Happy Festivus!

Tonight I attended my first Festivus party. We feasted upon tacos, spaghetti, and chicken wings; we drowned our grievances in margaritas. There was a pole, of course, drug out of our co-host’s backyard (he assured me it hadn’t been supporting anything, but really…who has a pile of aluminum poles just “laying around”?). We played a rousing game of Cards Against Humanity, though sadly C and I had to leave before the Feats of Strength.

We were given a wonderful parting gift, though:


(PS – the party was given by a friend’s girlfriend, who has quite possibly the dreamiest horror apartment EVER. Life-sized Pinhead, signed Friday the 13th poster… She had a death mask of Vincent Price! I wanted to steal everything.)

Real Live Death

Most Thursdays I watch The First 48.

Being from a (very thankfully) low-violent-crime area, the show is shocking. It’s sad, and morbidly fascinating, as the cameras pan through bloodied crime scenes and show blurred corpses laying about. The past few seasons I’ve noticed the shows have been much more censored in terms of what we are and aren’t allowed to see. I respect that, in terms of protecting the family, but the show has lost a lot of the impact it had before.

Still, death is interesting. In fact, I’ve thought about doing crime-scene and decomp cleanup for a living. It’s interesting, the things that bother some people and not others. Gore bothers me, sure, but it doesn’t scare me at all.

The recent censoring begs the question: how much is too much? Should we be allowed to see real death on television? What if the death is self-inflicted?