Thursday, August 30, 2012

Alesha Thomas Dies after Resisting Arrest

After numerous efforts to restrain Alesia Thomas, a South Los Angeles woman under arrest on suspicion of Child Endangerment, police managed to get her into their vehicle where she almost immediately stopped breathing. The officers called the Los Angeles Fire Department Paramedics who transported Thomas to a hospital where she died soon after.

LAPD's Force Investigation Detectives are investigating the incident. The attempts to restrain Thomas to take her into custody involved various forceful tactics including a leg sweep. According to a news release regarding the incident, in-car cameras revealed questionable physical methods of restraint along with possible verbal abuse on the part of the officers.

Thomas was accused of abandoning two children, a 3-year-old and a 12-year-old, at the police station at 2 p.m. The officers then headed to their home where they found 35-year-old Thomas who immediately resisted arrest. According to the policies of the police department, "an officer's use of force actions must be objectively reasonable." The police department is thoroughly investigating the facts surrounding Thomas's death. Chief Beck stated:

“I take all in-custody death investigations very seriously and directed that the
officers involved be removed from field duties until further details are known, including what
part intoxicants and physical conditions contributed. I’m confident we will get to the truth, no
matter where that leads us.”

George W. Bush: Hilarious and Charming

No, you did not read that wrong. The 43rd president of the United States, generally characterized as fumbling over his words (nuc-u-ler? Nuc-le-ar?) and lacking charisma, is witty and personable. Or, at least was during his 2000 campaign.

In her behind-the-scenes, lighthearted documentary Journeys with George, Alexandra Pelosi (daughter of Nancy Pelosi) shows viewers a George Bush the nation didn’t get to know. The film, captured on her personal camcorder, portrayed George as a very real man who loved Cheetos and balogna sandwhiches and cracking jokes.
Pelosi makes the campaign trail and media circus look exhausting but entertaining. Her encounters with journalists representing all the major news outlets and George Bush's campain team members such as Karl Rove are enlightening. When some of the other reporters mistreated Pelosi, Bush took her aside and reassured and comforted her. Why didn't America get to see this side of Bush?

Parts of her tale, like her complaints of how all they ever ate were turkey sandwiches, were perhaps attempts to deter aspiring media professionals. But when a British journalist pointed out why he loves elections (they are everything anyone would want to cover- they contain human drama, entertainment, policy and are serious events all in one), it made me ready to jump onto the next campaign bus, no matter whose it is. 

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Spin

Last week, a desert of boredom thanks to lack of activity at the Hammer Museum, proved void of any blog-worthy events. In fact, I can't recall what I wrote about as my daily activities were limited to work and homework or watching the news. Surely I concocted something to entertain my readers.

Fortunately, the Hammer Museum's calendar filled up again this week with its continuing series of documentaries focusing on past presidential elections. There was one screening last week, but of course it fell exactly during the time I have class, so I had to miss out. Last night's film focused on the media's portrayal of the race between Clinton and then-President Bush. Not exclusively, however; it was more of a critique on what goes on in media coverage that we do not see. The film's creator spent time listening to satellite feeds of news coverage, focusing specifically on what is said when reporters, TV show hosts and their subjects (in this case, mainly the presidential candidates) think no one can hear them (for example, their conversations during commercial breaks). The film, Spin, earned its title from the "spin" that the media puts on stories.

The content was certainly interesting, if not a bit eerie, perhaps thanks to the futuristic, outer-space-esque sound effects not foreign to '90s films. Larry King, whose behind-the-scenes comments made up a good deal of the documentary and completely deterred me from the talk show host, was a main focus of the film. The things he said when he thought no one was listening were borderline terrifying. It is during those times that people show their true colors.

The film also touched on how the media covers what it wants, and only that. For example, there was a man running for Democratic nominee against Clinton who I had never even heard of because the media banned him from participating in debates. Ironically, they reasoned that it was because he lacked substantial media coverage. There's a Catch 22 if I ever heard of one.

Tonight's film is about George W. Bush. Not sure specifically what about him, but given this is Los Angeles, I don't imagine it will be anything positive. Stay tuned! 

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Bus Conversations

I struggle to find a manner to portray my feelings pertaining to the Los Angeles bus system in a way that does my sentiments justice. The Los Angeles metro system is hypocritical, slow and infuriating and tries my patience as nothing ever has before. The system which boasts punctuality and ease of use rivals  driving in Los Angeles traffic. I can't decide which is worse- standing around waiting 45 minutes for a bus that, based on its posted schedule, comes every 10-15, or sitting in bumper-to-bumper gridlock. At least in the gridlock I feel like I can be productive by listening to NPR. In that case, I can also have a minor breakdown in my car and no one else is around to witness my psychotic moment except possibly the driver beside me.

The bus is not all bad either, I suppose- I have overheard entertaining conversations (entertaining being a broad understatement). Yesterday I almost had a meltdown in public, much akin to my crying bout at the DMV about a month ago. After walking about 15 minutes to the bus stop, I then had to wait 45 minutes for the bus to show up. During times like these, my smart phone and LA Times app come in handy. Or it would have, if I had not already read every article in the paper at work.

When I finally got on the bus, there were no seats so I planted myself in the most comfortable standing position I could get myself into, and proceeded to listen to one of the most obnoxious conversations of my life. Basically, it was two late 20-somethings volleying a list of places they wanted to travel to. It started out where one would say "I really want to go to Rome!" and the other would say "yeah, good food there!" and then they would discuss Rome a little bit, and then move on to the next desired travel spot. But at one point it went something like this:

Guy: I wanna go to Amsterdam. Lots of pot.
Girl: Totally. I want to go to Jamaica.
Guy: Oh man, Jamaica. I want to go to Brazil.
Girl: OMG, Brazil! Totally.
Guy: I want to go to Venice.
Girl: I heard it smells but yeah. I want to go to Korea!
Guy: I want to go to Japan.
Girl: I want to go to Denver!
Guy: All that's there are like hicks in log cabins and mosquitos.

Wow. clearly he has never been to Denver before.
And on it went until, about 45 minutes later, I got back to my apartment. Even in gridlock, I would have made it back in 30 total by car. Really makes me mad. 

Monday, August 27, 2012

How Did This Happen?

