inside, safe in our bedsAnd whispered of what there might be—But one year we intended to see for ourselves,My sister, my black cat and me.

The sun had long set and the darkness had comeTo wrap all the houses in black,When we crawled out the window and crept 'cross the lawnAnd none of us even looked back.Though the wind tapped our shoulders and played with our hairAnd ran through the leaves with mad glee,We were stalwart and true like the heroes we knew,My sister, my black cat and me.

We had never quite said, but each knew in our headsThe goal of our late night foray;There was only one house whose black shutters and spiresCast long inky shadows by day.The house of nightmares was the subject of daresFor children much older than we,But we knew we must try to sneak in and spy,My sister, my black cat and me.

As we walked on our own down the mist-shrouded laneThe goblin cries rang through the night.My sister told me, with an air of disdain,That I should not take any fright."It's only some kids wrapped in sheets that they hid,That they took from their mother's laundry."And we continued along with much knocking of kneesBy my sister, my black cat and me.



The house loomed ahead with its turrets like spikesAimed at a portentous skyThe old shutters rattled and the chimney howled doomBut the wind smelled like pumpkin pie."An old witch lives here and she eats little kids,"My sister heard from Katie LeeAnd we were likely to die if we drew too near byMy sister, my black cat and me.

"I'll go up on the porch and ring her doorbellthen run—like the wind—quick away.You go 'round the back and give a sharp ratatat,Before she can come out this way."Her plans carefully laid, my sister then stayed As I walked toward the back door slowly,I'll admit I was scared and I felt ill- prepared,No sister, just black cat and me.

As I prowled through the gloom I saw a bright roomAnd an old woman dressed all in black."It must be the witch," I said to my catAnd shivered and shook in my tracks.I wanted to run but I heard the doorbellAnd I knew that my sister's safetyWas all in my hands, so we gathered our breaths,Poor little black cat and me.

I made a small fist and raised up my arm To deliver the thunderous tapBut I froze to the spot when I saw a dark shapeThat opened the door with a snap."I know what you want!" I hear the witch sayBut my feet would not move to fleeAnd she swept us inside the warm kitchen's light,Poor little black cat and me.

My tears trickled down and I begged for my lifeAnd the life of my little kitty.The old witch just smiled and patted my headAnd said to me, "Don't be silly.I've got oodles of pie and candy and fudgeAnd a gingerbread house so pretty,And I wish you would share all the food I've prepared—It's too much for my big cat and me!"

I looked all around and my fear dissipatedThe kitchen was cheerful and cleanAnd the huge oaken table was filled 'til it groanedWith more treats than I'd ever seen—Pies of all kinds and cookies with chipsAnd a big steaming pot of green tea,And in front of the fire a great big cat yawnedAt my ravenous black cat and me.

I said "Thank you ma'am!" and plopped down in a chairAnd she set a blue plate before meAnd I piled it up high with some warm pumpkin pie And a big taste of each sweet dainty.I was feeding my face and telling the witch of our chaseWhen my sister's gaze fell upon me.But it took little time before we brought her insideTo eat with my black cat and me.

So when you see a witch and your knees start to shakeAnd you're tempted to run to the hills,Just remember the night that we wandered quite lateSeeking out Devil's Night thrills.Some witches are good, and some witches are badBut they all make amazing candy!If you're sweet and not rude, they might share their foodWith your sister, your black cat and thee.

BitchBuzz: Spooky Chicks

Setting off the Halloween weekend, here's my latest column in which I wax rhapsodic over some fave femme films (oh dear, alliteration overload):

Spooky Chicks: 4 Films Full of Female Mayhem It's nearly Halloween and if you're like most people these halcyon days, you're feeling more than a mite pinched in the wallet and depressed about your status in the world. Doubly so if you are female, because we always bear the brunt of austerity measures.

Well, nothing raises the spirits and boosts the ego like a little female mayhem. Sure you want to go on a rampage through the high street and smash windows, but you'd also like to have the possibility of keeping your job and acquaintances. Better to snack on your favorite high fat snack and let these women carry out the bloodshed for you.

Read more: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/spooky-chicks-4-films-full-of-female-mayhem.html#ixzz13geQEopZ to see what films I recommend!

