Maria Alexander News and Updates from TheHandlessPoet.com

Did everyone else feel the sonic booms today when the space shuttle broke the sound barrier?

That was cool.

But it just might work.

If more of those bastards were afraid of the law for what they're doing to women, maybe things would improve a bit. I don't know what would change their hatred of women, though.

Those of us who live in relative safety and who are employed have a great deal to be thankful for. The daily annoyances can be overwhelming but I'm seriously grateful I'm not holed up in a Mumbai hotel today with a gun to my head.

But today I'm particularly grateful for the love of my friends and family who have helped me this year through one of the most painful periods of my life. I'm not completely out of the woods, but I've got plenty of cabins to stop at for a rest and hot soup. For that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Uncle Walt just announced this morning the mini Alternate Reality Game (ARG) based on The Muppets.

It's good fun, if entirely too easy. I probably won't be able to go to the Park to complete the second half, which also looks like a cake walk.

I had the opportunity to give notes on this in a draft phase. From what I'm told, at least some of what I gave was particularly well-taken and a Muppets writer got involved (the game itself was not written by Disney people). It's really just to get the wheels oiled for bigger ARG projects. If people like it and respond, then I'm sure such projects will get better consideration in the future.

Del told me this weekend that Clive Barker is adding work to the Dark Delicacies III anthology, in which my story "Though Thy Lips Are Pale" appears next September 2009 from Perseus/Running Press.

My favorite writer, Clive did a brief film mentorship with me and was the one who encouraged me to come to Los Angeles. I'm turning peony with joy!

What I would love to post but can't is a long letter of complaint we got from an Evangelical who was not only semi-literate but completely offended because she unwittingly brought her child to Disneyland during Bats Day in the Park. She couldn't believe there was a day where people came to Disneyland wearing shirts that "supported satin" (sic).

It is so great, I can't even tell you.

Apparently there was another letter of complaint from a whiny liberal like me who thought Disneyland had become "too Republican" over the last few years.

This place is a whack magnet.

Next to John Cusack, of course Hugh Jackman is the sexiest man alive! Duh!

And am I the only one that this quote makes ridiculously hot?

How do you keep the passion alive?
"It's easy with my wife. She loves the idea of me coming home in costume because it makes her feel like she's having an affair in a good way. When we met, I was cast as a prisoner with tattoos and she'd say, 'Don't take your tattoos off tonight!' and I'd be like, 'All right!' But what works best with her is the stockbroker look. She also says, 'Do your sexy dance for me -- an '80s-like, hip-swiveling number -- and that works for me."

Do your sexy dance for me, Hugh. GAH! ::swoon::

Sorry for the puddle, but it's not often they get in my head and pull the winner.

I've been following the Stephanie Meyers phenomenon and watching the Twilight trailers. I'm "over" vampires in general. They don't hold the same allure that they did perhaps 10 years ago.

That's not what I'm wrestling with here. I finally put my finger on what has bothered me so deeply about Meyers' story -- at least as portrayed in the film trailers. What I hate with the hate of 1000 suns is to see yet another story where a young woman is seduced by a super powerful man and gets sucked into his world and his bullshit. A man who could kill her but choses not to. Gee, how generous. I'm sure the women of Afghanistan can relate to that message.

I'm aware that Meyers is Mormon and all the baggage that comes with that. I'm nearly devastated to realize that it appeals to so many young women and men in this country. You would not see the reverse happening. We got a glimpse of it with Lost Boys in the '80s, as Michael is pulled into Star's world because of her magnetism, but it wasn't a romance. It was pretty much straight up horror with some humor.

If American women want to stay in the emotional ghetto, I guess that's their prerogative. I really thought we might be moving beyond that. But dollars don't lie. Our next generation of girls is fantasizing about uber bad boys who will swoop in and "choose" them to be part of their blood-sucking elite.

Yeah, screw that. I can only hope they grow out of it.

This movie just made me want to kiss Bill Maher all over his great big beautiful Jewish nose.

One part gave me the extra willies because, having lived in Pentecostal culture, I recognized a "backstory" that the trucker at the Trucker Chapel told about being a "Satanist priest." Either he was equating being a drug dealer with being a Satanic priest (something I think the real Church of Satan would think daffy) or he stole outright the so-called life of exposed fraud and Christian comedian, Mike Warnke. (If you're curious as to what he sounds like, there's an outtake from one of his concerts on YouTube.) And given how nutty these people are, I wouldn't doubt there is some genuine mental illness going on there.

I saw the film with Cinriter. It's funny because I think in parts we saw two different films, solely due to the fact that I was watching it through the eyes of an ex-Pentecostal/ex-Jew/ex-Mormon and she was watching it through the eyes of a long-standing rational person.

What struck me in particular as I watched were the feelings I used to have that welled up as I listened to the Pentecostals in particular reciting their beliefs. I then realized on a whole new level that it's not about ideas. You can't have a conversation about changing ideas because it's about the overpowering emotions that these people feel. When they say, "I know there is a God," it's not about an intellectual understanding (although they might say so). There's this absolutely nuclear mushroom of emotions happening behind their sternum as they "think" about Jesus or God or whoever. The feelings completely cut off rational discussion.

Bill caught this awesome clip of Kirk Cameron talking on his ministry show, saying that when believers witness, they have to "get around the intellect" of the people they're talking to. Kirk the Banana Genius got that right, boy howdy!

But the best part was that Vatican priest that everyone mentions. He killed me! Oh my gawd, you have to see this movie just to listen to him.

