In which I do something dumb. Involving dummies.

So last August, I did something I've never done before. Actually, a few things.

Allow me to elaborate.

For a number of years I've wanted to visit a place called Vent Haven, in Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. That's basically Cincinnati but a few hundred yards over the line in a contiguous state to the south.

No; I am not a ventriloquist. Also I've never had any more interest than the next person in the art of ventriloquism.

Naturally, as a child, I was enthralled by the likes of Senõr Wences and Johnny with the disconcerting trout-like mouth, and of course Lamb Chop. It was, like, mandatory.

But ventriloquism dummies fascinate me for one reason: completely creepy.

As in, deliciously weird, sort of scary, offbeat, off the wall, slightly spooky. You know.

I'm not sure how my consciousness was raised to Vent Haven, which bills itself as the only museum in the world dedicated to ventriloquism.

The museum is situated in an older residential neighborhood and boasts, in addition to the main house (not part of the museum) several outbuildings which contain the dolls and various exhibits.

It's only open for ten-dollar guided tours from May through September. For many years, whenever we'd cruise up through there on I-75 en route to Northwest Ohio to visit relatives, there would be any number of reasons that stopping was inconvenient or out of the question.

Not this time. TG and I set out from home in mid-August and made our way north. First we spent a night in Knoxville, where we had dinner with Andrew's beloved Brittany. Andrew was deployed at the time.

The next day, we motored up to Kentucky and located Vent Haven. I'd been in contact with the lady who runs the place, to arrange for our visit.

When we arrived, several other tourists were on hand to take the guided tour with us.

Right here I'm going to pull over and park. Admission: I despise guided tours. I guess I'm too ornery but all I want to do is be left alone to stand or walk or stare or read or absorb -- or any combination of those things -- without being told what I'm seeing, or given all sorts of back story.

My feeling is, if I require information, I'll ask a question. Simple; easy to remember.

(I know; it's a character flaw to be so mulish. Throw it on the pile with all the others. If I seem less than repentant, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.)

At Vent Haven? Nothing not meticulously, assiduously, fervently, thoroughly, diligently, relentlessly guided is permitted, encouraged, or available.*

And I mean nothing.

It's all done in a bright, friendly, upbeat sort of way. It's only when you step one millimeter out of line that you're treated to a virtual smack on the back of your hand with a virtual old-school hefty wooden ruler.

Now, I'd asked the museum's curator if I would be allowed to take pictures. To be honest, I'm not sure I would have paid the money and taken the tour if the answer had been no. It was yes. Well, some. Some photography is allowed, I was told.

However.

You can't publish them, was the caveat. I assumed that meant online.

OK except, there are hundreds of photos of Vent Haven and its dummies online. The reason I wanted to visit in the first place was because I'd seen them.

Let that sink in. Photos? Yes. No. Maybe. We don't know.

Shall we continue.

Our group was ushered into the first of several small buildings where the collection resides. The talking heads were lined up row upon row, occupying special risers built just for them.

The walls were crammed with photos relating to the art of ventriloquism, its performers, and the dummies.

I was warned not to take a picture of a picture, as every last one of them was one-hundred-percent copyrighted. By dead photographers.

I was admonished not to allow my camera strap to so much as brush up against anything, not least an actual dummy.

We were all advised that using flash would harm and deteriorate the dolls and to refrain from using even an assist light lest we contribute to the demise of the entire ventriloquism universe.

We were reminded that touching anything -- anything -- except four cheap dummies that we were allowed to hold and play with at the conclusion of touring the first building, would get us pitched out the door in the general direction of Cincinnati proper.

But picture-taking was allowed, in a general sort of fashion, as long as you didn't aim your lens in a too-specific way or venture too near to a particular wooden face with its empty, staring, but creepily lifelike eyes.

Some -- many -- of the dummies were off limits and if you wandered into their orbit, strident buzzers sounded and a spotlight illuminated your criminal activity. Helicoptor rotors beat overhead and authorities using bullhorns commanded that you back away and lower your camera or phone, assume the position and put your hands behind your head.

Just kidding; it wasn't quite that intense.

But once? TG wanted to show me something in a second room we'd all been in, after we'd been ushered back out of that room to an adjoining space.

There was a wide doorway at each end of a fifteen-foot-long wall connecting the two rooms.

As TG and I stood -- alone, momentarily, except for hundreds of pairs of painted eyes -- looking at a dummy with the name of Weber (no; not me), the curator/tour guide quickly slid back into the room and gave us the eye. And not the lifeless disinterested whittled kind.

Chastised, we joined the others.

