Spring Break
Dear Christian, - Ghosts and Ghouls
Christian Rose
Issue date: 10/20/08 Section: Culture
Dear Readers,
I do not usually go to haunted houses.
I figure that growing up and dealing with my other responsibilities like bills, car payments and passing Spanish class is way more frightening than a dark room with some animatronics and strobe lights.
I do, however, love scary movies.
I can spend an hour at Blockbuster meticulously going through the aisles and aisles of horror films trying to decide what I happen to be in the mood to watch.
Should I watch something classic like Aliens or Dracula or do I go for something a bit more contemporarily-cheesy, such as House of Wax (which is mostly just to watch Paris Hilton get hacked to bits)?
Once I finally make a decision, I will pop the DVD in, turn off all the lights, close the blinds and pile under the covers with my dog and prepare to jump out of my skin the second the movie starts.
It does not really matter what movie I choose, whether or not it received critical acclaim and how campy it turns out to be, it will always scare me.
For me, it is the overall idea of being scared that is so much fun and the more frightened I get, the more fun I have. What a way to spend a sunny afternoon!
Oh, I forgot to mention, I will never watch a horror film after the sun goes down. Unless there is plenty of light after I pull up the shades, I will not be watching Jason Vorhees kill the campers at Crystal Lake while working through his sexual hang-ups.
I am happy to watch the living dead reek havoc under the protection of daylight. I get less ecstatic with the notion when I cannot sleep out of sheer terror of the possibility that I could be living on my own version of Elm Street.
Because of the chilly overcast weather, last week was the perfect week to indulge in an afternoon of terror when my cell phone rang and nearly scared me stiff.
I did not need a name to show up on the caller ID, I recognized the number immediately.
It was my ex, who happens to be a real life ghoul.
I do not usually go to haunted houses.
I figure that growing up and dealing with my other responsibilities like bills, car payments and passing Spanish class is way more frightening than a dark room with some animatronics and strobe lights.
I do, however, love scary movies.
I can spend an hour at Blockbuster meticulously going through the aisles and aisles of horror films trying to decide what I happen to be in the mood to watch.
Should I watch something classic like Aliens or Dracula or do I go for something a bit more contemporarily-cheesy, such as House of Wax (which is mostly just to watch Paris Hilton get hacked to bits)?
Once I finally make a decision, I will pop the DVD in, turn off all the lights, close the blinds and pile under the covers with my dog and prepare to jump out of my skin the second the movie starts.
It does not really matter what movie I choose, whether or not it received critical acclaim and how campy it turns out to be, it will always scare me.
For me, it is the overall idea of being scared that is so much fun and the more frightened I get, the more fun I have. What a way to spend a sunny afternoon!
Oh, I forgot to mention, I will never watch a horror film after the sun goes down. Unless there is plenty of light after I pull up the shades, I will not be watching Jason Vorhees kill the campers at Crystal Lake while working through his sexual hang-ups.
I am happy to watch the living dead reek havoc under the protection of daylight. I get less ecstatic with the notion when I cannot sleep out of sheer terror of the possibility that I could be living on my own version of Elm Street.
Because of the chilly overcast weather, last week was the perfect week to indulge in an afternoon of terror when my cell phone rang and nearly scared me stiff.
I did not need a name to show up on the caller ID, I recognized the number immediately.
It was my ex, who happens to be a real life ghoul.
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