Lady Bloodmeadow joins Tinder. If you want a goth girlfriend, please watch her video. She really only has one requirement for partners. If you’d like to see more of Bloodmeadow, check out her Youtube playlist here.
Dear Marriage Advice From A Taxidermist:
My wife and I disagree on almost everything these days- what to have for dinner, where we should park the car, what movie to watch. It seems I couldn’t have picked a less compatible partner, and the constant conflict is making my life hell. What should we do?- Canton, OH
Dear Conflict in Canton;
You’ve reached a crossroads that tests many marriages, but you can move past it. First, check in with your wife that there’s no larger issue at work. If there isn’t, have a talk about why you chose to be together and good memories you have together. Try to be considerate of each other’s feelings, and remind each other why you make a good pair. Learn to compromise.
It looked like my stuffed jackalope just moved a little. That’s funny. Must be the light in here.
Good luck! Let me take a look at this thing and see if I can think of any more good advice.
Dear Marriage Advice From A Taxidermist;
I hope it’s ok that I’m writing for marriage advice, I’m not yet married but I’m worried about tying the knot with my longtime boyfriend, Simon. We love each other and I want to commit, but we’re both men and I guess my upbringing says that men making a life together is wrong, can I shake it off and have a good marriage? – Temecula, CA
Dear Twosome in Temecula;
That sounds really nice, what you’ve got going on. As far as internalized negative feelings about gay marriage, that’s a little out of my depth, but I’d encourage you to talk to a therapist you feel comfortable with about how to move past these feelings before taking the plunge. You owe it to yourself and your partner to go into this with… well the jackalope is moving again. It’s wriggling. Maybe it has termites or something? It looks…terrible. Just terrible.
Good luck and Mazel Tov!
My husband always seems to pay more attention to other women than he does to me. He’s not flirting, he just always seems to have his antennae up when there’s another lady around, you know? It hurts my feelings, but I haven’t said anything because I don’t want to look like a shrew. What do you think? – Shreveport, LA
Dear Shrew in Shreveport;
Sorry, of course not. You’re not being a shrew. I’m just distracted, I also have a stuffed shrew in my office, he’s a cute little thing, the size of a kumquat, and he’s moving, too. He’s nailed to his mount, but it looks like he’s writhing and turning around as best he can. It’s really awful. Ummm, you know, after you’re with someone for a while, you can begin to appreciate other people, it doesn’t necessarily mean bad things for your marriage, just that maybe things are a little stale, I’d try, I don’t know, have you changed your hair or something? The shrew is now crawling towards me, pulling its little fanciful forest scene with it. Why is something so tiny so bone-chilling? OK, change up your look. New lipstick. See if that helps.
I can’t help but notice that you think some of your stuffed specimens are moving around. Shouldn’t you be worrying about that, and not this column? – Cuyahoga, OH
Dear Curious in Cuyahoga;
I think you’re right, I mean, at first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me and I was trying to distract myself from the task at hand, but with every passing minute I am more and more convinced that these things are moving. I mean, this is impossible. They can’t come back to life. There’s nothing to come back to life, these things are skins arranged on molds. You know, their insides are basically foam wig stands shaped like animals. I can hear them stirring, moving towards me, their bases scraping against the wooden floor. I really don’t know what to do and I’m not sure why I’m writing this down. Just trying to leave a record for whomever finds me, perhaps.
Don’t you think this is maybe all a hallucination, or a dream? I mean, what are you even doing? Why would anyone ask you for marriage advice? You have no counselling or therapy background of any kind. You’re not even married, right? Didn’t your wife die in a hunting “accident”?- Siskiyou, CA
Dear Suspicious in Siskiyou;
You bring up some really good points. I wish you had asked me a question I could help you with, but now that you bring up my departed wife, I can smell her perfume. There hasn’t been another woman in my life since her passing, because I don’t know how I would explain to another woman that she is also stuffed in my trophy room. It was a massive labor of love to remember a truly lovely woman I cared very much for, but who just didn’t know when to shut up, like that poor sonofabitch’s wife in Canton, sounds like. Friend, something just tapped me on the shoulder and I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to turn around.
