September 20, 2005:
I spent most Halloween nights dressing up like Dracula. I really can't recall a severe fascination for the character; I hadn't seen any of the movies and I didn't particularly care for horror-related tomfoolery. Yet, come every Halloween, there was the white face paint, along with the blood capsules, the Dippity Do-slicked hair and a cape made from a diced up garbage bag. I was a damned proud Dracula, living the role of the undead, carefully manifesting my temporarily ghoulish persona as the only boy in school who would chew raw meat on a dare -- because this was surely something Dracula would do.
Though these Dracula fixations normally endured only through the spooky season, I somehow picked up the 1986 "Living Nightmare Monster Lab" kit even though it wasn't a Halloween release. Not anywhere near it, as I distinctly remember painting the thing outside, on one of those hot days where everyone in the family lays in the backyard like giant, gregarious sloths. Still, its spirit belongs to October, on in this case, the middle of September. If the box feels at all vague to you, I confirm that the Living Nightmare Monster Lab kit provided an avenue for every kid who ever wanted a half-sized, poorly painted Dracula head sitting on top of their cedar scented toy chest. It wasn't just an opportunity to get some new Dracula toy -- this was a way to give birth to the man-eating son of a bitch yourself. I mean that literally.
When I had the kit originally, the artistic process could only have been described as "meticulous." I took this shit seriously. I wanted my Dracula head to look just like the Dracula head on the box, only willing to give up that goal if I figured out a way to make mine look even better. I spent most of my good years painting that thing, inch by slow inch, taking a few steps back to marvel at my progress every other minute.
Then the wind knocked it over.
Here it was, folks. My own personal Broken Leg Lamp Incident. I blamed my siblings, my parents, my dead grandparents, Mother Nature and her lover, Sun Man. I couldn't believe it. Debris, grass, tiny pebbles and soil had ruined my Dracula head. Now appearing to have some kind of alien skin disease, there was no going back. The paint wasn't going to wash off, and like any kid who'd ever created something and really put their soul into it, there was no way I was going to go through that funked up spit twice. My Dracula head didn't even survive its first six hours out of the box -- very likely a personal stupidity record for yours truly.
I can't say that I've been pining to give the process another stab, but a second Living Nightmare Monster Lab kit fell into my lap recently, and jeeeeeza Christ, that's gotta be a sign.
First thing I noticed: according to the company who made these, this wasn't Dracula...just a generic vampire. My ass. That widow's peak could only belong to one non-man. We're calling him Dracula, and if you don't like it, I'll bite your face until you lose all ability to complain.
The kit is nothing if not thorough, providing all the necessary paint, brushes and Monster Lab Secret Notebooks a Dracula head-creating idiot could need. The notebook was awesome, first detailing the vampire legend before moving onto countless illustrations detailing the very intricate way Dracula must be painted. ("1) Paint hair black. 2) Paint face white. 3) Use exclusive THEATRICAL BLOOD™ near mouth.") Depending on the type of arteeest you are, painting the Dracula head could take anywhere from five minutes to two hours. Knowing that my destiny has yearned to bridge the gap left by my youthful experiences with the Monster Lab kit, it's clear that I must paint this newly found Dracula head and make sure it doesn't fall into any dirty crap. Then and only then will I be able to truly fly.
Like most loosely sealed, twenty-year-old tubs of kid paint, my essential stockpiles of red, white and black have completely dried up into tiny hard clumps. Fortunately, I have other paint. Could you imagine if our story had to end here? Complete with the
stuff? Anticlimactica, population you.
To the skilled artist, a canvas can come in any shape or size. This Dracula head will be my canvas, to have and to hold, and to paint. Though the stand is detachable, I suggest that it was only detachable so the company could avoid having to give the product a larger box. After all, if you've got a stand for your Dracula head, what possible reason would there be not to have it attached at all times? And don't make up any bullshit reasons. You ain't gonna dust the thing.
With blatant disregard for whatever drivel my Monster Lab Secret Notebook said, I haphazardly slapped globs of black and white paint all over Dracula. It was the easiest paint job I've ever had, and I've had many. Unless you're being purposely abstract, it's almost impossible to get this thing wrong. It requires only the most basic understanding of how to hold a paintbrush, and even so, I'm convinced I could've done just as good a job had I held the brush with my toes. And we're talking about really misshapen, ugly toes.
When you're finally finished painting Dracula, it's time to add the official Living Nightmare Monster Lab sticker of ownership, or whatever the hell you'd call it. This gives you the opportunity to mark your artistic territory, protect your creative integrity and play with stickers! I've always been fond of toy companies that knew how much it meant for us to have a clear space to ink in our names. Initialing the bottom of our action figures' feet in black marker always felt so cruel and cow branding-like. That has less to do with Halloween and more to do with crazy farm stuff, so I digress and proudly present the finished product, making would-be Picassos across the land shiver with inadequacy...
Notwithstanding the fact that he looked better unpainted, my Dracula head is at least unique. With blood red bags under his eyes and an apparent obsession with cucumber facial creams, his snot-colored skin contrasts vibrantly against the hair-in-a-can sprayed all over his once magnificent scalp. I'm not sure what would be considered the ideal place to put such artwork; I don't have a mantel and all my other shelf space is being devoted to empty Pepsi bottles and half-eaten Doritos bags. It's pretty disgusting in here, but I guess that's the way a Dracula head would want it.
Just as I was about to close up shop and move on to another point of passion, like television or sleep, I realized that I'd skipped the best part! See, there were a couple of different Living Nightmare Monster Lab kits, each with a different monster featured. Every kit had a specific gimmick that the others lacked, and while Dracula's gimmick is the loser of the bunch, if I pass on it based on that, I'm only spiting myself. Don't play that, bitch. Of course, I'm referring to the Buster Poindexterly hot tube of theatrical stage blood!
The effects are more subdued because I idiotically added my own dribbles of blood with paint, but this here was a nice touch. The Secret Notebook warned any costume hunters that the stage blood was meant for your Dracula head and your Dracula head only, which makes me wonder just how bad things got for any kid who couldn't follow these simple rules. I know it was nontoxic, but Dr. Nightmare's had more than a few bad apples up his sleeve in the past. The blood trickles down Dracula's chin without any head-shaking or wish-making -- they really took this trick into consideration while formulating the angle of his jaw. Or maybe it just worked out that way for kicks.
Those are the other Living Nightmare Monster Lab kits, and yes, I got freakin' shafted. The Werewolf was evidently packed with about three pounds worth of lifelike hair, while Ninja Warlord had a goddamn bandana. All I get is an ounce of stage blood? Dracula deserved better than that, even when he's masquerading only as a stupid generic vampire. I really liked perfecting my Dracula head, but I have to admit...this changes everything. I need that Ninja Warlord kit. You're all saying the same thing. It's a rare condition this day and age to read any good news on the newspaper page, and to find Ninja Warlord homemade head kits at toy stores. This is why each and every grain of the sands of time is an enemy. I'll find those grains and suck their blood for this.
