Little Bits of Truth

Yep, true story.

Creative Nonfiction asks for compelling Twitter-sized, too-good-to-be-fiction tales. If you have a good one, all you have to do is tweet it with the hashtag #cnftweet. Their favorites end up in their e-newsletters. Mine made it in September's! I'm pretty jazzed!

Quit Your Facebook

Less Facebook. More homemade muffins on the beach.

The little red dot indicating someone noticed me wasn't that exciting anymore. Less and less, I had something to say about a status update. Everyone's day seemed like a varying shade of neutral. Each ad I came across in my newsfeed, I marked as “SPAM” just because I could. I was still bothered by the fact that, if I had a child and really wanted to post a picture of me breast feeding him or her, it would probably be censored. I didn't feel like reading or being confused by the latest iteration of the privacy policy. Finally, Mark Zuckerberg's claim of ignorance on our government's probable Fourth Amendment breach was the status update that broke the camel's back. I quit Facebook.

This might sound familiar to you. Every time I'd sit down to write, I'd open another browser tab and check Facebook for anything new. Someone “Likes” that cat .gif I posted. My brother added yet another photo of a pug. That friend from middle school who has nothing in common with me anymore is up to a lot of stuff I have nothing to comment on. That nice girl who married an acquaintance of mine still has an annoying job. Someone's father passed away. George Takei posted another 'punny' picture. I sat down to write to create something, but in between sentences were spurts of I'm only giving away time to noting very important.

Most of my Facebook time occurred in spurts between sentences. As a longtime office-worker, I know perfectly well that it's healthier to take a walking break or a quick stretch respite when sitting hunched over a computer screen for hours. But, rather than taking a turn about the room, I took a scroll about Facebook. And, I kept doing it. I was on some internal alarm clocks that said “Ding, stop and look at Facebook.” In the haze of headache just a few weeks ago when Zuckerberg addressed his company's involvement, or apparent lack thereof, in PRISM, and the knowledge that my activity on Facebook is data for advertisers, I asked myself, “What am I getting out of it?”

Employers might decide to hire or not to hire an intelligent, qualified person based on her photos of a New Year's 2009 party emblazoned on Facebook. Would that photo of me looking sweaty and drunk while sitting on my husband's lap at karaoke keep me from my dream job even while I interviewed well? Even though my references could vouch for me as a responsible independent leader? Is Facebook some kind of member of HR no one has to pay in this case?

I think about the defendant on an episode of Divorce Court I just watched who had a secret Facebook account to carry on a relationship with another woman, and then another secret Facebook account to carry on another relationship with another other woman. I suppose what this guy gets out of Facebook is extra hanky panky. That's good for him, I guess, until he ends up on that show.

On the bright side, a cold case detective once created a false Facebook account in an attempt to solve a possible murder case, which in part lead to the conviction of a killer. Loved ones can get the word out on their missing person faster and easier than other means. But I'm thinking in the immediate, hopefully it doesn't come to that for me or anyone I know.

So what was I using Facebook for? Pinterest and blogs feed my hobbies. I discover why the Muni trains are running off schedule and what's happening in Gezi up-to-the-moment of the happenings via Twitter. I may even compose a brilliantly witty statement myself in 140 characters! (Pinterest and Twitter, by the way, are not websites in which the NSA was surveying at the time of the PRISM break.) For my writing career, I have a grand plan for my own blog and a small website as hub for that. How will people find it? I don't know, I guess I'll work really hard at getting work out there. Put some elbow grease into it. I couldn't figure out what I was personally gaining from the compulsive twitch to switch from my actual work to checking Facebook.

It started to feel like Facebook was that spot out back behind a building where you find an upside down milk crate with a well-worn dip in it and a coffee can filled with rain water and cigarette butts. I could go out back on Facebook and blow all that is currently miffing or delighting me out in smoke rings. I might even run into my best friend, my cousins, or that girl from middle school who will commiserate or celebrate with me. (If you really wanted to, you could breast feed out back behind a building. It might not be the best, but you could do it.) But, I'm not a smoker. Never really was.

So, I made an announcement letting my friends, near and far, know that if they wanted to keep in touch with me now was the time to exchange information. Many of those who asked for my email congratulated me on leaving, and lamented having a ball and chain with Facebook. I've heard similar encouragement when I started training for a 5K, and I can imagine it's not dissimilar to what I'd hear if I were a smoker trying to quit. "Good for you," in the same sentence as "I should really do that too but—." But what?

I was asked why I was leaving Facebook by these people. Over and over, I stated the same reasons mentioned—the general loss of interest coupled with the unappealing possibility that the company doesn't take privacy too seriously. But what it really came down to was one word. Control.

I was getting lunch at Subway once where it hit me. Four 20, 30-some year old men were in line in front of me. They were heads down, hands propping up their iPhones, thumb rowing through the endless status updates on the navy and white interface. None of them looked up from their glowing phones as their feet shuffled forward in line. I thought of Shawn of the Dead.

