Maria Alexander News and Updates from TheHandlessPoet.com

I wondered if I should write about this, as it mentions people from the horror community, but then I thought, "Eh. Fuck it. It's relevant. And I'd be a weak-spined, boring, say-nothing so-and-so who only prattles on about her own work to not bring it up."

Anyway.

I had really mixed feelings last night when I was at the gym and I saw Polanski being arrested on the big TV screens. I've loved and admired his work over the years, especially The Pianist, which is one of the most soulful films I've ever seen. While I do not believe in demonizing the man's art along with the man, I do believe that eventually you have to face the music and deal with your haints.

Victor Salva did exactly that, spending time in prison for his crimes. While I was pleased with a recent review of Dark Delicacies III, the reviewer stated that he didn't read Salva's story "in protest." Apparently, however, he was okay reading Eric Red's story. (For those not familiar with what happened to Red, you can read an account online in the LA Weekly. WARNING: CONTAINS JOURNALISM. Meaning, it could be complete crap.) Of course, the reviewer might not have even known about Red's history. But a wee bit similar to how Polanski settled with his victim, Red went through a lengthy civil suit but no criminal trial.

For the record, I think Red has written some amazing films and in person he's a very sweet man. So, knowing what you now know, can you retroactively denounce The Hitcher or Near Dark and deny him any acclaim for these films?

I can't. Nor would I ever.

(God, this is a dreary post.)

To me, it's all grayish and gunked up and not at all clear where to precisely draw moral lines. So, those of you who like to spew vitriol at 100% Pure Evil go ahead. Have at. I'll be over here stomping around in the moral miasma of A Problem Like Polanski and am totally okay with that.

Just returned from seeing this absolutely beautiful movie by Jane Campion. It's slow and dark but so very rich in emotion that I forgave it. And it broke my heart. How Abbie Cornish could possibly escape an Oscar nomination is beyond me, she's so powerful and delicate as Fanny Brawne. Lots and lots of brilliant acting all around, in fact.

Topper the cat was a total scene stealer. In one scene especially he does something so perfectly feline in oblivion to the human drama going on around him that everyone in the theater laughed out loud despite the scene. Whilst the humans are lying about, saying, "Oh, beauty! Oh, love! Oh, sighing!" his kitty brain was saying, "KILL! KILL! KILL!" What happened couldn't possibly have been staged. I'm glad Campion kept it because it made everything feel more real.

Bawled my head off from about "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" to the end, just so you know. It is what they'd call a tragedy, after all.

And there you have it.

Lord Arux and I got tickets to see the preview of "An Evening Without Monty Python", directed by Eric Idle and BT McNicholl.

We first met at Katsuya, a kind of hip sushi restaurant here in Hollywood nearby the Ricardo Montalban Theatre where the show was playing. We sat for a short while and held hands across the table, being ridiculously mushy as usual, before two men entered and were seated nearby. I'm not sure exactly what it was but suddenly Lord Arux and I were seized simultaneously with the realization that one of the men was Eric Idle. We clutched one another's hands in a decidedly not mushy way, eyes wide, hearts beating wildly for reasons that for once had nothing to do with our treacly romance or our tympani-pounding physical chemistry. We dug our fingers into one another's flesh for several more moments until I found the strength to tear away and...Tweet.

Holy shit! Eric Idle is sitting just a few feet from me on the same booth at Katsuya. Um... Eek?
about 4 hours ago from Twitterrific

The music was too damned loud in that hipster haven, which made it difficult to eavesdrop. Normally we enjoy this because it means no one can hear us being impossible, but now it was downright aggravating.

Not that we would have listened, of course.

So we carried on, musing that the other gentleman was the BT mentioned on the website. We got to hear Eric say, "I'm not dead yet," which inspired another round of hand clenching and holding of breath so as to not give in to a spasm of laughter. And then, as abruptly as they appeared, they slipped away.

The show was wonderful. The timing, energy and everything worked very well. In some places it was clear they were intentionally disregarding the old timing or tempo of a skit to try something new, and mostly it worked. Jane Leeves was fantastic as the only woman in the troupe (who also happened to be glad she had a penis), as was my friend Bill's brother, Jeff Davis. (My only experience of Jeff until now has been of him slouching about in the backyard of Bill's house with a beer bottle in his hand.) But seriously, the entire cast was fabulous. They even included a Neil Patrick Harris joke that made me giggle.

If you're a fan, go see this show before it runs away to New York on October 6th. Go on. GO!

I've not had much time for a proper post, what with the housing madness still at large, the continued writing of THRILLED!* and managing to maintain some semblance of a social life (albeit mostly just with Lord Arux). Work is crazed. My friends are looking at me askance when I tell them, "I have to go to The Park this weekend for research." Uh, sure Maria. Disneyland for work? Riiiiight. But alas it's true. Lord Arux and I spent hours on rides we would much rather have not been on. (Oooh, ask Lord Arux about Mickey's Fun Wheel! Go on. That is, if you want to see him twitch.)

