Monday, October 29, 2012

Fear of Films: Beetlejuice



Say it three times, why don't you? I, like many people who grew up in the 90s, love this movie. It's Tim Burton just before he got too Tim Burton-y. Alec Baldwin, Katherine, Michael Keaton, and freaking Winona Ryder, among even more notable actors, make this a true Halloween holiday favorite.

While the main theme, being different, being a freak, is meant to evoke emotion from the viewer. While that's certainly something I, and more people than you probably thing, can relate to, I don't think it has anything to do with fear in this movie.
From the start, control is a theme. The dowdy couple are bugged by a nosy neighbor, encouraged to move out and leave their beloved house for someone else. Due to events out of their control, the couple dies in a car accident, unbeknownst to them at first. As they try to haunt the new inhabitants of their home, who are completely taking it over with purely Tim Burton aesthetic, they fail to once again regain control.

Obviously Beetlejuice, with his knack in reeking havoc, is able to take control, forcing those in his wake to deal with chaos. Though, the crude, puck-like spirit isn't the only one who controls his situation. Lydia, the heroine, dresses and acts as she wishes, despite knowing she's alone in it. She attempts to take complete control over her life by attempting suicide, which fortunately is thwarted by the care of her ghost friends. In order to save those friends, she gives up all of her control to Beetlejuice, nearly becoming his young bride.

The happy ending is a result of all of those involved triumphing over Beetlejuice--the personification of chaos. The ghosts and family live together in harmony, Lydia seems to have made friends despite her unique and unconventional style. If this were a true horror movie, perhaps Lydia would lose her innocence to Beetlejuice, being lost in the netherworld among the dead, only to be recovered in eight sequels.

Fear of chaos. That's Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! 
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Monday, October 22, 2012

Fear of Films: Hellraiser & Candyman

Adventures in Poor Taste says, "And yet, despite hardly being in the film at all, the Cenobites practically steal the show.”

These film adaptations of stories by Clive Barker explore fear through monsters. Like a lot of Barker's stories, both of these films rely on esoteric legend or myth to illustrate negative human traits.

In Hellraiser, a smarmy man brings back a strange puzzle box that, after he pushes his curiosity and determination, traps him in a world of pain. His once lover vows to bring him back, and in a way she's committing adultery against her current husband, the rather dopey father of the movie's heroine. And none of those characters are the well-known "monsters" of the film franchise. "Pinhead" and his gang are actually mysterious wardens of the world within the puzzle. They only give you want you desire, are only prompted by those who push their curiosity. In the end, it's greed and lust that plays into the demise of the lovers, who are the true monsters.



Candyman, meanwhile is a more modern tale about an urban legend who consumes the consciousness of the main character. Against pushed by her own curiosity, she probes the proverbial walls of the "Candyman" myth within the projects of Chicago. What starts out as a promising look at socioeconomic positions in relation to urban legends, turns into a thin psychological horror tale.

Despite any shortcomings or highlights each of these stories have, each of them comment on the fact that humans attempt to explain true horrors as a result of human action with unexplainable forces, such as strange magic or urban legend. It's a fear of the truth, a fear of the real evil inside ourselves. 

Monday, October 15, 2012

Fear of Films: Sleepaway Camp


Teen slasher flicks are pretty low on my "Must-Watch" list for no other reason than they're not that interesting or surprising. And, while I figured out the deal with the character "Angela" not too far in, I was still shocked by the last scene. "What the fuck?" was said aloud.

It starts out with a gruesome boating accident in which a brother, sister, and father are involved. It's unclear who actually dies, particularly among the children. A man on shore, who is presumed to be a friend of the father whispers in shock and dismay, "Michael." Real soap opera quality acting. Years later, the young teenage Angela is escorted by her cousin to summer camp. She's terribly shy and even mute at first, most likely because of her accident. There's not a lot of heavy plot--campers mysteriously go missing or die, and no one seems to know why. Most alarmingly, the head of the camp doesn't do anything about it. How convenient for the plot of the movie to continue!

Of course, there's crude sexual tension among the counselors and campers, though very little embarrassing nudity. There's actually a lot of heavy sexual topics, it was a little darker than I expected.

Right off the bat, Angela's has a harrowing experience. The pervy cook propositions her in the dry stock room, which is actually more terrifying than anything a movie can dream up, being that it's so real. Luckily, her cousin catches them before anything bad happens, and the chef gets what he deserves--a hot bath in a ridiculously large boiling pot of water. Who pushed him in there? Who knows?!

There's also an odd scene where we flashback to when Angela and her brother are spying on their dad and the friend who whispered "Michael" in the beginning. The two men are snuggling in bed, a heavenly haze of romance hovers. The two children giggle at their father and his lover. Do they laugh because it's actually confusing to them?

Meanwhile, Angela refuses the advances of one of the nicer boys at camp, Paul. It's obvious that she's hiding something, if not something more than her understandable nervousness about teen sexuality. They're all very concerned about their looks and how they attract other boys, especially older ones. In fact, one of them is actually has a thing with the head of the camp, a grumpy old man who nearly beats up Angela's cousin. There's an awful scene where the meanest and supposedly prettiest of the girls is sodomies with a hot curling iron.

SPOILER ALERT YE BEEN WARNED AHHRG
 
The ending is very blatant. Two of the counselors find Angela with her friend, Paul. She's sweetly humming and stroking his hair as his head sits in her lap. His head is literally sitting in her lap, because she actually chopped it off. Standing up, it's revealed what she was hiding the entire time--Angela is actually a boy. With a bloody hatchet in her hand, she wheezes heavily with a blank stare, seeming possessed. That's what made me say "What the fuck?" because it was actually pretty scary!

The fear here is not of surviving the killer, but clearly of sex. There's so much pressure among these teenagers to be attractive, desired, and experienced, but it's unclear from where the pressure actually comes. The extremes--the deviant chef, the children's failure to understand their father's relationship, the disgusting willingness in which one of the girls insists on being with the grump old camp director, the unfortunate ending of the prettiest girl, all point to the grotesque vision inexperienced and scared people may have of sex. 

Monday, October 08, 2012

Fear of Films: Donnie Darko


Sometime between getting a first apartment and following the rhythms of full-time jobs, I forgot about Donne Darko. It dazzled and enthralled me on both emotional and entertaining levels in college, but admittedly, when I finally rediscovered it last October, I had grown out of it. It's annoyingly dramatic, kind of forced, and overly confusing. Perhaps I was tainted by having seen Southland Tales (Don't do it!), but I just wasn't feeling Donnie Darko last year.

Though, as part of my "Fear of FIlms" vision, I felt that I couldn't not include Donnie Darko. I made a pumpkin pie just for the occasion.