A busy weekend ahead: of course! So many Halloween things going on, it will be hard to choose. Definitely a bonfire out at Mandi's tonight with a bunch of folks and probably Sunday out at Mary's in Berne, but in between...? Still making up my mind. Maybe I'll just stay home and watch scary movies :-)



I have been quoted in this article from the Schenectady Gazette , but as it's behind a paywall, so you may need to take that into consideration. It's in conjunction with a spooky dramatic reading program that's going on Sunday afternoon by the Schenectady Civic Players. Not quite in time for Halloween, my zombie Western "High Plains Lazarus" will be available in the anthology Rotting Tales from Pill Hill Press next week. If you're on Facebook, you can see a teaser of the story there.

Visiting the Vanderbilts

We headed over to the Vanderbilt place to check out how the other half lives (of course, at this point, it's not so much the "other half" as the super-rich 1%), but first we stopped to fortify ourselves at the diner.





I had a terrific burger cooked just the way I liked and everything was really fresh. My only disappointments: they have those coated fries with extra starch (bleh!) and they do not have real mayonnaise. But we did some more antiquing and saw a wonderful sight: an older woman in a leopard skin coat walking a cat in the rain. Wonderful!



Next we headed over to the Vanderbilt House. It's not quite as magnificent as the Biltmore, of course -- they only came here for a month each in the spring and fall -- but it is quite nice. The way they give you the tour is to take you through the experience of arriving there to spend the weekend as their fellow millionaire friends so you can see how the day was spent, but then you get to leave through the servants' area, so it brings you back down to earth. It was a bit rainy off and on, but a lovely day nonetheless.















Driving home last there was a whole lotta fog: the effects of rather too warm weather for this time of year and a lot of rain. A bit nerve-wracking for driving, but it always looks so cool.

With my Brothers

Buck, the most good-natured dog in the world, supervises the process, while Robert makes the dough, Steve explains why rutabagas are always a bad idea and then the final product appears: mmmm, fresh pasties straight from the oven -- yum!

Keeping it Peel

Legendary DJ John Peel died on this day just six years ago. He could be curmudgeonly and peculiar in his tastes, but he had a profound effect on the musical tastes of people around the world, so I've joined in the effort toward Keeping it Peel -- passing on the legacy by sharing some of the extraordinary work that he brought to the airwaves, like this oddity from Peel faves (and yes, mine) The Fall. Sing a song in celebration of John Peel, like our pals Reticents did.

























Find more artists like Reticents at MySpace Music

Into the Woods

Off on a retreat today with my friends in the lovely woods and hills (and cave!) of Berne. No cell phone reception, no wifi. Just silence in nature. Tomorrow I'll write up my review of the latest Woody Allen movie -- sigh! Short version: what a colossal waste of a stellar cast.

Wombat Day

I did not start this particular celebration, but you know I'm willing to lend a hand for a good cause. So join the dance for Wombat Day. Wombat cake below made by the Wombies. How to celebrate: Eat chocolate, think marsupial thoughts, put something in a pouch. Smile. Hug a wombat.

BitchBuzz: Are We Getting Nicer?

Well now, don't go getting your hopes up: it's just my latest column --

Is the World Becoming Nicer? (Probably not) People around the world watched and cheered as the Chilean miners were freed, one by one, from their underground prison. I was surprised to find my friends, normally hard-hearted cynics, dabbing away tears as they watched this "miracle," this "triumph of the human spirit." No, let's not get distracted by the fact that the miners had their pay docked for not working, because it's possible that this emotional tide is the sign of a cultural sea change.



After all, as BitchBuzz's own Rebecca Thompson reported, our favourite grumbling misanthrope pin-up, Charlie Brooker has given notice on his bitch-fest Screen Burn, the better to embrace marital bliss and pumping our babies in the suburbs (Sob! No!). And spanky gossipist extraordinaire, Perez Hilton has sworn to turn over a newer, kinder leaf as well, asking for absolution upon the altar of Ellen, the Archbishop of Nice. As I write this, Facebook and Twitter are a sea of purple in honor of GLAAD's Spirit Day "to show support for the teens who took their lives because of anti-LGBT bullying."



Are we getting nicer?

Read more: http://news.bitchbuzz.com/is-the-world-becoming-nicer-probably-not.html#ixzz131OcIapg

I'm doing my best to fight off a cold that tried to start yesterday. Not sure if I've been successful, but I keep drinking liquids and soup (semi-liquid?). Just when I was beginning to feel as if I were getting caught up -- there's not time to be sick!

