laurie kendrick

My Tray of Randomness

I don’t know what this thing is called exactly.   I don’t know if this thing is even ‘a thing’ in the world of the  fashioned minded, but I was recently challenged by someone who made herself a tray chocked full of random objects that express her sense of style.   She saw something on Pintrest, copied it and supposed I should try to be tray cool, too.

As if a mere tray could ever really contain ANYTHING that could convey my essence.  

There are no rules to apply here, she assured me.   Nothing has to match, it can be as random as I wanted; as crowded or sparse as I wanted; nothing right or wrong about anything I chose to place on the tray. The only requirements were that a tray had to be involved to the hold all the stuff and  the stuff needed at least a brief explanation as to why it belonged on said tray.

Since I really have nothing to base my tray on in terms of design—my friend was of little help—I went with the old bridal theme, something old, something new, etc., etc., as a basis.

Here’s the finished product:

LK tray

I used a Lucite tray I found….standard issue, two handles and placed it in the corner of my service country of my kitchen, then went about my house looking for the things that screamed or whispered, “Laurie” .

Well, I does love me some pop art.   And nothing says pop, like Judy Garland in her the role that made her a famous gay icon para siempre,  Dorothy from the ‘1939’s  72 percent Technicolor epic, The Wizard of Oz.    Now, what’s cool about this particular photo?   Its made up entirely of repeated lyrics from the movie’s theme song, “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”.

If you look closely, you can see “happy little blue birds flying” right there on Miss Thing’s lips.  dorothy's lips

Color was added to the type, but its all there, the whole damn song.

The tray also includes an Ashanti vase (upper left hand corner).  It’s the turquoise gold make shift pencil/pen/magnifying glass/, groovy cheetah- handled scissors holder.     Truth be told, there’s actually more to the vase than I let on.   The actual name of this l’objet is the  Fortuny  Ashanti  Vase in Teal.      It’s the handiwork of a Venetian gad about, the legendary fashion and textile designer Marian Fortuny.   The Ashanti part of the name must be an homage to the traditional art from the Ashanti tribe in Africa…..at least I think so.   Educated guess, basically.   That’s real by God 24k gold you see there, but that  wasn’t the reason why I bought the vase,  nor had I heard ever hear of Señor Fortuny or his talents.    I liked it because it reminded me of a pencil holder I might have made for my mom out of an old frozen orange  can.   You know, as  in an pre-Mother’s day assignment in my third grade arts and crafts class.

Those are ordinary silk flowers in a vase I’ve had for years.    Near base of the vase  is a green crystal skull tea light holder.    A symbolic  a brand identifier good enough for Alexander McQueen tis certainly good enough for my tray.   My mother insists that I inform you that it’s a Kosta Boda product, which I think is Swedish for “ugly ass crystal tea light”.

A Buddha sits nearby.  Don’t wanna brag but it is Baccarat.    See,  I’ve always wanted to own some Baccarat crystal and while I applaud the deity and his teachings of peace, love and understanding, Id like to think he would have been a backer of frugality well,  because  The Buddha was the least expensive Baccarat item in the store.

A blue Cloisonne ball adds to the confusion.  I’ve had that thing since the mid 80’s.    I’ve wanted to throw it away time and time again, but I just wouldn’t make myself do it.  .  We’ve  been through a lot together.   So one day ago I freed it from its dusty prison.   It had been on a neglected shelf collecting dust where dust goes to collect dust and to no doubt hide from me and a can of Pledge, that oddly enough, also hides itself from me (have I mentioned??  I’m not exactly a fan of housework).

That matches are from Mexico and represent a very positive time in my life.     My  first TV job right out of college was at a station in Laredo, Texas, right on the Mexican border. This was the early 80’s when cartels were places tired Fords and Chrysler checked in for a good night sleep before hitting the road again the next morning.    I spent a great deal of time both working and playing in Northern Mexico.

Next to the matches sits, a pretty little yellow butterfly made from sea glass collected  the Gulf of Mexico.    It’ originates as a glass bottle tossed over board from a ship or from a motorist crossing a bridge.   It’s broken on impact, usually and the pieces bob around for a while and then was made smooth by the pounding waves.   It makes landfall on a beach and artistic types make stuff out of it, jewelry mostly, but I found a lovely yellow butterfly.  Since it came from The Gulf of Mexico, I inspected it carefully before buying at a gift shop down near Galveston way, didn’t want a hypodermic needed mistaken for am antennae emanate.      At the time of purchase the Gulf wasn’t known more for its combustibility and disease  communicability more so than its er…uh…well, loveliness.

That old rusted spurs signify I am Texas through and through–fifth generation, to be exact  and after being scratched by one of the pointy rowels on the heals of one of those damn things,   I am also a Tetanus shot candidate through and through.

The Spirit of Flight is a little book with that  includes wonderful inspirational saying from authors well known and completely unknown.    I’m really not sure; I bought it because it was cheap, small and the cover had the right colors in it.

The little bunny ring holder as been around a while.  It mocks me because I’ve never been married.   I will someday return the insult by making a ring out of at least 24 carrots and placing it millimeters away from the holder, just out of its reach, but still completely in that little pink oculared  bastard’s eyesight.

And lastly, the old lock in the corner is just that….an old lock.  I merely saw it for sale and slammed two bucks down for it.    It had a simple, unspoiled rustic charm to it, not unlike me

And like me, its stopped working a long time ago.

So there you guy,  my little random tray.

Tootles ya’ll.

 

 

 

 

 

Living Green

I could never live off the grid.   Indoor plumbing, a refrigerator, microwave,  air conditioning and my flat iron are all too important to me.  I know ease of living and vanity are hell on the environment.   And by the time, that old pine box with my name on it calls me home, I suspect my carbon footprint will be large enough for children to swim in it, providing if there’s any safe, clean water left anywhere in the world when my time comes.

Yes, my little tree- huggers, I WILL try harder.

And will do so by recycling more, walking more, dry cleaning less, hang drying my wet clothes more often AND  telling you all about my new love affair with the color green.  Or to be more specific, two particular shades of green:   celadon and green yellow.

Celadon is shade that’s more green than anything.   A nice, calming hue to be sure.   It used to be everywhere back in the early to mid 80’s.   These were the “Miami Vice” and “Dynasty” years, so women were always traipsing around in clothing that hid   shoulder pads as big as a baby bed mattress and the men would wear round collar t-shirts under a suit jacket and sockless…always sockless.   Their rooms were all decked out in this shade of  green mixed with peach shiny lacquer furniture.   Rounded corners.    You’d find  decorative borders adorning the ceiling line.

Remember this?

wallper

 

Pic courtesy of Huffposthome.com,  by the way.

See what I was talking about in terms of color combos?      Peach and various shades of green.     And why were there so many ferns in every room back then?

