Fourth Postcard of the Summer

So this completely terrifying mondo-postcard came in the mail today. 

Why doesn't the Virgin have eyebrows? WHY?? (Isn't it terrible that
the Virgin and Roscoe are looking at you at the same time? )

It was sent by my friend Shulie, you see. She drove up from LA with a friend for a super quick visit a couple of weeks ago, which was wonderful. We ate tacos and drank kosher Spanish wine, and then had brunch the next morning and napped and took a quick drive down Love Creek Road, the most famous road in Ben Lomond.*

Wasn't Jean Paul Gaultier the one who had the super embarrassing drunken, anti-Semitic meltdown at a Paris café?
And was fired from his fashion house and had to go to French court? And looks like a pirate? EXCELLENT. 
UPDATE 8/01/12: NO! It was John Galliano -- thanks for spoiling my fantasy, Shulie! 

Shulie took some photos** at the toy box memorial I alluded to in a previous post, and a couple more further down the creek. She's promised to share them with me (HINT HINT SHULIE), and I'm just dying of curiosity and anticipation.

Thanks for the monstrous Virgin, Shulie! It's already up on the fridge, right next to Eva Perón and Ché!

***

* I'm seriously starting to think that Love Creek Road needs its own tag. Okay, done.
** Did you know that Shulie is a very talented photographer? And that she has a photo blog? Go and see!

Weekend Update: Fear, the Sublime, and Roscoe at the Dog Beach

It's another beautiful weekend here in Santa Cruz -- sunny, mild weather, with a nice breeze. This generally isn't the best dog beach weather (it's so perfect that it brings out all the sun bathers and small children; neither of these things go well with active dogs), but we found a nice strip of Its Beach untouched by the sunbathing masses. It's true, there were lots of gnats and smelled like poop; we made due. 

Roscoe made a new friend who likes to chase as much as Roscoe likes to be chased. EXCELLENT. All in all, a successful outing without any knocked over children or invasive sunbather sniffing (at least not by my dog).

TAIL TWINS. 

In totally unrelated news, I've been working on a new syllabus for my teaching portfolio and it is, sincerely, awesome. I have stacks of monster and horror theory books all over, and I'm having too much fun crafting a monsters curriculum for a course that doesn't even exist (yet; let's keep our fingers crossed and work a little woo-woo magic).

Later today I'll be skyping with Emily and K over a bottle of vinho verde rosé, a bowl of spaghetti and clams (!!!), and stack of Emmanuel Kant and Edmund Burke. SUPER. Good food, good company, good philosophy of fear and the sublime. 

Walking with Mr. Coe: Roadside Blackberries

The early mornings have been cool and misty in the Santa Cruz mountains over the past 5 or 6 days, long-sleeves and knit hat weather -- welcome relief from the mega-heat blast we got last Saturday: high 90's, no wind. It was like being in an oven. I prefer this week's weather much more. Roscoe and I have been taking advantage of the morning cool, taking our walks through the neighborhood before the mist and gloom burns off mid-day. 

Ben Lomond is covered in blackberry bushes -- they grow wild along the backroads and even on highway 9 -- and the berries are just now starting to ripen. EXCITIIIING.

Here's an extra enormous blackberry bush along good old Love Creek Road. It's more of a hedge, and runs along the road for quite a bit. Roscoe likes it.

Oh yeah, that's a happy dog.

Mr. Coe has lots of favorite stops he insists that we make throughout town. They're all generally pee-mail stops, of course.

Roscoe, checking his pee-mail at one of his favorite telephone poles.
Note hidden sign in the background.

And now for some more weird and wonderful signage. Above and below, "No Trespassing: Keep Out" signs. 

"Private Property: Keep Out" JUST STATING THE OBVIOUS.

And here's a sad one:

She whistles like: tweet tweew.

I really hope they find their lost cockatiel. Whoever made this sign (and the tens more I found posted all around town) did a great job of covering all pertinent information: Sily doesn't talk, but she does have a distinctive whistle. That's good to know. I hope they find her.

Prolonging the Spooky with Andy Warhol

I woke up to a wonderfully dark, spooky, and overcast morning up here in the Santa Cruz mountains, and now that we're approaching noon, it's all burning off and giving way to a sunny day. In order to prolong the spooky, I leave here for you an incredibly unnerving 4 minute and 28 second video of Andy Warhol eating a hamburger. 

