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?









Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Wax, Or the Movie I'm Not Afraid of Anymore

from mubi.com
Saturday it had been decided: We are going to be beekeepers for real.

Beekeeping is something I've wanted to do since I realized how delicious honey is. I was eating honey straight from a bear-shaped bottle. When I started reading more about honey and began trying different types of honey, I wasn't so afraid of bees anymore, as I had been as a kid. Beekeeping is something Jeremy has always wanted to do since he began learning more about the idiosyncrasies of bees.

After brunch Saturday we visited Independent Nature, a plant store inside of a garage on Church. At the desk was a guide to beekeeping. The notion that buzzes in our brains every so often, along with our dream of having a garden plot and chickens, popped up then. It took until Sunday night for us to do a little research on San Francisco urban beekeeping. Hopefully I will follow up on developments there.

All that talk about bees made me think of Wax, Or the Discovery of Television Among Bees. The very first time I saw any of it, Jeremy and I had just eaten a pancake, bacon, and eggs dinner at his old place in Pittsburgh. Noting that Wax is the first film to be watch-able on the internet, Jeremy started playing the file before it fully loaded on the screen. The all-too-calm narration didn't grab me, and I lost interest quickly in favor for a game of Dr. Mario.

The second time I watched it, I had the patience and attention span to follow the narrative. I became increasingly engrossed as the narrator became increasingly engrossed in his bees. His thoughts grow stranger and stranger. He says things and I thought, "He must be stressed out." He then says more things and I thought with concern, "He must be a little crazy." Then he says very dark things and I thought, "He is dangerous." Though, his tone never changes.

"What?" you ask. Watch the movie! Image from Freaky Flicks.
At one point, he is wearing his bee suit, lying on the floor of a cave in New Mexico. He mentions, as a matter of fact, that he's now dead. This part disturbed me very much. There wasn't any apparent death, nor any apparent death after he mentions he's dead. At that point I was very worried for this man who seems to have wandered into the desert and is now lying on a cave floor. I wondered if this was a documentary or a fiction. It occurred to me only at this point that the genre was never presented to me.

I dozed off right after this part and woke to more desert wandering and cave meandering, and yet still more lying dead on the floor. It was very freaky, and I felt very strange. I felt similar to the way I felt during one of the only ghost encounters I think I've had.

That night I had some sort of dream that stuck with me, though I don't remember it. That next day, I felt like a sticky dream film wouldn't lift from my skin, and I felt a nebulous stinging of mild paranoia. I just felt funky, and I blamed it solely on that terrifying fucking movie.

This past Sunday night, not only did I have bees on the mind, but craved something "out there," to watch. I just wanted to hear a new kooky story about visitations from the Pleiades or a diatribe about the invisible animals that live in the sky. I put on my brave suit and said,

"Jeremy, I know you want to read," he looks up from Only Revolutions, "but I feel like I can watch Wax."

He hops up, says "Okay!" and begins chanting "Bees! Bees! Bees! Bees!" playfully.


The film is lead by Jacob Maker, the disturbingly-calm narrator I've been referring to. He writes programs for computerized military weapons at work, and cares for black Mesopotamian bees at home. These bees were inherited from his grandfather, "Hive" Maker mentioned in the excerpt above. "Hive" combines Spiritualism with early 20th century electronics, which together form a flavor that's better than honey and graham crackers. From there, a series of serendipitous events lead up to Jacob and his wife, Melissa living together in New Mexico with the bees.

So, the movie isn't just about bees or wax or television. It's about one thing, I think, that I figured out while finishing the movie Sunday night. I figured it out and so I wasn't afraid anymore. What I think the movie "means" is something I will keep to myself because I'd rather you watch it yourself and make your own determination first. You can watch the whole film for free online via the link below. If you do, let me know what you thought!

Watch: WAX, OR THE DISCOVERY OF TELEVISION AMONG BEES












Sunday, April 15, 2012

Eggs

One fun thing about moving to a new neighborhood is finding all new places to eat. I love eating! Yesterday we tried Toast, a breakfast and lunch eatery on Church St.

They have a second location in Nob Hill, but we're lucky to be near the 29th and Church location. It was a lovely walk in the sun to get there and a short wait for the two of us to get a seat. Before too long, we were chowing down on one of the better simple brunches I've had in SF!