I took at least fifty shots. The picture of me with Achmed the Dead Terrorist (a plastic toy, one of the four dummies intended for use by visitors), of whom I'd never before heard, was taken by TG with my phone.

There was to be no getting my hands on any iteration of Charlie McCarthy. Even if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't.

In due time, expected at the home of Cheryl and Alan Arment to spend the night, we waved bye to the world of ventriloquism and took our leave.

It wasn't until the next evening, when we arrived at the home of my sister-in-law where we'd spend several days, that I did that dumbest of things.

My camera's battery had all but died and I was re-installing it after charging. 

Here I should tell you that for at least two weeks prior to this point in time, I hadn't had a good night's sleep. I had hit a patch of insomnia that had me desperate for even four hours of uninterrupted rest. 

Then there was traveling. I don't as a rule sleep well when not in my own bed, even though wherever I go, my pillow goes with me.

It's the only explanation I have for what I did next: Upon snapping shut the little door that covers my camera's battery, I formatted my SD card. Something I routinely do and have done hundreds of times.

Except this time, I erased my Vent Haven pictures.

It was only a moment or two later when I realized what I'd done. I went online and attempted to figure out if there was a way to recover the deleted data.

There probably was and is a way, but from what I could tell, it involved spending money and I didn't care enough about the photos to do that.

To get through it, I told myself that if I was going to delete photos for the first time in all these years, those were the ones to delete. How could they have been any good anyway?

I was being watched. I was under duress, in constant fear of prosecution. There had been restrictions. Copyrights, rules, regulations, and many carefully averted but no less prying eyes.

But I don't suppose we'll ever know. Takeaway: Get your zzzzz's and keep your grubby hands away from the camera's formatting button until you've double checked that what's on there, has been downloaded.

Oh and, don't forget that sleep deprivation equals temporary insanity.

And that is all for now.

*Turns out that each year at Vent Haven, there is a day set aside for Open House. It's free and visitors are allowed unfettered -- though no less strictly supervised -- access to the dummy collection without taking a guided tour. This year it was on September twenty-fourth, a day I was nowhere near Cincinnati. Perhaps we can plan better next time.

=0=0=0=

Happy Thursday

Comments

[Luna Crone]

But.......

If you deleted them all, how do you have the one, you posted?

[Jennifer]

@Luna ... TG took it of me, with my phone. Lame. xoxo

[Mari]

You know - these sorts of things happen to you. I'm not surprised at this one. I think of allows it because he knows the rest of us get such joy from reading your missives about it later!
That being said, I dislike guided tours too, and why are so many places so difficult about taking photos? It always makes Bob nervous, because he thinks I may sneak a shot when I'm not supposed to. Don't know why he would think that!
I am sorry you lost the pictures. That's so frustrating!

[Cheryl]

This is a test because I have written comments on your posts and they would not post.
Now I don't remember what I said on them. SO, THIS IS A TEST!

[Jennifer]

@Mari ... haaaaaha I knew we were kindreds on this score. Guided tours leave me so bored. And you know how I feel about being told not to take a picture. It just makes me want to take two. Or ten. xoxo

@Cheryl ... sorry but I don't know what to say. This is the first comment I've seen from you in a while. If I could fix it, I would! xoxo

[Barb]

Dear Jenny, Don't take this the wrong way, but only you would want to visit a ventriloquist museum. (And may I say that TG gets another star for going with you...) Luckily, even without the photos, I can imagine it from your words. I did the dreaded format once after visiting Bryce and Zion - I found a camera store that could recover the photos ($$$). I've never made that mistake again! You look stylish and happy in the photo TG took. Now if only that Terrorist dummy wasn't in the picture!

[Judy]

I have seen Achmed the Dead Terrorist do his show. It is funny.
Sorry that you lost your photos. I'd like to see the one of you and me, if you still have it.
You could e-mail it to me?

[Jennifer]

@Barb ... haaahahaaha TG is my driver; he takes me where I want to go. Prince of a guy. Plus, he enjoyed it too. We both like that sort of thing. And SEE what I mean? Once burned, forevermore shy. It was bound to happen that, as many pics as I/we take, I/we would inadvertently delete some! But it's still heartbreaking. What if THAT money shot had been in there? *sigh* xoxo my friend

@Judy ... I have it and I'll send it! xoxo

[sally]

No guided tours for me either! Like you, I would want to be left alone to study, look, etc. I'm sorry you lost the pics though.

My daughter always take her pillow(s) when she visits, friends, family, hotel. :)

I am so sorry, Jenny, that you've not been sleeping well. I hope by now you're doing better with that. Lost sleep is so difficult to overcome the next day. :(

xoxo

P.S. Thanks so much for catching up on my blog, such as it is. LOL