Set in 1988, though released in 2002, Donnie Darko is the title character in this film about "Fear and Love." We know immediately that Donnie is a very special teenage boy--he's first seen biking in his pajamas, barefoot, after waking up in what looks like the middle of nowhere. Arriving home to the family's marker board reading "Where's Donnie?" we see that he comes from the most terrifying place--suburban America, family of five. He's schizophrenic, has lame friends, and falls for the mysterious, weird new girl in school. And, his best friend is a six foot tall many in a bunny suit with a creepy face. Donnie has good teachers (one of whom is played by Drew Barrymore) and awful teachers (Health and Phys Ed teach Ms. Farmer), and he learns from and educates both. The school falls for an infommercial-type motivational speaker, Jim Cunningham (played by freaking Patrick Swayze!), who Donnie eventually exposes for what he really is. Gosh, there's even more stuff, like the thing with the girlfriend, the time travel, Grandma Death. There's way too much stuff in this movie, and I kind of mean that in a bad way.



Upon watching it with less expectation, I still resolved to Donnie Darko being one of those endearing movies that you watch out of tradition.With lines like "Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!" it's at least entertaining. The ensemble cast is acts well, each character with amusing and emotional nuances.

There's a lot of themes here, maybe too many. "Fear" comes to mind. While Donnie argues that there is more to life than "Fear and love," contrary to what his dimwitted Health teacher insists (preaching from the teachings of the smarmy Jim Cunningham). Donnie is correct, even though many of the characters are driven by fear (hardly love). So, of what are they all afraid? ...

SPOILER ALERT YE BEEN WARNED AHHRG!




Because Donnie is the only one who dies in the end, he opposes the binary short-sightedness of "Fear and Love," and expresses a seemingly resolved outlook toward death earlier in the film (that there might not be a "God" if "everyone dies alone"), then I would say that everyone else is afraid death. Despite their declarations of morality and wearing shirts that say things like "God is awesome!" they are totally afraid of dying because there might not be anything after that. Donnie is the hero ("What kind of a name is that? Sounds like some sort of super hero.") because he accepts the fear and takes the challenge.

It's fitting that this is the first in this series, since death is the ultimate fear.

Monday, October 01, 2012

Fear of Films: A month of movies about what scares us.

Kitten & pumpkin just because.
 San Francisco lacks the October flare that most of the US has--orange oak trees, ominous chills in the air, and an extended time period for which you can keep a carved pumpkin outside. I miss the "real fall," but that doesn't mean I can't celebrate Halloween with a little bit of tradition. This month, I've a lineup of "scary" movies which will be noted right here.

Stay tuned to see what I watch, and what I write about each movie!

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Richard Lloyd Parry's 'People Who Eat Darkness'

people_who_eat_darkness

I almost passed up this book, figuring I'd pick it up later when I wouldn't feel guilty about splurging. But, I always encourage people to buy books more, so I took my own advice.

This true crime book by London Times Asia editor Richard Lloyd Parry chronicles the Lucie Blackman  case, popular in British tabloids in the early 2000s. Ms. Blackman was a 21 year old British woman visiting Tokyo for a short time in hopes of making money to pay off credit card debts. Her job as a "hostess" in a bar is dubious, her happiness clearly not present. Soon enough, Lucie's friend get a call from a stranger saying that Lucie has run away with a cult and won't be coming back. 

In fact, it's no mystery that she doesn't come back at all. Like many missing person cases, it's assumed that the missing is actually dead. From there, Lucie's family falls into more pieces than it already was in, the Tokyo police conduct a drawn out and questionably sufficient investigation, and eventually a trial leads to a surprising verdict. Parry does draw out the verdict, but it's very much worth it. 

Much like In Cold Blood isn't just about "who-dunnit," People Who Eat Darkness isn't just about the dangers of young girls going off alone. 

It's about Japanese culture, foreigners in Japan culture, and the cultural history of Koreans in Japan. While Japan is highly populated, its violent crime rate is one of the lowest rates in the world. Yet, crimes do happen, and if they happen for similar psychological reasons than they do in the US, for example, they why do they happen far less in Japan? There's no easy answer, as the book states.

It's also about the public's perception of grieving families. Lucie's father, Tim Blackman, exhibited an unconventional reaction to the news that his daughter was working as paid company to Japanese businessmen and has gone missing, leaving the peanut gallery to create gossip and shoot accusations. It reminded me a lot of the public's popular reaction to the Casey Anthony verdict. People who didn't know her personally at all, and probably never will, knew that she was guilty, knew exactly what happened before, during, and after the murder—at least they said they did with great passion. 

Tim Blackman was often pointed out for not baring as much emotion as onlookers would expect a father of a murder, and was particularly chastised for stating that though he was angry and hurt he also felt sorry for his daughter's accused murderer. His unexpected reactions muddy the public's own expectations. Parry writes: 

If Lucie Blackman's killing was not a straightforward example of good against evil, then what was? To be told by non other than her father that there was complexity here, to see Tim striving to be hair and sympathetic to his own daughter's killer, undermined people's certainty in their own sense of right. They took Tim's lack of orthodoxy as an affront to their own. 
When heinous crimes happen, people say they want justice and that they want good to triumph over evil. In the case of Casey Anthony, they wanted to believe that it was so easy to see a woman partying while her daughter was missing and say this woman is the bad guy. But, because our justice system wants actual evidence, the jury couldn't make a simple good-and-evil, black-and-white decision. And, because they are not in the shoes of Tim Blackman, they can't decide if he looks sad enough or not. 

If you are an admirer of Japan's mystery, and an admirer of mysteries, you must read this! 





Thursday, September 13, 2012

Navigating the Heavens

Screen segment from the new, unique literary journal.


I encourage you to read this new literary journal, Navigating the Heavens. In this first issue, its eclectic collection of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry touch on the theme of "the light of God." This issue is balanced between short, thoughtful declarations directly speaking to the theme with more subtle pieces that only hint at the it.

I realize its editor, the lovely Elizabeth Carter, made informed and conscious choices about curating her journal. However, given the theme, I can't help but think that there's a little bit of an unseen force in there.

Berit Ellingsen's nonfiction piece "The Cat That Dogs Hissed At" tells of her experience adopting a very special Burmese cat. In poetry, Molly Prosser's "The Thickening Coat," also focuses on a feline.

There's also Wayne Cresser's "All Aquiver" about dreams and waking. My piece, "A Documentation," attempts to address the topic as well, among others.

Reading these all together, I got a sense that the journal itself finds the "light of God," or put more generally, the little coincidences that pop up once in a while. Or, maybe that's what I want to believe. Any which way you see it, I find it all very enjoyable. 