If you read the video description on YouTube, you'll learn that this scene was filmed for a Danish art movie, that Warhol preferred McDonalds, and that this video comprises "a classic ASMR trigger scene", which I did look up* but can't say that I experienced. The only thing triggered for me was major Andy Warhol discomfort. You're welcome!


Note: Warhol never actually finishes the burger, he leaves the last bite in the wrapper (!!!).

***
* Man, oh man, oh man, oh man, have I stumbled down the internet rabbit hole into a whole new world of strange.

Third Postcard of the Summer

My sister got back from her trip to Iceland late last week. We had a video chat date over the weekend, and when I thanked her again for sending her postcard she said, "Oh, you haven't gotten the second one yet?"

Just got it in the mail. 

I think her message says it all; there really aren't any other words. 

Kitchen (mis)Adventure: Octopus Toast

I had a truly decadent and wonderful dinner at home Sunday night, and it was made all the better -- because I'm a lazy person -- due to the fact that I basically didn't have to do any cooking whatsoever. 

I mean, toasting toast and puréeing vegetables don't actually count as cooking, do they?

I've been hoarding two cans of imported (Spanish) baby octopus, packed in olive oil, that I bought at the Westside New Leaf in Santa Cruz a couple of months ago. They cost me millions of dollars (not really, but you know what I mean), and I've been waiting for a special occasion to crack them open. Well, Sunday evening rolled around, Jason was out,* and I decided that that night was the night (I only opened one can though, I'm a hoarder after all).

I made myself a nice batch of basic gazpacho, and toasted two pieces of bread. I slathered one in hummus and left the other one plain for the bowl of baby octopus I prepared with magic parsley from the St. John's Eve herb garden and lots of lemon juice. EXQUISITE. 

Kitchen (mis)Adventure success! I enjoyed it all before a lovely Skype date with Sarah T, after which I instantaneously crashed out while watching the opening credits to an old episode of Bones on Hulu. JUST ANOTHER PERFECT SUNDAY EVENING.

***

* Jason loathes, loathes, loathes seafood, which I find disappointing and am trying to slowly remedy. We're still working on tuna and (small) shrimp, so I knew that octopus would be way too much way too soon. ALL THE MORE FOR MEEEE. 

A Little (Nano) Science Fiction for Your Sunday Evening

For your viewing pleasure, here is the first episode of the Nano SciFi Tales series by director Nacho Vigalondo (Timecrimes [2003] and the very recently released Extraterrestrial [2012]). Each Nano SciFi video is under 21 seconds and totally and completely charming. 

I can watch this one video, in particular, over, and over, and over. And laugh out loud as it ends, every single time. Enjoy!

Catch the rest of the nano videos at the WOPP YouTube channel, here.

Cuchi Time: Campus Fauna

After sending a final email, turning off my laptop and packing up my things, I stepped out of my office door late Friday afternoon to see this: 

Two Bambis, ambling along.

You know, just some deer roaming around the university footpaths, nibbling on the lawn and landscaping. They generally come out to feed in the early mornings and later in the afternoons.

People are surprised when I tell them that I teach at a campus with half-domesticated deer roaming around. I tell them that they're our version of the pigeon. Only bigger. More dangerous. More on that later.

New students, particularly, are delighted to see the deer when they first come to campus. "How cute!" they say! "They're adorable!" they insist!

Doe and fawn. "Super cuchi!!!!" yell my students.

My students think I'm a super weirdo when I first share my disdain for the campus deer population. But, in time, they grow to understand.

The deer are just everywhere. And lots of them. And they aren't scared of humans, so they just wander in and out of foot paths and -- worse -- bike paths and roads. This doe below had just waltzed out into the road in front of my moving vehicle before I stopped to take her photo. Here she is, grazing along the side of the road as my car idles alongside her. Could. Not. Care. Less.

Much like pigeons, deer are a lot mangier and not quite so Bambi-adorable up close.

I know I sound like a crazy old person, but I think that the deer population on campus is a major liability -- not only do they cause bike and automobile accidents -- and the bike accidents are particularly devastating -- but they attract large predators as well. I've seen a handful of mountain lions on campus over the years (I don't have any photographs, but that probably has to do with the fact that I was too busy pooping myself each and every time), all drawn to "lower" campus in search of an easy snack. And have I even told you about how aggressive and scary young bucks can be? Especially during mating season? Scary, scary, scary.

Magical 7pm light cutting across the great meadow. 

The photos above and below, of young bucks grazing in the great meadow, were taken from super far away, using my camera's zoomiest digital zoom.