I got their breakfast burrito (pictured above), a favorite dish of mine. It was my usual at The Grind in the Lower Haight before we moved. Toast's breakfast burrito is comparable in price and offering to The Grind, but it's way tastier if I even thought that was possible. The tortilla was nice and crispy, not gummy. The eggs were fresh and fluffy and accompanied by the perfect amount of sour cream and salsa fresca. It comes with hash browns, which I was apathetic about until I ate them. They were light and crispy on the outside and soft, steamy, and flavorful on the inside. A+ brunch. Go there!

Something I've not covered in this blog yet: Eggs. I really love them. I might be a little obsessed with them. I might talk about brunch a lot in this blog, and I love brunch so much because it almost always includes eggs.

At this point in my life with eggs (specifically our typical leghorn chicken eggs), I've grown to love them prepared many ways: scrambled light, poached, sunny-side-up, frittata, omelet, hard boiled, bird's nest, quiche... I've recently made my own eggs blackstone at home. I'm working on egg salad sandwiches as a substitute for tuna salad. Next steps: master the soft boiled egg and find the perfect egg cup for me, and try preserved eggs in Chinese cuisine. I gotta try it all.

My favorite eggs to buy at the store now are Rock Island's fertile brown eggs. They're usually $3 to $4 a dozen. They're cage freewhich is important to me. I also have a biased to brown eggs for no reason but they give me a false sense of "real" farm eggs. I also enjoy the different shades of creamy light brown found in each carton. 



I will probably speak more of my egg-cellent adventures in the future, but now I want to leave you with one last egg affection. Below is a drawing of my imaginary hens I will have someday. They are Lulu and Miss Davis and they will be our friends. They'll *cluck cluck cluck* in the backyard in the sunshine. Each day, I'll go outside and ask permission to add their little presents to our collection. It will be paradise! :P











Friday, April 13, 2012

Project: Twin Peaks anthology essay

Just popping over to borrow a cup of sugar, black lodge.

When Jeremy and I first checked out our current home on Google Street View, we noticed this two story apartment building across the street.

In one of the two top front windows, a dream catcher hung. It surely catches dreams from the dreaming inhabitant and while it makes me wonder if a tripped out old man lives there who plays guitar. In the other front top window, red curtains blared from the blue window frame. We both exclaimed "Zomfg, it's the black lodge! We must face ourselves there or never escape! Ah!"

When I notice that window, I think of this:

I should use that red curtain-ed window as inspiration for writing my Twin Peaks essay. About a month ago, I was lucky enough to stumble upon this announcement. The day before the deadline I pumped out the below proposal and sent it off. To my appreciation and excitement, it got accepted! You can look for me in the anthology Fan Phenomena: Twin Peaks out by winter (I think). I have a month and a half to complete my final 3000-3500 word essay. So far...well so far I have nothing!

I should give myself more credit. I do have something. I have my proposal. I have a nifty little scribbled outline in my journal. I have my intentions and aspirations. I have a bit of the black lodge across the street. I don't think it's time yet to consider a vision quest, but if I don't start getting down anything by mid-May you can find me across the street. I do not recommend you coming after me as this is something I must face alone with my doppelganger.

Please do read my proposal. I've got a path plotted out for the final piece, but I'd rather hear your ideas and feedback before explaining myself further. Have yourself a doughnut and coffee whilst doing so.

View the May 7, 1990 magazine here.

There is an entire Tumblr dedicated to Audrey Horne’s saddle shoes, fitted sweaters, and rouged pout. The internet’s fairly recent swell of social media and visual communication came right in time for Audrey Horne to be officially declared a style icon by twenty to thirty year old fashionistas. And, when I share web pages splashed with her feisty fifties-inspired ensembles to a friend who was eighteen when Twin Peaks first aired, she says “No one even dressed that way in the early 90s.”


Fashion in Fan Phenomena: Twin Peaks must start with Audrey. Her look-alike, Donna Hayward, plays sleuth in over-sized down vests. However, Audrey wins the proverbial “walk-off” in the Packard Mill. Have you ever seen an over-sized down vest worn by an incredulous teenager on the cover of a naughty pulp novel? Maybe you’ve discretely picked up a tattered copy of one of those books at a yard sale to find an Audrey Horne prototype on the cover. You’ve delighted in her lipstick red heels tapping to dreamy music only heard in her head, and surely you paid for that cheeky novel.

