Death Entertains Me

Death is awesome. Death is fun. I love death.

Well, not all death. I mean fun death. Like, I don't want anyone real to die, I can't watch the news without crying. And my hope is for your Aunt Martha to make it through whatever ails her so she can live to a ripe old age. But dammit I do enjoy death as entertainment.

My Mom is fond of telling this story. When I was 2 years old, my parents took me to Disney World. They said I was pretty relaxed about the whole affair until we went on the Haunted Mansion ride. Apparently there were a ton of kids my age and slightly above who were scared and crying throughout the entire thing.

Me? I lit up like a Christmas tree.

My Mother (who is not one to embellish stories) said that I clapped and cheered the entire time. I declared that dancing spirits were my favorite thing of anything ever (and probably still are) and I wanted to go through it as many times as they would possibly allow. My parents must have been very patient I guess. I haven't been to Disney World in years but if/when I go back - it's the first ride I'm hitting.

No one in my family loves horror. No one. I did not get this genetically. I don't know where it comes from. Neither of my brothers like the genre and about the scariest thing my parents watch is the occasional John Wayne movie, although once they somehow got duped into watching Hannibal when it was out in theaters. My Mom originally thought it was about the historical figure (no kidding).

I also don't look like someone who embraces the dark. I don't wear much make-up, I have normal boring brown hair,  no tattoos and only my ears are pierced. I would look out of place at a  any horror convention. The only slightly goth thing I have as décor in my house is a sugar skull trivet I have in my kitchen. (I bought on Amazon as an impulse, but you have to admit, it's pretty damn cute).

In fact, I look like someone who would watch Lifetime and cry at the end of Sleepless in Seattle. I do neither of these things. Although the Korean horror film A Tale of Two Sisters made me weep openly. What a great movie that was (sob...sniff).

There's a tendency by "normal people" and the media to blame murders and the like on horror, to which I exclaim "Bollocks!" mainly because I'm a Yank and that word means nothing here but it's fun to say, and also because I don't think listening to heavy metal, watching horror or loving anything goth in general automatically makes one a serial killer. It's takes years of abuse plus a great deal of time, planning and a whole lot of training to do that. And I'm slightly too well-adjusted. Plus I'm lazy.

Also, when people say that horror movies are terrible I always counter with what I call The Titanic Theory. It goes like this:

   Random Person: Ewww....you like horror? But it's so gross! They show people getting killed!
   Me: Did you like Titanic?
   Person: Love that movie! But it's not horror.
   Me: LOTS of dead bodies at the end of Titanic...(smirk)

Usually they end up arguing that it's a romance, after which I point out that the "final girl" lived, just as in any horror movie, while her boyfriend was killed, also as in any horror movie. Also the great "love lost" scene happened while there were a ton of open-mouthed dead people floating around them. I may not be the most romantic person in the world, but open-mouthed dead floating people doesn't sound all that sexy to me. And of course there's the fact that it was something that really happened and a lot of people died. So there's that.

In a weird way, horror has become a sort of comfort zone for me. So while everybody's watching the latest comic book movie, I'm watching zombies eat people in some obscure movie I found from 1989. This comfort zone extends to television too. For example, I have never seen Breaking Bad or Mad Men. I have, of course, seen every single episode of Ash vs. Evil Dead.

So I watch what I watch with a smile, no matter how gruesome, because for me people getting killed in various and sundry ways helps me to relax and cope with life. I mean, if somebody's being knived by a deranged killer when all they wanted to do was party in that deserted amusement park where several people mysteriously disappeared 10 years ago on that very night, well - your problems don't seem that bad, do they?

Until next time, sweet dreams. Or nightmares. You know which one I'd choose. ;)