3 in 30: 13.1 Reasons Why I Love Having Running in My Life

Me getting ready for my second 5k in 2012.

This October, I will be completing my fourth half marathon. It would be my second since turning 30.  Ever since I first started running in 2010, my life has gotten better!

I used to not be very active or health conscious. After moving to San Francisco with its agreeable, must-go-out-and-run weather, things changed. Seeing so many other runners enjoying getting fit in the temperate weather and fresh air inspired my husband and I. We started with the Couch to 5k program and since then have run thousands of miles together. Seriously, if I add it up, it's got to be in the thousands!

The best running I've done, though, has been in this year, my 30th year. This past July, I finished the San Francisco Half in about 2 hours and 48 minutes, never stopping once. Never stopping once! That was my biggest running accomplishment to date. I still can't believe I freaking ran nonstop for almost three hours. As crazy as it sounds, I can't wait to do it again!

During my training for the upcoming Healdsburg Wine Country Half, I've been thinking more specifically about why I love running. Here is a list of 13.1 (har har) reasons why I'm happy running has become a part of my life.

1. Music.
From mixes containing singles from Fleetwood Mac and Prodigy to full albums like Arcade Fire's Neon Bible, the perfect tunes blasting in my giant pink headphones really make a difference. I personally must have really big music laden with thoughtful lyrics (or just plain ol' silly ones). Getting into the zone with the music is essential to a good run.

I'm not going to lie, I do pretend that the music is being performed by my own imaginary band. While running, I fantasize about what my band would be called, what I would wear, what kind of guitars I would use for each part, what songs I might play simple percussion on, what my hometown comeback concert would be like. It gets in intense. When I run, I'm a rock star in my head and on the pavement.

During the latest SF Half Marathon, I was coming up on mile 8, only I didn't know it because I noticed zero mile marker signs on the route. Pulp's "This Is Hardcore" came on in my headphones. I thought "Yeah, this is hardcore. I'm hardcore, bitches!" I saw the 8 mile mark sign, feeling totally awesome, thinking "I just ran 8 miles? No way! I'm seriously hard core!"

The first time I ran for a solid five minutes, I couldn't believe it.

2. Being in the zone.
I mentioned this phrase above. When I'm in the zone for most of my run, the run becomes meditation. I'm motionless in the moment while moving, piling on the miles while being as still as stone. Slipping into a meditative state is probably the easiest thing about running--once it happens. You can't force it to happen, it just happens. When it does and you realize later that you've been in that state, it's so rewarding. I never could, as an adult, get into meditation while simply sitting. Meditative running sort of just happened to me, and it's a gift!

3. Races are fun!
You get free snacks, coupons, a t-shirt, and camaraderie from fellow runners. Sometimes there's even beer at the finish line!

4. An excuse to wear neon.
You may remember my No Bullshit Wardrobe which consists mainly of black knits. I don't own one piece of black running wear.

Me after finishing the 2014 SF Half Marathon. #BUCN

5. Having gained patience and persistence.
The Couch to 5k program could not have been a more perfect intro to running for me. I never knew it could or should have been done that way. You don't buy the cheapest pair of shoes and start racing at full speed only to chide yourself for only lasting a few minutes. It takes time and practice. When I in the past threw myself into running on occasion without doing any research or taking the necessary time to warm up or practice, I was only reminded of why I thought I hated it all in the first place. It's also an injury risk to run right into it (pun intended).

To help us, I drew up a schedule for our Couch to 5k training and marked down when we completed each step. Seeing our progress, our persistence, was part of our fuel. I couldn't bare not being able to cross off a day. Feeling so good about each run lead me to get up out of bed and jump into my running clothes each early morning before sunset. I certainly wasn't always chipper and happy before the runs, but I was after. I've never regretted a run!