I couldn’t sleep in a room like this today.  Doing so I think, would actually give me ADD.  The heavy furniture would make me feel claustrophobic and the quilt effect of the comforter would make me yearn for corn pone and discovering ways  to sign up for FarmersOnly.com.

Furniture must also have a lightness of being, I think.   This isn’t it and oh my Deity, look at the hideous 80’s wallpaper border along the ceiling line AND baseboards!!!!!!

Oh the pain, the pain……

But back to my new found respect of green.   For the first time ever in my life, I like green-yellow.       Back in the day, this at was my least favorite color in crayon in Crayola’s  box of 64.     Here’s why:   I’m the baby of my family, but I had younger cousins.   I remember when they were  fresh out of the womb and watching their diapers being changed.  I stood here both repulsed AND convinced the Infamil formula they had for supper was performing somgreen yellow crayolae sort of  strange alchemy in babies’  stomachs.    The stuff  they drank went  in white and liquid—I saws the bottle myself,  but a short time later, came out greenish- yellow and liquid.    And the smell?       That particular smell was almost palpable.

As a result, I was turned by that color off forever.

Besides, the crayon itself was only good for coloring squash and how many times did squash come up in any coloring book,  unless its one produced  Burpees Seeds or Martha Stewart on a gardening bender?

And might I add, this is the first time I’ve looked at a crayon in years.   It’s multi-lingual!!!     How urbane.     But what a great teaching tool, as well.     More on green-yellow in the next week.

So anyway, I decided a few years ago to bring back celadon….in moderation, of course.

First,  I found this cream colored mid-century chest,  total reproduction (it would probably melt if left out in the sun long enough) but it was so cool, I had to bring it home with me.    I grew up in the 60’s, so I saw lots of this style.   I didn’t appreciate it then, I do now.

I put it in the corner of my great room, next to some built ins.

my room

I forgot where the art work is from or what its called or who the artist is, but i liked it because it reminded of the Earth’s  layers.

When I placed the cream colored chest underneath it, I noticed how much that brought out the lighter tones .    So, I found this big round glass plate in pure Don Johnson 80’s celadon and placed it on a bronze stand.

But needed more.    A statue or something and just the right dimensions.

A friend suggested I use Venus de Milo, but I sad “Nah, everyone has Venus somewhere in their home.  I want someone few people have”.        I remembered seeing this headless, arm less angel somewhere and thought it had a cool art- deco vibe about it.     So, while perusing a website for the famed Louvre in Paris, there she was.big nike

The Winged Victory of Samothrace (AKA  the Nike of Samothrace )  is a 2nd-century BC marble sculpture  and pure Greek.     Excavators believe she  formed part of the Samorthace Temple Complex dedicated to the Great gods, Megaloi Theoi, whoever they are.     It’s been prominently displayed at the famed Paris museum since 1884 .   Experts say  it represents a near perfect example of Hellenistic sculpting.

Yeah maybe,  but what about her head and arms?

No one knows where those are, but various other fragments have since been found Nike;’s initial unearthing in 1863.    Almost 100  years later in 1950, excavators found her missing right hand, but it was fingerless and check this out….it slid out from under a rock where the statue had originally stood.   Out of nowhere.  Right in front of the scientists.    Poof!!!!!    It  just slid on out, as if wanting to be found.

A subsequent dig at the temple coughed up the Goddess’s ring finger and her thumb.    Both are kept in a special drawer at a museum with a very difficult to pronounce Teutonic name, in Vienna, I think.    For those who are curious and with plenty of time on their hands, here’s a hint: the name begins with a “K”….maybe.  Not sure.

Fast forward to 2014 for a gander of the glass plate and Nike in the corner of my living room.

nike and plate

You cant see it in this pic, but in the painting above it, there’s a lovely celadon green veining that just makes the plate pop and when you mix the statue with it (which is just bronze paint over plaster,  but quite pleasing visually), it offers a tremendous overall effect. , I think.     The plate’s goldish-bronze  painted accents tie everything together..

I then chose to place a tall mid century floor lamp next to it with this oversized post modern shade that I’m sure t Sally Rogers  wouldhave sat near during one of of Rob and Laura’s many parties  for Alan Brady and well,  there you go.

If memory serves,  this entire to homage to the color green, Greeks and Geeky mid-century was well under $300.     And while it might not be your taste, that’s fine.   It’s not mine either.   At least it wasn’t.   I basically copied it from various design mags and websites.  How do you know what you like –and don’t like unless you investigate?  Do a little digging….R&D?    And besides,  isn’t copying in this way, the penultimate form of flattery?   I think so.

I like it, it makes me comfortable.    And that too is the essence of one’s own style.   Find what you like.    Screw what anyone else thinks.

I really like the warmth of the painting, married with the cool, aloofness of the chest.   Then there’s  that lovely plate with ol’ arm less Nike standing up there without a head, completely unaware of the vast design mistakes I’m making on the other side of the room.

Seeing here in her French element is on my bucket list and just as soon as Americans are better received around world and the terrorist develop lousier  aim, I am so going to Paris.

Until then, join me soon for more questionably  tasteless ventures down Style Street.

Tootles.

 

PS:   I really, really want shoulder pads to make a comeback.

 

New Style Blog: Episode One. IN COLOR

Dauville Bowls.

Don’t ask me what the history of these things are. I’ve Googled, Blinged and Asked Jeeves, but to know avail. I’m assuming they ‘re from a collection designed by someone with Dauville for a moniker or crafted in a French berg by the same name.

They’ve been around a while and mostly in knock off or DYI form. But you can get them at various on-line efforts, around 22 to 25 bucks, a tad more if they’re a larger size. If found mine for an absolute steal, on the back shelves of a little Hill Country gift shop, collecting dust, next to ghoulishly hideous metal welded farm animals.

I assure you, this wasn’t a mere “purchase”‘, it was a rescue.   Picture Entebbe with a credit card and better shoes.

Dauville bowls are quite simple in their elegance, often white or cream in color,cavalierly swathed with a silver or gold lining.

Like so:

dauville bowl

I’ve also seen them with pastel shades lining the bowls. That’s nice and all but I think other colors  casualize them (is that even a word???) and removes the pretentiousness for which social schleppers yearn.   They’re for entertaining only, not real service wear.   I’ve seen them used as jewelry, key and candy holders…wrapped kind only, please.   You don’t want leaded paint in them thar M&Ms for your guests.     Here in Laurieland, we like them gold, polished and empty…nekkid.  You can also find serving  pieces with the painting on the outside.   Sugar bowls, creamers, salt and pepper shakers, etc.   But none of those grab me like these little bowls, a mere three inches in diameter.

If you find yourself  jonesin’ for one of  these bowls, and they are lovely, keep in mind the line just under the lip is supposed to be uneven;   to imply the flawed charm of a hand-painted item.