I have morphed into a strange being. The kind that are the focus of fantasy novel plots. Something able to strike fear into the hearts of young children attempting to fall asleep in their dark rooms. I have become a creature more terrifying than a werewolf- something which makes the boogeyman seem like a harmless bunny. I am officially a morning person! (Insert ominous musical accompaniment here)

I can't fathom how this happened to me. Mere years ago you couldn't wake me before 10 a.m. with a hot poker. Unless of course it was during the school year in which case I would barely manage to roll out the side of my bed after hitting "snooze" countless times, only due to necessity. Yet now, I voluntarily rise between 6:30 and 7 in the morning daily. I consider sleeping until 8 lazy and almost impossible, even when I have zero tasks to complete in a given day.

I retire to read in my room for the evening around 9:30 or 10. I am prematurely old. I spend my mornings going for long runs followed by leisurely reading the paper while sipping my coffee and eating cereal. At least I read the newspaper on my iPad. That places me closer to my age group, I think.

I just can't figure out how this happened. I used to revel in the night. Staying up late was routine. Now the morning seems more enticing to me than ever. I adore running in the crisp air of a fresh day beneath the newly risen sun and a clear blue sky. Everyone seems a bit more cheerful in the morning before the stress of the day has negatively impacted their moods. When I pass by strangers, they are more likely to greet me with a wave, a smile or even a "hello" or "good morning."

This change in me, though strange, is a welcome one. I am happy to deem myself a morning person. 

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Prince Harry Naked in Vegas

Las Vegas, you are such a drama queen. Of course, this has always been the case to some extent. But the city has been brandishing its attention-hogging side and flexing its "look at me, look at me!" muscle to a greater degree this past week.

telegraph.co.uk


What happens in Vegas does not actually stay in Vegas, at least if you are Prince Harry. He and his nude antics popped up on media outlets. Blurred photos of the royal and a gaggle of gorgeous women became hot search items on the Web. They were hardly even blurred on their original locale of publication, the entertaiment gossip site TMZ. His actions, routine behavior (or should I say behaviour? [Spelled the British way]) for him were hardly a shock for Grandma dearest, the epitome of proper.



Someone with a parody Twitter account for Harry, who apparently needs a spelling lesson, showed his nonchalant attitude in a recent Tweet regarding the incident.



Perhaps the photos will even aid him in a career change, as he was allegedly offered a substantial sum to star in an adult film. Somehow, I wouldn't be floored if he took up that offer. At least Harry's bare bum won't be oggled by many Brits as most publications except the Sun refrained from publishing the photos. Not for any legal reasons, just out of good taste.

Newyorker.com

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Lance Armstrong Gives Up Fight Against USADA: Likely to Lose 7 Tour de France Titles

I am speechless. Figuratively, because I am about to unleash a firestorm of my thoughts on the USADA calling to ban Lance Armstrong from competing for life and to have his seven Tour de France titles stripped.

A detailed NBC article focused on Armstrong's sentiments that he is just plain worn out from constantly fighting the anti-doping agency. Understandably so- he pointed out that he passed hundreds of drug tests between 1999 and 2005, the years in which he earned his titles.

Key word: EARNED his titles. "Enraged" hardly gives my feelings towards the USADA justice. I don't even want to give them the pleasure of having their name in my sacred blog space. From now on, they shall be referred to as Agency A. A mental image crops up in my mind of conspiring, hunched-over mutant-people cackling around a bubbling cauldron as they announce the punishments imposed on Armstrong. Who feels good about stripping an inspiring cancer survivor of his hard-earned titles? The evil individuals at Agency A.

As stated by the NBC article, Armstrong's story was the "ultimate comeback tale."

When diagnosed with cancer, doctors had given him less than a 50% chance of survival before surgery and brutal cycles of chemotherapy saved his life.Armstrong's riveting victories, his work for cancer awareness and his gossip-page romances with rocker Sheryl Crow, fashion designer Tory Burch and actress Kate Hudson made him a figure who transcended sports.
His dominance of the Tour de France elevated the sport's popularity in America to unprecedented levels. His story and success helped sell millions of the "Livestrong" plastic yellow wrist bracelets, and enabled him to enlist lawmakers and global policymakers to promote cancer awareness and research. His Lance Armstrong Foundation has raised nearly $500 million since its founding in 1997.
I'm not the only one standing behind Lance during these crap allegations:



Mick Shaffer makes a great point with his Tweet referring to the number of unclean athletes in baseball. What's with the witch hunt against Lance? Many pro-athletes are cheating but they are going after biking more than any other sport and attacking the previous heroes of cycling. Other sports, for example baseball, look the other way- they want to keep their heroes no matter what. Big sports have the backing of big money keeping the drug allegations at bay. The morons at Agency A have lost their minds- they are on some crazy powertrip/vendetta. Lance beat cancer and devotes his life to efforts to end cancer. A good man working for an honorable cause does not deserve this treatment.

I'm with Dane Cook 100%.
Agency A can do whatever they want and allege and accuse Lance until the end of time. I still contest that he is an amazing individual and continue to support him and his cause.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Hannah Mulholland Preforms at "Rockin' Truck Grub" Event in Malibu

Food Trucks at Malibu's Rockin' Truck Grub Festival

Food truck lovers from all over Southern California flocked to the Malibu Bluffs Park on the Pacific Coast to indulge in meals on wheels and listen to local music. Among the food trucks present were Sky's Gourmet Taco Truck, Baby's Badass Burgers (being a family event, the word "badass" was blocked out), Calbi Fusion Tacos and Burritos, Lobsta Truck, Breezy Freeze and Rolling Sushi. Is there a tougher selection to choose between? Some atendees couldn't choose and hit up multiple trucks.

Among the musical performances, local Malibu singer/songwriter Hannah Mulholland stood out from the crowd. Her set list at the Rockin' Truck Grub Festival was comprised of mostly original songs with a sprinkling of covers. Her songs rang strong with elements typical of country music songs. Standing tall with long, curly blonde hair, one can't help but think of Taylor Swift when looking at the youthful Mulholland.

Mulholland plans to move to Nashville, Tennessee as soon as possible. The country music scene in Los Angeles, or lack thereof, drove the 21-year-old to make this drastic decision. "It's hard to get people enthusiastic in country music shows here," she says, though admits her shows in the LA area are typically packed. Check out Hannah's YouTube station, to listen to her latest music and visit her official website for news about her upcoming events and CD release. Also among the performers was Michael Stahler, another Malibu native playing mainly original tunes with narrative lyrics.

