Showing posts from October, 2013

13 SCARY Stories for Halloween

Edgar just hopes the bird doesn't poop. In honor of Halloween (the greatest holiday ever invented), I thought I'd present a list of some of thirteen classic scary, short stories. I hope you don't mind that all of my choices come from American Literature. It's not because I'm intentionally favoring American Literature (which I am), but it's because I believe America that successfully co-opted Halloween with Pumpkins, Edgar Allan Poe, and Hershey's chocolate. "A Rose for Emily"  by William Faulkner "The Black Cat"  by Edgar Allan Poe "Rip Van Winkle"  by Washington Irving  "Young Goodman Brown"  by Nathaniel Hawthorne "The Golden Arm"  by Mark Twain "Hop-Frog"  by Edgar Allan Poe "The Minister's Black Veil"  by Nathaniel Hawthorne  "The Tell-Tale Heart"  by Edgar Allan Poe " The Lottery"  by Shirley Jackson "A Cask of Amontillado"  by Edgar Al

The 12 Days of Halloween - Day I

Autumn in Utah, DGF Halloween is, without question, my favorite holiday. "Why is that?" you may ask. Well, perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I was raised in Alaska then later transplanted to the continental US. This radical change in geography made me suddenly aware of something that my two-season Alaskan homeland had denied me my whole life: Autumn. Yes, Autumn! That glorious season of beautiful leaves, pumpkin pies, sweaters, scary stories, apple cider, and the smells of harvest (news flash, Edward Pola and George Wyle: Christmas is NOT the most wonderful time of the year—AUTUMN is! You can take your commercialized Yule Tide and stuff it in a pumpkin)! The introduction of Autumn into my childhood was as though Mother Nature herself had come to me and said:  "Here, Seth, I really want you to enjoy this season. It has a wide variety of unique colors, tastes, and emotions. Most people get about 90 Autumns in their lives. You'v

Is Your Life Better Than Napoleon's?

I am always moved by these words written by Robert G. Ingersoll, an American political leader and orator. Deeply profound. A little while ago I stood by the grave of Napoleon, a magnificient tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity, and gazed upon the sarcophagus of black Egyptian marble where rests at last the ashes of the restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world.  I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine contemplating suicide; I saw him at Toulon; I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris; I saw him at the head of the army of Italy; I saw him crossing the bridge at Lodi with the tricolor in his hand; I saw him in Egypt in the shadows of the pyramids; I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagle of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered hi