Andyland, USA

    In January of 2019, I will turn 34 years old—I am always amazed I made it this far. Seeing that I will turn 34 and that I’ve had a hell of a year with all the things going on, I feel it’s most important to celebrate my 34th year of life in a big way. A big, epic, slightly reckless and unnecessary way. Some people go on elaborate trips with their spouse—I’ve been single since the Regan administration, so that is not on the docket for me.       Nope, I want to do something that will require a small, yet sizable amount of money. This is something that Kickstarter will laugh at, so I must turn to the other crowd-funding favorite, GoFundMe. I know I will need at least $5,000. Rental fees for the venue? Hmm, let’s say another $5,000. Cost of goods for the party? Hmm, let’s just add another $5,000 to the list to keep it a nice, round amount. I’m sure there will be other incidentals that I will need to be aware of, so I think I should add an extra $5,000 of precautionary money to t

    I wonder what was going on the media zeitgeist in the early 1960s where two prominent works of media focused on creepy children with terrifying powers. In December 1960 MGM released “Village of the Damned” a big screen adaptation of the 1957 John Wyndham novel “The Midwich Cuckoos.” Then in 1961, Rod Serling’s seminal TV series “The Twilight Zone” aired an episode in November that year called “It’s a Good Life.” About a small town terrorized by a young boy who has powers over, well, everything.       “Village of the Damned”—starring beloved British character actor and leading man George Sanders, along with Barbara Shelly—was a sleeper hit for MGM on both sides of the pond, being a full production of MGM’s British studios, audiences and critics both reacted positively to the film. The image of the children using their powers is one that has entered into the pop culture lexicon, and the film itself was remade by John Carpenter in 1995.       One morning the people of the

    It had been a rowdy night with the boys. We were hanging in the basement of one of the group, playing Risk till the wee small hours, shotgunning cans of La Croix (Pamplemousse burns so good!). We were at the house of the one friend who has the big house in the fancy suburb all the annoying people you know want to live in. We know not why he chose to live here, but his house is massive and the basement is our domain. He even installed a rage room so when my beloved Kamchatka falls during a game of Risk, I can walk right in, put on a helmet, and punch through some drywall.       With a belly full of the fizz juice, I drove myself home, being careful and delicate to be as quiet as possible. I didn’t want to wake my wife or son up, it was a quarter to three in the morning. Walking into the basement room I noticed it felt a bit warm. As I made my way upstairs I noticed it was getting distinctively warmer. Not miserable by any means of the imagination, but not where the house is