Field Trip!

It's summer, and money is tight.  So I have been looking around for affordable (read free) things to do.  The other day I came across a coupon on the LA Weekly website for free admission to the Pyschiatry: An Industry of Death Museum.  It was eight pm on a Tuesday night, and this place just happens to be open until 10pm (weird hours, right?) so obviously I downloaded the coupon onto my phone and took myself to Hollywood!

I have walked by this place a number of times and thought to myself, "What is up with that place?  What kind of a name is that for a museum?  And what kind of hole does this fill in the public consciousness?" Time to find out!

So, turns out I didn't need the coupon, because the museum is ALWAYS free.  Okay, interesting.  My friend and I went in, and as the docent is giving us the history of the museum she mentions that it's affiliated with Scientology.  Ding ding ding!  Weird hours, unnecessary coupons, and unwieldy name all starting to add up here.  Clearly I am great at mental math.

The museum is basically a loop, and they start you out in a small room with padded walls to watch a movie.  The padded walls were a really nice touch; I guess I should expect great production value from anything associated with Scientology.  The movie had testimonials from lots of psychiatrists saying that there's no medical proof for most of psychology, and then it showed that they were the authors of books like "Mad in America", so they're obviously reputable sources.  The movie also showed shots of lots of really unhappy looking people, and interviews with their families about how their lives were ruined by psychiatry.  Finally, once we were totally depressed, we were turned loose into the museum.

The museum was like a combination of Universal Studios, Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, and the Holocaust Museum in Normandy.  It was basically a parade of Atrocities Everyone Loves to Hate, beefed up  with weird visual aids: examples of medieval torture devices, bloodletting knives or primitive electroshock chairs, realistic looking mummified heads made of wax, photos of bone thin patients locked in "cage beds", etc.  Every six feet or so there were large monitors showing video segments (now I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I should NEVER submit myself for an in-house Scientology project).  The exhibits are organized somewhat chronologically, and concern the Holocaust, racism, Hollywood icons, school shootings, insurance fraud and TERRORISM to name a few.  This was all accompanied by a bunch of arguments that really stretched to show that all of psychiatry is a conspiracy with big pharma.  

Don't get me wrong.  I think that people, especially kids, are over medicated.  I believe that there are lots of people out there who want a quick diagnosis, or who want to put other people's inexplicable behavior into an easy to understand box.  But I also believe that sometimes we can become emotionally unbalanced, and need more than someone to talk to.  There is a time a place for chemical aid.

When we left the museum we passed through a room whose walls were COVERED with pamphlets.  A sign politely informed us that each guest was permitted to choose one pamphlet free, but that additional pamphlets can be purchased for $1.50.  I was tempted to take the one titled Raped by Psychology, but I restrained myself.

I couldn't leave without checking out the gift shop.  Sure enough, right there on the shelves were copies of "Mad in America" and all the other books whose authors were quoted favorably in the introductory video.  What a surprise.  There was also a book that had a giant tag line saying, "Tom Cruise was right!!!"; I forget the title though, because I was so mesmerized by that.  There were also some really awesome tee-shirts.  My favorite was a bubblegum pink one that said, "Psych drugs turn kids into killers."  'Killers' had a gun superimposed over it.

We rushed out of the museum.  Luckily there were some teenagers foolish enough to talk to the docents, so we avoided being cornered by Scientologists.  We felt thoroughly depressed and in need of chemical aid after my trip through that weird, sterile space-it was like a carnival ride from the most depressing circle of hell-so we headed over to Mercantile for a glass of wine.

Summer Reading

I have read some really awesome books so far this summer.  Somewhat unintentionally, I'm on a great streak of reading female authors.  No, not Charlaine Harris, Stephanie Meyer, or even JK Rowling (although those names rolled pretty easily off my mind).  I'm talking about inspiring, artistic, intelligent authors.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin finished 6/19/11
This is a scifi classic; it was included in the display on fiction at the SciFi at EMP in Seattle.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I went to that-it was really cool (to a nerd).  It's about a genderless world.  An ambassador lands there to try to get them to join some sort of trade federation, and is forced to realign his ideas about humanity.  I almost feel like I need another reading of this.  It was told from the points of view of two different characters, alternating.  But I wasn't really hip to that at first because LeGuin used a lot of madeup lingo that was difficult to assimilate.  I really liked it in the end though.

