I confess. I’m fascinated by odd stuff. I like reading about viruses and horrific bacterial diseases. Right now I’m reading a book called Pox: Genius, Madness, and the Mysteries of Syphilis by Deborah Hayden. (I figure they’ll make it into a Broadway show someday called, Pox! The Musical.)

And I’m dying to get to the Mutter Museum.

FYI, The Mutter Museum was a teaching museum established in 1858 and attached to the College of Physicians of Philadelphia. It has copious displays of the most amazing medical anomalies you’re ever going to see. I have a book about it. I’ve seen TV specials on it. I’ve bought the calendars they used to produce with fantastic pictures of some of the most extreme medical deformities you’re ever likely to see. It’s got to be the coolest place ever.

And while medical oddities are still my main fascination, I’ve recently found myself pulled in by a different kind of website. The Ambrel Photography site has grabbed my attention of late. And not just because of the photography — which is pretty great. But his subject matter (at least what he publishes on this site) has me intrigued in a way that completely baffles me.

These are all party photos from various shindigs in New York City, though I’m certain that none of the people in these photos would ever refer to any of these events as a ‘shindig.’ There are book launching parties, magazine launching parties, and then there are a series of Halloween parties that range from standard dress up affairs to some far odder stuff. (The link to what I consider the most extreme series of these is here. WARNING: There are some images in this series that you DO NOT want children seeing.)

I wish I could divine why this site fascinates me. There’s certainly something fabulously dissipated in these images. Everyone appears as if they’re trying to have more fun than they actually are. Maybe it’s because I like making up stories about people I don’t know. (This drives The Dude nuts. We’ll be in a restaurant and I’ll start hypothesizing about diners at another table and he’ll ask me why I’m doing it. I don’t know why. I just like trying to figure out people’s stories.)

Speaking of stories, one of the many Bradbury stories that have stayed with me over the years is a piece called, The Crowd. Basically, our protagonist is in a car accident and the crowd of lookeloos which surrounds him while he’s lying injured becomes his obsession. He decides they have a more sinister purpose than just morbid curiosity. I always think about that story when I’m at the Ambrel “Home of the Vain” site. After looking at enough of these pictures, I start to think that I recognize these people. They’re like party vultures. They show up, they drink, they do outrageous things, they don’t tidy up after themselves.

I’m pretty sure I’d never want to go to one of these parties. Parties make me itchy anyway. I never know what to say. I don’t know how to make small talk. And most people are put off by conversation openers like, “Do you ever think about the ramifications of weaponized smallpox? Of course, monkey pox may take us all out anyway given that it’s jumped to humans.” This isn’t the kind of conversation I see happening at these parties.