I discovered that I can actually run for a sustained amount of time. The first time I ran for a solid five minutes, I couldn't believe it. The first time I ran for a solid twenty and completed half of a 5k, I couldn't believe it. I remember expressing such pure excitement to my husband after my first twenty minute run in Duboce Park one early November morning among happy dogs and their owners. I was almost in tears. It just took some time, building up from one minute to thirty to forty to complete 5 kilometers (3.1 miles). That's all. Patience and persistence with the sweet reward of self accomplishment.

When I run, I'm a rock star in my head and on the pavement.

6. Enjoying my surroundings.
Every time I run the two-mile loop from Church and 30th to Church and 22nd, I notice something new. Those runs from scummy SoMa to the majestic Golden Gate Bridge, climbing Fort Mason and skimming heron-speckled Crissy Field, never get old. Even though I run around Lake Merced almost every Sunday, I'm always taken by the way the elusive sun sparkles on the water, dancing on the ripples created by local rowing teams. Nature!

7. Doing a lot in thirty minutes. 
Whether I'm practicing speed on the treadmill or taking a jaunt around the neighborhood, I can cover between 2.5 and 3 miles in a half hour. (Actually, 3 miles is 30 minutes is something I'm trying to get to, and it ain't easy.) Think about what 2 to 3 miles is. It's kind of far, but when you walk or run it, it's not that far. You could run to the store, buy a candy bar, and run home!

Me after my first 10k.

8. Camaraderie with other runners.
When I pass other runners, sometimes we make eye contact and shoot each other a knowing nod or smile. I especially love acknowledging other women runners, giving them a kind of "you go girl" smile and getting one in return.

When I was doing my first 9 mile run, turning into my second loop around Lake Merced, I passed a walking gentleman for the third time. He said, "You doing this again?!" I nodded. His response? "You go girl!" And you know what, good for him for getting out and exercising too!

9. Food.
While you shouldn't go crazy, you can totally make an excuse to indulge after burning 1500+ calories from running a half marathon!

After our last one, my husband and I limped home, laid in bed for a while, and eventually forced ourselves up to Giovanni's down the street where we pounded down a large stuffed crust pepperoni pizza. And root beers. And a Cesar salad drowned in chemically-dangerous dressing. It was great.

10. Gaining a better body image.
On one of my first runs out in the neighborhood, a man hollered to me "You don't need to do that, girl! You look hella fine!" The entire spectrum of why I resent that comment could be a whole post in itself. For now, I will focus on the body image facet. Assuming I was exercising because I wanted to be thinner or want to look more "hella fine?" Boo! I wasn't trying that. I want a healthier heart, there's that. I want to be able to live as long as possible, too. Overall, losing weight isn't really in my top five.

Still, I've developed a much better outlook toward my body. Like many people who went through middle school and high school (like, everyone, right?) I had to learn to love my body. In high school, I had a difficult time managing emotions and bottled up frustrations came out as binging and purging. Really bad. I ended up losing weight, and began getting compliments on how I looked. That just fueled my bad habits. College helped me with my food issues, but after a summer in a physically demanding job loading and pushing carts of library books, I lost weight again. And, again, I was told that I looked better and again I felt pressured to keep it up or else not look good, as if being heavier meant something was wrong with me.

While training for my first half, I lost ten pounds. The loss only became truly apparent to me during a routine physical at my doctor's. She said it was a good thing, and that if I wanted to lose more, which I could if I wanted, then I should just keep doing what I've been doing. So, I have.

I don't love the way I feel when I don't run for a while. I don't love the heaviness or the softness that drifts back in. But, when I do run for months at a time and feel fit, I know it's because I am doing something healthy for me. I'm now aware of what this body of mine can actually do.

I feel every millimeter of my joints and thank humanity for inventing sweat-slicking pants so that I can run without major chaffing between my thighs (because I never likely never get a thigh gap per my body type or per lack of giving a shit).