Soon, I’ll demonstrate how I’ve tastefully paired them with a book about interior design choices of famous people and in in certain  iconic locales.  A friend gave it to me years ago, assuming I cared that Ringo Starr liked paisley couches.    But it’s a cool book by and large; lots of photos with nice, big print and perfect for ye olde coffee table. It also goes quite well with carefully placed Dauville bowls, size and color. Proof of this later this week.

I’m also in the process of snazzying up both of my bathrooms. I have always believed in bathroom art. Why not?  When one goes potty, there should be a certain aesthetic in place besides an aging Motor Trend magazine and a book of matches from some bar.

My pissoirs are both currently yawn inducing, style-wise.      Barren, devoid of color. Blah.     All bodily voiding experiences have been lackluster experiences.      But not for long, kiddies!!!

Later this week, I will write about all the changes I made with recent purchases from this uber chic designer I just discovered called “Amazon”.       Not sure, but I think he’s from South America.    How exotic!!!.     This cat can make anything apparently.

Before and after pics will be included.

Tootles!

Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation

I turned 55 last week. If we break that down, I was born in April 1959. I was four when JFK was assassinated, ten when Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the moon. Thirteen during the fateful Munich Olympics. Fourteen at the discovery of Watergate break in. In graduated from High school in 1977. I was 20 when all those middle aged looking “college” students overtook the American embassy in Iran.

Chrome or Firefox can help you figure out the remaining milestones in my life.

Those helped me learn that More than 79 million children were born during the boom years between 1946 and 1964. And despite a definitive trailing off of stork deliveries between 1958 and 1964, babies were a bumper crop. As a side notes, I hardly EVER meet people my own age. Advances in birth control perhaps……more saltpeter in the diet.

Anyway.

Essentially, what this means is that I’m at the very tail end of the storied baby boomer generation, that post war period in which our fighting boys came home from the Pacific and European Theaters to a country of burgeoning prosperity, growth and massive randiness. Lots of babies were conceived to the dulcet tones of Harry James, The Ink Spots, Elvis, Patsy Cline, Puccini and countless others who performed all the many languages of love…..even the sweaty operettas that were the one white stands.

I’ve had many discussions with people born two years ahead of me and three years behind me. Most agree that our years under the boomer heading left us feeling undefined and lacking a purpose.

Those born in 1946 to 1954 got to be Hippies. Peace, love, dope were ways they “countered” the Vietnam war. Protests in front of the university’s administrative office and eventually taking it over was the order of the day. Tossing a Molotov cocktail in the ROTC building and watching it burn, baby burn. Getting gassed by the National Guard when a gathering for draft card burning became a bonfire. They defied their parents and grew out there hair, wore the weirdest clothes and attempt to live in their version of Utopia, no rules, just love…..and lots of it.

The problem is, perfect worlds take work and these communes needed money. Nature can sustain but it’s a helluva lot easier to buy the seeds and the equipment needed for everything to take root. An all for one and one for all mind set has it’s merits, but not in a practical across the board application, not in a working self sufficient commune. They ‘re still around I know, but would guess they number in the tens….if that much.

The basic structure of a fully functioning society currently and always will consist of leaders and followers and with any luck at all, the followers get to decide who these leaders are in office

And when they must leave said office

Then, suddenly with crows feet and receding hairlines comes insight and awareness.

We traded the tie/dye for Brooks Brothers and Ferragamo and thought to,ourselves, “Gee, there’s something to this capitalism stuff. This Madison Avenue gig sure beats helping Arlo and his old ladies, Moonbeam and Starlight slop hogs back at the commune. And yet, we’re still groovy people so communal living can work……but for a profit; as apartment complexes, but instead of working for the common good, tenants “pay”to live there”. They’re on their own for everything else.”

“Cool, no more mass feedings And guess what? This college degree thing is helping me make money!!!! That shit is more magic than mushrooms!!!

“And we need to make all of this happen with cars of our own. Our own stereo equipment, fabulous furnishings An the occasional four cocktail lunch at Trader Vic’s is nice. “

Growing our own food turned into trips to the supermarket and if we still felt compelled, climate permitting, all we needed was the occasional trellis of tomatoes growing on the balcony of the 24th floor two bedroom/2 bath apartment on the Upper Eastside.

We were entrapped by the trappings. We became the very thing we tried to convince ourselves we weren’t. The Establishment.

And so it goes.

I was too young to be a hippie. It might have been in the generation that gave birth to them, but I didn’t feel apart of the chaos, which really didn’t change things. I watched the Sixties unfold on the nightly news. President Johnson kept sending troops and the North Vietnamese kept sending them back to us in body bags. I got the fact that this war felt futile. I remember looking up where Vietnam on the map. Texas is bigger, I thought. And at the same time, I didn’t see civil disobedience helping the country return to peacetime any faster either.

I heard my father’s views on the the war, Commie Pinkos and damned grass smoking Hippies and crazy women who went braless; How LBJ looked like an opossum and Nixon seemed sleazy. And the more criticism I heard, the more I wanted to be one of these, cool, indignant, stand up people. In tried. At 12, I bought peace symbol,patches and black light posters and a cool mobile with the word, “moratorium” in neon letters hanging down.

Moratorium? Isn’t that stage thing at a school with seating?????

But as I said, my timing was off…..as were my verbal skills.

I entered High School in the fall of 1973.. Troop withdrawal from Vietnam happened in ’75. Nixon left office shortly after that, then came the American Bi-Centennial and after that, we welcomed in the insidious disco era and with that came THEE ugliest clothing style EVER.

By the time I graduated from HS, there weren’t any grandiose causes. Sure there was Save The Whales effort, the ecology, inflation, gas shortages, feminism struggled and while that worked to a degree, women still make less than men, but by God, Title 9 allowed us femmes to participate in sports. Strides were made but that which didn’t work, didn’t prompt mass protest.

Why?

A couple of years ago the Hipsters decided socialism was the order of the day so the Occupy movement began…..then ended. There was a fair degree of good ol’ 60’s style anarchy at the WTO protests in Seattle a few years ago and every once in a while you see protest marches, picket lines, union disputes rear their heads, but nothing like that which happened on a daily basis on college campuses and outside political conventions 45-49 years ago.

Why is that? Why do we no longer go all Abbie Hoffman and The Weather Underground over issues?

Protests do work. Women and African Americans can vote and are offered the same freedoms as everyone else thanks to the bravery and bloodshed of those who dared to take on the mysogenists and the bigots.

Union demands are met with walk outs by the members. Am organization can’t make money is no one is running the factory, but that only benefits the members. Very often the rest of us have to pick up the tab fir their pay increases. Unfair??? Only if you choose to look at it that way.

Your piece of the pie is out there, but please understand once and for all YOU have to bake the damn thing yourself. Baking a pie takes time and the right ingredients. It’s a labor of love. But as in life, work, effort the driving force to make it a pie rivaling anything Martha Stewart could create.