Le Ronde, Part Three: Provocateur

Here's a fun thing: I'm part of a Round Robin story sequence thanks to Patti Abbott, which circles around envy. One character envies another in Patti's story, then that character envied, envies another in Dana's story and now I'm writing about that character envying a third. 



Hence the lovely woodcut of the punishment of the envious.



I figured it was about time to get a female character into the story :-) so without further ado --







Provocateurby K. A. Laity

James Preston basked in the warmth the congratulatory accolades. People swarmed around him, touching him, smiling at him and it was bliss. The glowering presence of that ponderous fool Disch nearby only made the golden glow burn brighter.

How ridiculous he had been! Amateur! Trying to steal the spotlight from him? A smile curled his lip as he remembered the way the man had floundered through his ponderous pontificating. What a contrast it made to Preston's own witty, economical—and studiously humble—speech. Who would be quoted in the papers tomorrow? Me, that's who, Preston thought as he accepted another congratulatory accolade with what appeared to be an abashed modesty.

I've reached the tipping point at last! My sonorous voice will be the vehicle that takes me to the pinnacle of success. His smile broadened.

The party had gone on long enough, however.  With the expertise lent by years of practise, Preston could sense that the peak had passed and folks were thinking about the after-parties. That was his cue: he looked around to find Jeannette.

Preston's personal assistant had been flitting around all night, working on his behalf, pressing the flesh he'd rather not have to press. Jeannette was perfect: bubbly, persistent and pleasantly zaftig. He spotted her talking up Rav Noonan, the producer of last year's sleeper hit and doubtless casting something new. Good work, Jeannette, he thought as, smiling left and right as if warding off bad luck, he made his way through the parting waves of partiers. Jeanette's ample breasts rose and fell with excitement as she gestured toward him, waving him over to the conversation. Her long brunette hair retained its perfect curls from that afternoon. He must remember to ask about her styling products.

"Wouldn't you, James?" Jeanette said with a grin, laying her hand on his arm which caused her silk blouse to part a little more and show a peek at her black satin brassiere. 

Preston smiled warmly at the two women, but his thoughts ran ahead with delight. It must still be tucked away upstairs! "If it's a fabulous opportunity to work with Ms. Noonan, the yes, of course I would be delighted." There were chuckles and more words, but his thoughts were racing ahead to the suite upstairs.

Noonan made a lot of grandiose plans and vague promises, but he took it as a sign that she said she'd be calling him the following week.  At last he thought the time was right to announce, "This pumpkin needs to go to bed, my dears. Actors hours," he said, his voice ruched with regret.

"But James," his PA said, her eyes wide with surprise, some of which might have been genuine, "there's the party UNM has put together for Grady.  You must go."

"Oh, my dear," Preston said, his voice filled with longing and just a soupçon of regret. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, where he could feel the strap of her brassiere just beneath the filmy material. "You will make my apologies to everyone and be your charming self. I'm counting on you."

Jeannette looked up him, her brown eyes wide. She leaned in and whispered, "You're not snubbing him for that tedious speech of his, are you?"

"Tedious?" he whispered back, giving his words a conspiratorial tone. "I thought it riveting."

Jeanette laughed behind her hand, her breasts jiggling ever so slightly within the confines of her undergarment. A warm flush rose up the back of Preston's neck and at once he was impatient to get away, but he had to play by the rules.

He willed his eyes to meet hers with something approaching sincerity. "I'm counting on you to make it clear that I wont be there because I don't want Grady to have to share the spotlight. It is his night after all."

"You're being generous."

Preston chuckled. "Indeed I am. But you will have to do yeoman's duty, my girl, to make sure everyone understands how generous I am." He pecked her on the cheek. "Good night—and don't worry about making noise when you come in. You know I sleep like the dead." Especially tonight, he promised himself.

When he locked the door behind him, Preston could barely stifle the urge to run at once into her room, but he took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, first and took out his cufflinks. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked into her room, slipping through the door she'd left ajar this afternoon. Jeanette's table was strewn with papers, though her business card binder left an impression of neatness.

Preston pulled the top drawer open and there it was: the pink box with the name in script.  The black ribbon had been undone, but it didn't matter. He knew she had tried it on. Blushing she had said, yes, it fit, it was the right size, and oh, how extravagant he was. Preston grinned and picked up the brassiere, his excitement growing. His thumb brushed the purple silk gently, then he traced the black Chantilly lace with his finger. He didn't even realise that he had sighed.