What odd little things have you experienced lately?

Thursday, September 06, 2012

Tartine Love

Tartine cookbook Chronicle books bakery

A few weeks ago, Chronicle Books visited my workplace, ModCloth in San Francisco. Lucky me, because as usual Chronicle had a beautiful spread of picks! One of my buys was the above cookbook by Tartine bakery's owners. It was an impulse buy, and one that I don't regret!

Monday I made their gruyeres but instead with cheddar cheese. I'm not sure if that's okay or if that just elicited a gasp or two. However, I was prepared to spend the money on good gruyere cheese. It was the thought of a homemade, fresh, warm eggy-pudding-like puff that really made me rush to make 'em. Well, they were super good, because I hadn't taken a picture of them before they were eaten up.

Tartine chocolate cookies recipe bake

For my second adventure, I baked their Deluxe Double Chocolate Cookies. Wowza! They are truly rich, but not heavy. The recipe calls for you to whip the butter before adding anything else to it, and to slowly add ingredients while beating them in the mixer, which gives them the slightly fluffy texture. The richness comes from the fact that you not only use cocoa, but melted bittersweet chocolate as well.

For French-style recipes, both the gruyeres and the cookies were not difficult to make. My first foray into French-style baking was with the Miette cookbook, another beautiful piece of Bay Area baking.

I don't usually get a chance to indulge in the real Tartine because the tiny-but-impressive bakery on Guerrero and 18th is always surrounded by a line out the door. And, while I have enjoyed everything that I've eaten from them, the thing I love best is there lattes. Sadly I can't make those at home.

What about your recent baking adventures?






















Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Jon Krakauer's 'Under the Banner of Heaven'



Returning to Red Hill Books after finishing In Cold Blood, the friendly salesperson suggested Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer to continue my true crime kick. Having read Into the Wild as a teen, I didn't know he wrote anything but adventure stories. Though, this was a case of two brothers who brutally murdered their sister-in-law and niece because they believed God told them to. The brothers were once Latter Day Saints until the became Mormon Fundamentalists. 


The book is framed around the above-mentioned crime, delving into the history of Mormonism in America. Before this book, the extent of my knowledge in Mormon history only went as deep as the US's struggle for the state of Utah and the argument of polygamy. That, and the little bit that's covered in the "Joseph Smith" episode of South ParkThis history is fascinating, and Krakauer is thorough in illustrating the timeline so that it's clear how this history leads to the murder of a mother and daughter. 

While I trust that he's as truthful and unbiased as he can, I wonder if I am being as unbiased a reader as I can. I went into this not having a good opinion about Mormonism or most organized religions. I mean, Mormons wouldn't welcome black men (nevermind women of any race) into their priesthood again until 1978. That's kind of shitty, wouldn't you think? They're also largely homophobic. Shitty. 

But, despite the bloodiness of the Utah Mormons in mid-19th century (impersonating Shivwit tribesmen and murdering Gentile settlers), is American history on the whole so clean? Is current Americanism really that clean? 

I think it's important for Americans to know more about Mormonism and Mormon Fundamentalism, and from various points of view. I think it's important for us reading these histories to understand that it's all very complicated. 

In the grand scheme of things, is it really worth saying Mormons are worse/better than this group or that group? What it all comes down to is who the boss is, right? Right now, it's not Angela, and that's a problem. 

One of those interviewed is an excommunicated Fundamentalist Mormon named Deloy Batemen. He thinks that the Fundamental Mormons who grow up in remote, tight-knit communities "are probably happier, on the whole, than people on the outside." Makes sense, because if you never do go "outside," and are convinced that where you are and who you are is practically Heaven, you'd be pretty pleased. 

Though, he goes on to say that, "some things in life are more important than being happy. Like being free to think for yourself." 

Well, I agree with that, no matter who says it. 

Appendix: You might be interested in reading the LDS's critique of the book here

Also, you can see pics from one of the weirdest sites I've visited, in one of the nicest cities I've visited, Salt Lake City. If every city was as populated by as many conformity-and-obedience-obsessed people as SLC is, every city would probably be very nice. Then again, maybe it's better to thinking freely in stinky ol' San Francisco or gritty azz Pittsburgh. 

Have you read this book? What do you think? 

Are you Mormon or know Mormons? Feel free to express your opinion on the book!


Monday, August 27, 2012

Big Gay 10K!

Another race? Why, yes! I've been wanting to try a 10K since my first 5K in January. Now I have a chance, a fabulous chance! 

Check out this screen grab from my Big Gay 10K fundraising page. The September 15th race benefits the San Francisco Aids Foundation. As part of my participation, I'm attempting to collect at least $100 for the organization.
So far, I've got $10. See how easy? To donate, visit my page.

Stay tuned for updates!



















Saturday, August 25, 2012

Truman Capote's 'In Cold Blood'

Stopping by Red Hill Books, the neighborhood staple for the Bernal Heights bibliophile, I was on a mission to solve a mystery—what is out there for me to get lost in?


The store's true crime section is, unfortunately, only about three feet long and arranged at an unreachable height for everyone but Shaq. With my eyes straining to read the available titles, I wasn't sure where to even start. I thought about asking the helpful Red Hill Books staff, only both of them were in deep conversation with a customer over the validity (or lack thereof) of Dads Are the Original Hipsters. 

I didn't really want to read a Mystery, a paperback with a badly designed cover assaulting the eyes every time you pick it up, which is often as the covers would brag. And, I didn't want to risk making an unwise decision, like settling for Helter Skelter only to experience sleepless nights waiting for a troupe of murderers to surprise me.

After circling the store about eight times, I remembered! Mrs. Rutger's American Lit class, Junior year.  We had to pick an American-written novel and perform a creative presentation for a grade. I did A Farewell to Arms, heh. To one of the lesser enthusiastic of the students, my teacher suggested In Cold Blood because it was "violent." I totally recall her saying just that.

Well later, the student joked about how he only watched the movie. But, I always remembered the title as something I should read one day. I had read Capote's short story, "Breakfast at Tiffany's," so I couldn't fathom how he had written a "violent" true crime. During my wandering at Red Hill Books, I would find out! I finally located it in fiction, which was kind of annoying.

Very short synopsis—In 1959, rural Kansas, a town is shook up by the seemingly motiveless, bloody murders of a well-liked family. While touching on the investigation, the real focus is on the murderers themselves, their lives leading up the incident, their life right after.