But I do believe what we learned from the Hippie era was valuable. They, like every other know-it-all generation eventually grew up. Being hip doesn’t help the new titanium one that you had to surgically inserted a few weeks ago feel any better. We’ve grown up. Time mellows us all. Logic infused by mature reality replaces ideals.

Now don’t get me wrong; to rise up for a Common Cause is great, but what do protests and huge rallies with placard holding hordes of people shouting rhyming insults en masse do today, other than make great headlines?

I appreciate everyone who devoted their time and in some cases, their lives to causes that brought about true change and forced a nation to stop, rethink and rewrite it’s Constitution.

I appreciate the Peaceniks and Pacifists. Change can come by a persistent belief in a cause through non violent means.

But this is America and still a Democracy when I last checked. We thrive in a free market system. Capitalism. Free speech, the right to assembly within limits. L-I-M-I-T-S. Everyone has the chance to grab the brass ring of his or her making. Individual “failure to launch” in its truest form, is the fault and the responsibility of the person.

Lots of things contribute to bad economic times. The fault lies everywhere; In big business, sure— corporate greed is real, but not destructively rampant. If so, there would be repeats of Enron and World Com happening every day. Do corporate giants play a role? Only to a degree. They get away with what they’re allowed to get away with. Wall Street isn’t entirely to blame for the whole magilla, neither is Big Oil or Big Pharma, Big Ag, Big Banking. All the problems start , as they have and always will—in Washington. The lawmakers there are the ones who allow tax breaks for corporations, these are the people who allow subsidies, who make the laws that work for some, while impeding others. Laws are the unfair way to keep us equal. And we as a citizenry put lawmakers in office, we actively chose the people, these professional politicians and their federal regulations. Washington is a mess. It’s in dire need of deep analysis and meds. Lots of meds. Thorazine drip time.

The next time you want to participate at a sit-in in a bank lobby or fire bomb a building or go out and fight the forces that were sent there to keep you from getting violent in the process of exercising your free speech, stop and think. Save for the glorious triumph of Civil Rights and certain other causes, protests—a la the Chicago 7—-don’t work. Not like they did or ver did, for that matter. These bloody, anger fueled rages didn’t bring US troops home any sooner. Whales are still being killed, the ecology is still gasping for clean air, as is the economy.

As Dorothy learned from Glenda, The Good Witch, you hadthe power the entire time.

The next time you want hope and change, vote…not only at the ballot, but with your wallet. Affect the bottom line if anyone or anything bothers you that much. In this day and age, refuse to buy a product because you disagree that its manufacturer has relocated its headquarters in a country ruled by tyrannical regime. Or they dont hire homosexuals or ban prayer from the classroom.

Then take it one step further by voting against then governmental tool who allowed the move and grant the tax break it guaranteed.

Vote people in and out of office, refuse to purchase certain things made by companies whose policies you despise…these things are the new Molotov cocktails. Do this and embrace your own version of a scorched policy.

Trust me, someone will get burned.

American Horror Story /Coven: Episode Four

American-Horror-Story-CovenWe begin with scene of a young African American male child, barely in his teens riding a bike on a nice, residential street in New Orleans.

So????

This was New Orleans in 1961 and based on the racial issues that existed back the , the reasons why this was a scene destined to end horribly are as clear as black is black and white is white. He’s pursued by a truck full of white men, obviously racists, who are hell bent on keeping this lad from riding his bike in what appears to be a white, middle class neighborhood. A couple of the fellows look like inbred rednecks, the other is a Jack Ruby Fedora wearing clone. The teen takes an unfamiliar sidewalk In an attempt to lose Whitey, but finds himself trapped by a dead end.

The next scene is in black and white and it’s a large tree in some field. Anyone with any knowledge of America’s more tragic history knows as sure as a Jim Crow flies, this is a lynching. The large noose confirms it.

His mother runs to the body of her boy and in the crowd stands a very angry Marie Laveaud. Apparently, the child’s mom works for her at her Ninth ward hair salon. This lynching has just been made even more personal.

An angry voodoo queen is a dangerous voodoo queen. Marie goes to the back of her shop, and starts drawing on the floor (we now know that means something bad is about go down) she starts convicting a potion, then sets it on fire in this lovely Horchow urn. She slices and dices up a few snakes, chants as drummers drum and the next thing we know, corpses reanimate from their graves and respond to her revenge spell. They find the lynch mob and kill them all in gruesome ways. And the best part about these AHS zombies??? They’re armed. In fact, they rose from their graves with weapons AND murderous intent. There are zombie farmers with pitchforks, confederate soldiers with muskets, an unscrupulous accountant with a Ponzi scheme.

Well apparently, this starts a ten year war between voodoo witches and the members of the coven, who are all, in some way, direct linear descendants of the original witches who lived in Salem circa 1692.

Then, we go back to last week when Fiona murdered Madison, but this time, we sit unfold from Spaulding, the mute butler, who minutes earlier dropped the needle on his Victrola, so he and his massive doll collection could enjoy tea with background music. He hears a noise, heads downstairs and witnesses Fiona turning Madison into a human Pez dispenser. As he roles up the young witch’s body in a area rug, Fiona hears a noise and goes into the backyard to investigate. It is a very injured Queenie lying in the grass with a bloody, gasping stomach wound. I’m thinking she was gored in the gut by the rutting Minotaur she tried to seduce last week. While still lucid, Queenie rats out her attacker as his silhouette rises out of the ground with ample backlighting and Fiona seems to know what it is and what to do with it without even looking in its direction. She knows it’s Sebastien, Delphine Lalaurie’s slave/houseboy who she killed for bumping stinkies with her horny daughter two centuries ago and Sebastian just happened to be Laveaud’s boyfriend. The Voodoo Witch sent him to the school where Delphine has been staying, working as a maid, in order to exact revenge.

raggedy ann and andyThen there’s a knock on the door and in a hat tip to bewitched, in walks a odd looking trio that comprise The Witches’ Council. They only assemble when there’s trouble brewing in the coven. The council is lead by Mert, played by whacky fashionFrancesConroy_Sml designer, Betsey Johnson. The hair is a chili powder red, rarely seen outside the Raggedy family. It’s actually the actress known as Francis whose last name is something Irish sounding, who portrayed Moira the Older in season one and the black winged Angel of Death last year.

