1-900-CREEP

Yessir, the world had limited entertainment options “back in 1988”. Telephone “Party-Lines” were a thing– or getting lost in the labyrinth of an automated-system “for a thrill”. . . . . though the real shock was when your parents got the phone-bill. “in this world of worlds”, what do you think you, or I, or anybody “would dredge-up out there”?

      

  

Beetlejuice’s phone-line sits, “mostly unanswered” as it’s another “get-broke-quick” scheme. He’ll be “an internet millionaire in no-time”. . . . .

  

 

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1-900-CREEP

Karma, Purgatory, Bureaucracy

  

Karma, Purgatory, Bureaucracy

“Just another number”.

Be there “no Karma about it” but THE RECENTLY DECEASED will hit that old after-life office with the thud of paperwork.

(Reminds me of the ole’ Social Security office)

Franz Kafka couldn’t have said it better, whether just the victim is mad or “THE SYSTEM”, itself is even crazier. . . . . and remember, that guy in the “Metamorphosis” story did turn into an insect. OR EVEN A BEETLE.

A lot of people “kill time” in the waiting room, bearing the incarnation they took when “struck-down, mortally”. The visual cue—its own kind of karma whether you’re a shrunken-head on the leash of a witch-doctor as it didn’t end well for the big game hunter.

Don’t go smoking in bed, either—or take poison which will turn you into an icky, translucent green like the secretary behind the sliding window.

Perky, pert, and sarcastic—if not despondent in this perfect illustrated example of the mind/body and material/spiritual splits that cleaves the world into an alienated hell.

Ole’ Beetlejuice pops his head in and takes a seat. I’d imagine him probably sticking his hand down the front of his pants like Al Bundy in “Married with Children”. Half-resourceful or maybe just fool-hardy “no one will notice” as he lopes across the parking lot to grab a cooler of beer.

You’d imagine he’d only lose his place in line.

Solely the balance between evidence and lyricism can allow us to achieve simultaneous emotion and lucidity. . . . . but there he hollers at his loss.

In this last week, we’ve lost Chris Cornell—the singer from Soundgarden—and Roger Ailles—the chairman of Fox News. Only out of an episode of “Adult Swim” could these figures every encounter each other.

The moody rock singer leans up on the chair, hang-dog with his hands stretched over his knee while the right-wing chieftain tries to bluster and glad-hand his way out of federal commitment for dinner reservations “elsewhere”.

There’s only a few things certain in this life. . . . . death, taxes, and irate constituents.

End up here and you have to meet your quota of lingering, ghostly “overtime” back on earth. Spook the hell out of the living for a spike of adrenaline and ecto-residue that kicks into your early retirement, building enough parasitically-fueled power to ascend up the spiritual pyramid to eternal bliss.

Sounds like Medicare and Social Security.

You’ll pay though. . . . . they’ll take everything “but the squeal”.

Death. Taxes. Hollywood sequels. . . . .

Welcome to America. You could die laughing. . . . .

 

“No dream”, kid. This was your life! Remember to Linger in the graveyard and pick the daisies before summoning for pizza on the Ouija board.

Karma, Purgatory, Bureaucracy

Lydia, Updated for Present Day

 

Lydia, Updated for Present Day

1988—it was a long time ago.

You can’t really play too much of “a recycled teenager” without some stylistic changes.

Sure, there’s the question if too great a number of the MTV generation “ever grew up” or if we live in an extended post-adolescence with tiny jobs, an abundant service economy, and definitely TIME TO PARTY.

Many of us keep listening to the same music we did back in high school. . . . . . but there’s a question if we’d still wear the exact articles of clothing.

Many 40 year-old’s couldn’t well fit into the same Metallica t-shirt or at least wouldn’t wear it well. And it’s not if most Metallica fans turned into investment bankers.

I can’t really think of Winona Ryder as Lydia Deetz ever “selling-out”, really. But would she still wear the same shapeless black rags and spiky head-piece?

Not likely—or it would just look weird 30 years on.

But an artistic, dark soul would still wear the sort of dark, punk-rock accoutrements. I’m thinking a black sun hat, t-shirt, and jeans like the photo below—incidentally a slice of the local population around here in our very own St. Louis.

