-Amber Benson  

Previously in Xenology: I tried to keep the crazies and drug dealers docile. I volunteer my time in a realm of ghosts and goblins, only some aren't masks. My family liked traditions involving food.

Storm Before the Calm
I'm feeling anti-climactic at the moment, so I am just going to right out tell you that I was not killed in a violent race riot. I know that you are still likely shocked. Please, try to contain your shock enough to finish reading this entry.
The library was as quiet as normal. The only trouble with which I had to deal were the incredibly dense street people who, after looking at the ten signs pointing them in the direction of the bathroom and away from the desk, would approach me and ask if the library had a bathroom. When I would inform them that it did, they would become confused and asked where it might be located. I would dramatically look over at the signs and inform them that they led the way. The people seemed further baffled. Good to know that literate people patronize my library when they need to evacuate their fluids. Only one person seemed to grasp that the word "Bathroom" with an arrow pointing to another sign stating the same would actually lead them to the bathroom. I applauded her when she exited the library.
The assistant director and the director's daughter, dressed as Clifford the Big Red Dog and the Cat in the Hat respectively, came into the library shortly after the needlessly loud parade. After the daughter (whom we will call Althea, as that is her name) had scrubbed most of her white make-up off, she came to the desk to keep me from being too bored. Or possibly in hopes that she would see the cute girl from her GED class that had evidently and to the chagrin of the besuited Althea attended these festivities. She also asked how Alison and Zanna were. I informed her that the former was a college student and the latter decided she hated me because a straight girl liked me better than her. She grumbled that neither had called her for the past several years and that they were both self-centered, a combination of which was decreasing her attachment to them. Then she lent me the Seuss hat she was wearing and waxed nostalgic over when I took Zanna and her to see a play at Vassar and let Althea wear my hat. Oh, the times we had.
The rest of work passed uneventfully. My colleague later informed me that my mother had pleaded with her not to encourage new memberships while I was working alone. I was abashed, but not wholly unhappy about that. I certainly don't need mommy dear pleading my case, but I much more don't need to deal with thirty angry people clambering to get their five precious, little tax deductions library cards.
By the way, this "community day" that occurred in the predominantly African American section of the city (because in 2002, it is important to still have racially segregated ghettos. Progressive, you see) was almost entirely patronized - and I do mean patronized - by upper middle class Caucasians. The actual residents of this area of whom I am acquainted owing to my library work were totally missing. I have a pet theory that they locked themselves in their tenements until the parade was quite gone and then celebrated.
After I was permitted to close and lock the library (always a joy), I decided that it was about time for me to whore myself out to The Haunted Mansion. For the mythology of the Mansion, which you really should know for the following month, I suggest you read the October first 2001 entry. Other than the paranormal, my personal mythology includes the fact that Jen and I entered a requited romance owing to the Mansion and Katie broke up with me when I was working at the Mansion. There is speculation that these matters are not unrelated.

Welcome to Copyright-Infringement Park!

As Main Street had been shut down owing to the community day, I was unable to buy anything to eat. Figuring all delis were essentially alike, I stopped at the one near the Mansion. I walked around for a bit, searching for where the food was kept. In front of me, there was a wall full of pornography. Behind me, a wall full of pornography. To my left, many kinds of alcohol. To my right, condoms. It was obvious, despite the rustic, small town exterior, that this was the sort of establishment visited only late at night when one has a hankering for things other than food. I saw some sandwiched behind a plastic window, but I had as much faith in them as the idea than Xenu is the source of all evil in the universe and that L. Ron Hubbard was a brilliant writer. (This Inappropriate Public Service Rant was brought to you by the generous funding of divorced Aussies with red hair whose name rhymes with Kicole Nidman and by viewers like you.) After all, if one only has alcohol and porn for company, one should not be handling food. I grabbed a bag of chips, the only bottled ice tea they had, and some M&M's (pre-lavender, but M&M's can't go bad, right?). The clerk was salivating pointedly at the breasts of a female customer (who harassed me about my pendant because I wouldn't indulge her and tell her I was a witch) and it took my throwing M&M's at him to make him actually take my money. Next time I'll let him drool and just walk out.
I approached the parts mistress Joss and she, all business, assigned me to be the dinosaur hunter. No hello, no "I missed you." No problem. I prefer her treating as though I had never left. Plus, I got to have a rifle and my own animatronic dinosaur that I called Hostile-17/Chompy. No, really.
The social awkward man-boy with whom I had gone to high school was there as well, in a black cloak. He greeted me and I returned his greeting without glancing at him in an attempt to prevent him for trying to engage me further. Though the fact that I had a b.b. gun helped. According to everyone with whom I spoke at the Mansion, man-boy had been banned from the Mansion for quite a few years because he had soiled himself and smeared it on the walls of one of the booths just before vanishing. The owner had to clean this up, as no one else was at all willing, and thus did not take kindly to man-boy's presence. This is, at least, according to the stories I am told. I had never heard this tale before (though Bryan had) nor do I necessarily think it is beyond the capability of man-boy. But possibly I am missed something beautiful because I am being a jerk again? Maybe it was modern art.
Everyone who had been at the Mansion for more than three years was overjoyed to see me. One boy of whom I am fond, Zannen, nearly cracked his make-up smiling when I told him I would be here at least once every weekend. Venessa, looking so slim a stiff gust would blow her away, was equally though sedately happy. She was wearing horn-rimmed glasses that I took to be some sort of costume piece, though Nessa doesn't act. She is merely the key chain sized lucky charm of Rob, our make-up guy. Venessa breathed, "How is... Emily? Yeah... I... saw you in the mall... like, a month ago... with some girl... I thought was Emily... it was in J.C. Penney... I think. You kissed her." I confirmed that this was possible as I do actually shop on occasion and were I to do so it would most likely be the kissable M.