I look at my 30-year-old body and know it can take me far. I don't see "fat" or "skinny." Sometimes I see "hella fine" sometimes I see stretch marks and blemishes and move on. I always see a body with a mind, a will, and a heart to got me far and can keep going.

High school gym class will never have anything on me.

11. Parts of your body chafe that you didn't know could chafe. 
I seriously got chaffing on my face. My FACE. Wanna know how? Ask me. Why am I happy about this? It makes me laugh.

12. Why I'm here writing this today.
I talk a lot about Lake Merced. Near the end of a recent run on the 4.6~ loop, I was thinking about what in the hell I want to do with my life (besides run). I had a cliche kind of epiphany moment where I realized all I need to do is have more time for my own creativity. Not just make time, but have more time. I will get more into that in my third 3 for 30 post, but for now I can say that I wouldn't be sitting down and working on this without that clarity running brings to me.

13. High school gym class will never have anything on me. 
Twice now I've announced to social media that I've completed a major race and said something along the lines of "Take that high school gym class!" I suppose I can make it a thing, maybe make a hashtag out of it. I say it over and over because the biggest hurdle for me to get into any exercising was high school gym class. For me it was rarely fun, always annoying, and never a skill-learning experience.

Think of one good memory you've had in gym class. If you've had one, please, tell the world about it. If you somehow never took a school gym class, consider this:

You're told in so many words to run four times around the track or else you won't get any credit for the day, which will count toward your final grade and graduation. The fear of actually flunking high school...yep. You're not really given any direction, just "run!" It's hot, you're already sweating from the trek from the school to the track, and you're worried about having BO in your next class. You have a history test to take later. You're hungry because the lunch options sucked. You make it a quarter of the way around the track once and quit because of the aforementioned reasons and because the boys are staring at your boobs.

So, who would ever enjoy high school gym class? (Hey, smartasses, don't say it's the boys staring at your boobs!)

Going back to my experience training, learning how to run, eating better, not caring that I'll stink on the bus ride home, not giving a shit about what dudes holler at me on the street, I've definitely conquered high school gym class. So, take THAT high school gym class!

.1 There always more miles to go...

Thanks for reading! This is the second part of my 3 for 30 series. Please come back for the last part!

3 for 30: My No Bullshit Wardrobe

 I've figured it out.

Today, my drawers and closet hold black knit tops and dresses, dark wash or black denim, and two different kinds of knit stretch pencil skirts, each in solid black, black and tan stripes, and red. I've got one pair of white Chuck Taylors, one pair of black Doc Marten boots, one pair of cognac Bass sandals, one pair of black ankle strap D'Orsay flats, one pair of running shoes. There's a heavily-worn collection of scarves, some I've hand-knit, and unique jewelry. There are several cat-eye sunglasses.

An exception to my black black black. From freshstyle.

Sprinkled among those items are a few novel things that I'll wear here and there and that I keep because I love them. But those items are greatly overshadowed by the mostly-black basics described above. I expect to feel comfortable and confident each day, and I can expect that from the wardrobe I've zeroed in on. I call it my No Bullshit Wardrobe.

How did I get to the No Bullshit Wardrobe? It took half of my life and thousands of dollars. Here are my reflections on that.

Personal Style Is Complex

Dollar Signs 

No matter how many trips I take to Buffalo Exchange, lugging overstuffed reusable grocery bags full of cat-fur-covered rompers, sweaters, and ill-fitting vintage frocks, I will never get half the money back I spent on clothes in the last nearly two decades. But, I can go forward with a frugal approach at clothes.

I was recently inspired by a "Year of No Shopping" by Bernadette over at Outfits Not Just Clothes. A practical result of her challenge was being able to pay off a lot of credit card debt. Did you ever consider how much you spend on clothes in a month?

