Infantile Behavior...

Another interesting week draws to a close. Keeping busy with a plethora of things, checking up on friends, and receiving my first onslaught of negativity from an unexpected (well, expected... but not expected) source. Shocking? Slightly. Crushing? Not at all. I know who I am and what I believe, and this year has been educational about the definition of friendship. If not marching to someone's drum or telling people what they want to hear makes me a bad man, then hooray for being rotten!

But it's an interesting world out there with plenty of views. And while a lot of the news is on the depressing side, there are some things that aren't so dire and jaded.

Take, for example, Jose Alvarenga of Paraguay who opened his infant son's coffin this week to find that he wasn't dead, as doctors had told him. While it's good news for the new father, it doesn't bode well for doctors and staff at the unnamed hospital in Asuncion. If you can't tell dead from living, perhaps medicine isn't the proper field for you.

Then back to the United States, where in Florida sightings of what is described as a "baby Bigfoot" have been reported in the Baker County area. While it might be an orangutan, the mystery creature has an apparent sweet tooth. Among the witnesses was a bear hunter who lost a few jelly donuts too the furry caper. Subsequent attempts too lure the pint-sized furball out in the open with confectionery treats have failed.

That's all for now when it comes to abnormal childlike behavior. Bear with me as I struggle with graphics, barrel ahead toward autumn and Halloween, and blaze a few trails in the world, as well as my own life...

Babes in Coyland...

Sunday, I took the time to pay a visit to my sister and finally see my niece. The older I get, the longer the trip out to No Man's Land becomes. She and her husband may not live in a region void of civilization, yet there's a certain feel to the Ohio Valley. And the sudden blooms of McCain lawn signs mark a definite departure from the solace of suburbia.

I never did hold Sydney. Partly out of that uncomfortable fear I have when it comes to babies. it may sound odd for someone who deals with ghosts and hauntings to be frightened of a small, living creature yet it's undeniable. Fear may not be the best word. Perhaps lack of comfortability. Her being so young, I wouldn't want the weight on my shoulders of something happening. A tumble from my lap. Making her cry for an unknown reason.

I still have flashbacks to my teenage years when I babysat a week-old kitten for a night. The sheer panic and misunderstandings between our minds. Never being able to soothe the creature. Within an hour, the time was passed with the two of us simply sitting and crying—neither knowing what to do about the other. Parenthood and child care can be a nerve wracking and stressful experience in every form.

She was, perhaps, one of the most serene and laid-back infants I have ever encountered. She cried a few times for mere moments, only to voice her disapproval of her position or lack of a bottle. I must have been in the presence of colicky babies in the past, for this was a definite departure from what I knew to be the norm. Or maybe it really does depend on the parents.

The subdued evening was quite pleasant, though my mind was as always running in a thousand directions. I arrived home with enough time to get a few minor things finished before turning in for the night.

My redesigned website, Queer Paranormal, is off to a decent start. There are still many pages to type out and fill in, but the basics are at least taken care of. It will take time to fill out more fully and figure out what is best-suited for some pages, but I'm in no rush. The Cafepress merchandise marketplace has undergone a transition as well. Some images need a bit of work, but I'll toy with them as the time becomes available.

Otherwise, research has slowed to a horrifying crawl. Some place names are quite common so it may take a while to sort through them all and distinguish the correct business from the others. Finding enough research for some locations is proving a definite challenge as well, so I may have to depart from my plan of writing chapters sequentially. And then there's everything else happening at once.

Time is proving to be the most valuable commodity.

Waken Thou With Me...

I have been reminiscent of my latter school days lately. Mostly, it is from the notion that I was, at that moment, so oblivious to the subtle messages sent to me from one of my teachers.

Since he is still in the educational system, I will avoid any direct mention of his name, yet he knows who he is. He was both an educator and a vocal coach to me as I made my way toward college, majoring in music. I was on the timid and shy side in those days. I kept to myself and never quite felt that I fit in. Apparently, one teacher recognized this... and in ways I couldn't imagine at the time.

