A visit to The House on the Rock

For years I’ve been wanting to bring Nick out to the Midwest so I could take him to see The House on the Rock. It’s one of those experiences that defies description. People just don’t get it unless they’ve seen it for themselves. Built by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright’s who added his own cheesy velvet-painting aesthetic to Wright’s signature prairie style, it looks like a groovy, shag-carpeted lair built for some psychotic ’60s super villain.

We took the trip with the ever-gracious Laura P. and her beau Frank – and she and Nick made the Infinity Room look good.

We spent several hours winding our way through the many bizarre and unsettling exhibits that accompany the house tour proper. There are really no words to explain the way it feels to go through this weirdly kitschy, musty-smelling, funereal collection of crap. It’s like the whole place was built by the world’s richest hoarder. Fake rose encased in a light-up box? Check.

Room full of creepy mannequins? Check.

Gigantic mechanical music machine lit by a hundred blood-red chandeliers? Check.

The place is easily one of the spookiest places you’ll ever set foot in, packed full of toothed dolls you can imagine coming to life and eating you.

No comments yet.

Leave a comment

XHTML– Allowed tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>