To keep her fashion fresh, she borrowed accessories from Le Tote. Services like Le Tote and Stitch Fix may help control impulse buys. These subscription-based services send you personally curated boxes of clothing and accessories. You pay for the shipping and a "styling fee," but then only pay for the items you keep while you send back what you don't want. Not sure that they'd want this, but you could actually carefully wear something once and still send it back. That way you get a bit of style and saved some moneys!

From a shoot I did with ModCloth in a look I co-styled.

Bernadette also talks about wanting for nothing and buying clothes that don't fit yet but might if she lost weight. I have absolutely done that many, many times. My mom has done it many times. My friends have. Have you? Save yourself the money and resist the urge to buy without a clear purpose!

I'm not going to officially challenge myself to refrain from clothes shopping because my strict savings plan pretty much solves that issue for me. And, again, the No Bullshit Wardrobe does that for me too. I just don't feel the need, nor the want, to shop.

Feeling fly! THIS is what I feel like myself in.

Getting All Up in My Closet

I did three or four closet purges this year. My latest one, which got me $90, felt good. I kept seven dresses shrinking my former collection by about 75%. Some are everyday dresses, some are weekenders, some are special occasions, but they're each unique and represent pieces of my personality that still shine. They were right to keep.

I said goodbye to impostor shoes. For me, those are heels. They're not just me. Plus, I can't run in them if I need to (I made the mistake of wearing heels during snowy winter in Pittsburgh and was followed home by a creeper. Nothing terrible happened, but I always think that if it escalated, I wouldn't have been able to run well).

After the purges, I looked at what was left. It looked like me! It made me think of how David Lynch describes what turned him onto meditation. He heard someone say, "True happiness is not out there. True happiness lies within.” In this case, I was able to find part of my true self inside the clutter of my closet. I was able to find it with a little bit of willpower and tolerance for dust.

One of my favorite ways to dress.

When you feel like yourself in an outfit, don't you feel like you can do anything?

Personal Style Is, and Should Be, Complex

Though the No Bullshit Wardrobe is what I found when I stripped away clutter, the clutter wasn't always just clutter, and the remains don't totally define me.

Looking back at my wardrobe experimentations makes me cringe sometimes. My hippie phase and the later-dubbed "Young Republican" period sparks a little embarrassment. Why? Maybe because I feel that those looks don't illustrate who I know I am. Only, at the time, I didn't understand that because I was a teen. Looking back at a dozen years with as many looks shows that you've explored possibilities. It's a way of finding out who you are, and it's healthy!

Wouldn't wear this today, but it was fun at the time! Photo by Kristin Cofer.

You know now that my current everyday wardrobe stars basics. However, my whole true self is anything but basic. If I dress what could be considered boring or plain, do some people expect me to be such? Maybe. Have I been followed around the store by the proprieter while dressed in my Doc Martens? You bet. Do I care? Well, it sucks that people treat each other like that, but in short, nope, I don't care!

Looking back at the past 15 or 20 some years, I see hints of and appearances by my signature look. Through it all there were black tops, bottoms, dresses, etc. Through it all, every time I made the mistake of leaving the house in heels I had a bad day. Through it all, every single time I zipped up some kind of black leather laced boot I felt like myself.

I am what I wear and I'm not what I wear. My style is only a sliver of who I am but it's also important to me. What I wear affects how I feel. When you feel like yourself in an outfit, don't you feel like you can do anything?

Thanks for reading! This is the first part of my 3 for 30 series. Come back for the rest!

3 for 30: What I Learned About Myself This Year

I have a bit over a month and a half until my 31st birthday. This year I was able to deeply reflect on my 4 years here in San Francisco and figure a few things out. Some things are directly related to the ways of life I observed and experienced in the Bay Area, some came from within, and others are a mix of both.

There are three major topics I've boiled it down to, and I will be discussing them here soon! I'll cover:

1. Personal style
2. Running
3. Careering

Simply three subjects for my 30th year. Yet, it's not just that. They're specific themes or actions that I've thought a lot about this year that touched on many of the cliches and platitudes you may have read about it about maturing. Many of them are true, at least for this gal, but this gal is approaching them in her own way. See? When you're 30, you do things your way. 