So how do you weigh the reality of “working”, or holding-down a job?

There’s one answer to that—THE “GIG” ECONOMY.

Front whatever kind of bullshit you want, but there’s a niche for any kind of service. And that means more than working at “Build-a-Bear” though it’s a job Lydia might try out for like, A DAY before getting fired.

If you remember, she makes her way around as a local personality working on DIY t.v., maybe a bit of radio at the local community stations. When she’s not doing that, or maybe running a YouTube channel she makes extra money by giving live tarot readings via web-cam with an air of intrigue and langouring mystery.

Stretch that job out while living with a couple of house-mates and possessing a liberal arts degree, maybe you can “fake it” until “you make it”.

Cyber-space calls, meat-space is tacky. But tours of the strange & unusual can pass as a vocation, if you’re creative and “a little loopy”.

So it is among the hard feld-spar and open lots, where skaters flip tricks and the depthless blue sky hangs above as old media is recycled into newer, strange organic forms. Personalities weave in and out of her languid, sarcastic day and she never loses her dramatic air, bobbing in and of the screen like an apparition in a Bram Stoker novel.

Trust me—many can get away with this well into middle-age or later—as where do you go when there’s no role models or hero’s—only television sound-bytes and the even more evanescent online-hype?

And who could rightfully succeed in such a media environment? What single point of hard, diamond-like concentration does it get to push a personal brand, a line of consumer products?

Let the freak show begin. . . . . she’s just the ticket-taker.

As for Beetlejuice? The star of the story—and you’ll know “IT’S SHOW-TIME”.

Lydia remains the well-grounded “voice of reason” and keeps this film anchored. Her most welcome-return will certainly be anticipated, or else the sequel “was never meant to be”.

And by plucking the petals off a black-rose and creamy white fingers with black nail-polish, she’ll wish you luck.

 

Lydia, Updated for Present Day

Rock & Roll Star

lydia_contour   puke

Rock & Roll Star

Tales of the Christmas Crypt-Keeper

So how many product-franchises can we tie into this big Beetlejuice project?

Everything is a cross-promotion, all but “throwing in the kitchen sink” as we could use the ghoulish crypt-keeper to narrate the action, throw-in some bad puns from time-to-time.

Otherwise following the adventures of Beetlejuice– either a tour guide at a gator farm or working as a lackey at a Christmas tree lot. Now there’s a vivid image, with the red stocking cap as always. . . . .

This movie would have jokey asides and surreal pivots of direction as it moves from thing to thing and pays proper homage to the kinds of things Beetlejuice– and yes, Lydia– would be up too. Not “a cookie-cutter sequel” by any means, but practically a literary exercise in THE BIZARRE. . . . . just take a look at how this script is developing.

You will be shocked. . . . . you will be amazed. You will be glad that you tagged-along for the journey. Right now, “the muse” is kicking back with a beer– the Yuletide living-room in shambles, like Christmas turkey left-over’s and socks draped in the sink.

If not a kids’ birthday party clown then a repo-man. Home for the holidays– Beetlejuice takes a vacation. But we will be back in three flicks of a reindeer’s tail so don’t you go changin’ and stick around for more madcap fun in the following year to come.

satan_on_the_drums    roach_reverse

Tales of the Christmas Crypt-Keeper

Announcing THE BEETLE HOUSE

10313092_1103511663022032_3767146922196360580_n   punk_rock_ggggrls

Announcing THE BEETLE HOUSE.

A fine eatery under moon-blue neon and surrealist flavors, themed after the films of Tim Burton to the sounds of Pee-Wee calypso. A charred skull grips a rose in its teeth under the whirly-twirly pin-stripes of spirals and snake-head into the pin-prick of fairy-land oblivion as a waitress refills your ice tea with olive laurels in her hair. The munificent shadow-world beckons to the dance of dead autumn leaves as somber merriment shall partake in a varied and artisanal menu of good eats and finer fellowship. Open now in New York—for the savvy and pop-cultured best of nightlife.

https://www.facebook.com/BEETLEHOUSENYC

  beat_girl  beetlejuice_2

Announcing THE BEETLE HOUSE