Note the fact that it has no neck.

Then she, in characteristic Venessa style continued, "I... told my friends that... that's what [Xen] does... he kisses people... it doesn't mean anything... Are you still with... whatzurname...?" She realized that she had just used Emily name in a sentence not a minute before and corrected herself, "Emily. I don't know why I said that... her name is Emily. I know that." I nodded assent, having heard this question in one from or another every single time I had spoken with her since 1998. As I had given her absolutely no reason to think I was not with the sweet M and her boyfriend was three feet away blacking out the teeth of some awkward teen, I will allow you to draw your own conclusions.
After raiding the snack shelf for some sustenance, I returned to hear Zannen engaged in a conversation as to what the Nessa waif-er was going to name "her." I moved closer to observe the conversation further as it clearly could not be what is sounded like, as Nessa can just barely sustain her own homeostasis. She murmured that she was going to name her something that sounded elegantly like a something that could be clear up with a bit of penicillin. Still sounded a great deal like Venessa was with embryo. Zannen returned to the make-up chair and I prodded her as to what I had overheard. She sighed that she would tell me later. I, not being satisfied, inquired as to if it "was what I thought it was." She nodded. Oh.
I walked bad to my part and got comfortable. I made Chompy move a few times. Unfortunately, Chompy was largely just a head that moved very slowly and the air compressions that motivated this movement made it sound like Chompy had a bad case of asthma. The net effect is that it was the exact opposite of terrifying. Perhaps if it were to growl or roar. I wouldn't even be opposed to a good snort.
Still hungry, despite the junk food I could feel leaving a slime trail down my esophagus, I walked out to the vendors and suggested that one of them make me a cheeseburger when they had a chance. I asked very nicely and showed them my crisp bills that testified that I was willing to pay for services rendered (a rarity among the actors here). The cook swore he would have one for me were I to return in half an hour.

Note the quality workmanship on his garbage bag neck.

There were absolutely no groups for that half an hour, though there were teenagers playing with my gun. I yelled at them that a weapon is not a toy and they would shoot their eyes out. Also, the air compressor had been removed (probably sacrificed to make Chompy's mouth move) as well as the firing pin so they would have no luck in actually shooting anything. They seemed disappointed that nothing would die for them today.
When I returned, Zannen was talking with a bleach blonde girl from the Gwen Stefani School of Grace and a tall gay man that really can quite succinctly be described as both tall and gay. I greeted Zannen and asked him the deal with Venessa and if she no longer had a vacant womb. He told me that it was true, in as much as it was the story Venessa was telling, that that we (the anonymous general we) were not even sure it was Rob's. With raised eyebrows I chuckled, "Oh, really?" His face cracked and he admitted that, if she was with child, it was Rob's. However, at my questioning, he admitted that he hadn't seen any physical proof. She is just too thin to be in the family way.
The gay man grinned widely and snuffled, "Hey, do you remember me?" I admitted I frankly didn't, though my insincere instinct was to say, "You got much taller." He nudged, "Eighth grade!" My brain did that wonderful facial scanning thing that it does and I smiled, "Dominick." The long and short of his story, at least as it pertains to this narrative, is that he was a gay boy to whom I was a friend in middle school. He ceased to be my friend for the dual reasons that I knew he was gay and he didn't and he moved to the next school district over during the summer. He certainly knew he was gay now, as he claimed to want to stalk Guy Pierce and do naughty things. He had also taken to hanging out with several girls I had known from high school, but addressed them as though I had never met them. Strange. Incidentally, he is the cousin of the boy that helped put my high school freshman crush in a boarding school many years ago. More on that below.
I played my part, though I got absolutely no scares. In essence, I approached the groups, told them they were the electrical team for which I had been looking, ushered them into a maze, greeted them when they exited and directed them through the narrow corridor between Chompy and NotChompy. Then I flip a switch and let them experience the fact that the dinosaurs clearly died of emphysema. I did almost got attacked because some hick walked into my gun and decided he would show his female associate how tough he was by threatening my life. I pointed out that he was the idiot that walked into the barrel of a gun, an act that would usually put a rather abrupt end to his machismo.
The night ended in its usual fashion. I was unable to explore the Mansion, as it still had a group within. Next weekend I will report more and let you know if I feel the ghost.

