You know, I have always had a hard time deciphering the difference between influential people and inspirational people. I guess it was only recently that I figured out inspirational people make you want to do something and the influential just make you the way you are; good or bad. So that has me thinking. Who is to blame for me? I’ll tell you who…
Linda Blair. I know what you are thinking but she has had a big influence on my life. This lady set a new standard for things that go bump in the night. I’ll never forget sleeping in a sleeping bag in the parents bedroom at age 12 because I was sure Reagan was hiding in my closet giving me that creepy grin. You know the grin.
So thanks, Linda. Because of you I will always jump to the conclusion that I am possessed if I hear strange noises at night. Even as a 31 year old.
Joe Strummer. It’s weird to realize your influences so much later in life. When Joe died of congested heart failure in 2002 I had been a Clash fan going on 12 years. I was saddened but like many other people I figured a rock star life was one that circles the drain anyway and it was only a matter of time. The other day when I was thinking about this post it really hit me that Joe set the standard for my musical taste and messages the artists bring to the table. Was he the greatest singer? Compared to many, no. Was he the greatest guitarist with the cleanest live performance? No way. But when you read the lyrics and see the raw artistic talent, it will make you involuntarily sit down. The Clash set te bar high for me and Joe’s death really affected me more than I thought.
Peter Benchley. I guess it would be easy to put the blame on Steven Spielberg but I am going right to the source. I saw the movie, Jaws when I was younger, and it’s true that after seeing that I was deathly afraid of the ocean, harbors, ponds, lakes, pools, bathtubs, toilets and anything else that held water, the life-force of great whites. But I feel that blaming Steve is like shooting the messenger. no, I think the mastermind of Jaws deserves a bit of the blame for my inability to tread water in a lake without visions of teeth and dorsal fins.
I read Peter Benchley’s book, Jaws, one summer in high school. It kind of hit me that this guy is the real reason that it’s never going to be safe to go back in the water. I held the same resentment for Peter that I held for my grandfather when he would make me walk down the center of the aisle because he was positive that I would poke out my eye on the hanging hooks. To this day I walk dead center in the aisle for fear of loosing an eye on a sock hook. But I have to let go and forgive them. Besides, they’re both dead and wouldn’t care anyway.
You know, I have been accused many times of being emotionally disconnected or cold when it comes to sad situations and even thought to have never shed a tear. But those who claim such a fact never asked me about Jim Henson. Then I may just ball like an eight year old girl.
I can’t under state how this guy with his socks, strings and foam shaped my childhood and gave me so many precious memories. Memories like renting Muppets Take Manhattan for the fifth time and watching it on the couch with my Dad. Spending the summer in Elk Grove, California with my then 19 year old Uncle as a young child and how he skipped a party to take me to see The Labyrinth. I even remember the countless summer days watching Sesame Street, never quite sure what was going on with Bert, Ernie and the Yellow Ducky but certain that Grover was the greatest character to ever bless the Public Broadcasting Station. But I’ll never forget on May 16, 1990 when my Dad told me Jim passed away and said in a shaky voice, “Jim Henson died today. He’s been your buddy since you were a baby.” I think many children of the 70’s and 80’s sat alone for a while that day.
I don’t think you can pull off a life like Jim Henson had without being destined to do so. I guess what really got to me was the thought that all the characters I grew up with passed with him. He really did put a soul into what ever he touched. Thanks Jim. Your influence shaped me to be a reflective adult. I hope when I have kids they can have memories like the ones you gave me.
See? I can’t even hear this song without tearing up.
So, that’s just a few of the influences I am under. Maybe they are just puzzle pieces to why I am like this? Who knows? I guess inside I’m just a possessed, punk rock, muppet shark.
The man, the legend. Bernie Mac is definition of cool for me. God, I still can’t believe he is not here with us. But I have faith I will be able to shake his hand someday. And you know what? This is one dude I don’t mind hogging the Holy Jukebox.
I know I am not alone on this one. Who wouldn’t want to spend some quality time with George Carlin? Who? I bet it would be a one sided conversation because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. He seemed like the type that could carry on without much of topic. I doubt he would get old but I could see myself wondering, “I wonder if Gallagher is dead?”
I don’t know whether it’s because I live on a snow covered mountain secluded from anything that walks upright or the fact that I find my most important social interaction is in a bowling league, but I really enjoyed my day alone in the city of Philadelphia. So much to do and so little time. I will take you with me. So pretend we did this together.
Well, we have to take the trolly to the subway. Personally I love public transportation. Nobody talks to each other but if you are really lucky like we were, you’ll have a lady sitting behind you coughing her head off on your neck. I can hold my breath for a while but after that trip I was halucinating Carebears and Luck Dragons in business suits reading the newspaper.
