Tofu (R.I.P) and my typewriter

It was grey, heavy and–honestly, pretty ugly. But it did the job (I just had to gently bang on the carriage return lever a few times to get to my next line) and that’s all that mattered. The typewriter method required physical labor, which somehow made me feel all the more connected and devoted to the written word.

It was in 2008, when I was living in Grand Rapids, that I got the most use out of it. Clacking away, I was Allen Ginsberg, Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac. Not to be cooped up boozing in my air conditioning-free Heritage Hill apartment like the legends who came before me, I went out to work. I needed both of my arms to lug the thing six blocks to the nearest coffee shop. When people would stare I pretended not to notice.

Me and my Remington Quiet Riter

Growing up I never had the distinct privilege of using a typewriter out of necessity. I was born in the late 80s and just so happened to miss out on them. I have a vague recollection of my parents having a typewriter tucked away somewhere under an opaque plastic sheath–a clunky, drab looking IBM-made contraption. I don’t remember ever seeing it in action.

I think I was in high school when I officially became fascinated with “portable” manual typewriters and began scouring the local antique and thrift stores for one of my very own. I soon learned that though, that the both stylish and functioning typewriters I was lusting after–the pastel colored Olivetti’s, Remington’s and Triumph Adler’s–were far out of reach, price tags were often marked between $500 and $1,200 dollars. I could buy a computer with that kind of dough–and I had college to think about. I also felt kind of bummed out when I realized a lot of really beautiful antique typewriters were being dismantled for the sake of jewelry.

When I was in college a guy I was seeing bought me the Quiet Riter, a typewriter of my very own. He got it on eBay and it cost about an arm and a leg to ship. I won’t name names (though, some of you can do the math), but this is probably the only tangible positive thing that came out of that train wreck of a relationship.

In 2010, Phil and I made our trek out to California and the typewriter was really just too difficult to bring along. We only had so much room in the Escape and that space was reserved for our essentials. I pawned my Quiet Riter for $10 without giving it much of a second thought and looking back, I realize I do miss having that thing around. It inspired me.

I have been looking to borrow a working typewriter for a bit (anyone know anyone?)–to create some top secret special items for the wedding. Eventually, though, I would like to buy another typewriter. Maybe next time I’ll even be able to afford a vintage typewriter that’s not only working, but also pleasing to the eyes. A girl can dream.

Typewriters of my Dreams….

Blue Olivetti

Green Remington 2000

Pink Olympia

Bright Red Royal Quiet De Luxe

I’m still a little shamelessly obsessed with reading everything Manson-related that I can get my hands on. I guess that’s why you can understand why I’m a bit “excited” about going to see the documentary “Manson” with my fiance’ this week.

I had never heard of it, so I looked it up: “Manson” is a very old, rare film that explores the history, beliefs and mind-sets of those involved in the brutal Tate-LaBianca slayings. Apparently, a team of filmmakers spent time at the Manson Family “home,” Spahn Ranch, before the trial. When the film was about to be released, it was banned because it had potential to affect the family members right to a fair trial.

My friend Chris tipped me off to the fact that the documentary is playing in L.A. at The Silent Movie Theatre on Fairfax.

Here’s Cinefamily’s description of the movie:
“This feature doc has the urgency of a breaking-news telecast, the emotional complexity of a sudsy soap opera, and the deep, dank evil of a classic chiller. The ‘Helter Skelter’ murders shook the nation, ending the era’s Summer-of-Love vibe; this dynamic Pop Art portrait of the Family members’ head-spinning motives — told in their own words — is an incredible delineation of the facts for the uninitiated, and an unparalleled, fetishistic footage pile for the hardcore fans. The secret weapons: co-directors Robert Hendrickson and Laurence Merrick’s stockpile of guerilla 16mm evidence of goings-on at the Spahn Ranch, and the unprecedented intimacy they acquired with key players throughout the life of the Family. For the first time, you the viewer will immediately get why people become so obsessed with this entire sprawling mindfuck of a true-crime saga. Gutsy, beautiful work.
Dirs. Robert Hendrickson and Laurence Merrick, 1973, 35mm, 83 min.”

We’re going to try and go see it tonight. If this plan fails, though, there’s another showing tomorrow night. Can’t wait to check it out.

When I was little, I used to climb out of bed after I had been tucked in for the night. I’d tiptoe my way down the hallway, across the kitchen floor and crouch down behind the sofa in the family room of my parents’ house, where they would sit and watch movies.