I called the Alliance Francaise de Los Angeles this morning and they told me that, because they're a non-profit, they cannot sell lists. I believe them. During my years with The Frenchman and the Alliance Francaise de Pasadena, I trust they'd not do such a thing, but I still needed to check.

The French Chamber of Commerce might be a different matter. I sent an email to them and I'm hoping to get something in writing one way or the other.

Meanwhile, a nice fellow in the UK who read my blog entry and is un Temoin de Jehovah sent me an email jokingly explaining that I must have spoken French to a Witness to avoid them, so they left a French tract on my door. He said that they call because they care.

I explained that ex-boyfriends who stalk their ex-girlfriends "care," too. I also told him that I'd never speak French to avoid the opportunity to urge someone to run from the brainwashing like they're escaping a burning building. Why? Because I care!

(Seriously, Arthur. Run.)

Anyway, I'm still rather paranoid. What next? French Mormons? Putain de merde!

Tonight I come home and find a religious tract stuck in my door.

It says, "Aimeriez-Vous Connaitre La Vérité?"

Weirdly enough, the Jehovah's Witnesses had left a tract on my door -- in French.

Now I'm wondering how they knew I spoke or read French. Was it a crazy neighbor who heard me speaking in French to Robie? (I do this as he watches me lock the door through the window when I'm leaving in the morning.)

Or was this the most utterly random thing in the universe? I don't even want to know that there's such a thing as a French Jehovah's Witness running around sticking tracts in people's doors. That's a crime against both nature and good wine.

Perhaps the Alliance Francaise de Los Angeles sold my address to these kooks. I think I need to make a call...

My 86-year-old father is a WWII veteran who fought in the Navy as part of the Marshall Island Campaign. He doesn't talk much about it, not to this day -- perhaps because he suffered a ruptured eardrum and hearing loss from his tour of duty working with the ship's guns.

Many years ago, I called him on Veterans Day, bubbling with patriotic gratitude. "Hi daddy!" I said. "I just wanted to say thanks so much for fighting with the Allies to rid us of the Nazis and bring justice to the world."

My father replied, "Why, thank you, dear. Thank you for reminding me of the worst goddamned years of my life!"

Mr. Cranky Pants doesn't want to be reminded that he did something rather heroic. But for everyone else out there who serves or has served our country, especially those under an unpopular president in a war where you've endured daily horrors beyond our comprehension, I want to say thank you for all that you've sacrificed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for making a difference, wherever you are. For your willingness and for your love of this country I love, too: thank you.

And having grown up with a disabled veteran, I urge everyone to support bills that increase veteran benefits. They and their families deserve it beyond what you can imagine.

Thank you.

I received the good news today that, barring any editorial reconsideration ("Good lord! She spanks men for fun. Is that really feminist?") it looks like I have sold a somewhat condensed version of my personal essay, "Dogma, Darth Vader and My Sexual Awakening" to the thoughtful and visionary make/shift magazine for Issue #5.

So visionary, in fact, that:

The new issue of Utne Reader recognizes “50 Visionaries Who Are Changing Your World”—and three of them are regular contributors to make/shift! Coeditor/copublisher Jessica Hoffmann, writer brownfemipower, and columnist/reviews editor Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore all made the list. Read it here.

She's branching out, folks. Touching other worlds.

On Hallow's Eve, I wasn't especially inspired to dress as anything in particular. So, before work I just threw on some stuff I had lying around...



This is the pink "break up" corset I bought this summer. It's made by Versatile. I think it's divine!

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider who sat down beside her
And there he has stayed 'til this day!

My coworker Maggie took this photo and two others while we were at Imagineering. Here's she and I together.



I wore the same outfit on Saturday night to the LACMA event I went to with Mr. Lucha, but instead of a necklace I'd found by then my lace choker with onyx gems that GothGeekGirl gave me from Whitby, as well as long, black, fingerless netted gloves.

Wake the dead and show 'em your cleavage!

I had just finished my 24Lift class at the gym. I was sweating but feeling energetic as I stepped through the glass doors from the classroom to the elliptical machines and stationary bikes. But then I looked up for the first time in an hour at the bank of TVs that hang above the exercisers. Everyone of them read:



I leaped straight up in the air, fist raised, and hollered like I'd won the lottery. Although the exercise bots kept pumping on their machines as they stared silently up at the screens, the people at the front desk looked at me with puzzled looks. I pulled the towel up to the side of my face with embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a bit excited," I said, realizing I probably shouldn't be yelling in the gym.

"Why?" they asked. "What happened?"

That's when I realized they couldn't see the TVs from their station. I pointed at the screens. "We have a new president. It's Obama!"

The meaty Hispanic guy raised his thick eyebrows and his mouth broke open with jubilation. "He won?"

"Yeah, he won!"

We high-fived and jumped up and down as we hollered together.

I tossed my towel in the bin by the door and nearly flew down the stairs into the garage. On the way, I told people, "We have a new president!" "Who is it?" "Barack!" I couldn't stop howling with joy, my voice echoing even in the garage. Barack! Barack!

Barack!

Today, I'm sad that the Day of the Dead festivities at Hollywood Forever seem to be more or less rained out. What the hell? It doesn't rain for strange eons and suddenly Zeus is pissing all over everything. ::shakes her fist at him::

But tonight I'm going to the LACMA Muse Costume Ball. Many thanks to Keith for the ticket. I'll be wearing a gussified version of Madame Muffet, which was an insane success at Uncle Walt's -- partly because of my well-placed breasts but also because that corset Hilary made for me is an absolute stunner. I suspect there will be some jaw-dropping costumes tonight. I just love the opportunity to dress like a dark princessa and whip around a black lace parasol.

I'll post pictures as soon as someone sends them to me!