Theater and music brought me out of my shell, and I decided a major reflecting that would be best suited for me. Even though I felt inadequate, I was pushed onward by one teacher in particular. He was in his 20s and quickly became one of my favorites.

While most of my peers ignored my lack of social and dating life, I sometimes wonder if he took notice of it. While I was quiet, I completely avoided coming out of the closet, not wanting to give anyone extra ammunition against me. I kept to myself a lot but allowed myself a little artistic freedom on stage and in music classes. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in school but when I began gearing up for college and sought private lessons for my audition into the school of music, I noticed certain things which, in hindsight, were very blatant.

At his house, I would learn vocal exercises and more challenging music to prove myself worthy of acceptance into the college program. Two pieces were chosen for me: 'Nina' by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi and 'Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal' by Roger Quilter. The latter work had lyrics by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It would be a decade before I bothered to note that both Quilter and Tennyson were gay. I am uncertain about Pergolesi and he was merely 26 when he died of tuberculosis.

I do recall one incident during a lesson that became etched in my mind. Before the lesson, I mentioned how I wanted to sing Danny Boy, a song I had always liked. he thought it was a bit too simplistic, but we practiced it briefly anyway. Midway through the song, he stopped and looked at me with a curious expression.

"I always wondered. This song is sung by a man to another man, isn't it?" he asked.

I was dumbfounded. "Um, well," I stuttered, "it's sung between a father and son."

"Oh. Right," he replied. A snide grin flashed across his face. With that, he said we should get back to Nina. "Where were we? Oh yeah, she's in her bed... the bitch is dead, blah, blah, blah..."

I chuckled a bit. I didn't want to assume anything. With hindsight, it seemed completely obvious that it was a semi-subtle way of acknowledging a secret we both shared in common.

That was the same day I met his "roommate". I'll confess, I thought he was quite handsome.

It wasn't until after graduation that the truth finally leaked out. They had been together since college. There was a bit of a scandal in school when he had been accused of having an affair with one of my classmate's mothers. It lead to a divorce, but I'm certain this little secret came out. I'm not sure if he was relieved of his teaching duties or left voluntarily, but he still is in the education system in a new place with a different role. I did a little researching years ago and had a friend who encountered him a few times as they went to the same gym.

Part of me thinks I couldn't have been that ignorant. Perhaps I was trying to live in denial that someone could pick up on my little secret. Yet often, others know before we do. Sometimes they acknowledge it, sometimes they stay silent.

I do regret not thanking him for making me feel a little less outside of normal. For making my high school years more fun and memorable. For introducing me to a spectrum of music which had passed me by at that point in my life. The Village People. Gloria Estefan. Maria Carey. And the music and lyrics which still linger with me to this day...

"Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me."

The Land of Unbelieve...

Remember when summer camp meant ghost stories by a campfire, swimming, games, and group hikes?

Better toss those archaic notions out the window, you narrow-minded fools.

Camp Inquiry is a new, different sort of summer camp. Sponsored by the Center for Inquiry, is an environment void of the supernatural and religion. Skepticism and critical thinking are encouraged. Aliens, bigfoot, and urban legends are debunked by experts and the kids, ranging from 7 to 16 years old, are taught to demand proof.

While religion isn't openly discussed, it seems to be a topic left for free time. The majority of the children are either atheist or secular humanist. The camp provides a stark contrast to Bible study programs, allowing them to discuss their disbelief without fear of ridicule.

Austin and Jordan Fischer, brothers from New York City, learned of the camp from an advertisement in Skeptical Inquirer and Free Inquiry (magazines coincidentally published by the Center for Inquiry). "All the other [camps] are team building, physical stuff, a lot of playing," said Jordan. "This is more intellectual."

Thankfully, cooperation, exercise, and imaginative fun won't be ruining the summer months for these kids.