Once the sun poked out from behind the typical coastal clouds, the day was perfect for enjoying food, friends and music. After chowing down their goodies on blankets spread upon the grass or at picnic tables, food truck enthusiasts participated in spontaneous games of frisbee and catch. At the end of the event, people headed home happy and far from hungry.

Tofu Tacos from the Calbi Truck

So...Tired...

I cannot decide which of LA's charming alarm clocks I enjoyed being jolted awake by this morning. I keep going back and forth: was it the garbage truck rolling around at its usual 6:30 time slot right under the window? On the other hand, it may have been the squawking family of crows that resides outside my room and make Alfred Hitchcock's feathery foes sound like peaceful songbirds. I argue that those are the best part of waking up, not "Folger's in my cup." Who doesn't love interruption after interruption at the least opportune moments throughout the evening?

Kicking off the festivities was the incessant chatter of my neighbors which earplugs can thankfully drown out. My other neighbor's porch light, which must come from the same place as those blinding lights at football stadiums, was the next interruption to my REM cycle and put me in such a state of desperation that I was driven to the couch in the living room.

This seems like a non sequitur, but I swear I'm going somewhere with it, so bear with me. A few weeks ago there was a segment on NPR focusing on the prominent issue of helicopter noise in Los Angeles. I racked my brain for a single instance where this was a problem for me and couldn't think of one. Thus, I deemed the people calling in crazy and oversensitive, therefore jinxing myself. Last night, helicopters overhead jolted me from a restful state at least three times. These were not gently-whirring helicopters either; we are talking mutant helicopters that sounded as if they were hovering a foot outside the window.

Combine that with the garbage truck rolling around at 6:30 a.m. (why the city of LA deemed that time on a Wednesday the best one for trash collection is unfathomable to me) and the pitter patter of squirrel feet on my roof and it equals a very cranky and tired Marisa.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Californian Complaint

Complaining seems to be the trendy thing to do here so I figured I'd jump on the band wagon and give it the ol' college try as they say. Today I had plenty to complain about, though I still won't stoop to the low of the Californians complaining about the "dreadful weather."

On the bus ride bringing me home from work, I read the entire L.A. Times. That tells you how bad the gridlock was. I read five articles on Senate candidate Akin and how he should exit the race, and how he refuses to do so. Five articles basically all saying the same thing. All I got out of that was that writers for the paper sure have a lot of synonyms for "idiot," and they used every one to describe Akin.

Prior to aforementioned bus ride, I got to deal with a couple of moms who did not understand the meaning of the blatant phrase "we close at 5." That does not mean "we suggest at our establishment that you leave at 5, but you can stay until 5:15 or whenever you want, really." But I guess in their minds they were one and the same. I paced around like an antsy child until they finally packed up their emotional baggage and children and left me in peace to begin shutting down for the evening. Perhaps their delay, thus causing my delay and therefore forcing me to take a later bus, is the blame for my getting stuck in traffic. That's just how the stars aligned today.

I wonder how many traffic-induced Akin articles I will have the pleasure to read tomorrow.

Wah, Wah Wah!

Californians complain more about the weather than anyone ever should. Considering how climate-spoiled they are, it is especially pathetic. News segment after news segment consists of weather people consoling their viewers. "Don't worry, it will cool down later." With no indication of when exactly "later" is. But it seems to do the trick. As long as they are assured it will cool down eventually and they won't wilt in the "sweltering" 85-degree weather, the drama queens of the golden coast quiet down.

You would think the sky was falling. Every mom who came in to the play gym where I work with their kids complained about something weather-related. Their beef with California's weather ranged from "It's unbearable out there!" to "this humidity is unreal!" "We just HAD to escape this dreadful weather!" I wanted to be at the helm of one of those games in arcades where you try to pluck up a stuffed animal with a mechanical arm, pick up these whiny spoiled LA moms and plop them down in a place with real climate extremes. The thought of these women in Alaska more than amuses me. Alaska or the Amazon. Or one after the other. There's a reality TV show idea! That's one show I would actually watch.

I guess people always have to complain about something....



Monday, August 20, 2012

Earthquakes and Acid Rain

What's worse than returning to Los Angeles to work and solitude after spending a weekend in San Diego lounging by the pool reading for leisure instead of for class spending your time among loving family? I can't think of anything either. Okay, maybe I am brandishing my dramatic side. But Los Angeles, a stark contrast to her slower-paced cousin San Diego, has not welcomed me. In fact, it's been nothing but bullying from the city since I arrived here a little over a month ago.

Los Angeles is abusive. She tried to drive me away with earthquakes, traffic that would provoke Ghandi to rip his hair out (oh wait, he is bald) and a conspiring, evil DMV. That is the short list. Trust me, you don't want to ask what the rest of it is. At least it is sunny. I get constant vibes that LA seriously doesn't want me here. What's next? Acid rain? Just watch it happen now that I said that.

But San Diego is a different story altogether. She welcomes me with loving arms, open roads (at least in comparison with LA gridlock, rated the worst in the nation), blue skies and of course, my home away from home with my grandparents. Over the past couple months, their home has become much more to me than just a childhood vacation spot. It is now a safe haven where I can escape from all the craziness in Los Angeles and the superficiality of many of her citizens.

San Diego would never try to drive me away. 

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Primary

Curse you Hammer Museum and your sudden desire to be punctual! Literally the one day that I did not arrive 15 minutes preceding the event (blame the LA bus system which is notorious for its inability to adhere to a schedule), happened to be the one day when it began on time. In honor of the presidential election which, in case you weren't aware, is rapidly approaching, the Hammer is showing four election-themed films. Naturally, the majority of them are showing during my class (my one major weekly time constraint), but I plan on attending the others.

The first film of the series documented the primary where John F. Kennedy was campaining against Hubert Humphrey (appropriately, the film was titled Primary). Maybe this is a reflection on how well I paid attention in U.S. history during high school, but I had no idea who Hubert Humphrey was. The film, comprised of grainy black and white footage provided a behind-the-scenes look at the earlier days of campaigning. I enjoyed the lesson in history immensely, especially the campaign theme songs that sounded like 50s advertisements.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Hope Springs Sinks

The sole viewer under the age of about 50, I felt more out-of-place than a redneck carnivoire in a vegan restaurant today when my grandmother and I attended a showing of the film Hope Springs. The plot revolved around a couple in the golden years of their marriage, which, unbeknownst to her husband, is far from his wife's vision of an ideal one. One day, Kay comes across a book on improving stale marriages in a self-help section and learns that the author provides intensive couples counseling in Maine. She approaches Arthur, her husband, gives him a boarding pass and informs him that with or without him, she is going. SPOILER ALERT, he gets on the plane. I know you are all shocked.
Perhaps appropriately so, the running time of the film adheres to the cliche, hope springs eternal (though the title actually comes from the name of a town in Maine). One hour and forty minutes should not feel like eternity, and is a clear indication that the plot needs a serious injection of oomph. Lengthy scenes of Kay and Arnold awkwardly describing their sex lives in detail to their therapist (Steve Carell) could have been cut in half, as could the scenes of their attempts at rekindling their intimacy.

