You’ll Die Laughing…Or Not
What was it about these trading cards that made them so irresistible?
I grew up calling them Monster Cards, although that is merely a generic description. Collectors often refer to them as You'll Die Laughing cards. That is also incorrect. For many years, the proper name for this bizarre series eluded me, as I had discarded the colorful wax paper pack wrappers shortly after every purchase, and I was only five at the time. In fact, the fabled Topps collectibles were marketed as Creature Feature in 1973 with an initial run of 62 trading cards, followed shortly thereafter with a second series of 66. The images on those cards are still familiar to me all these years later.
The Creature Feature gimmick was as elementary as its target demographic. Black and white stills from old Universal Pictures horror films were given ridiculous dialogue captions. The reverse, printed in purple ink on gray card stock, featured a fanciful illustration of jovial monsters gathered around a tombstone, upon which was inscribed a terribly corny joke. Despite the heading You'll Die Laughing, it's unlikely that the lame attempts at humor provoked so much as a mild snort, let alone a lethal guffaw.
A Strange Case
105? There must be some significance to that combination...
It's been ten years since I left the business world for a career in education. A decade is an apt interval for reflection, for that is precisely how long I spent in the private sector. As a fresh college graduate in the spring of 1990, I turned my part-time job with a small records management company into a sustaining occupation. Eventually I was given a salary and entrusted with running the micrographics department. If the notion of storing data on microfilm seems quaint today, the inevitability of a digital future was obvious even then. By the end of the nineties, it was long past due to move on.
Although few mementos remain from that period of my life, I recently exhumed the most substantial relic of my business days: a briefcase. It was resting in the corner of my basement underneath a six-disc CD player, a pair of plastic aquariums, a slim wooden case containing a decorative carving knife, and an assortment of small items that accumulated there during the latest attempt at organization. After carefully removing the precariously balanced upper archaeological layer, I was able to retrieve this artifact from my past in order to examine it closely.
Welcome Back, My Friends (Again)
If at first you don't succeed...
Fans of Keith Emerson and Greg Lake can be forgiven for being a little nervous this past Wednesday when an announced 7:30 showtime came and went with no sight of the famous prog rockers. Sure, it's not unusual at all for rock concerts to start quite late, but those of us squirming restlessly in our seats had been through this once before. As previously documented, the Emerson/Lake tour had been set to debut in Cleveland on April 1, but the show was abruptly called off at the last second to the consternation of a stunned audience. The next two dates were canceled as well, and sheepish statements were issued from the boys that vaguely attributed the mishap to unresolved technical issues. When at last the tour started with a successful date in Annapolis, the next evening's show in Alexandria was canceled due to laryngitis. Finally the ball got rolling, and our heroes managed to pull of a dozen consecutive performances without incident. Ticketholders from previously canceled shows were assuaged with rescheduled dates. Then, on what would have been the duo's thirteenth concert in a row on April 28, Lake's illness forced a cancellation at Colorado Springs. Before returning to Cleveland, the Emerson/Lake tour continued with a trio of Texas shows. So, given the tour's 79% success rate, we weren't about to get too excited until we saw the whites of their English eyes.
The minutes passed by, dry ice swirled under the lighting rig, a bottle of water was set in place for Mr. Lake -- all of the things that had happened last time at the Lakewood Civic Auditorium. As I began to experience an uncomfortable feeling of deja vu and reassured myself that they surely would not cancel a second time, the noticeably thinner audience was getting restless. My front-row seat at center stage was flanked by three empty seats to my left and three empty seats to my right. Even some of the people in the VIP orchestra pit seating had apparently taken refunds rather than return. Someone called out from behind me, "We've waited a month!" Then, just a couple minutes shy of eight o'clock, Keith Emerson and Greg Lake took the stage, and all was forgiven.
Geese Is The Word
The local supermarket where I often buy gas has apparently taken measures to rid their premises of Canada geese. The rectangular retention pond that drains the parking lot and provides a buffer zone from an adjacent four-lane road is now criss-crossed with a matrix of fine netting. From the perspective of a goose, the unsightly, white lattice must be one giant pain in the bill.
Imagine trying to land in this once-familiar pond. Skim the surface too closely and you're suddenly somersaulting into the drink. Manage a graceful touchdown and you're floating upon an aquatic cell with an area of just several square yards. Want to float around in the cell next door? Time to fly again. Thinking about taking the goslings for a swim? Might as well forget it. There's nothing dangerous about your former haven, but like rush-hour traffic, it sure is frustrating trying to get around.
I was disheartened to discover the nets during a recent fill-up, not due to any concerns over animal welfare, but simply because I love geese. They are far and away my favorite bird.