Finishing it in only a few weeks (I'm a slow reader), I was lost in it. I expected it to read more like journalism, but it's skillfully written almost like fiction. Capote takes liberties with or enhancing the details of the "characters" lives. The way he illustrates Nancy Clutter chatting on the phone as a chipper teen girl would, the way Mrs. Clutter escapes the days away sleeping in her white socks and nightgown, the piggish eating habits of Dick and the root beer and aspirin Perry—all described in Capote's oddly spunky yet still shudder-inducing tone.

The only thing with this fiction-like journalism—or probably by definition, creative nonfiction—is that you, as the reader, should keep in mind that very term "creative nonfiction." Just like any piece of that genre, the author may take liberties, and not always to straight up deceive the reader, but to make a better story. Without getting into a debate on how much an author's truthfulness really matters in creative nonfiction, I just wanted to point out that this book is indeed creative nonfiction. Enjoy the story.

This isn't a "who-dunnit" mystery. While there are pointed fingers among the townsfolk, the reader knows exactly "who dunnit" less than twenty pages in. The mystery is the motive of the murder until that's actually solved. Then, the real mystery, the one that haunts the reader throughout the book, is finally addressed—Still, why did they do it? Once you understand their actual plan, and the failure in that plan, and more importantly who these men really are, you still wonder why they did it in the way that they did. I guess you can ask, What really makes a murderer?

Yes, I recommend it!

I had a wonderful journey with Truman Capote, tracking it down and reading it on the train to work and even on the beach in Santa Cruz (you know, just a little light reading on the shore). Currently, I am finishing up Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer, as part of my true crime kick. I look forward to writing about that one, too!

Have you read In Cold Blood? What do you think?





Monday, July 23, 2012

Why has it been so long?


I was watching a bad teen talk show once where the young hosts advice from successful adult professionals in various fields. One of the teens was a young woman who expressed dreams of being a writer, of penning the "Great American Novel." The sucker she found was a quirky guy in Portland who boasted several self-published books. His advice to the aspiring novelist consisted of bland encouragements, banter of following dreams, and vague truisms. I said to the sojourning girl, or rather the TV screen, "Why don't you just quit this stupid soul search and actually do some writing?"

Well, why haven't sat down and done some writing? Since the beginning of June, it's been rough. I've slept in a lot, I've slouched bloated on the couch watching outrageous crime investigation shows, and I've kind of forgot that I think I'm creative and that I have interesting ideas.

I have been reading, however. The last three weeks I spent reading In Cold Blood, expressing to Jeremy how much I enjoyed reading and learning about crime stories. It's true. If you are Jeremy or one of the three members of the "Ms. Tery Club," you know how obsessive I can get over episodes of 48 Hours MysteryDateline NBC Mystery (with Keith Morrison as the host), and American Justice. Jeremy's response to my fascination with the subject was "You should write stories like that."

Yeah, I should, huh? I'm totally capable of it. I've had ideas, both for fiction and nonfiction pieces either about or inspired by true crimes. So, beyond some still-cerebral ideas and notes, why haven't I done it yet?

First off, I've never been one for some habits. Exercise, meditation, hobbies, writing -- I do them all sporadically. I'm not consistent. See: frequency of this blog. I don't know how to change that except practice. Ugh, is it really that easy?

Second off, I get bored. That's closely related to the former as an answer to why I'm not consistent. Take practicing for the upcoming SF Marathon 5K. About ten to fifteen minutes in to what should be about a thirty minute run, I'm bored. I get annoyed. My body turns on me by spiking up the pain levels. F words are thrown about in my head.

Third off, actually I think it might be a focus thing. If I can't focus, I don't have endurance. I'll get bored easily and quickly. With good practice comes focus. Yikes. Okay.

So, I ought to take my own advice, right? Why don't I just stop whining and actually write?

Probably because I actually think I suck at it. And, I think that the girl in the TV show felt the same about her writing.

Well, regardless of whether or not I'm actually good or bad, I should seriously just stop whining and actually write. Step one is now here. What is step two?

I think maybe it's to propose longer pieces to publications so that I have deadlines? Just do it, a la Nike? I don't know.

What do you think? Is this writer's block or a testament of my lack of talent?







  

Monday, May 21, 2012

Things That I Am Obsessing Over Right Now

Obsessed with my "hawthorne" aloe, which will bloom soon.
Preface: I once made a pact with myself that no matter how late at night it was and how tired I was, I would stay up to write out whatever ideas I had swirling around in my head. I've broken that pact more than I have adhered to it, which is Okay. At the moment, I'm going to go for it. The following format is something I started doing in my old MySpace (MySpace!), and it was stolen from a post that Neko Case wrote on her website. This kind of writing is best done with music that you love playing.

Things That I Am Obsessing Over Right Now

1. "Moving Through Time," Angelo Badalamenti from the Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me soundtrack. I first noticed the song while watching the movie on my computer one dragging Saturday afternoon while my old neighbors jumped around like children above me. In the film, it plays while Laura experiences her last evening at home. Rather than describing it to you, I suggest you simply listen to it.

2. I played the above song while soaking in the tub just a bit ago. We didn't have a tub at our old apartment, just a crappy shower stall, as if we were at summer camp or on a boat. Whenever I was in a hotel for that 1.5 years living in that old place, I would always take a bath. It's not even really bathing, it's soaking. You just sit in the cloudy water staring at your feet just under the surface. In Pittsburgh during summer as a teen, I often took the hottest baths I could stand while the humidity all around added to the steam. I created a sauna in the bathroom and listened to the dusk birds call in night. I think all that heat made me lightheaded, but it was pleasant and a little magical.

3. During that bath, I thought about the things I would write in this list, one of them being my essay that is due in less than two weeks. I'm just 1000 words shy of it being the minimum length, but it needs about a billion bits of editing, I know. I feel like I'm not connecting all the important facets of the topic, one of the missing ones being the personal connection that I and other fans of Audrey make with the character. Of course, I don't want to dwell on that too much, because it's an essay about her wardrobe. Or is it? Are the owls what they seem?

3a. What I'm trying to get at is, I was feeling obsessed with my identification with Audrey, much like a lot of the bloggers I stumbled upon in my research. Like her, I sometimes wandered around school being aloof and a loner, preferring to eavesdrop and spy on the adults around me. Why would anyone with a personality actually be interested in the kinds of day to day things that people like Donna Hayward experience? I miss being as overconfident and naive as Audrey is, but I also never ran off to a Canadian brothel only to be held hostage by the madame and her Canuck partner and shot up with drugs. But then again, I've also never been rescued by a dashing and dorky FBI agent who gets more enthralling by every regulation and self-imposed moral rule he quotes. Though, even Special Agent Dale Cooper can't escape the Black Lodge.