We learn that the council isn’t happy with Fiona in her role as Witch Supreme. She’s a drunk, flakey, vain, self centered and lousy at her job. They believe she had something to so with Madison’s disappearance, just as she did with the missing Supreme she replaced (nice way of saying murdered) in 1971.velma

As it turns out, I believe I am to assume that based on camera dissolves between past and present, Mert and Fiona were classmates at Miss Robicheaux’s school back in 1971. Back then, Mert was mousy, bookish and homely, not unlike Velma, from “Scooby Doo”. She and Fiona don’t like each other and that’s made crystal clear when it’s announced that the old Supreme is missing and presumed dead, Fiona will assume the throne, providing she can pass seven special tests, based on each power a Supreme is supposed to have. At dinner with a menu no doubt consisting of braised bat wings, tangy toad tandoori and eye of newt, young Mert tells a fellow witch seated to her right that she hates the way Spaulding dotes on Fiona and feels sure he knows that Fiona is involved in some way with the former Supreme’s disappearance. So after dinner Mert goes to her room and recites Latin on coins and ultimately, places a spell on Spaulding’s tongue, rendering it incapable of uttering a lie. This will help Mert in her pursuit of the truth since the next morning, the butler is supposed to testify in front of the Witches’ Council investigating the formers Supreme’s whereabouts.

Spaulding overhears this and later that night, summons Fiona to the bathroom where he tells her, his last words will be that he loves her. He grabs a straight razor and cuts out his tongue. There, problem solved. A tongue can’t lie when it ‘s no longer intact. Now we know why he never speaks and why he seems so mindlessly devoted to Fiona.

We also find out what Fiona did with the Minotaur. She cut off it’s head and sends it, a la Don Corleone, to Marie Laveaud. She opens the box, and screams , especially when the the bloody, severed bovine head winks at her. This gets her crazy mad and once again, she goes to the back room and starts drawing on the floor, chanting, slicing snakes and in the end, sends a well- armed militia of zombies to stand and sway ominously in the front yard outside Miss Robicheaux’s school holding everyone inside captive.

At least I think the blinking cow head was the Minotaur….or it was Elsie, perhaps????    Not sure.

Episode four ends back in Spaulding’s room, an audience of dolls witness him in drag, wearing an antique peignoir and night cap. He goes to his closet and pulls out a very old wedding dress that Vera Wang would HATE, and takes it over to the corner where Madison, in a very advanced state of rigor mortis, is seated in a chair, holding a team up.

What comes next? I’ve nary a clue.

A FEW THINGS OF NOTE:

1) Cordelia’s husband is out of town on business. He picks up a chick who he meets on Craigslist, they have sex, he howls upon climax and then in the middle of a post coital of vending machine soup, he shoots her in the head with a very shiny gun. He’d did tell her that he went as a monster last

ahs spaulding

Halloween. Perhaps he’s reprising that role this year. Not all monsters have gills, tentacles, sharp fangs and eight clawed hands. Not sure what any of that was all about.

2) Spaulding was in the front yard decorating for Halloween. He was assembling what looked like an homage to the Burning Man bonfire mascot. He hugged it after adding the arms, and well, call me a romantic, but I thought that was how he took care of either Madison’s body or that of the Minotaur. Well, in the end we found out that it wan’t Madison under all that burlap.

3) After getting pissed drunk on Maker’s Mark at a local bar with mummy, Cordelia excuses herself and goes into the bathroom to yak. As she’s washing her hands, a very short Druid in the next stall exists with a glass in hand but it contains acid, which is thrown in Cordelia’s face. Huh?????? A voodoo warning of disfigurement????

3) But before the acid attack turns her face into a Dali painting, Cordelia tells her mother and the Witches’ Council that Madison might be missing, but it’s not because she’s the next Witch Supreme. Apparently, the new head witch has to be in perfect health which Madison ain’t. Madison had a heart murmur she mentioned to no one. So, who is the next Supreme? Don’t count out Queenie. Remember when she was in bed, bloody and gored and Cordelia lost her pulse? Fiona breathed life back into her and felt very weak afterwords. The big deal about the transition between Supremes is that the old one feels her power weakening. Keep an eye on Queenie in upcoming episodes. Nan, (Addie from season one), as well. Cordelia could be the right full heir to the throne. Spaulding too.

4)  Zooey goes back to Incest Manor and finds Kyle the Human Quilt still bloody and zombie eyed from kill his mother lover last week, so he’s banging his head against the toilet.    She decides that’s a fine time to go in the kitchen and make him tuna salad.   Just as she’s adding enough Hellman’s to make it nummy, she looks up and spies a big ol’ box of rat poison.    She will kill the very thing she helped bewitch and stitch together.   When she brings him a bowl of the tainted tuna, he’s gone.  She runs to the front porch and sees nothing, just a bunch of people   in costumes.   It is Halloween, after all.    Kyle will just fit in with everybody else.

5) And lastly, why were the members of the Coven dressed in various shades of black and white throughout the entire episode? Was this to stress the age old concept of good (white) versus evil (black) and that each member can at any given time, possess their share of both traits???

See ya next Wednesday for episode five. As previews indicate, there’s a lot at stake for one witch….literally. She’s tied to one and Cordelia looks poised to light it, with a cigarette. Please oh please, let the ciggie be a Salem.

American Horror Story: Coven/Season 3, Episode 3

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Where to begin???

Let’s start with the weird slanted “Batman” camera angles.     What was that all about?

And secondly, wasn’t this, the third installment of this third season ripe with  naughties?

We begin in Misty Day’s bayou boudoir.  She’s the Stevie Nicks wanna be witch who’s a wiz at necromancy.    And for those of you wondering what’s the connection between Misty  and Stevie?   Well, I seem to remember reading somewhere that  La Nicks believes she is a reincarnated witch…or something like that.  Her hit song, “Rhiannon” is supposedly about a Welsh witch….or Danish….Huguenot, maybe?    I can’t remember.  But not only is the banged, curly-haired  look a full on copy, but the twirling around with the lace scarf poised at mid-body is vintage Stevie.  Plus, almost every time Misty is on-screen, a Nicks song plays.     Something tells me we’ll be hearing a lot from the “Rumors”  album this season.

Anyway, Misty is playing nurse maid to Kyle, the Human Quilt/Golem that Madison and Zoey witched and stitched back together in the morgue last week.   Her elixir is that good ol’ “loosiana’ swamp mud,  where magic and mudbugs  thrive, and is capable of healing all his body part attachment  stitches to eventually  resemble mere cat scratches.  Virtually scar free.    Now, he still can’t talk and just sits there, zombie- like.    Zoey arrives at Misty’s and takes Kyle with her, much to Misty’s dismay.   They’re heading to Kyle’s home, where sheThe-Replacements paid his Mama a sympathy visit  earlier and knows  that  she’s   just   a missin’ her boy somethin’ fierce.    Mom is   played by the talented, but currently paunchy Mare Winningham, who can dress down to crack pipe smoking white trash level better than any actress currently in Tinsel Town.       Zoey takes Kyle to the porch, knocks on the door and runs to hide behind a tree to witness the reunion.   Since Kyle is still unsteady on someone else’s feet , he loses his balance and does a header into the center pane of the glass paneled front door.     Mama answers it , rejoicing that her baby is back.  He stumbles in her arms.

She welcomes him in and life resumes as normal.   She doesn’t even seem to mind that he hasn’t uttered a word since he arrived.