While I had a Facebook app on my phone for only a few days before I deleted it, I wasn't too unlike these dudes at Subway. As I described, I would stop frequently during what should be a solid writing work period to see what in the world was happening, only to find nothing was. I didn't have to keep doing that. I didn't have to stick around. I simply looked up “how to quit Facebook” and found a site that included a direct link to their Account Deactivation page and explained that I aught not to log into the site for two weeks after deleting my profile. It was actually pretty easy to take control there. You just up and leave if you want.

This is all easy for me to say. Perhaps I never had a real addition or a serious problem, and perhaps I never depended on it like others might.

Being absent from the most popular social media platform will allow me to miss out on things. If pictures of me go up that I never want anyone to ever see and fear will keep me from a job, then I have other issues. I will not see a some of my friends' beautiful wedding photos, but I could always ask to see them. I will miss pictures of that pug my brother likes so much. I will not know how people's jobs, cats, and neighbors are doing. I will not know what you ate for lunch. (Sorry, I quit Instagram a while back, too.)

So far, it's been a week and a half since I've removed myself from the smoker's crew. Friends have said to me “Oh, you're not on Facebook so you couldn't tell you about this thing I saw that you'd love but it's a moot point now,” about three times. I took the Facebook bookmark off of my browser toolbar, but I've definetely still stopped and opened a browser tab to check the big bad 'book without even realizing I was doing it. Instead, I collect knitting patterns and recipes on Pinterest, get the news scoop on Twitter, make a sandwich, look out the window, or even just sit and write. My writing productivity, by the way, up about 80% since the exodus. What's my status. Pretty dang good.

How are you feeling?

Pittsburgh's Knit the Bridge

Image via Knit the Bridge

I can see the Bay Bridge from my closest Muni stop, and it's a pretty sight. However, there's nothing like the collection of bridges in my hometown of Pittsburgh. I think my favorite of the 30 within the city is the Birmingham with its muted majesty. Oh, and there's the Hot Metal hanging low and heavy over the Mon just downstream. Oh, and the walks across the 10th Street Bridge and the Smithfield Street Bridge that bring back memories. The drastic arches of the 16th Street Bridge. And the terrifying height of the Westinghouse. The traffic of the Homestead Greys Bridge. The welcoming blue hue of the 31st Street Bridge. Oh, and the exhilerating stunts one must pull on the Fort Pitt, and then when you miss your chance to cross over to Crafton and end up on the West End Bridge...

I didn't mention the three golden sisters, the 6th, 7th, and 9th Street bridges, other wise known as the Clemente, the Warhol, and the Carson. Currently, a major community art project, the large yarn bombing in the country, is in development. The Andy Warhol Bridge, which leads commuters from downtown to the artist's home museum, will be covered in hand-knit squares! Knit the Bridge! 

It's part of Fiber Arts International, an annual exhibition going on right now. It's unclear from Knit the Bridge's site when this will launch, but the organization just got clearance from the city in order to even do it. 

If you love any or all of these things, community art, yarn, knitting, bridges, Pittsburgh, consider donating to Knit the Bridge here.

With the amount I donated, I will be receiving a hand-dyed skein of yarn in the official "bridge color." Being able to knit up a scarf with that and wear it here in San Francisco will mean a lot to me as a born-Burgher.

Can't wait to see the finished project, perhaps even in person.

Threats by Amelia Gray

Image via Untoward.

During my true crime kick, I picked up Threats by Amelia Gray, which is neither true nor really crime. I feel unable to write a traditional review about it. For her collection of flash fiction, AM/PM, which you can listen to some of here, I will write a reaction to the author herself in less than 300 words.

...

When you compare a character to a pay phone on an empty desert highway, I am conflicted. Pretty image. But, what the fuck? Many of your images are rich, sensual, and memorable. However, am I just too tied up in plot? At times, I felt like I was just being taken for a ride in someone else's self-indulgent dive into what they think is interesting and weird. I got bored. Sorry!

I'm apologizing because I've just listened to your interview on the novel, and you seem like a nice person. Regarding that interview, I totally understand the occasional inability to figure out your characters in a few short words, and the need to expand. I also understand the experience where you try to expand and it's just not working.

I wonder if you fell for strange characters like David with his dirty robe and layers of beauty creams and ants for housemates, like the odd little boy running the police office who knows where the sugar cereal is, and desperately desired a place for them but have no story to tell. You tell about "grief" with grotesque acts and happenings, but if there must be a novel, I feel like a plot needs to at least get plopped in there to give the reader a reason to spend her time on a novel.

By the way, I really wasn't feeling the psychologist in the garage with the wasps. Didn't hold the same sting (I don't care, I said it) that it could have in a flash piece.

Would not read again. Would definitely read AM/PM now that I've learned of it. Am definitely inspired to forge on with my own flash intentions. In that case, I would say you succeeded. Thanks!

...

What have you read recently that didn't hold up for you?

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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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. 

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. 

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.

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!

Richard Lloyd Parry's '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! 

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?

Tartine Love

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.

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?

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 Park. This 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!

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!

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?

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 I 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 Mystery, Dateline 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?







  

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?

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 me—I 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!

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.

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