One critic accurately noted that without Streep, Carell and Jones in the leading roles, Hope Springs would not be watchable. Though such a seemingly insignificant and "fluffy" role would seem unbefitting for Streep, she embraces the character with stride and gives life to the character. As it turns out, Meryl Streep masters the role of sexually frustrated 60-something housewife. Another critic pointed out that despite being marketed as a comedy resembles more accurately a drama.

This movie was watchable enough. But please, ladies, do not bring your husbands unless you want to send them a message that you are sexually frustrated. Any man would find it a torturous punishment.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Authorities Searching for Joseph Dorsey, Wanted for Murder of Christine-Osborne Stewart

Police are searching for 27-year-old Joseph Dorsey after an arrest was issued against him for the murder of his 47-year-old girlfriend Christine Osborn-Stewart, according to the LA Times. Dorsey is accused of murdering Stewart and stuffing her body into a suitcase which was discovered at a motel room in Poway. In addition to a press release, various sources tweeted the story and listed Dorsey's physical appearance and where to call to report any information.



A video by a personal friend of Stewart was posted to YouTube with a plea to help find her killer.


A mydeathspace page was created for Stewart and begins with a post from when she was first reported missing, which includes a statement from her mother who says she "fears for the worst". The page also includes a link to Stewart's Facebook page, which lists her 209 friends and shows her smiling in a number of photos with friends. Her Facebook profile picture is used on the mydeathspace page and is a scandalous shot of her in a revealing outfit, on which her daughter-in-law commented "I have the hottest mother-in-law!"



There are currently no leads as to Dorsey's location, but authorities are actively investigating the crime and urge anyone with knowledge of his whereabouts to contact them immediately. Despite the press release listing Ronnie Rosas of the Perris Sheriff Station as a contact for this case, Rosas stated in a phone interview that as of Wednesday, August 15th, "the case has been taken over by Investigator Merrill of the Homicide unit," and that he is "unable to provide any updates."


A Fever You CAN Sweat Out!

Because, let's face it, you have no choice. At least if Bikram yoga, the hot n' sweaty cousin of traditional yoga, has any say in the matter. Scantily-clad and slippery with sweat, participants pretzel themselves into 26 floor and standing postures during 90 minute sessions.The results are both long-term and instantaneous, the former including improved strength and balance. Immediately after leaving the room, you are calm, cool and collected. Well, anything feels cool after 105 degrees. The benefits of Bikram vastly overshadow the pitfalls of leaving with a bundle of clothes drenched in sweat. Though the sessions are long when compared to durations of other exercises, as little as bi-weekly attendance is enough to reap the benefits.

The 26-posture yoga sequence, developed by India-born Bikram Choudhury in the 1970s, is performed in studios kept at a toasty 105 degrees F. Many may wonder why exactly the thought of yoga in brutally hot rooms, often referred to as "torture chambers," would appeal to anyone. According to bikramyoga.com, "yoga changes the construction of your body from the inside out...so before you change it you have to soften it, because a warm body is a flexible body." In a typical session, men lose around ten pounds of water weight and women around 3 to 5. Depending on your weight, you can expect to burn, on average, between 350 to 700 calories an hour doing Bikram Yoga. This type of yoga aims to flush the body of toxins as a "cleaning process," another explanation for the temperature that brings a summer in Las Vegas to the mental forefront.


People swear by the benefits brought by practicing Bikram yoga. The practice is growing in popularity, in part due to its celebrity following. Lady Gaga, Ashton Kutcher, Jenny McCarthy and David Bekham all practice Bikram yoga and rave about the benefits. Practitioners claim lessened joint and muscle pain, and athletes feel their other sports are easier to perform. Instructors who often give auctioneers a run for their money lead the sessions, explaining the health benefits of each posture at break-neck pace and guiding novices and seasoned experts through the whole class.

So that just leaves one question: Are you ready to sweat?

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Angels Among Us

California is trying desperately to beat me down. Generally it is working. Alone and homesick, I crave even the slightest display of humanity. Whether it be a smile from a stranger passing me on the street or rarer still, a "hello" or "how are you?", these little niceties seemingly absent from our modern society do wonders for my morale. For work, I sit at a desk in a relatively dark building for about eight hours a day and it is not unusual to pass that entire time without seeing another human being. These factors can give one a rather bleak, pessimistic outlook on life.

Yesterday, I was sitting in my usual position, pondering life and reading articles on the LATimes website. As usual, things were quiet and I had a good deal of downtime. The weight of the world began to bear down on my shoulders, leading me into more and more of a funk. Then the phone rang and I snapped into receptionist mode. "Bubbles Santa Monica, this is Marisa, how may I help you?" instinctively slipped through my lips. "Hey there Marisa, this is Joe. How are you today?" was the jolly response from the male voice on the other end of the telephone line. "Well, I'm alright Joe, how are you today?" I said, trying desperately to expunge the Eeyore-esque gloomy tone from my voice. "Well Marisa, I'm having a truly blessed day, and I hope your day is blessed as well!" Joe exclaimed. That kind of optimism is nothing but infectious. Scrooge himself couldn't respond to Joe with his signature "bah, humbug!" Actually, if Joe had anything to do with A Christmas Carol, I am confident that Scrooge would have come around sooner. But then there would be no story for Dickens to tell. Actually, Scrooge's nephew Fred was about as chalk-full of Christmas cheer as one can be and it still didn't do the trick right away.

Wow, nice tangent Marisa...
Anyways, the point of this is that Joe's phone call brightened my day a bit. It goes to show that small acts of kindness still hold strong as a method to bring a little sunshine into the world. His infectious attitude spread through the electronic waves connecting our phones, and I will try my hardest to bear that attitude with me, no matter how hard things are. 

Sunday, August 12, 2012

A Return to Downtown...

