Quote:
I don't do scary either.
For me it's a kind of superstition. You never know what's out there...it's not good to play with fire.
LOL--Steven King has a book out that isn't fiction--it's about being a writer and specifically about being a writer of spooky, scarey stuff. Can't think of the title but it was early in his career and he had you and me pegged. He was writing at some point about the thing practically all kids go through--the 'thing' under the bed or in the closet. He said something to the effect that the reason your 7 year old who has never been afraid of anything suddenly starts getting into the bed by leaping from as far away as he can onto it. Heaven forbid he might get close enough to the bed that the "thing' that lives under it will reach out and suddenly a cool white hand is wrapped around your ankle...and it will NEVER let go.
That whole idea creeped me out to such an extent that I practically reverted to jumping for the bed again (a habit I had given up the night that the bed frame collapsed and woke the whole house up). I'm sure that any dog who had just spent a hour with a feather pillow in your absence would have recognized the look on my face when everyone else in the house came running in to see what was going on.
Quote:
Really, the only movies I've watched that are even remotely in that genre are Jaws and Sixth Sense (pathetic, isn't it). But Sixth Sense is one of my favorite movies. Its story line was so interesting I could deal with the
factor.
LMAO--everyone will appreciate this--at least those of you who don't voluntarily go to scarey, spooky movies.
At one time I lived in a smallish house with a lot of roommates--we were within spitting distance of a movie theatre called the Fox Venice (aka the 50 center). They showed two movies every night--mostly first run stuff and the get in price was 50 cents. (Back when movies in first run in a conventional theatre ran about $4 for a single feature. But it meant that that theatre filled every night--and it was a big theatre.
One of the roommates was an addicted movie fan--me, not so much, but if I was hanging around with nothing better to do I could be talked into going.
He didn't always tell me what was playing. There were some movies by some directors that I NEVER, EVER went to see. Sam Peckenpaw was one of them--so you know what happened.
It wasn't until we were standing in line that I looked at the outside posters for what was playing--OH NO! Not one but two Sam Peckenpaw films. One of them had Jane Fonda in it and was a western--the one where some outlaw fired a shotgun loaded with dimes (in slow motion, close up in living color) through the chest of some other guy--I was up and out of there and spent the rest of that particular movie in the lobby reading some book that the popcorn guy loaned me. Figuring that the second film couldn't be much worse than that I went back in at the break between the films--my roommate laughed his a*s off at me and said that he'd heard that the second movies wasn't as bloody. That movie was 'Straw Dogs'--and it was true--it wasn't as bloody but fairly early in the movie someone opened a closet door and found the family cat hanging inside. GAH! I levitated out of my seat that time--and nothing could get me back into the theatre.
I had nightmares about that particular scene for years. And everyone in the house found they could really p**s me off by reminding me of the movie where they hung the kitty in the closet.
I never go to movies now unless I've checked them out to make sure I'm not going to get any really unpleasant shocks.
20180418_172356 by Ashley Langer, on Flickr