While I'm all for encouraging children to make up their own mind on many philosophical matters of life, this just doesn't seem "unbiased" to me. Teaching children thought, reason, and science is a wonderful thing, but what lines do you draw? Do you tell the seven-year-old that he's a moron for believing in Santa Claus? If a child wears a cross, is he or she shunned by the counselors or deprogrammed? Does the child who believes she saw a ghost have to go in for a brain scan?

What's so wrong with leaving a little mystery and imagination in the world? And does science really have the answer to every, single, solitary question possible in the universe at this moment in time?

What Started It All...

I've been asked several times, "what made you start being interested in ghosts?"

It's hard to say exactly, but I would have to say I owe part of it to Walt Disney.

One of my earliest memories I can recall is playing with an imaginary friend in my back yard. He seemed perfectly real to me, and I still wonder if he could have been a ghost. His name was Robin, and in a flashback beneath an apple tree, I saw myself walking along railroad tracks with him. He felt the need to prove his steel nerves and stood on the tracks, waiting to jump off at the last second. He was too late. I remember seeing the shadow of the train pass and knowing he was dead.

All this at 4 years old.

In the next few years, I was introduced to cable television. The Disney Channel had a habit of playing "The Adventures of Ichabod Crane and Mr. Toad" every autumn, and through this I became familiar with Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow". It tells the story of a thin, awkward schoolmaster by the name of Ichabod Crane and his encounter with the ghost of the Headless Horseman.

A few years later, I bought my first book on ghosts. Some of those earliest books I still have today. It snowballed from there and I started researching my first few real ghost stories around the age of 13. By 16, I was seeking out haunted places on my own.

Sleepy Hollow still stands out in my mind as one of the most intriguing places I have yet to visit. Yes, the town actually exists. Irving based most of the tale on fact. The characters were each real townspeople, though he changed the names in most cases.

And most importantly, The Headless Horseman wasn't a fabrication of his imagination.

A Hessian mercenary was killed near the town of Sleepy Hollow in the late 1700s. His body was buried deep in the woods of what is now Patriot's Park. For over 200 years, people have claimed to see his headless apparition riding through the woods... even in the local cemetery. But this is just the tip of the iceberg with hauntings in the small, quiet village.

Both Old Dutch Burying Ground and Sparta Cemetery have ghosts. Captain Kidd's bride is supposedly dragged through the streets at midnight. And then, or course, there's the haunting of Sunnyside... by none other than the ghost of Washington Irving himself. It is said that his apparition has a fondness for punching the posteriors of women visitors....

For more information, visit my page on Sleepy Hollow or the town's page concerning its haunted attractions.

The Continental Divide of Humor

The average American doesn't truly appreciate comedy from other countries.

When I was in elementary school (I cannot remember my exact age... somewhere between 7 and 10), I had a brilliant idea for a Halloween costume. I went as a "granny mountie", an oddball version of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police where I rode an old woman instead of a horse. It was borrowed from a skit I watched on Benny Hill. My classmates were confused. A few teachers nearly died laughing. I was thoroughly amused by myself.

Yes, I watched Benny Hill at that early of an age. I was truly a warped child. Yet the scantily-clad women apparently had no effect on me...

I was fortunate enough to grow up in a household where I was exposed to many television choices unlike those of my peers. Instead of Dynasty, Beverly Hills 90210, Baywatch, and Melrose Place, I was watching Sherlock Holmes, Lovejoy (where my email and old paranormal group name, 'Moonspenders' is derived from), All Creatures Great and Small, Are You Being Served?, and one of my favorite physical comedy programs: Mr. Bean.

In recent years, Rowan Atkinson has finally become noticed by the general US public. He made a few Mr. Bean movies and starred as the misfit special agent in Johnny English. None of them seemed to appeal to a broad American audience, and that's truly a shame. Mr. Bean's Holiday was a hilarious film!

I'm not saying that Americans are the only ones who don't always find the humor in British humor and other comedy. Different styles appeal to different people. Nonetheless, Bob Smith the average Yankee doesn't quite understand why Monty Python or Kids in the Hall makes some people laugh. What's wrong with Saturday Night Live?