The rules of hospitality forced me to return to Downtown Los Angeles today while kicking and screaming. Metaphorically kicking and screaming, anyways. If I literally were kicking and screaming on the metro, security would not have looked so kindly on it and I may have been dragged away in straps. Though, that might have been better than being metaphorically dragged by a hospitality obligation to Downtown LA.

My Czech cousins, under the impression that Downtown LA and Downtown Chicago were synonymous, insisted that I take them. No one heeded my pleas and warnings ranging from "there are drug dealers around every corner" to "there really isn't much to do there." No one listened. And my roommate did not help when she said Downtown really wasn't all that bad. My ego got a nice boost when I got to dole out the "I told you so" at the end of our Downtown "adventure." Perhaps said ego boost made the trip there worth it.

After one of the longest bus rides I can recall, we arrived in the financial district. A false representation of Downtown as a whole, they reacted in the same way as when I first saw the impressive buildings. What was I going on about, they asked, when I said it was a scary place? Then they beheld the homeless people, the garbage, and the lack of ambiance surrounding places like Downtown Chicago and were then ready to throw in the towel. Their admitted defeat could not have come soon enough.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

You're More Famous Than Elvis!

Imagine the following scenario. You're relaxing in your comfortable armchair by the fire in your modest Michigan home after a long day of hard labor, watching the snow falling gently outside the window. Then, the phone rings. You assume it is one of your daughters on the other line and are surprised when a stranger speaks. Curiousity surmounts when you detect the strange accent in the speaker's voice. It's not an agent with your credit card company demanding payment. It's not a long-lost high school buddy calling to catch up. It is a reporter from South Africa telling you that in his country, you are more famous than Elvis Presley.

This is what the singer-songwriter known only as Rodriguez heard one day in the 1990s. After giving up on his musical career when his two records flopped in the United States long ago, that was the last thing he expected to hear. This is the true tale documented in the film Searching for Sugarman.

It is a strange tale indeed. Rodriguez's reaction when he is told he is a superstar in South Africa is nothing short of unfathomable. So are the reactions of his daughters. They seem unaffected by such enormous news, hardly believing it at all even after they are brought to South Africa for a concert by their father. Yet the reporter calling Rodriguez is giddy like a child on Christmas morning. As far as he knew for many years, Rodriguez, whose voice bears a shocking resemblance to his contemporary Bob Dylan, was dead. After reasearch and what seemed like a wild goose chase of calls to record company representatives, the truth came out.

This film is sure to please music enthusiasts or anyone who likes a unique story. As I said, the most enjoyable aspect to me was to behold the unfathomable reactions of the family to the situation that unfolded and could have altered their lives forever. Though likely not showing in many theaters due to its obscurity, if you can find it, definitely check it out.

My Name is Marisa, and I'm a Starbuck's Addict

I've heard it all from Starbucks opposers who lump the coffee giant into the same category as evil dictators and child abusers. Irrational as this sounds, the simple truth is that many people would rather give themselves a paper cut and proceed to slowly drip lemon juice onto the self-inflicted wound than step foot under one of the familiar green awnings reaching out above Starbucks' doors. Men who declare their "anti-corportation" and therefore anti-Starbucks stance would rather watch The Notebook with their girlfriend sans the promise of any physical action in return. And on the flip side of that scenario, women seeing Starbucks as nothing more than a competition killer would rather pop open a full-calorie Budweiser (not a Bud light, because that would be what she wants) and watch football with her man and his buddies.

I'm all for supporting Mom n' Pop shops. But with all of Starbuck's perks (besides those provided by caffeine intake), I can't justify frequently heading to those aforementioned shops. Maybe Starbuck's is evil in that sense- robbing business from "the little guy."Starbuck's is the cafeteria worker turning down Oliver Twist. Consider this the company's trial- and I am the defendant.

Top Five Perks of Starbuck's:
1) Rewards Program: register a gift card with Starbucks online and start reaping the benefits. Free soy milk free flavors added to drinks and every 15 drinks you get a coupon for any drink free. That trumps going to a small cafe anyday, where soy milk costs about .50 cents more on average!

2) People Watching: okay, this activity is not singular to Starbuck's. But their stores certainly attract people from all walks of life. While sipping your latte, you can witness first dates, the next great author type his novel madly on his laptop (because novel writers always need to do so in public) or just exchange brief dialogue with a fellow coffee lover.

4) Employees: while a Grumpy Gary may wriggle his way into the pool of Happy Henrys (or Harriets), generally whoever is behind the counter wears a genuine grin and embraces an infectious and optimistic attitude.

5) Locations: they're everywhere! Turn a corner in Berlin and you see a Starbuck's just like you would in Boulder. This may be seen as an infringement of local cultures as a by-product of globalization, but sometimes when you are abroad, it's nice to have a comfort remind you of home.

6) Consistency: when you walk into a random coffee shop, you take a bigger risk than playing the slots in the Bellagio. Thankfully, Starbucks has perfected standardization. A soy latte will taste the same no matter who makes it, no matter where.

I know there is plenty of negatives about the coffee giant. One thing that rubs me the wrong way as a barista is the terminology they invented to mess things up for the rest of us. For example, a traditional macchiato is a shot or two of espresso marked with a bit of foam. In Starbucks land, they decided to tack the name on a latte where they put the shots of espresso on top of the milk, instead of the other way around as seen in a traditional latte. Therefore, I had to laugh when a girl ordered an "upside-down macchiato."- coffee ignorance at its best. She just ordered a latte.

Think what you want about Starbucks. My opinion is clear and out there for all to behold. I love the place!

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Manny Castro Claims Responsibility for Vandalizing Chick-Fil-A with "Tastes Like Hate"

losangeles.grubstreet.com
They say that two wrongs don't make a right. Vandalism occurred during the protest by LGBT individuals responding to Chick-Fil-A appreciation day last Wednesday. The Kiss-In protest called for same sex couples to kiss outside Chick-Fil-A restaurants in response to the chain owner's declaration of opposition to non-traditional marriages. In Chicago, a preacher was berated outside of one of the fast food joints. Here in California, "tastes like hate" was scrawled on the wall of a Torrance, CA establishment. As noted in a blog on the LA Times, the valdalism directly affected the owner of the Torrence, CA Chick-Fil-A store who "may not necessarily share Cathy's view."When the San Francisco Chronicle published a report of the incident on Friday morning, no suspects were identified. However, Hollywood artist Manny Castro soon took responsibility for the graffiti. Here he is:
@mannycastronow



In an interview with the Huffington Post, Castro did not show remorse, but rather defended his actions. As he stated in the interview...