After the tuberculosis scare we will walk quickly up the subway exit stairs to find ourselves in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the city center. It may just be me but I always hum the Willy Wonka song that Gene Wilder sings when he opens up the doors to his candy room. You know, the one with the chocolate river? The city is a place of pure inebriation. So many smells like car exhaust, steam pipes, pretzel carts and many mystery smells leading to a game I like to call “soup or poop”.
The one thing about Philadelphia is the amount of bronze statues. I would venture to say that this city has more than Vienna, Austria. But I guess it should since right where we were standing was where our country was formed. It almost makes your head spin when you think about it. But enough about that, I am on a mission. And that mission is to find where the Rocky statue is. We will do what ever you want after that is checked off the list. To the art museum!
I know this was a long hike but I know we are on the right track to the museum because this is the famous running scene from the movies Rocky and Rocky II. Aren’t you glad that I didn’t make us run it?
But you know we have to run these. Actually everyone was doing it so it’s not as silly as one would think. Except when I run them and trip.
The thing about the Art Museum of Philadelphia is that it is a full day activity. We have so much to see and only a day so we have to move with a purpose. But when you are looking at art from ?B.C. to present it is at least a three hour journey.
I was shocked that it only cost $10 to go through this. That’s cheaper than movie! And if you see a movie with Ben Affleck for more than $10 you really feel like a schmuck when for less, you have this. Did that even make sense?
I know you are not suppose to take pictures of paintings but you covered me. I mean look at this. The original “Moulin Rouge” from the French painter Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec! Can you believe we were within inches of it?
Not all Picasso paintings look like a butt with eyeballs. This is “Portrait of a Woman”. It is creepy but it’s a Picasso. So….you have to respect that.
This is my favorite one of them all. Actually it has been my favorite art piece for years and when we found it I made a sound like a girl who made the cheer-leading squad. But you don’t judge me, do you? I wish I was able to take a better picture of it. This is “Carnival Evening” by Henri Rousseau. It’s so dark and mysterious. I stared at it for at least 15 minutes.
Well, I dragged you from the year 300 to present and up and down three stories of art so I suppose you are a little hungry. And this is the town to eat! Let’s go!
This is such a pretty front to the museum. That’s not the original “Thinker” but it’s probably more famous and viewed by more tourists than the original. I made that up.
Do you know what I didn’t know? This was just apart of a larger art piece called “The Gates Of Hell” inspired by Dantes Inferno. Huh… But you already knew that.
Ok, ok! I know you are starving by now. I really want to go to Pat’s or Gino’s Cheese Steak stand but time is a factor. So, I asked for a recommendation and it’s a quirky place to eat called the Devil’s Alley. You need food and I need a beer. Hey, it’s vacation.
The food at the Devil’s Den is nothing to write home about but the decor is a home-run. I know we just were in the presence of art that inspired religon and started wars but this also cranks my tractor. Speak up if I embarrass you.
You know we would end up here. The infamous Eastern State Penitentiary. This is one of the most spooky and intimidating prisons in the U.S. by far. I didn’t know about it until the show Ghost Hunters did an investigation here a few years ago. But besides that, it has some serious history.
Back in the day, the prison system was a little medieval in their quest to rehabilitate inmates. The thought process was to isolate and repent. I can spend about two days alone before I start making up imaginary friends so the thought of spending years in isolation without a view is…actually I can’t even imagine. Charles Dickens took a tour through here and went back to the UK stating that he has seen the worst of humanity here. Now that’s history! Oh, and Al Capone was here too. But he was a dick.
It’s spooky to hear these doors slam in the background when no one is in the prison. The tour guides joke about the ghosts and seem to not even notice it. You can hold my hand. For dudes you can too because it’s not sissy if we thumb wrestle at the same time.
Well, if that wasn’t disturbing enough we are now going to the Mutter Museum. This is the museum of pathophysiology and abnormal human defects. This place makes you want to shower but it is so awesome.
Here we are! The place where they keep human skulls with a description of how they died, a cast of Siamese twins, a preserved gangrened hand in a jar, jars of deformed babies and a book made of human skin. Yeah, we are disturbed for sure. It’s a good thing we already ate.
Me: Oh my God! What the fuck is that!!!
Me: That dude is eating for two!
Me: Oh my….
Me: Can we go now?
Talk about the city of brotherly love! This is Dawn and Ashely, two local Penn State students who were nice enough to join us for brews, high-fives and picture sharing. We traded email addresses and were even given an invite for New Years Eve. Too bad that’s a travel day, huh? But what can you do? We made friends and that is what we set out to do.
Casserole of Disaster 