Hold me to it! Stay tuned.

Brainstorming for my first "3 for 30" post on style.

Outfits Not Just Clothes + My Chloe & Isabel Boutique

 

Image via Outfits Not Just Clothes

My purpose as a writer is to make connections with others. I express experiences, ideas, and emotions creatively with my unique voice, and each of you respond in your own way. Style is another way we can define ourselves, and when I can contribute to someone's expression of style, I feel very lucky!

So, I'm pleased to announce my first Chloe + Isabel blogger collaboration. Bernadette of Outfits Not Just Clothes agreed to style the Retro Glam Square-Cut Crystal Necklace from my boutique. The sleek geometrical shape of the necklace pairs perfectly with Bernadette's menswear-inspired style. Above is just a snippet of today's look. I encourage you to check it the full, super sharp outfit. 

 The featured necklace, available here.

Bernadette is also a writer! Check out her poetry chapbook. 

Who are your favorite and multi-talented bloggers?

Hello, Again! Did You Know I'm a Chloe + Isabel Merchie?

Here is a little bit about my latest side project!

In June, I sort of stumbled into becoming a Merchandiser for the NYC-based jewelry e-retailer Chloe + Isabel. So far it's been a fun confidence-building venture.

Living in SF is great, but super pricey! A gal like me, with dreams and aspirations, could use a few extra bucks. With Chloe + Isabel, I make commission on sales. I've used my commissions to buy groceries for my family (my husband and two kitties). That's money I didn't have from our monthly salaries, so it's a big help. We've been saving for a kinda big thing for a while (I will get more into that in future posts). With even what little time I can devote to Chloe + Isabel my husby and the kitties can get to that goal faster.

If you follow me on Instagram (angela_kristen_c_i), you may have seen my Trek-inspired savings goal chart:

If you're in San Francisco, Oakland, or Berkeley, maybe you'd like to host an in-home pop-up with me? I am also available for online pop-ups, which don't require a lot from a hostess except for spreading the word via social media and word-of-mouth. But, you don't have to be a part of a planned pop-up to treat yourself. Shop my boutique any time! 

If you have a wedding coming up, as a bride, bridesmaid, or guest, I'd love to consult with you! Or, maybe you want to update your accessories or try something new? Let's chat. 

One super simple way is for me to create a Pinterest board based on what you like. I created this li'l style quiz that I use to curate a collection. It's almost like those quizzes you took in 'Teen Magazine back in the day!

I can personally attest to Chloe + Isabel's customer service. Your order is shipped within 1 or 2 days of purchase, and so shipping (as long as USPS is all good, which it usually is) is pretty quick. The pieces themselves are high quality, all hypo-allergenic and nickel free. If you have jewelry allergies, you don't have to worry about these! Yay!

I'm easiest to contact for pop-ups via email. Let me know if you're interested or just have questions about the items. 

Thank you! :)

A Few Haikus for You

I am sore and yet,
what shall be my next challenge,
what race will I run?

Seven AM, my
cats run around the bedroom,
I am still sleeping.

Neighbor's house blocks my
view of the morning sky, but
I imagine sun.

I find few fall leaves
where I live now, so what I
remember won't die.

There Once Was a Girl from Venus

Ten Things

1.  Raw minerals and such.

 

 

2. Babes with bangs and / or bouffants. 

 

3. Missing deadlines. Not writing. Sad face. Nothing to show for that.

4. Past lives.



5. Training for a half marathon. Smoothies with spinach five days a week. Keeping count of how many 20 ounce cantines of water I finish. And, I feel like this.

6.  My "Visions" Pinterest board, which includes visions such as:

 

7. Turning 30. 

 

8. Coming home from wine country.

9. I love movies.

10. Michael. J. Fox. 

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!