Pluck
As is tradition, my family went on its annual apple picking trip. I wonder how these sorts of traditions get started, but I suppose that yielding many happy memories nullifies the need for an answer.
The apple picking itself is of little note, I think. When I was a wee lad, I recall the apple picking taking an hour as we climbed and frolicked in the orchard, eating apples off of tree branches and just being exuberant kids. However, this exuberance (and size) did not last into late adolescence, when we began to look more forward to the homemade doughnuts and hot cider available for purchase at the farmers market just outside the orchard. Ah, the trails of adulthood.

That M loves the truckin' life.

While picking, however, we discovered two things. Firsts and most obviously, this was not a very good year for apples. There were tiny little things; barely the size of plums and some were pathetically shriveled. I have a photo of my older brother using two of these apples and a twig to simulate very deformed genitalia. However, out of deference to those of you in the audience that don't wish to see a simulated phallus, I am not including the picture. I am sure the tears you shed will create a mighty river, but I must follow my heart. The second item of note was the two deer skeletons lying, cleanly picked, in the orchard. I am perfectly aware of nature and the circle of life blah blah blah Simbacakes. However, I would be less inclined to bring my children to a place where they could look at the remnants of Bambi corpses under shriveled foodstuff. This may just be me, but it's a wee bit unappealing. Thus, as they wish to make money, they should remove all reminders that we are mortal at least until Halloween.

Fertilizer

After paying our respects to the devoured guardians of the fruit, we returned to the farm market where Emily could eat... just about nothing. She bought herself some apple chips in order to not feel quite so bad as my family enjoyed the splendor that is hot dogs, hamburgers, fresh doughnuts, hot apple cider, corn chips, salsa, soda, and chocolate. At this point, it would be polite to give a moment of silence to Emily's palate that is dying for want of more flavorful foods. She may tell you different, but everyone wants fresh doughnuts. Everyone.

I am partial of the life myself.

When returning from seeking to replenish the ambrosial doughnut supply (Emily kept eating the samples, though it would likely make her tummy mount a violent attack on her spleen), a short, dark chocolate haired girl approached me and greeted me with my name. I smiled, chagrinned that the cute, tanned girl clearly knew and was fond of me and I was fuzzy as to who she might be. She explained gently, "Shelly." Suddenly it all flowed back to me. I had a crush on Shelly my freshman year at Dutchess. She had dyed blonde hair then and was less physically mature than she was now, but I was absolutely smitten with her. The only problem was that she was dating one of the more brain-dead drug dealers at my high school (Dominick's cousin) and didn't see that my awkward 14 year old self would have been infinitely better for her. At least this is how I saw it at the time. As the story goes, he was tired with her and wanted to move onto other girls. However, he was too much of a coward to actually break-up with her, so he gave her lots of drugs the day before her parents were going to ambush her with a drug test. She tested positive for marijuana at the very least and was sent away to boarding school almost the next day. I carried a large grudge for her ex and a slight torch for her for a few years. (As a side note, her ex got into a major car accident the next year and sustained severe brain damage. According to everyone who spoke to him, he wasn't different in the least. Kids, stay off drugs.) I had seen her once at DCC, where she doubted I remember her and I proceeded to rattle off her full name and when she disappeared. She was much more with the appreciative than the scared then. In the present, we chit-chatted for a minute and I handed her my number and told her I would like to hear from her. I know, however, that I won't.
So, I am re-encountering people from my past. There is a tenuous link. I think it means something. I, however, have no idea what.


Soon in Xenology: Girlfriends and family. M's impending party. Grad class. Biting Leah. The Fourth Reich.

last watched: Stardust Memories
reading: One of many Norton Anthologies. They bleed together after a few moments.
listening: Reading, Writing and Arithmetic by The Sundays
wanting: Adobe Illustrator (still)
interesting thought: It is always real.
moment of zen: becoming part of something bigger and older than myself.
someday I must: speak with the Anna ghost.