David Lynch dresses this heroine in nostalgia and escapism so that the pain of Laura’s modern murder pinches us deeper than a zipper on a snug pencil skirt. Fans who first viewed her fashions in the early 90s didn’t have the internet’s vast fastness at their fingertips. We can assume that they would have amassed screen stills, styleboards, and outfit inspiration photos on their Tumblrs if they had them, because Audrey isn’t just a young, pretty girl, she’s a mystery and a fantasy wearing what style-philes only wish they could find at a thrift store.


Thank you!

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Shoes of San Francisco: One



A rolling rumble shook the front windows.

"What was that noise?" I whispered like the doomed girl in a horror flick.

"I don't know," Jeremy replied without much thought.

"There is it again!" I say with a jump. It's a guttural sound, like a monster-bomb had imploded over the hill in South San Francisco.

"I think it was thunder," Jeremy replied.

Before I could answer "No way," it hit me like lightning. Duh. Of course it's thunder you East coast poseur.

No, no, I'm still a true East coaster. Don't worry, Pittsburgh. But you know what? I haven't experienced a thunderstorm since summer 2010, almost two years ago. I forgot about those.

As I type the social media outlets are bursting with accounts of the storm. Many of my friends are not natives of Californiawhere thunderstorms seldom strike. In fact, I just read this today:

"In his books, Angelucci says he was particularly terrified of thunderstorms and was attracted to California because he heard thunderstorms were very rare there."

c/o fellow writer Maggie in the Mission
Jeremy and I sometimes tease people here when they freak out during a 70+ degree day. They don't know heat, we'd boast, they don't know what it's like to sweat through a shower. Likewise, I don't know how to deal with nearly 365 days of comfortable jacket weather. 

The kind of rain that happens here is something with which I had to learn to deal. When it rains, it just rains. It's an all day event, unlike places where storms blow in unexpectedly when you're in a tank and sandals. I appreciate a solid day of rain, and so do my plants. They're currently getting drenched on the front steps.

I purchased the above Hunter shin-height boots last December during my first bout of endless Bay Area rain. These are my first "big girl" rainboots, as they cost more than $20 and do not have hot pink stars printed all over them. And, they do not let the water in. With a sturdy pair of real galoshes, I'm much happier in the rain. 

Usually when I write, I close myself up with headphones and my writing playlist. At the moment, I'm enjoying Jeremy practicing parts of "This Charming Man" on his Epiphone guitar and the novelty of thunder. 



Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Here I am again

It's just so much easier to pick up where we left off than to start all over again. By "we" I mean "me" and where I left off was a project that I abandoned six years ago almost to the day.

To the day? Whoa! I didn't realize that until I was about to type it. Serendipity is visiting me.

Until next time...

A.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

It Was Her Encyclical Gentle Teen Grin.

When I took a job with the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, they sent me right away to NICE IN ARGYLE and a fifty CENT piece LENT for “GLACE,” which loosely translates to ice cream in French. I suppose ice cream was okay, since for LENT, I’d given up sugar CANE, ICY GINGER ALE, and CELT girls. In France, my mission was to spy on the “Glace” stand for any incriminating activity. To my dismay, the stand was manned by a red headed mademoiselle. Her name was “GINGER” NANCY CALE with TEN ICE treats for sale and could tell I was hungry. Her French seemed to slip into English here and there and her eyes were suspiciously green, but as a CIA agent, I had to play it cool like James Bond. After my “glace” we split for drinks. She had herself some whisky and ordered me a Mojito with extra cane sugar. Her ENCYCLICAL GENTLE TEEN GRIN over the booze made me remember what I had given up. “Ah! Screw Lent!” I said aloud, in English, and she replied “Aye! Fuck the Pope. He’s a TRAIL AGING LENNY LENT CE-” and I stopped her, for she said all this in clear Celt-English. She explained that she was a member of the Irish Intelligence and was sent to kill me, YET CARNAGE won’t LET a NICE LEG on an Irish girl kick some ass, especially an American’s from NCL (what I, a North Carolinian call North CaroLina). Then I noticed her argyle socks. I tossed my fifty cent piece on the table, we set our differences and our argyle aside, and forgot about our respective jobs. It wasn’t long before the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY caught. Over LAGER, they explained to me that LENT vices like GIN, ALE, ICE, and that a whisky drinking CELT named NANCY would be the demise of I. And, they were right.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Good Art = Quality Over Quantity

This here is my term paper for my Critical Writing class. I feel pretty good about it, so here it is. I hang it on the fridge before the grade comes. I expect to get an A on it...
Note that this is pre-edit.