Right now I'm writing about The Haunted Mansion and I'm very happy. In fact, I'm beyond stoked to learn that Walt was originally inspired to create a haunted mansion by a visit to the Winchester Mystery House. Ha!

Big Stupid Weirdness at Work occurred on Monday morning, when I found my voodoo doll molested. Specifically: the doll had fallen on the floor of my cubical and the black pin -- which is supposed to wreak "bad" magic upon the body part into which it is stuck in the doll -- was missing. The white pin -- purportedly used to heal the body part into which it is stuck -- was still tucked inside the little yellow bag attached to the doll's neck.

How completely and stupidly weird is that?

Complaints were made. Eyebrows were raised. Then today, my coworker's eye found the black pin in another part of the building just before his foot did. The only thing I could possibly find remotely flattering about this is that someone thought I could actually do damage with that little black pin. But most likely it was someone just being an ass.

And there are plenty of those.

I must continue writing. I'll leave you with the happy lyrics of SPF 1000's "Haunted Mansion":

I'm in love with the living dead
And we're trapped inside this house together
You play the Countess
I'll play the slave
And we can play forever...




*Whose plot keeps getting high jacked by the incredibly silly serial killer -- Or should I say a sillial killer? -- and taken in new and more hilarious directions.

Please vote for Robie the Lolcat!

Sorry if it's a bit obscure. It's a science nerd joke. Or, more specifically, a geometry nerd joke.

I love you, Carrie Fisher. You are still hot!

Well, FUCK. The only astrologer who wrote decent sun sign astrology horoscopes in her Rocky Horoscope column for the L.A. Weekly died last year on Halloween.

And the Weekly is telling people to check out Rob Brezny.

Fuck Brezny. He writes fucking Mensa tests, not horoscopes. They're these Indiana Fucking Jones hieroglyphics, not anything that anyone can really use. Not that sun sign astrology is worth a damn, anyway. Unless Rocky wrote it, that is.

Dammit. I loved Rocky. She was great. But she was also 70 when she passed. I guess she got her three score and ten.

The neat thing about this obituary is that I learned she used to work in book publishing, such as with Doubleday and writers like Shirley Jackson. She just rose a thousand feet higher in my estimation.

Le sigh, man.

Last night, I was meandering through the streets of Hong Kong with a couple of friends when we came across some kittens in an alleyway. My friends asked, "What are we going to do with these kittens?"

I replied, "What the hell are you talking about? We're on the move. We can't take them."

CUT TO:

I was riding in a Hong Kong cab, holding an adorable fuzzy white kitten with gray tufts on its ears. It was sleeping in my arms. It woke up briefly and I fed it a piece of hotdog from a plastic bag before it fell back to sleep.

I spent last night with The Insurance Mom. She and her husband have four adorable cats. No wonder I was Hong Kong kitten dreamin'!

It's no surprise I've not written anything in the last week.

Instead of pressuring myself for a word count when my world is churning around me, I've opted to return to my childhood pastime of puzzle solving. Not picture puzzles, but those heinously brain-wracking logical puzzles, word puzzles, Games Magazines-style, Mensa-menacing tests of pure intellectual prowess.

Lord Arux is a big fan of these things and has revived my passion for them. We've discovered that when he gets stuck on a puzzle, I can often unlock the next step, and visa versa.

It's all made me realize how unchallenged I am most of the day, I'm afraid.

I also downloaded a tangram program for my iPhone -- I'm crazy for spatial puzzles -- but was disappointed to discover they are all pretty much far, far too easy for me. I've found maybe three of the 900 that have taken me more than 2 minutes to solve. Most take about 30 seconds to a minute.

Meanwhile, I've been following Robie on webcam when I can at the Cat House. I can't always see him, as he's in the room where they isolate cats who haven't had their FIV tests and they only let them out of the cubbies one at a time for limited hours during the day. At first, I was distressed at this. But when I arrived at the Cat House, I discovered that cats in the general population are exposed to the smoke outside because the main room opens to the enclosed porch. So, while he doesn't have as much freedom, Robie is safer than the other cats from the bad air.

(OMG -- he's so cute! I miss him.)

Later today I'm going to run by my place and check out the state of the union. Will report after then.

I visited the townhouse this morning after visiting Robie at the kennel, and it seems the smoke inside my place has subsided. Outside it's still incredibly toxic. I was nervous inside my place, wondering if I was about to start wheezing from anxiety or from the smoke residue. If anyone has any cleaning tips, let me know.

I think I'll stay away another day or so and see how it goes. Last night the Air Quality Index was 200 -- just one particle away from Very Unhealthy, which the government declares as "Health Alert: everyone may experience more serious health effects." The air quality forecast for tomorrow is in the Unhealthy range, which actually covers a lot of ground, somewhere around 161 where I live.

I'm going to call my apartment manager and find out if he was able to get my air conditioning filter changed. Then, we'll see.