He takes a shower, but Mom throws  opens the curtain to offer him a towel, stares down at his silent manliness and creepily admits she can tell his body is ‘different’.        In the next scene, they’re in his bed together and

BOOM,  THERE IT IS!!!!!

Incest.

Just when you thought last season was as weird as it could possibly get—-naaaaaaaah.    But wait, it gets even worse.

Or better, if these are the kinds of things that get you through the night.

Onward…

patti-lupone-denis-ohareThe girls are on the shool’s second floor balcony and the spy some fresh meat below.   A  handsome lad sans shirt is in  the yard next door.   He and his very  buttoned up mother played by Patti Lupone, who I swear is wearing almost the  exact same blue striped the dress worn by  Bobbi Mohan Culp ( half of the untalented   duo  that teaches music at Altadena Middle School  in that bobbi mohannow famous skit on Saturday Night Live).  The  pair has just moved to the neighborhood.   Mom senses evil and can because she’s a hard-core Christian.       Madison, the former child actress coke whore  witch, likes what she sees in Sonny Boy, so she and Addie from Season One (can’t remember her character name) bake a cake and decide to be neighborly by taking it next door to  welcome the new fam to the block.    One thing leads to another and Mama Neighbor  announces she and Sonny are about to head to  their weekly Bible Study which  enrages Madison and a fight ensues.   Words are exchanged a knife mysteriously sails across the room and gets lodged in the wall,  thanks to Madison’s witchery, which was previously limited to Carrie-like telekinesis.   Mom orders them out of the house but not before Madison mentally sets ablaze the absolutely hideous dark velveteen living room  curtains.     Seems fire starting and a discerning decorating style are two talents she didn’t know she had.

Fiona (Jessica Lange) has a confrontation with Mama Neighbor who’s LIVID   that these tarts are even breathing and she informs Fiona  of Madison’s fiery exit.   The reigning Witch Supreme  senses that  something is happening, within the Coven and within herself.  She feels weak and earlier,  while seeking yet another face lift,  is told by the surgeon that  she has inoperable cancer with maybe  one year to live.

So, witches aren’t immortal.  They apparently die in ways beyond drowning and burning at the stake.

Fiona is dying and part of the reason why is…….Madison.    

As we learned earlier in this episode in a flashback scene from 1971,  Fiona was ascending to her position as witch Supreme in her nubile 20’s,  just  as the current Witch Supreme (played by Christine Ebersol)  was dying.     Diabetes, high blood pressure, anal warts, you name it.     But instead of waiting to assume the position in the natural process of succession by natural  death,   power-mad Fiona speeds up the process by greedily cutting the throat of the reigning Witch Supreme and becomes head honchette  way too early in her career.   She’s too immature,  too vain, too mean—all the things that a good Witch Supreme aren’t supposed to be.      So  now all these years later, she starting to feel she’s being usurped, the same way her predecessor did, thank you, Madison.

More on that in a bit.

Meanwhile, back at Incest Manor,  after seducing her boy yet again, Mama calls Zoey , telling her Kyle isn’t dead, but very much alive, but also very different.   Zoey  heads over.     In the meantime, Mom goes to Kyle’s room and says she knows its time to give up her control over him and end their taboo relationship–but not without one more romp.   So, she rubs up against him, he gets angry and screams NO!!!!! , then grabs a nearby Emmy that neither will win in 2014 and beats her head in, leaving her lying in a bloody heap on the floor.      Zoey will find the corpse later, entitling Mare Winningham to a one episode  SAG credit.    She’ll discover an equally  bloody Kyle standing in a darkened  kitchen later on.

Cordelia, Fiona’s daughter and the school’s headmistress, is told by her doctor that not only is she not pregnant, she never will be.   So a forlorn and desperate  witchC goes  to the Ninth Ward hair salon that we  were introduced to last week and meets with its owner,angela-bassett-ahs-coven   Marie “Voodoo” Laveau, played by the stunning, Angela  Basset.  She’s  in a backroom, sitting one leg over the arm of her thrown, surrounding by witchy things and playing solitaire on her Ipad with a tragically gorgeous set of French tips..    Cordelia knows of  a very powerful fertility spell that only Laveau can perform and is willing to shell out 50 grand for the honors.   It is, as the Voodoo Queen explains, very involved.      Then, we’re  treated to a  foreshadowing  ritual scene.

It’s someone’s back yard, illuminated by a large fire.   Cordelia is dressed in a red negligee bearing in her hands–as per instructed–a Mason jar filled with her husband’s (and I quote) “baby gravy”.   It’s then put directly on the fire.    This is happening as painted- faced drummers are drumming and women are gyrating to the beat.    Marie is dancing hypnotically too and eats a hot Roma Tomatoes,  straight off the grill or so it seemed from my vantage point.    I enjoyed this part because of the costume design.    Marie and the whole lot of voo-dooers were  dressed in these fabulous white Vera Wang cotton outfits, with stunning turquoise necklaces and what have you.    LOVED IT!!!!

Well,  once the jar o’guy gak  starts to boil, Cordelia lies down  on  the ground and pulls up her gown, exposing a bare, but somewhat pixilated mons pubis,  while a goat with graffiti written all over it is held above her.   It’s neck is slashed and there she is, writhing around on the now scarlet  earth, while  rubbing her nasty bits with the blood.

Or rather, that’s how it WOULD have gone down , but Marie refuses to help Cordelia because she knows that she’s Fiona’s daughter and she hates Fiona and feels a witchy turf war is about to begin.   Plus, she hates Fiona and knows she’s harboring something.

Or someone.

If you remember, Fiona unearthed the  buried, but very much alive  early 1800’s New Orleans socialite and sadist , Madame Delphine Lalaurie (again,  lovely last name) and is now holding her hostage  at the school.   Fiona is dying (literally) to know what it is that has given her eternal life.   Delphine knows only its something that Marie Laveau had given her in retaliation for killing Laveau’s then boyfriend,  Sebastian, the House Boy  for sexing up one of the Lalaurie daughters.   Delphine takes him to the murderous  basement en Le Maison Lalaurie,  ties him up and kills him while  making him where this odd black cow head mask thing.

You see, Delphine is a product of her early American environment and a racist (she tortured and killed every slave she ever owned) and in one scene we see her watching an Obama speech on the TV or as she calls it “that magic box”.    Well, Delphine is appalled that a “Negro” is president.    As she sits there thinking, “there goes the neighborhood”, Fiona walks in and announces that because she hasn’t yet learned all she can from Delphine (played by Oscar winner, Kathy Bates who’s contract probably runs the full season anyway)  so for the   foreseeable future, she’s  the new maid.   ahs e covenThis means serving meals to the students, one of which is Queenie ( portrayed by Oscar nominee, Giborey Sibide), the school’s token African-American  witch who loves love, but hates whitey crackers as much as Delphine  hates darkies.      So, Delphine finally reckons with her  fate as a servant and is in the kitchen with Queenie who learns that she’s the infamous Madame Lalaurie, re-purposed by Fiona.     So as they converse about history and Peach Cobbler,   Delphine catches a shadowy glimpse of something just outside the kitchen window.   She looks out.