He laid the brassiere on the bed, his eyes upon it as he removed his shirt and lay it on the bed, too, as if they were lovers. Preston picked up the brassiere, his touch reverent as he turned toward the mirror. He shivered as he let the straps slip down his upraised arms. The silk kissed his skin, its touch slightly cold, but warming quickly. Reaching behind he fastened the hooks, his eye riveted on his image in the mirror. It was a snug fit but that only added to his delight—and his excitement.

If only he had breasts like Jeanette's, Preston thought as he allowed his fingers to make lazy circles across the expanse of silk and lace. He grinned at himself. If you did, you'd never work again. Excitement surged within him as he pictured Jeanette's creamy breasts encased in the purple silk, getting nearer and nearer the breaking point, his breath getting ragged as his fingers moved more quickly.

Preston didn't recognize the sound that preceded the door opening—those damned little cards—but he couldn't miss Jeanette's startled expression as she stood in the doorway. What he must look like, he had time to think, his chest tightly bound by her brassiere, his chinos tented with barely contained desire.

"Oh god no," he whispered, but she already had her phone out and aimed at him. In the camera's click her heard the end of his brilliant career.

[For the curious, a link to Agent Provocateur's Stephanee brassiere featured in the story]

Laurie Anderson's 'Delusion' & Nowhere Boy

Friday I had the chance to catch a couple of fun things: Laurie Anderson's Delusion at EMPAC (my favourite local venue) and Sam Taylor-Wood's Nowhere Boy at the Spectrum 8 (as usual). Of course there were several other things possible that night -- among them, Nick Lowe sob! -- but one can't do everything (but two might try, but how to make two of me...?).



Nowhere Boy tells the story of John Lennon's teenage years living with his aunt Mimi (Kristen Scott Thomas) while getting reacquainted with his mother (Ann-Marie Duff)who had left him at the age of five and the emotional turmoil inherent in that situation, as well as the budding musical career he got off the ground between various hooliganish larks. Initially the film's release was overshadowed by director Taylor-Wood's relationship with her much younger lead actor, Aaron Johnson -- a disparity and relationship that would raise few eyebrows if the genders were reversed. The film has a brilliant cast all around (and not too terrible with the Liverpudlian accents for the most part) and definite emotional hooks, but the script doesn't really hang together well. Despite its basis in fact, it's not always compellingly believable, but I did enjoy it on the whole. There are plenty of little tidbits for the fans, like the drawings hanging on the wall that later show up on Lennon's Walls and Bridges LP. The visual accuracy of recreating existing photos through careful wardrobe choices: a pity the same care is seldom applied to crafting the script (cf. Sid & Nancy where the "My Way" sequence mimics the video precisely, but the filmmakers can't be bothered to find out how many siblings Nancy has).



Laurie Anderson is always an interesting performer. I had seen her talk about developing this piece at MassMOCA months ago, so I was already curious to see what had come. It was a much more visual show than some of the others I'd seen in recent years, with images and words projected on the giant screen behind her, on a sofa as well as two uniquely shaped screens on either side of the stage. The show, "a meditation on life and language", ranged widely across a wide variety of subjects in a dialogue between her own voice and the "male voice" she's been using for years that now has the name of Fenway Bergamot. Many of the themes had great resonance for me particularly her thoughts on the impact of silence and her descriptions of her travels in Iceland and how they sparked revelations about her own family. She rode Icelandic ponies at Halldór Laxness' farm (I only rode them at the farm across the way) and met a man who had a brilliant idea to turn a decrepit barn into dance club. Looking around the bleak landscape, Anderson realised at last who this man reminded her of: her own father and his enthusiasm for completely impractical notions.



In one of the most moving -- and difficult -- parts of the evening, she spoke of her mother's death and her difficulty in dealing with the loss of someone she "did not love". A priest she talked to suggested that she simply say that she had always cared about her, but she never got the chance to say those words. Anderson described her mother's delusions at the end of her life, animals she could see on the ceiling, and her gratitude, thanking everyone for coming, for all they had done. It was a really naked moment. She described a dream in which she gave birth to her dog, but also caught herself out in the dream because she had engineered the experience.



There was enthusiastic applause at the end, which continued even after she had come out for another bow, and I had just thought, "well, it's not as if she could do an encore..." when she stepped out again and did just that, picking up the electric violin and stepping to the edge of the stage where we could see her without the lighting (we were in the second row) and played a plaintive tune that held the audience spellbound.



Wonderful.