Everybody is entitled to free speech, but it seems like for the gay tribe, this is more of an issue of equal rights -- human rights," explained Castro. "I'm against what these people stand for, what this company stands for. They're trying to take away what little rights we already have.

And...

It's paint on a wall. It got removed in less than an hour. It's not that much of a crime -- it's a protest.

People showed mixed reactions about his act of artistic protest. Some felt that his desire to demonstrate his beliefs through destructive means did not elicit praise.



Yet Twitter revealed a huge following of approving fans for the artist as well.

Despite his confession, no charges have been filed against Castro. According to Sergeant Steven Jenkinson of the Torrance Police Department, investigators are working on collecting evidence. "We are aware of (Castro) and the article in the Huffington Post," said Jenkinson of the latest information regarding the situation, "but right now we are still investigating."Whether Castro is responsible or not, one thing seems clear- Chick-Fil-A is likely to remain the focal point of the news for awhile alongside Mars, Syria and the Olympics. 

California is Dramatic...

If the LA Times didn't plan it, then the stars aligned for an odd coincidence. On the same day, the online news site published two stories about hair loss: one an entertainment piece about Justin Beiber's comments concerning Prince William's thinning hair. Essentially, the cocky little teen with his full head of hair said he doesn't understand why the British heir doesn't just use propecia. The health section featured a piece on the dangers of Propecia; specifically, the drug's ability to cause depression and decreased sexual function even long after ceasing use. Perhaps the pop star wants the Royal to become less apt in bed so he can seduce Kate and infiltrate the British crown with little Beibers! Conspiracy theory, anyone?

Read Justin's comments: http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/gossip/la-et-mg-justin-bieber-slams-prince-william-hair,0,3410315.story

And the piece on Propecia: http://www.latimes.com/news/science/sciencenow/la-sci-sn-propecia-depression-20120808,0,3004330.story

In other news, speaking of royals, California indulged her inner-drama-queen yesterday more than ever. It's always something with the high-maintenance coastal state- an earthquake here, a city declaring bankruptcy there... I guess Cali was craving attention more than normal and felt the need to really shake things up to get the nation's attention. Literally, in this case: there was another small earthquake today. Nothing to write home about, but it came soon after a major fire at a California refinery expected to cause gas prices to skyrocket. What did your citizens ever do to you, Cali? Besides love you and brandish your ever-growing ego?

I attest that the state is just trying to rub me the wrong way. What else would explain these events occurring simultaneously with my arrival? I know I am not a California Girl. By Katy Perry's definition, that means I must not be undeniable. I guess I'm not fine, fresh fierce. California and I just can't seem to put aside our differences. 

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Hammer Redeemed by The Flux

Tonight I crawled back to the Hammer Museum like a wounded, abused puppy crawls back whimpering to its abusive owner. Okay, maybe my maltreatment by the venue wasn't as extreme as the puppy (who probably ended up on one of those depressing Sarah McLachlan ads). My situation was more akin to a father slapping his daughter on the wrist and sending her to her room with no dessert as punishment for rolling her eyes at him. The Hammer slapped my hand at the last free event, likely as punishment for rejecting to becoming a member. Yet faithful as I am, I returned tonight for the Flux screening series.

Decision well-made. Returning to the father-slapping-daughter's-wrist scenario, it would be like if the father, remorseful for punishing the apple of his eye, decided to throw her the most extravagant party the town had ever seen. This event ranked at the top of those I've attended- likely the best yet.

What is the Flux Screening Series? I thought you'd never ask! (Oh wait, you didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyways). They are quarterly short film screenings shown in the Hammer's Billy Wilder Theater. Tonight's theme? Spectacle: The Music Video. Since I couldn't describe it better than the flyer I was handed upon entry, I'm going to reiterate what it said:

Spectacle explores the music video as an art form through immersive installations, rare artifacts and of course screenings
Spectacle... what a fitting title! Every single video presented was just that- a spectacle. A feast for the eyes, each in a different way. The first film, a music video for the song Reham by This Thirst, thrust the viewer into a topsy-turvy world of mirror images and other special effects accompanying a catchy electronic tune. The second was an odd flashback to the 80s- a song called Grimes by Oblivion. The video featured an oddly-dressed teenage girl with pink hair. Not one of the best.

Cloudy, the video by FriendsWithYou brought to mind those old Zoloft commercials with the depressed little white blob who finally gets happy in the end. This video featured the happiest, jolliest clouds in the world bouncing along in the sky. Animation at its best, these creative characters could fill even the worst clinically depressed person with the unsurpressible desire to join a conga line through a field of daisies. Like licking your elbow, it must be a physical impossibility to watch this video without a smile stretching across your face.



Other videos included music videos for Outta My System by My Morning Jacket, It's Only Life by The Shins and Paradise by Coldplay. Nothing stood out so prominently as Cloudy, however; thus explaining its presence on the blog. Actually that's a blatant lie- the final film, Solipsist by Andrew Huang, stood out as extremely trippy- if anyone in the audience was on LSD they would have flipped out. But it was a little too out there for me.

The Hammer did decieve me at one point. As an audience, we were invited to the courtyard to mingle amongst ourselves and the directors and enjoy a snow cone. Now, an invitation like that suggests "free snow cones," does it not? Well, after waiting in a line that would give Disneyland a run for its money, we discovered the true price of an after party snow cone. That price is $4. Let me just say... four dollars well-spent. It happened to be a gourmet snow come, provided by snow amor (because in Los Angeles even snow cones can be snooty). I selected the coconut variety which springboarded me to cloud 9. It was one of those clouds from the video, I think. And there I remained for the rest of the night.

Bikram Casualties!

People were dropping like flies left and right in my Bikram yoga class. They insisted that the temperature was higher than the typical 105 degrees despite the instructor showed them the thermometer. They still were not convinced. I didn't know thermometers has the capability of lying.

During Bikram sessions, the instructor spews out a list of benefits our bodies experiences with each move. This list is recited with the speed of an auctioneer. Last night I likened these recitals of biological benefits to those ads for prescription drugs, but in reverse. Contrary to the yoga instructor, those ads they read a list of possible side effects so quickly you need to do a double-take. "Did he really just say my ear could fall off?" Makes you think twice about taking certain drugs.