According to Plato, art is a representation that is two steps removed from reality. An artist uses her skill to manipulate words and materials to create a desired image. A viewer must remember that the art is an illusion produced from the own mind of the artist, and not a true depiction of reality (Stumpf and Fieser 52). Further more, art is to be experienced. It is a sensual, visceral experience that can shape the way a viewer may interpret an aspect of humanity. By examining my own and Plato’s ideas on aesthetics, I will discuss how I apply these aesthetics to film. Also, I will explain how artistic quality is often sacrificed for financial success in movies today, in light of my aesthetic criteria. We will see that establishing one’s own artistic theories allows a viewer to fully experience a film as a work of art.

There are some films that may be considered standards from which other films are representations of. Citizen Cane and Casablanca are considered by some to be two of the best American films ever made. These can be considered, in Plato’s terms, as being ultimate Forms from which other films copy the techniques, styles, and format. Every so often, viewers are lucky enough to experience something new, such as an innovative technology that allows for more possibility or creative idea. Because new ideas are becoming almost continually, the general concepts of ultimate Form are always in flux, too. Today, it may be difficult for a young viewer to understand the quality of 1942’s Casablanca because of the evolution in acting, writing, and filming styles. Because our realities have changed drastically since 1942, our understanding of representations of realities is different as well. Still, there must be some sort of example that these classic films have set. Filmmakers may or may not look to these films as an example. Just like a modern free verse poet must know traditional forms in order to break them, a good filmmaker must understand the traditions and standards of film in order to break them and be able to create their own.

While the filmmaker may understand universal standards, the viewer must understand her own. It may help for a reviewer of film to know why Casablanca may be considered an ultimate example of film. However, in forming one’s own aesthetic a viewer must keep in mind her own Form of Beauty. Each individual should find their own preferences and beliefs on what makes a good film. Plato reminds us that when a viewer does not separate representation from reality, then the viewer is acknowledging an illusion of reality and not art. One must see a film as art and question what characteristics it has that makes it art. Also, one must keep in mind that what a filmmakers considers good art may not agree with the viewer. My personal aesthetic is based on what I find to be original and truly beautiful. I keep in mind Plato’s theory of art and ultimate Forms as a basis for producing my own argument on art. More importantly, I keep in mind what stimulates me personally when viewing a film.

Quality over quantity is a virtue that not many current American films follow. It seems that the more a movie cost to make, the more attention it gets. Films that attract little public attention tend to be the ones that had little money to work with. When a smart and talented filmmaker has little resource, she will use the cheapest and most abundant resource an artist has, her creativity. This tool is responsible for unique and interesting results in any artistic media. Just as Einstein quoted, “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” a cheaply produced film states that “Imagination is more important than Hollywood businessmen hitting the jackpot at the box office.” I often leave a movie theater feeling that I would have rather wasted my eight dollars on a fast-food dinners for the rest of the week. It seems that most movies that come out today that have a large advertising budget have three of the following characteristics: confusing gratuitous sex and lust with sincere love, conventionally attractive and grotesquely thin actresses, and predictable plots involving prototypical and monochrome characters written with mediocre talent. There are other characteristics involving the blandness of a film’s score, cinematography, and actors’ abilities. All of these are problems that can be solved by committing to making a piece of art rather than a product to sell and make sickening amounts of money off of. Filmmakers who do such things are mocking the idea of Beauty, to which art is meant to represent. They are concerned with the quantity their product consumes rather than the quality that it gives to viewers.