Sometimes, it's cultural differences. Unknown politics and celebrities. Even I am forced to admit that although I love the Australian program The Chasers War on Everything, occasionally I miss a joke because the name is not familiar. European comedy is most familiar. I try my best to keep up on foreign politics. I know all about Tony Blair (the bastard). I recognize that Jacques Chirac is no longer in office, and hasn't been since May of 2007 (et il est un homosexuel...). I know about the recent hate crime in Canberra, Australia. I know Brazil's economy is booming.

In short: I'm aware of the world around me.

Perhaps that's why I grasp the humor of other countries. And not just because I find America as humorous as they do...

Just Say Nonnein to Ouija?

Most of us have fiddled around with a Ouija board during our childhood. My sister and I tried to contact the spirit of singer/songwriter John Lennon one afternoon in our living room. The planchette moved a few times. She later confessed to having moved it herself.

Oh well. I'm sure he had far better things to do with the afterlife.

The "mystifying oracle" is a popular topic of discussion whenever the paranormal world is mentioned. People occasionally try to hold their own séances using the board, contacting what they believe to be their dead relatives.

Unfortunately, most people don't know much of the history of the parlor game.

Ouija (derived from two translations for "yes": "Oui" being French and "Ja", German, therefore Ouija means yes-yes), as we know it, has been around for almost a century. Earlier versions of talking boards have existed since as early as 540, but the first patent was registered in the US for a "ouija board" by Elijah Bond in 1891. William Fuld took over production of the board in 1901. His name can still be found on modern boards. Parker Brothers purchased the full rights in 1966.

It is no surprise that the Ouija board first became popular during the First World War. Families were desperate to contact their deceased loved ones and find a little peace of mind. Another spike in popularity hit during the 1960s and 1970s, when mysticism began making a comeback. It remains a well-recognized image today, though its popularity has dwindled.

Today, most scientists rationalize the results of its practice with the ideomotor effect; that is, unconscious reflexive reactions of the body. Some paranormalists agree, but believe it to be the subconscious mind giving results from a higher power, without the knowledge of the conscious mind. Spiritualists maintain that it's the sole work of spirits and ghosts.

Modern day parapsychologists and paranormal investigators have abandoned its use. Generally speaking, it is not a trustworthy device for communication with the deceased. Would your dead Aunt Claire really be interested in returning home just to entertain a group of high school cheerleaders during a slumber party? Probably not. If it does indeed contact spirits, it is far more likely to randomly choose the nearest ethereal presence, be them good, bad, honest, or foolhardy. Many mediums and researchers go as far as declaring the boards "dangerous" and "demonic".

So, what is the Ouija board, exactly? It's a board game. It's a divination device. Take your pick. But if you decide to use one for yourself, it would be wise to treat it as a source of skeptical entertainment rather than definitive truth.

All That You Will See Is a Celebrity...

So many people in the world claim to know (or even to have slept with) a celebrity. people make bold statements, often to be ridiculed by others online and in real life. To say that you know someone famous is to be arrogant or showy. Of course, it's not always true. Sometimes, knowing someone with some level of fame happens by sheer coincidence. Sometimes, it's not all the glamour people think it is.

Long ago, in high school, I was involved with singing and acting. Some people, such as myself, simply used it as a fun social outlet. Others had aspirations of stardom. When you're young, no one really expects any of their peers to make it anywhere. it's just a dream that most likely leads to table-waiting jobs in New York City. That reality is always in the back of your mind.

One of my classmates seemed to have the acting bug. We weren't close by any stretch of the imagination. He was the nice kid who treated me fairly. The one who leaned in close to me during choir to make sure he was on the right note. Eye candy for a shy, quiet boy yet to come out of his shell.School came and went. Years passed by. And then came the fateful day, watching an Absolutely Fabulous marathon on Comedy Central. A commercial flashed across the screen as I was getting something to drink. That voice. It sounded so familiar. But no, it couldn't be...