After attending three sessions at different times during the day, one at 5:30 AM, one at 7:30 AM and one at 6:30 PM, I've been amongst quite a range of people. The highest attendance award goes to last night's 6:30 PM session. Floor space was scarce by the time I arrived, and during some poses I came dangerously close to taking out my neighbor. An extensive variety of people come to Bikram. There's always the stuck-up girl who thinks she is the cat's meow and spends the class deeply focused on showing everyone else up. I was overcome with satisfaction when she fell out of balance on a move and I was able to keep going. I am terrible.


Don't Report Me to PETA

So worth it

In two days, I committed a slew of actions deemable by PETA as unforgiveable. On Friday, I scarfed down a deep-fried ice cream at the Mexican restaurant Casa Gauadalajara in San Diego. My grandmother and I spent Saturday among the company of exotic animals at the San Diego Zoo.

Saying I disagree with the extremist animal rights group when it comes to zoos is putting it mildly. Their webpage dictating their opinions on "pseudo-sanctuaries" (to put it in their terms) made me want to find whoever wrote it and slug them in the jaw. Particularly this passage condemning zoos' breeding practices: 

Zoos breed animals because the presence of babies draws zoo visitors and boosts revenue. But the animals' fate is often bleak once they outgrow their "cuteness."  And some zoos still import animals from the wild.
I propose a re-write:

Zoos breed animals to better understand the species in an attempt to combat declines in their populations. And zoos save animals that would otherwise be mauled by their natural predators or poachers to a place of refuce.

Ah, now I can detect logic!

The San Diego Zoo has more to brag about than the parents of a student on Harvard's dean's list. The park ought to be prouder than those dog lovers with bumper stickers reading "my (insert breed of dog here) is smarter than your honor roll student" plastered on their sedans (becuase since they do not have kids, they do not need vans). More than 3,700 animals from 650 species call the non-profit zoo home. Founded in 1916, it is more of a mansion than a simple home for many of the animals. Not one of the animals seemed to be complaining- they are enjoying protection and longer life spans thanks to the zoo!









Saturday, August 4, 2012

Workout Tunes that Don't Provoke Suicidal Thoughts

I realized that minus a few exceptions, songs that could easily fill your mind with the desire to fling yourself out of a fifth-story window comprise my workout playlists. Depressing anthems with themes of hopelessness and anger sung by bands like Rise Against and Trapt undeniably get you pumped. But on mornings when the blue sky hides under a gray, gloomy marine layer, I crave some cheer. I found a direct correlation of the singer's gender and the mood of the song. Evanescence proving an exception to this rule, women generally belt out anthems of strength, hope with an optimistic, "can-do" attitude. Granted, there are days when I seek out the angry tunes. But when the sun plays hookie, I turn to the fail-proof, optimistic jams listed below.
1) Part of Me by Katy Perry- bash Katy all you want (with words, not a blunt instrument, unless you want to end up incarcerated). Actually, any song by this lovely lady promotes strong and hopeful attitudes.
2) I Saw the Sign by Ace of Base- seriously, the tempo and subject of this song (moving on, etc.) gets you moving faster than being jabbed with a hot poker. Not that I condone that act.
3) Take a Chance on Me by Abba- an optimistic message to an upbeat tempo
4) Tik Tok- if you can overlook her poor grammar usage and condoning of using whiskey for dental hygeine purposes, there is no better workout song to get you pumped
5) Lose Yourself by Eminem- woah someone with a y chromosome made the list! This song demands that listeners give everything their all, and that's a good message to live by and workout to.
6) Whenever, Wherever by Shakira- that lovely little lady proves talented in multiple arenas, one being in the ability to cheer me up and get me pumped simultaneously. Her other songs are contenders as well.
7) Highway 101 by Social Distortion- this love song to California's famous highway is in a major key and almost dissipates the densest mental clouds for workout clarity
8) Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar- this hardcore lady don't need no man and that independant attitude transfers well to a motivational workout soundtrack

For all you Debbie Downers, perhaps a list will surface later with my depressing and angry music. But for now, bask in the happy tunes and bust a move!

Thursday, August 2, 2012

To Hell and Back at the DMV

Brace yourselves for a long read ahead. Squish into that perfect, cozy position in your armchair, take a deep breath, and dive in.

Public hysteric outbursts are not common for me. I try to remain calm, cool and collected. Yet I thrust the three Cs out the window when the DMV "drove" me to insanity today (get that pun?). I burst into tears for all onlookers to gawk at. My behavior suggested a need for asylum commitment and electric shock therapy, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest style.


Aside from my treatment by employees with seemingly nil customer service training at the infamous but unavoidable DMV, a few other factors contributed to my breakdown. My inability to obtain a cup of coffee caused my evil, uncaffeinated twin to emerge from the shadows. Trust me, you want her in the shadows. She is a force to be reckoned with. This factor was a direct cause of the DMV, however; lady-with-no-customer-service-skills number one informed me that going to the coffee shop next door invalidated my number. I'm getting ahead of myself. By the time that lady deprived me of caffeine, I was already past the point of maintaining mental stability.


i_havent_had_my_coffee_yet_card-p137596457968425148b21fb_400.jpg


I digress...

The world was quiet at 4:30 AM when I awoke. A yawn and a stretch later, I was ready to face the world head-on. My plan was to go to 5:30 yoga and then hit the DMV as soon as they opened. I anticipated approximately two hours to complete my vehicle registration. Never in my wildest nightmare could I fathom what would come...

Yoga put me in a serene mood- the kind where I want to bare a toothy grin to every stranger I pass and wish them well in their daily endeavors while skipping down the street. My mood paralleled that of Maria during her "I Have Confidence in Me" number. I took that attitude with me to the DMV. I read my book in the line. The employees impressed me with their efficiency in handing out forms to those waiting for the facility to open. I got my number. Things were still on track. I only had to wait briefly before my number was called.

Road Block Number One: The Vehicle Verification
"Ma'am, did you get your vehicle verified?"
"No, where do I go for that?"
"Drive 'round the back"

Wow. Specific. 'Round the back.

I followed her instructions and parked behind three other cars waiting to be verified. I am still in serene mode, but the caffeine desire began to surface. I reassured myself that this would only take a little bit longer before I would be sipping a coffee waiting for work to begin. The vehicle-verifier guy could not have taken his job any less seriously. He was chatting idly with an employee about post-work plans and whether or not he could get somewhere by a certain road that his friend was convinced was a one-way street. Though this irked me, I was kind with him as well. I cleared this hurdle- verification complete.