4. My Plants. So lucky are we to not only have a tub, but a fair-sized front porch to keep plants. I have cacti, aloe, a starfish plant, other misc. succulents, a polka dot plant, a spearmint, a chamomile, two trays of snap peas just starting to sprout, and now two heirloom tomato plants. In about a month, some of the succulents will bloom. I love to poke around and examine my plants when coming home from work or after a run.

5. Running. Both Jeremy and I have eased ourselves back into marathon training, though I'm doing a modest 5K and he's able for a half. Go, Jeremy, go! I've been walking from my place up to Church and 30th Street, where I begin my job up to Clipper and back again. The loop equals about a mile, and I can do that in about 8 to 10 minutes, which is good. I got new shoes after being convinced by both Jeremy and our running buddy Sarah, and that was a very good choice. Not only do I not have pain in my shins and knees anymore, but I now have purple shoes with hot pink laces.

5a. Part of running means that I get up early. This is a life change for me. I actually get out of bed in the single digits during the weekends now. I have been, actually, for about four or five months now. It started in the old place when Jeremy didn't work on weekends anymore. I needed "me" time. Thinking back to when my mom would get up early to have tea and toast, to read, weed the garden, or just go out somewhere and come back in time to shake us up at 11, I started doing it, too. I have tea, I work a little online, I watch nature shows, then I go for my run. I accomplish all this before noon, sometimes even 11. On the weekdays, I sleep in my running clothes, which double as PJs, and jump out of bed at fucking 6:30 AM and do the routine in an abbreviated fashion. Again, I accomplish all this by 8, 8:30 and then I get ready for work. I feel like I had a whole other day in there, and it makes being at work until 6 or later more Okay.

Afterward: So, now it's time for bed.

What are you obsessed with right now?







Saturday, May 12, 2012

Run, Angela, Run

Your author after her first race.
I whined and whined, "Everybody's running but me!" It seemed like my friends were reporting daily or weekly runs with pride, which they should, and expecting me to report mine in turn, which they should. Not only was I not running, but I was feeling "blah." I was complaining about feeling that way, and feeling guilty for it. You know what I dislike? Whining. 

At 6:30 AM Tuesday I jumped out of bed in my running clothes (because getting up at 6:30 AM already dressed really does help), I had a piece of peanut butter toast, and I ran. I actually felt really awesome afterwards. 

This whole running thing of mine started in December when Jeremy and I found the Couch to 5K program. It promised an easy way for beginners to get off the couch and get fit without intimidation. A lot of fitness programs claim that. Though it was hard at first, I actually did it. Having a partner like Jeremy to wake up early with me and run alongside me was encouraging and fun. It was something we experienced together! 

I do actually recommend that program. It was probably the only program that could have gotten me from the girl in gym class who sat on the bleachers or refused to run the track and instead take an F, if I showed up at all, to the girl who is actually running for more than five sustained minutes. 

In January, we joined some of my coworker friends for a 5K, and we all finished! I ran it in about 34 minutes, which is actually not bad. I finished right in the middle, with more advanced runners finishing 15 to 25 minutes before me. 

Not long after that, my annual physical reported a fitter meI had lost ten pounds from the year prior, and though it was a very low goal, it was my goal to actually lose ten pounds in a year. Running and yoga. I was very happy. 

I only ran two more times after that race, and I they were only follow-up runs, not more advanced ones. Though I did replace my running with Bikram yoga for a few weeks, after that I didn't do much. Some excruciating runs when we first moved, which is mostly hills, hills, hills, I just kind of quit. Then, I started to feel "fat." I probably didn't look that much different, but you may know that feeling. Sluggish, clothes don't look good on you, blah. 

So, I hushed up and ran! For real this time! I didn't feel like I needed a partner, and doing it solo actually motivates me more. I get lost The Smiths Pandora station, where songs with titles like "We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful," "Cemetery Gates," and "You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby." Quite motivating, trust me.

My main motivation comes from other women in my life. Directly, my friend and coworker Sarah began running regularly after moving here and feeling a little out of place, like a lot of us at work. She finished her first half marathon last year all by herself. 

Women in my family are a motivator, too. Of course I have my mom. Like Sarah, my mom moved to a whole new state and was feeling a little out of place. Without my brother and I close by, she needed something to occupy her days. When feeling depressed or annoyed, she walks. As part of that, my dad and her have began eating better. Her motivation was from seeing many of the women in our family not take as much care of themselves as they should have. 

I don't really want to be "thin" or lose a ton of weight, but I just want to not say or think to myself "I feel fat." I don't want to feel sluggish and tired just because I'm not active. There's so many exciting things to do, and being healthy with a hobby like running better assures your body that it can be there for all of those exciting things.

Only 4.75 miles so far...
The miles I'm pounding these days are being counted toward the San Francisco Marathon's Progressive 5K. I must record 23.1 completed miles from the time I registered for the race to the weekend of the race. On the race day, I complete the final 3.1 miles, or 5 kilometers, of a 26 mile marathon. While it's not nearly the same as the athletes who run a full marathon in a three or four hours, it's an accomplishment! The point is, I got my body movin' like a Beastie Boy! 

I intend on running at least some of Bay to Breakers, even if it's not official. When else can I dress up like, say, a Bird of Paradise, and run across the entire peninsula of this magnificent city?

Well, I gotta run! Happy days!















Tuesday, May 01, 2012

Kickin' Off Honey Month

I spoke about bees and beekeeping before, and mentioned that Jeremy and I have a dream of keeping our own hive. In the meantime, I'm lucky to live in a city that appreciates the bees and their hives - and hosts a lot of farmer's markets where you can get local honey! After attending a small presentation on the benefits of bee products, I'm inspired to eat honey every day for the month of May to see if any positive changes occur. Will I feel more energetic or alert? Not sure, maybe not, but honey tastes too good not to try!

During our experience at the New Living Expo this weekend (and it was quite an experience that I will hopefully get to in more detail soon), we attended a presentation by Charles Shipp, beekeeper and apitherapy supporter. Mr. Shipp gave an overview of the health benefits of, not just honey, but other products bees produce. How much do you know about royal jelly, bee pollen, and propolis? I know next to nothing before the presentation!

Charles Shipp's bees, as photographed by Jeremy at the New Living Expo
 Mr. Shipp, who was a friendly and slightly awkward older man, talked about popular American medicine's refusal toward bee medicine. According to him, bee medicine has been used by many cultures for ages, yet it's ignored by modern doctors in the West. That makes sense to me, since some herbal medicines produce dubious results. However, if I don't expect bee medicine to help me get fit from head to toe, why not try it?

