The Black Mirror Effect

This is the story of what happens when you innocently try to take a couple hours for yourself, to indulge in a little shameless Netflix binging.

***Disclaimer*** There are frightening images.

First I shall set the scene…

It was early morning (roughly 12:45 pm).  I was in my pj’s, coffee in hand, settled on the couch.  I had bravely chosen a new program to discover, selecting British sci-fi, psychological drama “Black Mirror”; a choice far from my norm.  I would later learn that the show is in fact, a modern day remake of the cult classic “The Twilight Zone”.  Had I know this going in, I would never have started it; (mostly because I always hated that stupid show) the twilight zone is creepy shit you don’t mess with.

Alas, the saga continues…

Episode 2 was a doozy.  I just have to say, the guy in this episode is a real tool.  I mean, who checks all their belongings at the door of some sketchy secretive gaming cult, and agrees to have a device implanted into their brain stem as a test subject…. Um hello! McFly!

So yeah, he pretty much gets what he deserves; which is a horrifying mind journey through his darkest fears, all generated by his own brain; because obviously your own brain knows how to terrify you the most. 

Anyhoo, half way through the episode, I hear a faint voice from beyond my headphones.  It starts to get louder, and then I am jolted by movement in my peripheral vision.

I pull the headphones off and look at my 18 year old daughter as she stands there repeating “Mom… Mom… Mom… Mom… Mom…” all deadpan and full of monotone. 

“What!?” I say.

“I’m going for a shower, you let me sleep too long”

“Okay, whatever”; I give her the finger, and nestle the headphones back onto my ears. 

Back to the show...

I am sorely disappointed with the ending.  There is however, a small offering of conciliation when the credit roll is accompanied by one of my favourite Elvis Presley songs.  You probably don’t know it.   

And this is where things get real scary.  Remembering it now, I can almost hear Rod Sterling setting the scene for my impending doom.

Cut to scene…

I sigh, close my laptop, remove the headphones, and resign myself to doing something half productive with the rest of my day.  I unwittingly head up the stairs to my little loft, Elvis channeling through me as I sing (twang and all)  “Oh Momma liked the Roses, She grew them in the ya….”. 

And that’s when I happened upon the most frightening scene that my brain could conjure; stopped dead in my tracks, I was firmly trapped in the zone.

As I tried to gather my bearings, all I could manage to mutter was “But I was singing Elvis”, as the most genuinely dejected appeal to rewind time.

But alas, it was all too real.  My daughter, gluing her punk-rock, tattooed boyfriend’s hair into a spikey Mohawk, like it was the most normal thing in the world.  And I didn’t even know he was in the house.

I am, days later, still repeating silently in my head “but I was singing Elvis”, over and over.

Scared out of her Chucks,

Suzie

Post Script,

I just want to say, all mohawks aside, he’s actually a good kid that I really like.  But I confess, that I will forever call him “The Mohawk” when he’s not around, because that is a golden nickname for your daughter’s boyfriend… am I right?

No-Fly Zone

About 2 years ago, my dad suggested getting a bird feeder for the backyard.  At the time, my mom thought it an odd request, but dutifully went along. 

Little did she know, that this would set forth a course in which she herself, would become the bird Nazi.

As it turns-out, the feeder has been a source of great joy and entertainment for my Mother. 

My Father?

Well he probably spends more money on bird food than he does on beer; he can frequently be seen in the backyard, bathrobe and slippers, dodging sparrows whilst filling the feeder (as per gentle reminding from his lady); and he has been summoned on more than one occasion, to provide hands-on rescue services for window-slammers. 

On the flip side, he has learned SO much more about bird breeds than he probably ever thought he’d care to.

Feeder regulars include “The woodpeckers”, “The Cardinals”, “The Finches”, and “The Sparrows”… you know, the happy gang.  Like any local pub, the gang pretty much gets along, everyone adding a little something to the ecosystem of the tranquil backyard.

But then something happened this spring, turning my mother into a totalitarian dictator.

“Those damned Red-Winged Black Birds”

And so, with her regulars under threat of invasion, she has taken to standing at the window with a towel, waving it into the air in an attempt to shoo those commi black bastards away.

As I sit typing this, there are 2 big suckers chowing down at the feeder while the little guys wait their turn, watching tentatively from the bushes.

So my wish is for a feeding system that offers acceptance for all kinds of birds, equality for all… as it were.

And what about the squirrels!? Can’t we have some compassion for those dudes?  I mean they really try hard, and all we do is put obstacles in their way.

Can’t we all just get along?

Guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back...

It has been a while since my last post, but let us skip the formalities of small-talk, the reasons why, etc.., because I’m sure you really don’t care.  Also I don’t have a reasonable explanation.

Now that I’m back, I’m not sure that I actually have much to say.  Is that weird?  Probably.  

So why don’t we just do a breakdown of life since my last post:

New Shoes – More than 5, but probably less than 10 (I think).  It is important to mention here, that one pair is currently plugged into a USB charger because THEY ARE LIGHT UP SNEAKERS.  I will just also say that they have 10 different modes of colours and effects.  BAM!.  Also, my shoe-crew has grown to include Onitsuka Tigers, yea boiii!

Career – Same.  Slinging beer and nachos whilst hustling to find a “real job”.  Miraculously, through the hustle, I have been led by some incredibly talented, and immensely successful people, who have taken time out of their busy lives to help me, for no other reason than being marvelous humans.  Happy to report that kindness is not an entirely lost art.

Friends – All of my friends are amazeballs, but I miss many of them.  You know who you are.

Family – Quality over quantity I guess.  I would prefer both, but beggars cannot be choosers. Did I weep inside a little writing that?  Yes.

Relationships – Wouldn’t you like to know!

Home – Finally took down the Christmas décor the other day.  My daughter was disappointed that I did it without her, but I pointed-out that I assumed we were both just being lazy, waiting for the other person to do it.  Well I know I was.

Bucket Lists – Was actually gifted breakdance lessons for my birthday (Ya hooo!!), but am yet to find a class that caters to the 40+ crowd, with zero dance experience.  PM me if you know of any.

Entertainment – Seen some really terrible movies. What is happening in the world that we can’t make decent movies anymore?  Like, did the 80’s end and we just said “well we can’t top that decade, so f*** it!”.  This might possibly be the explanation.

On a side note, there have been a few gems in television programming.  Most recent examples (the good ones): The Get Down, and People Just Do Nothing.  Watch and love.

Transportation – New breaks, new struts, new starter, new debt.

Wishes – The usual.

And with that thrilling summation, I wish for a better update next time. 

Yours truly,

A Genie In Chucks, PF Flyers, Onitsuka Tigers, or possibly the flyest, most badass sneakers lighting the dancefloor.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAj2Djtf5jM