Most of the time I would get caught and immediately be sent back to bed. Occasionally, though, I’d luck out and have a chance to stick around for awhile, feel like a real adult. Peering out of this hiding place, I had a knack for catching a movie’s most unforgettably terrifying scenes.

There’s that moment in “Terminator 2: Judgement Day” (1991) when the T-1000 Terminator skewered young John Connor’s foster parent with his newly transformed sword arm. Or in “Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan” (1982) when Khan inserts his hungry alien worms into the ears of two terrified Star Fleet crewman.

Most notable of these traumatizing moments was when six-year-old me managed to catch that unforgettably famous moment in “The Shining” (1980): While a similarly aged boy named Danny rides his tricycle around the hallways of The Overlook Hotel, he comes upon the ghosts of murdered twin girls. His mind receives flashes of their horrific, bloody murder as they beckon him to play with them “forever and ever and ever.”

I can’t specifically recall this moment giving me nightmares, but it definitely scared me and stayed with me for years. It scared me so much, in fact, that I didn’t end up watching “The Shining” in its entirety until I was about 20 years old. With it’s impossibly high ceilings and labyrinth-like corridors, The Overlook Hotel feels infinite. I realized somewhat recently that the movie feels like it’s shot from the perspective of a six-year-old boy and it puts me in the mindset of a child. It’s still, at this point in my life, a very scary movie.

My “Shining” tee

I recently fell down something of a rabbit hole and have consumed as much “Shining” related material as I can get my hands on: we went to the Stanley Kubrick exhibit at the LACMA, we watched the subjective documentary “Room 237” and I actually read Stephen King’s “The Shining.”

I really enjoyed the Kubrick exhibit: looking at his photos (I didn’t know that he was a photographer before he was a filmmaker), reading letters he had received/written, learning more about reaction to his more controversial films (”Lolita,” “A Clockwork Orange”) and even seeing some of the props from his films.

Actual prop from “The Shining” on display at the Stanley Kubrick exhibit at the LACMA

Actual “The Shining” costumes, on display at the Stanley Kubrick exhibit at the LACMA

“Room 237” explores different theories by different authors, professors, filmmakers and other “experts” about the hidden meanings within the film “The Shining.”

The majority of these theories were, in my opinion, embarrassingly far-fetched. Without totally ruining for anyone who hasn’t seen it, here are two example theories: 1.) The movie is actually about the Nazi Holocaust 2.) “The Shining” is about the “true story” of the moon landing. (Some conspiracy theorists believe the 1969 Apollo 11 mission to the moon was faked and the televised event that the world saw was actually created on a sound stage by Stanley Kubrick in collusion with the U.S. government.) The doc made a few interesting points that intrigued me, but I overall didn’t exactly walk away from “Room 237” feeling especially enlightened.

The book was an all-together different experience. Just as I was beginning to read “The Shining,” a handful of different people had given me their own opinions on the book vs. the movie. “Oh the movie’s much better.” Or “The book is wayyy better.” As I finished reading it last night and when I snapped it shut, I had a feeling that I had just consumed a completely different piece of art. I knew this would be the case—but this particular instance of a book vs. movie was especially profound: In few ways are King’s “The Shining” and Kubrick’s “The Shining” actually alike.

That being said: This book was very scary. It was well-written. I really enjoyed it.

I do have some comments, though. What really stuck out at me as I read was how startling it was picking up on the strange differences in attitude in 1970’s era King (who I understand when he wrote this was suffering from severe alcoholism)– he’s blatantly sexist/racist in his third person omniscient descriptions. I’ve read a few more recent King books in the last few years and I feel that he doesn’t come across the way in his later, more modern works.

What I got out of “The Shining” was something very different than I anticipated: This book isn’t really about a haunted hotel and a little boy with psychic abilities. At its core it’s a very dark comment on domestic violence and the impact it has on families. On a surface level I can break it down like this: 1.) Wendy is a victim the entire book and the only time she exhibits any kind of strength is when she has to be there for her son, Danny. 2.) Jack just “isn’t himself” when he’s intoxicated by the power of the hotel—similar to how he “isn’t himself” when he’s intoxicated by alcohol. 3.) Danny has a sixth sense ability—he’s not clueless to the problems his parents are having and suffers as he foresees the destruction of his family.

I’m glad I finally felt brave enough to read it. Very dark, interesting and inspiring stuff.