According to Shipp, royal jelly, bee pollen, and propolis will add years to your life, supply you with complete proteins, and sooth inflammation, respectively. You may have heard of royal jelly being used in skin care recently. It's actually the milky substance that bees produce to feed only their hive queen. This is solely the queen's diet, and that's why she's bigger than other honey bees. Bee pollen sounds a little like a quinoa substitute. Meanwhile, propolis is tree sap that has been collected by the bees sanitize their larvae pods. How cool is that?

While it's amazing to hear about how and why the bees produce these substances (which I'll touch on in a bit), it's important to do your research before eating a jar of propolis for breakfast. In our enthusiasm for bee products, Jeremy and I looked up university studies online that could clue us in on more details of their benefits or dangers. Glad that we didn't spend up to $50 on royal jelly and pollen, we found that for some, sever allergic reactions can occur when ingesting these items. While I believe that Mr. Shipp, along with the other beekeepers we spoke to, each take a bit of them each day, it's not for us. It doesn't seem worth the risk when there are already plenty of other ways to eat well. We'll stick to our honey! It has been said that if you want to get over a certain region's allergies, you can ingest its local honey.

My very serious notes taken during the presentation
One of the most interesting things I got out of the presentation was the more, how do I put it, spiritual or "out there" aspects of beekeeping. A much more extreme version of this was possibly touched on in Wax. Mr. Shipp briefly mentioned the connection he and some beekeepers report about their hives. After respectfully working with the hive for some time, the keeper and the bees become friends or equals. Some keepers even come as far as not having to wear protective clothing when tending to their hive. He even mentioned that a kind of initiation occurs between keeper and hive when the keeper is first stung. Jeremy mentioned that it sounded like a hazing ritual.

Apart from their human keepers, bees do seem to have an uncanny way of buzzing about their short lives. I mentioned before the exclusive diet of royal jelly each queen intakes. In the hive, royal jelly may be produced by her bees, but only she may eat it. The temperament of the queen, which varies over her lifespan, affects the temperament of the hive, so a happy queen is very important for good honey production. Mr. Shipp likened the queen bee to a goddess by the pampering and attention she receives from and the affect she has on her bees. In short, the mysterious way of the bee almost sounded divine.

It's hard to find Charles Shipp's book, An Introduction to Bee Medicine, for purchase, but there is plenty of bee literature out there. There's so much more I can get into, and perhaps I will at a later date. One of my favorite beekeeping segments, though, I share with you below.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Something Strange in the 'Hair'

It's much easier to find dubious UFO or ET content on the internet than it is to find neutral, straight forward reporting on the matters. I enjoy this segment for the reason that it's well-done: it lets the witnesses speak for the story, and the witnesses do not come to any conclusions. Coming to a conclusion about the unexplained sounds dangerous to me.

Meanwhile, OMG the hair on the Hillsdale College witnesses! To 'dye' for! I like learning about UFO and ET stories, but I might love 60s style more! Oh yes, that hair!!!




Sunday, April 22, 2012

The Enchanted Outsider

Carlow University convent, Pittsburgh, PA Image via: Carlow archives
As I retrieved my new pack of birth control pills from my nightstand this evening, I noticed my third stash of knitting shoved into the drawer. I have three stashes, and this is the least sought probably because the other two are easily accessible among my other craft supplies. This third and often forgotten stash includes two spools of a sock weight wool-acrylic blend, a partially done lace sample from Kool Aid dyed wool yarn, and a nearly completed prayer shawl of Red Heart acrylic. The US size 15 bamboo needles used in knitting this prayer shawl were removed and many of the exposed, sage green stitches threatened to unravel. Tangled among the knotted skein was my new pack of bills.

This shawl began in a magical place. When I tell you what this place is, you may think it's ironic or funny that my birth control pills were found wrapped up in the undone shawl. It's a little ironic, but only a little. The Sisters of Mercy at Carlow wouldn't judge me for using the pills. The group I interacted with for about two months in the spring of 2008 didn't judge me for anything. I never felt more welcomed and more like I could simply be (not even just be myself, but just be), than when I would meet the sisters on Saturday mornings at Carlow.

I went to college at Carlow, lived in the dorm all four years. There is only one dorm building, and only women can live in it. My deepest, best friends lived with me in that building. Our hall on the 9th floor had bras decorating the emergency lights and a carpet stained with spray paint, thanks to us. I loved it there very much.

Since I majored in creative writing, finding a job in my field in Pittsburgh wasn't very possible. What did I do? I went back to Carlow! They gave me a job assisting the Registrar. I printed out class rosters way too many reams of paper and produced new student packets for Freshmen. I took long lunches and  took many breaks wandering the grounds that my friends and I had. On the top of Grace Library, you can see all of South Oakland and a tip of the South Side. I sat there so much all seven years I was associated with Carlow. It's not the best school in Pittsburgh for sure, but it certainly has a lot of charm and spirit. The best way I can describe my connection to it is to say "Carlow is my Rushmore." If you've never seen the movie Rushmore, you should and then you will get it. You should just watch the movie anyway.


Above is the second shawl I worked on. It's three-quarters of the way finished, and I can easily finish it within the week. Though I can keep it or donate it, I kind of want to mail it to Carlow. There, Carol, the convent volunteer who organized the shawl group, would be so excited and gracious to receive it. She'd pick what she believes are just the right charms and prayer card to add to it. She would comment on how lovely she thinks it is. The sisters would nod in agreement. I'm not sure if they'd all remember me, or if there even still there. If they got a random-seeming shawl from a girl in California who says she used to knit with them Saturday mornings, they'd appreciate it no matter what.

I was explaining my enthusiasm for the sisters to Jeremy while I fixed the unraveling line of knitting. I think that they might have thought I was a little strange. What kind of 24 year old woman, gets up at 8 AM, travels on the bus, and knits with a bunch of old Catholic nuns? Well, if you know me, the answer is simple: Angela Bayout would. I barely spoke while there in the craft activity room, which has a window facing out to the campus green and an idol of St Francis.

The sisters, all of whom crocheted by the way, would joke among themselves and reminisce, usually filling me in on necessary details. A favorite story includes a sister who refused to say "breast" when it came to ordering chicken at the butcher. She would ask for "chicken chests." One of the sisters told a story about a funny experience she had as she was falling asleep. She swore it wasn't a dream because, well, she just knew. You know how you just know? She was lying in bed relaxing and in her ear she heard the name "Lucinda" clear as a bell. It was very beautiful, she said, and she had never heard of that name before then. Ever since then, she always liked that name.

They often talked about beauty, beauty in art that they studied, beauty in each other's shawl-in-progress, and just the natural beauty all around them. The stories and subjects were always positive, but most of all they were always honest and genuine. And, they rarely asked me any questions.