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood finished 6/24
Another awesome book!  I really liked "The Handmaid's Tale" and "The Blind Assassin", so I was definitely eager for this one.  "Alias Grace" tells the story of a girl who's imprisoned for murder at age 16 in the 1840's.  It's sort of a pastiche of her recollections, news clippings from the trial, and letters and recollections of a physician 15 years later who's trying to determine if she was innocent.  This is a thinking woman's mystery.  Atwood's prose is clear and concise, and very pointed.  She's a great storyteller.

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver finished 6/30
I have loved some works by Kingsolver, and others I really couldn't get into.  I was glad with this one that she put the level of research and dedication in that seemed to be present in "The Poisonwood Bible".  This was a really interesting story about a writer in the household of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo.  I love it when an author can wrap you up in a story but also teach you about a place or time period.

Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl finished 7/9
Okay, I admit it.  I've read this book at least twice before, maybe three times.  But revisting a favorite book is one of the joys of reading.  This is written in the style of a meticulously annotated textbook, but it's a whodunit.  It tells the story of Blue VanMeer, a senior in high school, who finds her teacher murdered in the woods.  I'm not giving anything away, you learn that in the first chapter, although it happens towards the end of the story.  The whole things is dark and precocious and carefully crafted.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen finished 7/13
Okay, I had sort of vowed to read no more Austen after Emma, Pride and Prejudice, and Persuasion because they're all basically the same story.  However this was practically free at the library sale, so what the fuck?  I actually really enjoyed it.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to rush to reread it (ever), but I found it pretty funny.  Jane Austen basically made fun of her main character-Catherine!-the entire time.  She is sort of a nut, who reads too many novels and gets caught up in silly fantasies about her life (that doesn't sound like anyone else I know).  The ending did wrap up a bit too neatly for my taste though.  I felt like Austen got tired of the story, and decided to sum up the end instead of telling it.

At this point I decided I could read what I wanted, and besides I only had one more choice by a female author on my To Read shelf, so I picked up this crappy Stephen King novel (also from the library sale) called The Dark Half (cue ominous music).  But I read a chapter or two and just felt meh about it.  So I'm going back to the ladies (oh yeah!).  Which brings me to the final book I have to talk about:

The Lover by Marguerite Duras present
I originally read this book in French, and really liked it.  I got the English version(at the library sale!) and couldn't turn it down, especially since I no longer have that French copy.  I'm digging it so far.  But I think I need to slow down and taste it more, I found myself rushing a bit.  It makes me want to find it in French again.  And it also makes me want to go get some Anais Nin or something sexy like that...

Check in

It's been a while since I checked in with anything, so I figured 7/11 was as good a day as any to update all three of my followers with something mildly humorous (hopefully) less depressing.

Produced another 24 Hour Theatre event this weekend.  This is the third time I've put this event up at Theatre Tribe, but the first time I actually performed.  I directed in the first one (fucking scary), and I ran the show in the second, so I was differently excited this weekend. The part written for me was a hooker.  Surprise!  Or not.  When I told my director I had a lot of fun choosing potential wardrobe he said, "I thought you would."  And feedback from my Stuart, my artistic director and teacher, "You didn't get as nasty as you could have."  Hmm.  Go figure.

I had such a fun and exhausting weekend.  It was artistically draining, and I'm left with the thought that I need to obsess over art.

Life is interesting.  I feel like I'm only now discovering LA, which is lame.  But also exciting.  I went to Jumbo's Clown Room for the first time (with 5 girlfriends, no less).  Um.  AWESOME.  Why have I never been to that mecca before?  The next exciting place I plan to explore is the New Beverly Cinema.  Time to see some grindhouse on the big screen.

I have nothing else interesting to report at the moment.  I could tell you about how I'm getting back into yoga (I wonder if I could do a split by the end of the summer?) or about not eating gluten and trying to get really healthy (definitely not by living off Larabars) but I won't bore you.  Besides, if you ever hang out with me you've heard all about it anyway.