Good lord, its Sebastian, the House Boy now as this  Minotaur- like creature;   bovine head, man’s body, snorting, hooves….the whole nine yards.     Delphine is terrified,  convinced he’s back for revenge.      Queenie tells her to hide, she’ll  care of the situation.

She confronts Sebastian in the back yard and then remembers the story that Delphine had told her about the reasons behind his murder .   Queenie thinks this cow man is just misunderstood and craving lovin’ as she does, so what does one do when confronting an angry, vengeful  Minotaur in the backyard of a Garden District Greco Roman manse on a foggy spring night?    You hike up your skirt and  and start  to diddle yourself , which is exactly what Queenie does.     Sebastian is watching thisy and like any horny creature in Roman mythology, he positions himself behind her.      Just  when we think the shock of mother/son incest will be replaced by partial bestiality, he puts a hoof over her face……and the damn thing goes to commercial.

In the meantime, a very jealous Fiona takes Madison to a pool hall and they drink a lot.    She keeps seeing herself in the young witch and you can just tell there’s an assload of jealousy building up.  They go back to the school where Fiona tells Madison she knows she’s the next Witch Supreme and should kill her as she did the Witch Supreme she replaced back in the sixties.   Fiona gives her the same knife, there’s a struggle, Madison doesn’t want to kill or be the new Witch Supreme and  thank you O.J., Fiona slits her throat.   Intentionally.  The young witch falls dead on the floor.    Really?  Emma Roberts’character Madison killed off in the third episode????   Her agent must suck!      

Fiona it seems, will remain  the Witch Supreme.

This pleases her.  She ain’t going nowhere.   She starts to feel her power and life being restored as Madison lies there, oozing life.     She doesn’t care.

Fiona makes this clear by closing out the show with this bit of pithy dialog:  “This coven doesn’t need a new Supreme, just a new rug”.  

Yeah, baby.

AMERICAN HORROR STORY III: Coven Episodes 1 & 2

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Let me describe in my own words, what I think of season three of the AHS saga so far:    style over substance.

I can take that one step further by admitting I fell asleep twenty minutes into this past Wednesday episode.

While still better than last season’s bouillabaisse of silly badness (Nazis, aliens, zombies, serial killers, sadistic nuns, Anne Frank, homosexual rehab sessions, demonic possession,  microcephaly, evil Santas, caning,  murder, suicides, asylums and more gore than any politician named Al) I still find it in dire need of ……in need of….well, I’m not quite sure.

But with just two episodes in, I’ll give it till Halloween to win me over.  I am nothing if not fair.

It’s got a great premise:   it’s all about black magic and witches in the witchiest city of all–New Orleans.   And acting wise, its got major star power.  Jessica Lange is back, this time as the Witch Supreme.   Sarah Paulsen returns (she was Lana the Lesbian Reporter last year.   Taiisa Farmiga is back.  She was Violet of the Bad Attitude in season I.  This go round she’s a witch, with a killer vagina.

Literally.    More on that in a bit.

Evan Peters returns.  He played Tate in season one and an accused wife killer last season.  In reality, wifey had been inducted by aliens in episode I and returned later just in time for the season ended. I don’t know.  Season II was largely forgettable.    This time, Evan plays a Tulane frat rat named Kyle, with a fairly decent portrayal of an Orleanian diphthong,  BUT….he dies in a horrific bus accident in the first episode.     But like Frankenstein’s monster, he’s returning for more action.    As we learned in episode II, this was a horrible, horrible accident.    He was terribly dismembered, as was the rest of the occupants.     They were in a rented party bus hightailing it away from a mixer at the Frat House after gang banging Madison, an actress witch with telekinetic powers (played by Emma Roberts, daughter of Eric and niece to Aunt Julia).  When  revived from the Roofie  she’d been given, Madison ran  out to the street and willed the bus to crash, killing all the rapists, including Kyle who never touched  her.    In fact,  he was the only who attempted to stop the assault and was dragged on board the bus prior to the escape to keep him from ratting out his randy brothers.

Taiisa Farmiga’s character Zoe, fell for Kyle earlier at the party.  Because Madison killed her boyfriend in the crash,  she promises to do Zoe a solid, so they  break into  the morgue and found the section where the dead frat boys were kept on ice and realized that the victims had all been terribly dismembered in the accident.   So, like an old fashion quilting party, they decide to create the perfect boyfriend, using the best parts of each victim. Kyle’s head, someone’s bitching torso, another guy’s arms, legs, hands, etc. and  and other parts I’m sure and they sew all the bits and pieces together, while performing  an ‘incant’ over him and voila!    Kyle is slice once again—-Uncoordinated and mono syllabic as hell, but alive.

Mary Shelley would be proud.

And Addie is back.    Jamie Brewer, the Texas actress with Down Syndrome is back this season playing Nan, a witch with incredibly well honed psychic powers.  Hats  off to the writers and producers for allowing this actress to just portray your basic witch with all knowing abilities. No mention of her “handicap” in terms of this role.  Nicely played, Hollwyood.   Dennis O’hare was Burned Guy is season one.     He’s back this year as Spalding,  the school’s mute butler/man servant/factotum with long, stringy  Edgar Winter-ish hair.

Lilly Rabe returns.    She was Mrs. Montgomery is season one, the possessed nun last year and this go round, she’s a witch with the powers of necromancy.    She brings the dead back to life.   A re-animator, if you will.    Lilly has always been one of my AHS stable of actors.     She’s spunky.    Plus, her mother was none other than the late,  great  Jill Clayburgh.    A talented

actress who’s star rose and fell in the late seventies, early 80’s.    Back then she was most ubiquitous.  In every movie, or so it seemed, paired up on theater marquees with Burt Reynolds and other A-listers of the era.    Her stock fell in the early 90’s.   Yes, she had the gall to age and well, Hollywood frowns on natural body processes. Her last film was “Bridesmaids” in which she played Kristin Wiig’s mother.    She died from a lengthy bout with cancer shortly after the film wrapped.

Kathy Bates joins the cast this year who plays New Orleans socialite Madame LaLaurie (love the last name, by the way),  a very real New Orleans character who back in the early 1800’s, treated her slaves and servants with a form of sadism that would make Dr.  Mengele cringe.   I like La Bates in most roles and hope she can pull this off.

Angela Bassett is given a co-starring role as well.  She comes on board as Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. Apparently, Voodoo and witchcraft are like big rival union bosses in the magic underworld of New Orleans, so we can expect lots of story lines about pins stuck in dolls vs. bubbling cauldrons.

