The Hilarious House of Frightenstein is not exactly the Brady Bunch
The only horrible thing about this show is that it eventually got cancelled.
The Hilarious House of Frightenstein was a kid’s show started back in 1971, and done out of the rust belt town of Hamilton, Ontario. The rubber-faced Billy Van was the star and pretty much the whole cast, and a damn fine cast it was, too. Apparently special guest star Vincent Price shot all his work for the entire series in four days. The show also boasted production values that would have embarrassed Doctor Who; imagine trying to bring to life an acid trip using a wardrobe you peeled off a drunken Hamiltonian Goth, some old macrame planters, a fright wig, and some coloured light gels. And doing it for kids. While dressed as a vampire who is exiled to Canada until he can somehow gather the strength of character to actually frighten someone OR reanimate a corpse-monster, and so earn his way back into Transylvania.
It’s a Christmas Tradition on the ol’ raincoaster blog to re-post this, the greatest Christmas story ever told (sorry, Jesus!): A Christmas Story, by Sarban. It is long, but if I can spend several hours typing it in, you can take an hour or less to read it. I recommend accompanying it with a bottle of Zubrowka and a box of Kleenex.
A Christmas Story
By Sarban (John W. Wall)
I will tell you a Christmas story. I will tell it as Alexander Andreievitch Masseyev told it me in his little house outside the walls of Jedda years ago one hot, damp Christmas Eve….
For our second selection, we have the entirely awesome Simon Callow reading one of Charles Dickins’ non-cloying stories, “The Christmas Tree,” a marvellous, metaphorical memoir. I’ve stolen this one from the Guardian.
I’m a little late getting into the Christmas spirit this year, partly because I missed my traditional opening to the Christmas Season, Christmas at Hycroft, thanks to the month-long Death Flu of Death flu that sent me to the hospital a couple of times instead of to the mall to see Santa like normal. But today at Starbucks I did indulge myself in a new Christmas album of jazz/lounge standards, of which I have an extensive collection, and I’m taking this as the official start of the season. It’ll sit nicely between my Ren & Stimpy Christmas Album and that one by the Gospel singer with the incredibly moving voice who was convicted of beating his wife.
But there’s one Christmas tradition that never gets old for me: pimping out my Christmas List to tens of thousands of people on social media, in the vague hope that one or more of them will weaken and buy me something. So without further ado, here is what I want, and how and when I want it.
That has never worked for me on OK Cupid, so I might as well try it here.
a pony. I’m fat now, Santa, so make it a sturdy Welsh Cob or Connemara pony.
a new hat, to replace the one that got stolen, my lamented and loved Official Indiana Jones Stetson which I bought on the very last day that Woodwards was open.
Chanel Allure perfume
Viktor & Rolf Spice Bomb perfume
any of Biella Coleman’s books or books about WikiLeaks except Julian Assange’s Cypherpunks, which I already have
an MP3 player, preferably an iPod Touch (used is fine) so I can get back into running without getting bored out of my mind
iPhone and a Virgin plan, because of all the places I’ve tried Virgin is the ONLY company that always has great service
Forgot about Bank Transfer Day? Missed the Million Hoodie March? Still emotionally support Occupy and the 99%? Not to worry! Here’s something you can do to support the 99% and it won’t cost you a damn cent or take one damn minute of your time. This is perhaps the most perfect protest for the Age of Slacktivism: a May Day protest in which you do not a goddam thing, and by so doing, bring the 1% to their knees.