Fortunately there are filmmakers who are apart from the business of Hollywood. Their films are original, creative, and thoughtfully pieced together to please or contest a viewer’s desire for beauty, whatever her definition of beauty is. A few examples artistically motivated filmmakers include, Darren Aronofsky who directed Requiem for a Dream and Pi, the writer and director of Donnie Darko known as Richard Kelly, and writer / director / producer Wes Anderson who is known for Bottle Rocket and The Royal Tenenbaums. All three of these men have fashioned unique and evocative films that represent a form of Beauty, one that has heart and, simply said, one that really wants to make something great. Money clearly was and was not an issue in making these films. Requiem and Pi together had a budget under five million dollars and received much critical acclaim (by 1997) while the most recent film adaptation of Godzilla in 1998 cost almost $125 million to make and received negative critical acclaim. Donnie Darko, a confusing yet entertaining time travel-teen hero film set in the late 1980s, cost under five million to make, and still had to work on charity to produce some of the flawless special effects. Since its limited release in 2001, it has been gaining a cult following. While The Royal Tenenbaums cost about $28 million to make, the heart and creative quality of this film overshadows its contemporaries (budget data from Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia). In 2001, the year of its release date, Tenenbaums did not make it into the top twenty highest grossing films in the year (“Business Data for The Royal Tenenbaums 2001”). It did, however receive critical acclaim like the other films mentioned. Anderson, Aronofsky, and Kelly are fine examples of quality filmmaking today.

When I see a film I want to be impressed by original and skillfully crafted imagery, plot, and characters. I expect to be interested in the story and characters, no matter how detestable or unattractive they may be. If I find myself still thinking about the film hours later, and even talking about it days later, then I feel that it has successfully affected my emotions and my questioning of Beauty. In this case, the film is a true piece of art in that it has manipulated human interactions and tendencies into a story that clearly comprehends the mysteries of human interactions and tendencies. Sometimes it is more appropriate to watch a slapstick comedy for the sake of laughing one’s ass off, and if its intention is to make one laugh then it is successful if the experience lingers and has probed one’s standards of comedy. A quality film is to be an experience for the viewer and not a passive, unconscious accident. Also, the filmmaker’s intention must be to produce a creative work of art. This is apparent when the piece stands out from others, when it stands apart from prototypes, predictability, and oversimplification of human emotion. While Plato states that art is two steps away from reality, the farther away from reality a film is lessens its artistic quality, thus taking it farther away from the ultimate form of Beauty. The close a piece of art is to Beauty, Plato states, the more perfect it is (Stumpf and Fieser 52-3).

Being partial to Wes Anderson movies, I tend to use them as standards that other films should meet. It is an example of what fits into my own aesthetic of beauty involving quality cinematic storytelling. Tenenbaums is a dark comedy or a “dramedy,” but this does not keep it from being compared to other genres of film. This film clearly probes the human condition by objectively presenting various human relationships from father-daughter to sweetheart-sweetheart. It is a story that does not clearly solve problems around melancholy and disillusionment, but it does present it beautifully through the perfection of art. All of Anderson’s movies are charming and full of heart and meaning. They meet my criteria for quality film that is evocative and interesting and where the filmmaker’s passion is evident in every aspect of the film.

It is difficult to find a film today that meets this criterion. However quality films must be few and far between in order to be appreciated for art. Plato’s theories of Beauty and art apply to film in that, to be considered a respectable art, it may be judged up against ultimate Forms or examples. Understanding these ideas can help a viewer establish stronger opinions and personal ideas of what can be a standard in Beauty and art, but especially what stimulates her sensations and emotions. This way, art can be more of an experience.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Mad scientists: they may not be science right, but they have all the fun.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

My mom

Date: Wed, 5 Oct 2005 13:33:06 -0400
From: Ann Bayout
To: Angela
Subject: Halloween

Hi Angela, the Halloween story was nice. I had no idea thatyou got teased about things. I enjoyed doing them like Mammy and my brothersand sister did. Can you remember all the outfits? I tried to. Do youremember this from last year?--- What happened to the ghost when he got tooclose to the bonfire? He burnt his halloweenie. Ha Ha, Love mommy



^^^ My favorite email of the moment.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Brains are gray, as a matter of fact

I wish that I had a cat in my dorm room that when I was gone all day, and my roommate was gone all day, would pad around and eat bugs, jump on my computer and type kitty nonsense, and play with the fuzz balls from my slippers. Imaginary kitty would curl up in a gray ball matching the gray yarn by my bed and sleep all day looking peaceful and cozy with the little slits of his tightly closed eyes.

HEY, it's October the first.