This Halloween, I went back to my own nerdy childhood to be a sexy Ed Emberley bat, from the popular books where you were taught to “draw” animals, although truly you were drafting them based on basic shapes. I was very honored to wear it on a themed comedy show, Game Night, hosted by Laser Malena-Webber at a nerd-themed game shop, Geeky Teas in Burbank. (as if there is any other kind.)
When you submit your comedy album to Pandora, like I did with my comedy album, Gothic American, they sort your tracks into little pre-written buckets for their algorithm- and the description of the tracks from my album, Gothic American, make a nice little poem about my comedy:
An Amused Delivery
A Deadpan Delivery
A Sarcastic Delivery
A Self-Deprecating Delivery
Jokes About The Entertainment Industry
Humorously Dim-Witted Logic
A Wide Variety of Subject Matter
Liberal Political Leanings
Let’s write a Nick Cave song! What’ll we need?
“All Things Move Towards Their End”
A small, but surprisingly sharp, knife
End of Days
The American West/Pioneers/Lawless lands
People who were born evil
Messed Up Preachers
Being Attracted To Women Who Are Married To Someone Else Whom You Then Kill
Lots of Murders, misunderstood criminals
Being suspected or discovered to be a murderer
Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood
Women and children grieving for lost husbands and fathers
A mandolin loop
A big big gong
Subset: what kind of beautiful dark-haired woman do you want in here?
E. With a heart-shaped face and a west country accent
And there you are!
I am writing my morning pages and find myself in a meditation on death.
Looking at the date, I realize it’s my Dad, John Ryan’s, birthday, or- it was his birthday when he was alive. I don’t think you have a birthday after you die- the date stops being relevant to you. It is, perhaps, the anniversary of your birth- but Mozart doesn’t have a 263rd birthday.
Where We Came From
My father was born Sept 9, 1948, to his mother, Ruth Ryan, who is now dead. His father, Robert Sloan Ryan, was present at the birth, and is also dead. The doctor and the nurses who attended the birth are all dead. The maintenance workers at the hospital are dead, the policemen walking the streets of Houston, TX the day my Dad was born are dead, the mothers and fathers of the other babies born that day are all dead, some of the babies born that day are also dead.
Every singer who was on the radio that day is dead. The number one hit song that day was the 12th Street Rag, by Pee Wee Hunt and his Orchestra. Pee Wee Hunt is dead and all the members of the orchestra are dead.
The Oscar winner for Best Picture that year was Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet. All the actors in the film are dead, the most recent being Jean Simmons, who died in 2010, three years before my Dad.
The stars of the most popular TV shows of the day, Ed Sullivan, Howdy Doody, and Candid Camera are all dead. Most of the people who watched those shows are dead. Everyone who worked writing or shooting those shows is dead.
Where We Are Going
One day, Beyonce and Kim Kardashian and PewDiePie and Shane Gillis and David Duchovny and Taylor Swift and Lin-Manuel Miranda will all be dead, and everyone you’ve ever known or looked up to or hated or had a crush on or wronged or bought dinner for will be dead.
It’ll happen so quickly you won’t believe it, sweeping unapologetically through the population and leaving you wondering what it was all for, all the striving and the cutting each other down and the aspirations and the heartbreak and denying ourselves frosty Frappuccinos in the Summer.
Nobody will remember your failed Etsy business, the time you threw up at Homecoming, or the time Patton Oswalt retweeted you. If you’re lucky, 100 years after your death your descendants will remember your name. So, yes. I am having another Frappuccino.
I got to do an episode of the incredible Dork Forest Podcast with Jackie Kashian, whom I inundate with Labyrinth trivia. We also try to help her figure out the difference between David Bowie and Billy Idol. Jackie is a legend and I love her, I love Labyrinth, and I love all of you.