I suppose it's a sister's job to simply accept. It didn't matter why I was there or how I got there or what, they always expressed that they were simply glad that I was there. They never asked me if I went to church or even if I was religious in any way. They never asked anything of me or expected anything of me. They never ever asked me, "Why are you so quiet!?" They just expressed a gratitude for my knitting and an appreciation for my presence. It is so stunningly simple how easy it is to make a person feel good.

Being in the convent with them was always both calming and invigorating at the same time. When entering or exiting, I would often get confused since all of the halls sort of looked the same. I always seemed to turn left instead of right or right instead of left and I would end up in the lobby outside of the main chapel. The first time this happened, I was walking quickly so as not to be caught as a strange wanderer, I would almost run right into an idol of The Virgin Mary. She was chalk white, and though I would never have touched her, she looked feather soft. The air in that lobby was light but not thin. I'm stuck on trying to describe it as anything but just peaceful. But, also powerful. But, also completely good and accepting. I don't know, I just found myself caught off guard in this warmly lit, incredibly quiet (like, too quiet) room and I was totally awe struck by the sensation I got.

I might have been taken by the atmosphere, but even in the florescent-lighted craft room I felt that positivity. I think that the women there are just so kind and so loving of "all God's creatures" and all things under the sun, that their positivity fills that building and lifts it up like a flame on a hot air balloon. I think that if they could, they should give themselves more credit.

I am unwilling to say that it was actually, literally the spirit of God I sensed. I suppose I can say that it was the spirit, but I think that the spirit of God is another way of saying that these women exuded so much goodness that it produced some sort of affect on me. The fact that it happened to me at all is good enough for me.

I wasn't ever a Catholic and probably won't be. I don't want to be part of an organization where men do and say some of the worst possible things men can do and say. Most of my experiences with religion have been negative, so I'm not going to join the club. I'm just sort of dazzled by Catholic stuff. I like their grand architecture and Pagan way of things. I don't like that they sometimes feign humbleness with this grand architecture and ignore the obvious Paganism. Mostly, I love their organization of women, very good women. Not all of the sisters at Carlow were this way, but many of the individuals that I encountered over my seven years there were. I don't see them as Catholic nuns who are part of the aforementioned organization that I wish not to be a part of (especially in light of this), but I see them as inspiring women that go beyond aspirations.

Do you personally know a group of people who have or have had a deep affect on you?












One Great Brunch in San Francisco


Yesterday, I had the pleasure of dining at Foreign Cinema with my lady friend Sarah over at The Year of Sexy. We share an obsession for brunch, and as you know from my last week's post, my obsession has a specific shape. She has great taste in restaurants, and this was the best choice yet! Making us reservations four weeks ago, Sarah assured me it was worth the wait. Yes, they were booked four weeks in advance for Saturday brunch. I felt like I was part of a scene in American Psycho, but without too much psycho.

Though, I have to say that I'm crazy for this place! Outdoor seating, simple decor, and sophisticated but unpretentious food. This is a classy place, but not too classy, and that's comforting considering you really just want to stuff your face once you see the menu.

Speaking of which, here's what we had!

I'm not a very good day drinker, but I couldn't resist the cocktail options. Unfortunately I don't recall the name of Sarah's drink, but I'm pretty sure it's a blood orange mimosa that may contain another ingredient other than champagne. Whatever, it was good! I had a St Germain, a refreshing mix of sparkling wine, elderflower liqueur, and a lemon twist. If you like Jasmine tea, this is way better and I'm not just referring to the booze. The elderflower liqueur, which I never knew existed until yesterday, was almost candy sweet. Wow, it was good.


I never thought of having an appetizer with brunch, but I sure had one yesterday. We ordered the strawberry "pop tart." I will be thinking about it next time I have a real Pop Tart. We tried to show the scale of the 'tart in this picture. It's big! It was also flaky and light with a fresh strawberry filling. The top of the tart was encrusted with Turbinado sugar and dusted with powdered sugar. I have a feeling I would be able to make this at home easily, and I will get to enjoy it any time I want.


Main courses. You may see three in the above image, yet there was just two of us. Well, we ordered three entrees, what? We had to have our eggs for brunch, but that french toast had a reputation. Basically, everything, including the third entree, was spectacular. Sarah had the lobster and Dungeness crab frittata, seen at the top of the image. It was topped with fresh greens and outlined with a red pepper sauce. Usually I don't love crab, lobster, nor red pepper things, but damn. The frittata was so moist and plump with fresh seafood, and the mild sauce added a lovely velvety texture. 

My champagne porcini omelet, at the bottom of the image, was wonderful, but I have to say that I enjoyed the few bites of the frittata I snagged more. The omelet was very good, but the frittata was GOOD! 

French toast=glad we ordered it. What made it super special was the fresh mango and fruit creamy thing (the pink, serbert-looking substance on the plate in the center). Yeah, I'm not sure what the pink stuff was other than a type of fruit salad dip. I feel silly calling it that, but I don't feel silly raving about it.


So, the entrees were obviously filling, but I still had a hunger. I wanted to try it all at this point. We indulged in a small goat milk, herbed cheese plate with dried cheeries and walnut bread. The cheese was nice, but those cherries... They were not too sweet, not tart at all, and had a tinge of cinnamon! I wonder how I can make them so that I can put them on every bagel and cream cheese ever.

While Sarah likes her liquor, as I said above, I'm not always up for it in the morning unless I want to sleep the afternoon away. In fact, I'm not always up for it in general for the unfortunate belly ache and heart burn that results from it. Though, the sun was shining and I was wearing a sundress without a jacket in San Francisco on a Saturday at a beautiful restaurant. I'm glad that I took the chance on cocktails here. Perhaps it was the bedding of brunch in my tummy, but I felt fabulous after! Actually, it might really be because the used good liquor in the right quantities. I know I used to down overloaded, $4 gin and tonics, but today that doesn't do me good. These cocktails were delicious, refreshing, and well made. 

So, what did I treat myself to above? After sipping Sarah's Steel Magnolia (ginger beer, bourbon, and something called Snap), I couldn't resist. Halfway through my own, I felt transported to a veranda in Tennessee. It was that good. 

Overall, I had a wonderful Saturday brunch with my buddy Sarah. I'm a little bit in love with this place, and soon I will be taking Jeremy there for dinner under the starsand for a movie! If you haven't figured it out, the outdoor dinner experience includes a film, and there are renovated drive-in speakers between tables. How fun. This is definitely a place for a special occasion, be it an actual event birthday or just "Life is good." Be prepared to pay a pretty penny, but every cent is worth it. 

Have you gone? Do you love it? 












Thursday, April 19, 2012

Lost & Found: "Antiquarian" things...