Speaking of Bassett, she has never looked better.   She’s absolutely stunning in this role.    The woman’s skin is incredible.   Still beautiful.

Gabourey  Sidibe rounds out the cast as Queenie.    Remember her from the movie, “Precious”?    She too is a witch,  and her powers involve being a human Voodoo doll.   She can shove her arm into a frying pan filled with breaded shrimp just a bubblin’ away and she wouldn’t feel a thing—but her intended victim would.   His arm would–out of the blue–turn beet red and blister up.   Next thing you know, it’s goodbye arm, hello charred cinder stick.       As for the others, Zoe kills during the act of mating.    Nan is psychic,   Madison has telekinetic powers (you know, like Carrie)  and Cordelia (Sarah Paulsen) is the school’s Headmistress.   She’s a witch too but so far, her only power seems to be having a green thumb.  She’s a bad ass gardener. We’ve yet to see her mojo. Cordelia is also the daughter of Fiona (Jessica Lange), the witch Supreme, who possesses all the powers combined, including some pretty bad ass saliva.

Queenie is a direct linear descendant of Tituba, the slave girl was the very first person in Salem to be accused of consorting with the devil.    She was arrested and jailed for her crimes, but never convicted.    After she was released from prison after squealing on several other young girls in the community who were tried and executed (read Arthur Miller’s The Crucible or watch a few episodes of “Bewitched” circa 1972…the season which they learn son Adam also has powers) everyone lost track of old Tituba.    It was never really discerned if she was actuslly practicing witch or not, but I think every time the Celtics, Red Sox and Patriots have a bad season, the answer becomes clearer.   Payback’s a bitch.

In fact, all the young sorcereses have connections to the first American witches in Salem circa the late 1600’s.   After the first few were executed, the sourcing witches remained anonymous as best they could before seeking the safety of asylum in New Orleans. Behavioral problems forced the families of these young women to end them to a very special private boarding school in New Orleans.  It’s like a Hogwartz for girls to help them use their powers wisely and to perpetuate witches and witchcraft for posterity. Seems like in being born a witch was an abortion stimulus in the world of Coven:  Season III.   Self-hating witches  wanted the buck to stop with them so they either elected not to procreate in the first place or aborted the babies before being born, named Tabitha and given the chance to turn a toy horse into Thomas Edison, thus forcing daddy Darren to convince a potential  client AND boss man, Larry Tate that their firm,  McMann and Tate had their best  advertising interests at heart and should be given the account.

Lilly Rabe’s  character, Mist Day,  will eventually join the girls at the school.   Just for bringing a pigeon back to life in the middle of some uber religious strychnine drinking service outdoors, she was  burned by her fellow church members.  Guess she did a number on herself lilly and mombecause she was popped up and surprised Zoe after she piled Mr. Piecemeal Kyle into the car  to escape the morgue.    They had to because shortly after Kyle came back to life, he and Zoe were  discovered in the morgue by an employee.  A fight ensues with grunting and screaming and bing, bang boom,  Zombie Kyle suddenly becomes a murderer facing 20 to life.

But Misty Day can  bring Khim back to life where he’s able to speak and walk and the best part of all?    If he and Zoe decide to date, sex will be a breeze because he’s already dead!!!

In other AHS Season III news, Madame Lalaurie kills a slave who happens to be a boyfriend of Marie Laveau, so with the help of a lynch mob of current and former slaves,  she drugs Lalaurie with a potion that gives her eternal life.   She’s then wrapped in chains, placed in a coffin and buried alive  on the Lalaurie estate.   She lived through wars, racism Katrina and Huey long!!!

Back to present day…

On a field trip with the young witches, Fiona (Jessica Lange)  takes them on a tour of the notoriously haunted Lalaurie House.   Nan looks down psychically under some bricks and realizes there’s a casket buried below.     Fiona, who’s obsessed with eternal life and beauty, realizes it must be Madame Lalaurie down there somewhere.    She hires some guys to exhume the coffin and when it’s opened, out plops a very alive, but very dirty Madame Lalaurie.    Fiona wants to know what her secret for eternal life is.  So she kidnaps Lalaurie, takes her back to the school and ties her up and gags her.    I’m not sure why this is important to Fiona.  In the opening sequence of episode I, you can see her in the crowd at a witch’s execution in 1692 Salem.     I’m no  Pythagoras,  but wouldn’t that make her something like…..321 years old this year????  She still looks pretty good to me.

Then there’s a scene from episode II that pits old rivals Marie Laveau and Fiona exchanging words on a battle field that that comes in the form of a black hair salon in the Ninth Ward.     Fiona goes there, perhaps seeking a process, and perhaps, seeking chance encounter with her old nemesis, Marie Laveau, who just happens to look great in cornrows AND also owns the shop.

I’m leaving out a lot and this review is rambling.  My apologies.

In closing,  I’m not in love with season III.   Not yet, anyway.    I’ll give it a few more episodes,  but it better hurry and congeal into a solid form of entertainment.    I don’t think I’m asking for much.   I’m just a viewer who likes a cohesive script.  I hate Swiss Cheese story lines, those with gaping holes that lack logic. Especially the ones that are never addressed.  In season I, we never learned why Murder House had become Murder House and why dying on property guaranteed your ghostly return.    In season II, we never knew the reason why the Nazi doctor created the zombie creatures that lived in the woods behind the asylum or the relevance of the aliens being in the story line or why they abducted hot chicks only to return them pregnant before the season ender.

Wait…that might actually be fully explainable.

This  year,  I’d like to see less of Fiona’s version of Krav Maga.   When pissed or threatened, she can body slam people by teleporting them against the wall. Not impressed. I want more intrigue.   And more magic that makes sense.    Thank God for special affects.   If we are to witness magic performed in Coven, I for one, am most grateful that  special effects have improved   since the days of flying ash trays courtesy of very visible fishing lines in the days of  “Bewitched”.

We shall see what the coming weeks will bring and I will continue to bring to you my take on the latest episodes of the newest season of American Horror Story.      But if the producers and writers really want to make me happy, insert a character like Aunt Clara from Bewitched.   You know, an older, kind hearted, but eccentric witch who’s magic has run a foul, a victim of her years.    Well kids, I wouldn’t be surprised if I get my wish.  I have a feeling that perennial AHS actress, Francis Conroy (she was milk-eyed Moira the Older maid in season I and the black winged Angel of Death in season II)  will fill that bill.     She had a brief part in the first episode when she (in a carrot orange wig wearing Dark Shadows chic) was in the scene when Zoe was taken by black-suited Albino thugs in RayBans and forced into admission at Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies in New Orleans,  set at a lovely, very large, all-white Greek Revival home adjacent to the tracks of the St. Charles line, who’s front gate some friends and I tee-tee’d near, one very drunken night while partying in the Garden District of New Orleans.

A streetcar named Pissoir.

Indeed.