But it was.

A few years later, I was browsing for new movies. I stopped cold. There was that face staring back at me again. The movie was Camp. I grabbed a copy and watched it. I laughed and fidgeted. Daniel Letterle really had made it.

A few more years went by. A few more movies. The Mostly Unfabulous Social Life of Ethan Green. Monster Island. I heard through the grapevine that he had returned home to Ohio and was living relatively nearby after a bit of a rough time in Los Angeles. On a whim, I emailed him. A while later, I finally heard back.

During the summer of 2007, we became reacquainted again. Living only a mile away, it was quite convenient having a new-found friend for socializing. We laughed, commiserated, and watched movies. We even plotted out a comedy script. I learned perhaps more than we care to learn about our friends. We had moments of disagreement, sometimes bordering love-hate. His life became rougher and had a few down slides. We stepped away for a few months, losing contact.

On November 14th, 2007, I was out with fellow ghost hunters having dinner at Spaghetti Warehouse in Akron, Ohio. As we waited to be seated, I saw him waiting tables. At first, I wasn't sure what to say so I said nothing. Finally, an hour later, I caught his attention. He seemed different in a positive sense. He didn't have that facade anymore. He wasn't pretending to be anyone. He actually seemed happy... stable. We talked briefly and said we'd get back in touch. We still haven't caught up on life and news.

Sometimes, people hold actors and other celebrities on a pedestal. We think them to be impervious to pain, emotion, and thought. In reality, they're just the same as all of us. They have hard times. They make mistakes. They try to seem happy when they're screaming on the inside. They feel confused about themselves and their lives. But they're human too. Beneath that tough exterior built up by the harshness of Hollywood, they're just like the rest of us.

I always had a difficult time thinking of Dan as a "celebrity". He was just Dan: the goofball kid who tried making other people laugh and be happy. The boy with the slight exhibitionist streak who would wander around before high school plays in nothing but a pair of white briefs, simply for the shock value. The guy with hopes and dreams, and deep down, a heart of gold. He's not a meal ticket or a toy. He's just someone who, all frustration aside, I still consider a friend. And like most friends I've known, we lose touch now and then.
Wherever he is now, whomever he's with, and whatever he's doing, I do hope he's happy. And perhaps our paths will cross again some day...

A New Year, A New Life

I've had my interesting moment for today. I found out that in September, I'll be an uncle.

Yes, the family curse of dysfunctionality can now finally be passed along to another generation!

I knew my sister has been hoping to have a child. I guess it was a bit earlier than I expected. But of course, the best part is I can finally start feeling old! I've been so looking forward to that.

Even more importantly, I can finally earn the title "the funny uncle" (and I don't mean 'humorous'...).

What? What's wrong with me? Where's my enthusiasm?

I've just never really been a "children person", I guess. Of course I'm happy for her, though. I'm just not the type to go ga-ga (ahem) over a baby. There's no real mystery to them. They don't fall in a fiery blaze from the sky only once every thousand years. They're not a newly-discovered extinct species of plant. It's a baby. A lot of people have them! When you plant a tomato seed in the ground, people don't flock from miles around when it sprouts!

Honestly, no, I'm not a bitter person. I just don't see what the huge deal is! I don't hate children at all, mind you (well, maybe the poorly raised, idiot kids who would've had a better chance being raised by wolves than their idiot parents wandering around Wal-Mart at all hours of the night gabbing away on their cell phones, as if choosing potato chips is a national emergency that the world needs broadcast on a minute-by-minute basis). I just like to see the end result before I see if there should be some praise.

I know a single father, raising a young son in Pennsylvania. His son is an incredible kid. Polite, fun-loving, sweet. To me, that's far more worthy of praise than the unknown lying ahead.

Go ahead. Think I'm backward. But the next time you see some child shooting another child on the news, remember: his birth was praised too.