If you read last week's brief post, you know that this blog had a six-year dormancy. I found four drafts that must have been forgotten—like dollars in a spring jacket. This was the most interesting of the four. I have a vague recollection of writing this and talking about it in a college poetry workshop. I have another vague recollection of writing it while working at the library's microfilm desk. I'm not sure what the line breaks are all about, but I'm pleased with the language. Usually I'm embarrassed by my old poetry, but I kinda like this! It's sweet.


Have you found forgotten art lately? How did you react to it?

________________


"Antiquarian" things...

Dear Lisbon-

Thank you for your last letter. Yes, I agree- taking walks are entertaining and healthy. Sometimes, I like nothing more than to be

Outside, steadily walking, it neither tires nor bores me. I am trying to think of my favorite place to walk around here. Perhaps near

the university and the library, both forms of antiquity among the new, impersonal, corporate square monsters sharpening the blocks since I've been in school here.

But, the Cathedral is a rock. It will still stand with in its Neo-Gothic lovely until another melted ice age wears it as sand.

Yours, Majourie


***

Dearest Majourie-

Walking is healthy, but mostly sweet. On a walk today I thought of you. Along the route that I took there are yellow, laughing

daffodils. Though, when I’m in Wordsworth’s “vacant or pensive mood,” it is not the daffodils that fill my heart with pleasure

but a loose sheet of paper with petals of hand writing remnant of you. Now, I stare at the wall as if the closing of this letter will

bleed out of the matte fading peach paint. I hope that you will be obliged to

walk with me when I see you?
Love, Lisbon

"From Outer Space To You"

Image from 1950s Contactees
Recently on my morning train, I became engrossed by this Wired interview with anthropologist Kathryn Denning, in which she talks about her findings on the "very human way" we think about space exploration and alien life. Many of her statements described the popular fantasy of us, namely Americans, being greeted by extraterrestrials who will help us solve our massive world problems. This reminded me think of the Contactees.

After WWII and into the 50s, pop culture and pulp fiction trended on heavily on UFO and ET encounters. Enjoyed by those entertained and inspired by it, shunned by the unimaginative and the unwilling to speculate, this subgenre of sci fi developed at an apt time, after WWII. To put it in modern slang, that's when "shit got real." 

Imagine having been born sometime between the late 19th century to the 1930s. You would have witnessed the introduction of cars, radio and/or television, maybe even the introduction of 20th century technology into the 19th century tactics of WWI. Perhaps you came of age during the Depression, passing the Kraft macaroni and cheese powder packet around the table like it's $10 Fleur de Gris. Then the explosion of nuclear science just in time for WWII. 


Shit got real. Image: First News
You might be a little depressed with the outcome of things so far. I feel that way sometimes about the last few years (state of Arizona I'm looking at you). Last few years? Maybe since I've been a legal voter. Maybe since my dad first explained prejudice to me while in the drive-thru line at Wendy's after a grade school play. Personally, I turn to things like yoga, art, and Hello Kitty to make sense of existence. 

Hello Kitty wasn't born until 1974, though. In the late 1940s and 1950s, some people turned to the stars seeking wisdom on how to live in a world—namely America—that created destruction out of the fundamental bits of all matter. And, by stars I mean things like "the planet Jupiter or one of the moons," as stated by George King in the documentary Farewell Good Brothers. You can watch the full film below, lucky you. I recommend you do!


This film features King, founder of the Aetherius Society, and other names and faces in the Contactee movement. While King comes off as an insincere self-appointed leader who puffs himself up by regularly speaking to Shakespeare with his powers of telepathic communication with the dead, some of the other individuals seem "for real." I personally enjoy the segment where a gentlemen being interviewed says that the aliens come every so often and pick him up in a car. He seems dead serious. Howard Menger,  author of From Outer Space To You, is very passionate about his experiences flying with Venusians around the moon before the 1960 NASA moon landing. He seems sincere. 


I like to be open to strange stories and unbelievable possibilities because I don't think I have an ego that tethers me from that openness. I don't really want to say I don't believe these Contactees (psst, I'm thinking it). It's not really what they're saying. They can wax poetic about their seat on the intergalactic version of the UN all day, but it's never less outrageous to me than a board of religious men attempting to put a value and claim ownership on my body and every other woman's body.  


This is more outrageous than extraterrestrial visitation no matter what you believe.
It's not what the Contactees say at all. It's how the really sincere, passionate ones say it. You really, really think that you have flown to Jupiter in a spaceship? It's no use asking how that is even possible. They believe it. And, whether or not it's true, I'm assuming it got them through the rest of the nifty fifties and beyond. 


Is believing that you take regular trips through the solar system with non-human beings harmful to the public? I'm not qualified to answer that, but I'm going to anyway and say, "Yes. No! Maybe?" 


Going back to the Wired piece, interviewer Adam Mann asks anthropologist Denning to expand on the  alien contact story arc—we meet, we fall in love, we get married and live happily ever after. (In case my smart ass is getting in the way, the story is more like: We make contact with aliens, humanity freaks out and forgets its differences. Poverty, abuse, power, and all the baddest of the bad things are gone from then on.) Contactees almost always thrive on this idea, adding that the aliens themselves tell them that humans must to forget their differences or else they will destroy themselves. It's curious that aliens are telling us this, because, well, isn't it obvious? If that's all the aliens have to offer, then so what?


Denning's explanation for the alien encounter narrative is this: 


"One way to read that, in the most general sense, is that it’s a narrative that makes us feel better.One of the things that astronomy and space exploration in the 20th century has done is force us to confront the universe in a way that we never did before. We had to start understanding that, yeah, asteroids impact the earth and can wipe out a vast proportion of life, and our planet is a fragile spaceship Earth.I think this has given us this sort of kind of cosmic anxiety. And it would make us feel a whole lot better if we had neighbors and they were friendly and they could enlighten us."
Making ourselves feel better may not only be the MO of the Contactee. Do we only make ourselves feel better by buying what I like to call "Al Gore brand" light bulbs? Is it the least or the most we can do when polar bears starve and drown? For those of us like me, who have a nice bed to type away our thoughts, is it really that easy to sit and poke fun and speculate? I don't really know what to say to that, even though I brought it up. 
Denning's reaction to the encounter narrative here is elegant. To me it means that it's not what people like the Contactees are saying, or even how they're saying it. It's the fact they they are saying it at all. They are not speaking for an esoteric community off the lunatic fringe. The Contactees' outspoken desire to receive and share (mundane) answers from the aliens with the general public's focus on and shunning of the "science fiction" aspect of the Contactees exposes a mokita—that humanity knows it has "effed" up and that shit has gotten real and that we don't really know what to do about it. 
What do you think?