In 1959, a distressed man named Harold Perelson bludgeoned his wife to death with a ball-peen hammer, savagely beat their 18-year-old daughter and then fatally poisoned himself by gulping down a glass of acid.

News reports at the time said the family had two younger children who were also in the house that night. When they were woken by the victims’ screams, Perelson told them they were simply having a bad dream, his youngest daughter told police. “Go back to bed. This is a nightmare,” he told 11-year-old Debbie. She and her 13-year-old brother, Joel, escaped injury.

The 18-year-old daughter, Judye Perelson, ran from the mansion and staggered to a neighbor’s house. She was treated at Central Receiving Hospital and then taken to General Hospital with a possible skull fracture, The Times would report the next day.

The next morning, authorities came in and removed the family’s two other children, cleaned up the mess, locked the front door and left.

More than 50 years later, the house is still empty. The exterior is apparently maintained by local neighbors–the grass is mowed and the house is painted–but the inside of the home is frozen in time. It looks exactly how it did the night of the murders: the furniture is covered in dust, there’s a 1950s-style television set and wrapped Christmas gifts sit on a coffee table.

It’s a bizarre mystery that’s too interesting to ignore.

I had first read about the so-called Los Feliz Murder House over a year ago, shortly after my friend Chris and I visited the fictional Murder House depicted in season 1 of “American Horror Story.”

Other distractions popped up, though and I completely forgot about the REAL murder house that was practically in my back yard. Another friend brought it up on twitter and I proceeded to spent the next day or so down the rabbit hole reading everything I could find about the house. (Check this one out: http://www.iamnotastalker.com/2011/01/26/the-los-feliz-murder-house/) I decided it was time to finally check this place out.

Last week I sent my dad an email with “Murder House” as the subject. The email contained a link to a dated LA Times article and this message:

“The gang and I are piling into the mystery machine and going to go do some meddlin’! Chris, me and another friend are going to investigate the vacant Los Feliz’s Murder House.”

He replied with the instruction to “Take pictures!” (I love my dad)

This past Saturday, Phil, Chris and our friend Dobie drove the short distance from our apartment to the Los Feliz Murder House, 2475 Glendower Place. Typical to roadways up in the hills, the street was quite narrow. We parked a short distance away from the house and did our best to be quiet as we approached.

I had read various blog accounts of people being asked by neighbors to leave and so my instinct was to move quickly. I had only just started ascending the stairs when a woman came out of the house across the street and told us it was private property. She said that the neighbors didn’t used to have a problem with visitors going up to the house, but then there had been various accounts of vandalism and they felt the need to put in a security system. A few jerks had ruined it for everyone!

This was so disappointing. I had no intention of damaging the house–I just wanted to peer in the windows of a vacant house!

My curiosity was slightly satisfied, later on, when Dobie sent me some photos of the interior he had found online.

My phone was acting up during our little adventure so I didn’t get any photos. I had to steal the few that my friend Chris was able to capture.

I made it just past the NO TRESPASSING sign before we were kicked out

The property has been maintained by the neighbors

I hope to go back to the house someday, maybe after dark, and get my own first, hand closer look inside the windows of the Los Feliz Murder House.

I take a deep breath when these feel out of control, though, and I think of my life together with Phil. I’m marrying this man because he means everything to me–and no matter what happens, we’re committed to each other. I don’t care about cake flavors, bridal accessories or color palettes. I don’t about the frilly details–I care about us. After the vows are said and all of the alcohol is consumed, no one will remember the frilly details–like what my centerpieces looked like. Guests will remember the way we looked into each others eyes during our first dance as a married couple and say to themselves “that’s what true love looks like.”

4 1/2 more months until our wedding day!

“I will always stand by you. Even if your body was attacked by a flesh-eating bacteria and all of your limbs had to be amputated, I’d still stay with you.” –Me to Phil, 5/7/2013

Because most of Brave Dog’s clients are based out of NYC, we do 99% percent of our business by phone. The purpose of our trip was to meet with these people for lunch and drinks and just kind of check in with them.

Even though I’ve been a part of the team for almost 2 years, this trip was the first time I met the people I chat with regularly face-to-face. It’s a strange thing that happens when your perceptions of how you think someone you will look crosses paths with the reality.

When I wasn’t visiting with clients and coworkers, I had the chance to catch up with some friends and see the city.

My first Virgin Air flight!

Of course the first business I see when I land in NYC is Dunkin Donuts. (Los Angeles still doesn’t have Dunkin Donuts)

I stayed at the Ace Hotel

Friends!