Kisses

Calamity Jane

I was born on the first day of Sagittarius, with a lot of Sagittarius rising in my natal chart.  Someone once told me that Sagittarians are lucky.  This resonated with me, because I have always felt lucky.  If you know me at all, you may be surprised by this. 
I have a long history with disaster.  Calamities befall me with regularity.  At first they seemed innocuous, and there was a pretty good period in my early teens where nothing huge happened, but let me give you the rundown:

Age 2: Fall down and break my nose.  Okay, no biggie, kids fall.
Age 6: Fall down on the playground and break my arm.  Ouch
            A couple weeks after I was done wearing the sling I fell down rollerskating and broke my leg.
Age 7: Almost exactly a year later I tripped in the school parking lot and got run over, breaking my leg in the same place.  At this point my parents gave me an angel pin to wear and said it was my guardian angel, and not to break myself anymore.
Age 9: Go over the handlebars of my bike and chip my two front permanent teeth.  That's right folks, you're looking at caps.
Age 16: Two weeks after getting my license I rearended someone while dressed as a clown.  Talk about mortifying.  Luckily it was just a scratch.
Age 18: Became terribly sick with the flu, got a blood clot in my jugular, spent 6 total days in the hospital, missed a month of school, lost 15 pounds, had to start taking blood thinners, went back to school and everyone thought I was anorexic.
Age 20: T-boned a university van.  Ugh
Age 22: Hurricane Katrina.  'Nough said
Age 24: Headon-sideswiped by another car on an icy road.  Walked away from my totaled car with a broken wrist, some serious bruises, and no desire to get back in a car.
             Prescribed bogus antibiotics because I was bitten by a stray kitten (scary, right?) and had a terrible allergic reaction which landed me in the ER while vacationing in Hawaii.  About a month of more antibiotics followed.  FUN
Age 26-27: Get sick with the flu or strep or a really terrible cold about once a month for 6 months
Age 27: Rearended on Cinco de Mayo.  Keep it coming
Age 28: That thing I said about getting sick once a month?  Repeat.
              Move out to "take a break"
              Four days after moving into my own apartment my car broke down on the freeway in the middle of the night.  Very convenient now that I had no one to rescue me.
              Break up of my relationship of over six years.

That pretty much brings us up to date.  There were some other nasty things in there, but these are the major things.  So anyone looking at this list could say, "Catherine has awful fucking luck."  But I still maintain that I am lucky.  I recently read another blog post that really spoke to me:

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/06/why-being-broken-in-a-pile-on-your-bedroom-floor-is-a-good-idea--julie-jc-peters/

She's talking about a Hindu goddess who's name, Akhilandeshvari,  means Never Not Broken, and who derives all her power from that terrifying state when you have no idea what to do and your life is in shambles and your dreams of the future have disintegrated and who knows what happens next.  Well I say FUCK YES.  Akhilandeshvari is the goddess for me.  Without knowing it I have been kneeling at her shrine for all these years.  All these catastrophes and messed up things that have happened give me the strength and the cunning to look past the small things and see that there's something else out there, even if I don't know what it is.  Channeling her spirit I can recreate myself from the ashes of my old life and become better than before.  And knowing that something else will come along to knock me down again I won't be so bothered by it.  Because that's the way of things.

Lucky me.  Never Not Broken.

Midnight in a Perfect World

In the bathroom in the middle of the night a creepy crawly with many legs skitters across the wall at the flip of the switch.  Sitting there pondering how to get rid of it I jump, thinking I saw another.  I brace my feet against the bathtub, afraid to put them down.  No question: it has to go. 

I look behind the door and there it is, hiding underneath a red washcloth emblazoned with a C.  I try squashing it through the cloth with my foot but I'm too timid.  It will have to be the vacuum.

I plug it in and connect the hose extension in my bedroom, so as not to startle the bug.  I hope it hasn't disappeared; I don't want it running around my apartment.  But it's still there behind the bathroom door.

I mercilessly suck up the offensive bug with the vacuum hose, and then clean all the corners of collected hair and dust to suffocate it.  Then, unwilling to chance that it might still be living, I vacuum the fuck out of my bedroom.  1:45 in the morning, and Suzy Homemaker is hard at work.

Once I finish vacuuming I'm faced with a dilemma.  I need to empty the canister, but it could still be alive in there.  It looked pretty tough.  I could flush it down the toilet, but I just cleaned it today, and what if it escaped onto my hand.  The trashcan in the kitchen is the other option, but again , what if it's still alive?  No, the only real option is emptying the canister into the dumpster outside.  I don't want that gross bug anywhere in my house.

Outside in my pajamas and flipflops I feel exposed.  I finish up as quickly as possible, shaking the dust trap to be sure the offender isn't clinging to the inside. 

When the deed is done I go back inside, put the vacuum away, wash my hands, and get back into bed.  My room is bug free, and I still can't fucking sleep.