Road Block Number Two: The Smog Test
The lady I first saw let me walk right up to her counter. I felt more VIP than the president. She looked through my forms and ignored my attempts at idle chatter while doing so. Then after charging my card, she informed me that until I returned later with a smog certification, I could not complete the process. I asked her where to do that and she said "look it up". Some help...

So I looked it up and drove to the location where I learned it would take another hour and another $55. My sweaty yoga clothes were still in the car, and since I had an hour to kill while they tested my car, I decided to take the bus to my apartment to hang them up to dry. The man called far sooner than expected so I sprinted back to the bus stop to retrieve my car in time to get back to the DMV before work.

Out of breath, I returned to the smog place where the man listened to me rant about my hectic day to that point. He became a therapist at my disposal, whether he wanted to or not.

Road Block Number Three: The End of the Experience
At this point, serene, jolly Marisa was long gone. The coffee deprivation had extended for far too long. Assuming that since I had VIP status in the morning after completing my vehicle verification, going off to get the smog test would not alter that. Apparently, the the definition of whether you left the building or not is vague, and this instance did not qualify. I had to obtain a new number. B79. The screen showed B50. Given that I had 30 numbers before mine, I assumed heading to the coffee shop was permissible. As mentioned earlier in this blog, the lady informed me that leaving the premises invalidated my number. This was about the point where hysteria overcame me and tears streamed down my cheeks. To make matters worse, I received a text message from the man who preformed my smog test telling me he gave me the wrong paperwork. He faxed the right one to the DMV. If they did not accept it, the asylum would have been the only answer.

I finally calmed down enough to contain myself around the time B70 was called. Prior to that point, I received many unpleasant looks but no comfort except from my mother at the other end of the phone. Finally my number blinked on the screen. I prayed with fervor that I would not be assisted by the same lady. The Lord took pity on me- it was a different counter. Finally, someone kind at the DMV- he smiled and told me he would take care of me, not to worry. I ranted about the service and he joked "what do you mean, it's a regular Disneyland here!" Finally, a grin came over my tear-stained face.

Thus concludes the tale of my detrimental DMV day. 

Black Thorns Scare Me

Tsk, tsk, Hammer Museum! As Stephen Colbert says, a wag of my finger to you (previously, it only recieved a tip o' my hat). Instead of leaving the venue with an expanded, uplifted mind, I ran away with a splitting headache. The lack of audience members and use of the smaller public program space should have immediately tipped me off. Had I been in Sherlock Holmes mode and analyzing my surroundings, one glance into the designated room would have sent me back to the bus stop.

Hammer Museum, you let me down. This is strike one.

Experimental films never appeased me in the way they do film students. When 15 minutes of a previous film course I took were dedicated to viewing a piece of tape with parts of dead insects roll across a camera lens, I knew it wasn't for me. I like cinema that entertains, not cinema composed of scenes likely to creep into my dreams and cause irreperable mental trauma. The film clips in the Hammer screening put on tonight fell squarely into the latter category.

The confusing event title "Black Thorns in the Black Box" misled me. By the description on the website, it sounded like it was a documentary about metal music. As I would soon discover, that was not the case.
black_hero
hammer.ucla.edu

I met my friend in the screening room where we could barely hear ourselves speak over the eerie metal music. Once again, something which should have tipped me off that this would be a weird event. "Watson, what kind of events do this music genre generally precede?"Had I been thinking logically, that is the question I would have asked. I still had to give the Hammer the benefit of the doubt.

The event began at the typical five-minute-late mark of Hammer events. A woman came up and informed us that she would show three sets of short films. Vague. Should have been another warning sign. The first short film began with a nature scene. Cut to creepy, sallow-faced old man who possibly uses meth. Cut back to other nature scene. Cut to weird angle of a much younger sallow-faced man who appears to have already developed cataracts. Cut to some elk grazing. And so on for 9 minutes.

Thankfully the next clip ran only about 3 minutes. Filmed by a camera man who seemed to be having a seizure, I would not have been able to last any longer than that. The third clip convinced us to leave. The screechy guitar acting as a "soundtrack" to a visual string of events I cannot even attempt to describe, I ran out of the room clutching my ears. 

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Torture: Let's Talk About it and Then Have Coffee

Tonight I added another successful outing to the Hammer Museum to the growing list. Tonight's event title was far from inviting: "Reckoning with Torture". An audience member suggested a change to this depressing moniker prior to their next forum. When you are as desperate to get out and do things as I am, even titles like that don't phase you. When your mind is open to the possibility that you will be surprised, you often are. That sounds like a "hippie" philosophy- must be a side effect of the Bikram yoga this morning.

I find it increasingly inexcusable that I'm not a Hammer member. I attend almost all of their public programs and can't even dole out the $50 yearly membership fee. I take advantage of the naive venue similar to the way a creepy old internet predator takes advantage of unsuspecting teenage girls. Yikes, I just compared myself to a creepy old internet predator. Never once did I pay to see the exhibits, and I admit that if I do visit the Hammer to see the art as opposed to attending an event, I will do so on Thursday when there is no admission charge. Go ahead, criticize away. Peg the title "unsupportive of public programming" on me.

The "Reckoning with Torture" event combined film clips, discussion from a panel and audience questions. The description of the talk on the Hammer website said:

Co-presented by PEN Center USA

The film Reckoning With Torture and the book The Torture Report present eyewitness and first-person reports by victims, perpetrators, dissenters, and investigators of the CIA’s White House-orchestrated interrogations in secret prisons around the world. Writer and activist Larry Siems, author of The Torture Report, and former military interrogator Matthew Alexander lead an evening of screenings and discussion. Learn more at thetorturereport.org andreckoningwithtorture.org.




There, that just saved me from summarizing. The film mentioned in the above blurb, Reckoning with Torture, features a series of readings from people of all ages and walks of lives reading excerpts from court memos recounting dialogue from interrogators and detainees. After the discussion, the audience was invited to participate in these readings which would be included in the film. Still seeking my 15 minutes of fame, or in this case 15 seconds, I volunteered first. So, check out the website to see my Oscar-worthy performance. 

As a strange ending to the evening, the speaker urging us to participate in the film also invited us to treat ourselves to coffee and cookies in the lobby. I must say, it was some of the best decaf coffee I have tasted to date- the deep, dark tones in the flavor were unreal. Wish I knew where I could get my hands on some...

Blue Lawn Chair

Apparently, I care about lawn chairs. I’ve always known that I typically give inanimate objects personalities and feelings. The “As-is” sect...