My first time in Union Station

Also my first time at the New York Public Library

I know it’s silly of me, but I didn’t think about just how cold NYC would be compared to L.A. I froze a bit….

Exploring the city:

I climbed a very tall, very scary ladder at the famous New York bookstore The Strand so that I could snap a photo of my fiance’s book: “So You Created a Wormhole-The Time Traveler’s Guide to Time Travel.”

I made it my mission to visit the Chelsea Hotel (I fell in love with Patti Smith’s book “Just Kids” last year and have since read everything I could about the history of the hotel). Completely unfamiliar with NYC, I was surprised and thrilled when I realized that it was just a few blocks away from where I was staying.

When I arrived I was deeply saddened to learn that it was closed to the public for renovations. I loitered outside for a few minutes and built up the courage to walk into the lobby. If I looked like I knew where I was going, they wouldn’t stop me, right? I fooled no one. The doormen and people sitting at the concierge desk immediately recognized that I didn’t belong. The doorman was elderly and had this air about him like he belonged there–like had worked there his whole. He was very kind when he asked me to leave and told me to come back again soon. Before I walked out the door, he stopped me, dug through a desk and handed me a pamphlet all about the historical hotel. I’ll have to make a special trip back some day.

This morning was an especially happy one for me because I was able to drop ALL of our Save The Dates in the mail. You have no idea what a big relief this is to me.

It took weeks of bugging Phil to get all of his contacts finalized, cutting/adding contacts, collecting all of the addresses, editing the guest list addresses for mistakes, ordering labels, printing these labels (don’t get me started…) The project was in my lap for two months and now they’re FINALLY done. Woohoo!

Onward!

I did some poking around the internet in search of someone with really great user ratings (What did I do before Yelp?) and I found a place called The Best Little Cat House in Burbank.

A cage-free, cat-only facility, their business model is based on “cat luxury.” The way it’s set up is that people can rent these themed playrooms (English Garden Room, Tahiti Room, Japan Room) and they can be shared with other cats or private. What I especially love about their set-up, though, is that they have a controllable web cameras and live feed so that cat owners can see how their cats are doing from anywhere in the world.

They also offer grooming.

When I noticed that my little fluff ball, Xander, was having issues with his turds getting stuck to him, I decided to take him in for an appointment. This past Saturday he got a “kitten clip” and “sanitary potty trail.” We just went for it and gave him a hair cut, just to see how he’d do with having less hair.

Burbank’s not exactly around the corner, but it’s within reasonable distance. I can hop in the car, take the 5-freeway and get there in 15 minutes.

I dropped him off around 1 p.m. and then came back to pick him up around 6. They had him in this little kitty condo and he was wearing a little neck tie. He was so fresh and clean, I hardly recognized him.

He seemed pretty relaxed when I picked him up–and maybe it was my imagination, but he also seemed pretty happy. He slept on my lap the whole way home.

He hated this little tie, but I kept it on him as long as I could
(long enough to take a photo.) Even now, looking at this
photo, that little tie just KILLS me. Too cute for words.

I know I’m a bit crazy cat person for always posting updates about my little guys, but I was just so excited, I had to share. I love them a lot and I can’tt help going a little proud momma on ya’ll at least once in awhile.

To avoid boring you all to death, PromaxBDA is a pretty massive competition and the time we spend prepping for it and entering it is essentially like an accountant’s tax season. We have a pretty small staff and things get really hectic up in the Taft Building. Any down time I once had at work disappears and I spend a lot of late nights at the office. During the weekends I’m so tired from these crazy weeks that I can’t even feed my own neuroses of keeping my apartment clean.

In short, that’s the sad, but true reason why my blog posts have again ground to a devastating halt. Bear with me. At least for a few weeks?

Lizzy Caplan stars in what is apparently an actual commercial for a fashion company, but it’s so fraught with self-loathing, it’s the best kind of parody.

What isn’t there to love about this? It projects lots of ideas that I often find my own generation of privileged white kids constantly projecting–namely the importance of nostalgia, unfocused creativity/artistic direction (anyone else notice the fact that everyone is an artist?) and manic pixie wonder. I love the pastel colors, the gauzy close-ups, the random props. The French minor in me also really digs this sort of allusion to 1960s French fashion ads.

Thank you for this, Lizzy Caplan and Viva Vena!

FASHION FILM from Matthew Frost on Vimeo.