Yes, they're beautiful. I can't deny that.

Yes, magic.

I just wish that they weren't such a nuisance.

Grumble, grumble.

At least the cattle that are brought to campus to graze every summer and fall are fenced in.

Quintessential campus view. Those familiar with the UC Santa Cruz campus will
immediately recognize this view across the Monterey Bay. 

FYI: The photos of these multitudes of deer (and the final photo of the cattle ) were all taken in the span of 15 minutes late in the afternoon, Friday, July 20. Fifteen minutes!!!

I was lucky enough to leave before dusk and not run into any marauding raccoons (our version of the gutter rat?), by the way. I won't even get into the raccoons...

Found: Medieval Underwears

This post's found objects weren't discovered by me, but by archaeologist Beatrix Nutz, a lady PhD candidate with a fantastic name and a jackpot dissertation.

Source

The University of Innsbruck announced Wednesday that archaeologists (lead by Nutz) have discovered a fantastic cache of medieval household detritus and miscellany used in the early 15th century as insulation under a floor at the castle of Lengberg in Eastern Tirol, Austria. The preliminary report lists:

more than 200 coins, 160 coloured playing cards of carton belonging to more than four different decks*, objects of iron and alloys, bones, horn, glass, ceramics plus more than 50 pieces of writing from amongst other things accounts, chits and litergical texts.** 

This list doesn't even get into the treasure trove of 15th century textiles that's caused international interest: a fully preserved male hose, embroidered lacing and silks, pleated shirts, fragments of hats and linen headgear, and -- most exciting -- four bras.

Comfy looking bras at that.

Fashion experts (and academics and researchers, I'm sure!) "describe the find as surprising" as the bra was commonly thought to have been invented in the late 19th century/early 20th century as a replacement for the corset.*** Not so; looks like the bra came first, then the corset, then the bra, again, reinvented. Comfy always wins.

Though the treasure trove was unearthed in 2008, the university only made the news public this week, after extensive research, carbon dating, and DNA testing of the found textiles and the recent publication of an article in BBC History Magazine.

Source

They used DNA testing to determine the sex of the person who wore these underwears above, which I find awesome and also horrifically embarrassing for whoever wore them. Note to self: wash all articles of clothing before using them as insulation material/dying. Though they look like fancy, lady's bikini bottoms, Nutz told reporters that they were most likely men's underwears as women didn't wear any at the time. 

"Underpants were considered a symbol of male dominance and power," she said.

But who wears the fancy bikini underwears now!!!

***

* What would I give for photo images of some of those playing cards? I wonder if any of them belong to an early tarot/tarocchi deck...

** Check out the article at Medieval Histories Magazine. 

*** Read the Washington Post article here. 

Second Postcard of the Summer

This postcard from my sister came in the mail for me and Jason earlier in the week. 

mmmm Icelandic fleece.

She's in Iceland right now, taking part in a graduate field institute program and scaling glaciers, crawling through lava tubes and ice tunnels, inspecting mineral hot springs, visiting the mid-Atlantic ridge, being interviewed on Iceland's national television news broadcast... you know, totally awesome stuff.

She's been updating us almost daily with photos and emails about her trip, her international cohort of earth science grad students, the group's geothermal research and excursions, etc. and and it sounds amazing. Elena's also been indulging me, personally, with wacky and wonderful anecdotes about "Troll Tours" and the night her group ate a "traditional Viking Dinner" at a place that I imagine to be the Icelandic version of Medieval Times. She said they ate rotten shark, that it's an Icelandic delicacy, and that it was awful. I just laughed and laughed... 

photo taken by my sister, Elena

Elena took this photo for me a couple of days into her trip, in the capital, Reykjavik. We're pretty sure that's a yarn store. I am so pleased by the succession of "wares and attractions" advertised: elves, excursions, trolls, wool, northern lights, ghosts. YOU KNOW, JUST A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS. I really, really love that so much of Iceland's tourism is wrapped up in monsters, ghosts, and folklore. I want to travel to Iceland, just to visit this yarn store and go on a Troll Tour. 

Ever since she started planning for the trip, Elena and I would occasionally sing to each other "Welcome to Icelaaaaaand...", the opening line from the mock-Björk song from that one Kristen Wiig SNL sketch. The more I learn about that country, the more sense Björk makes. Both are equally delightful!

Cuchi Time: Tiniest Spinner

The prettiest, finest, little spider webs have been popping up all around the yard this week. They're so fine, in fact, that I often don't notice them until I'm about to disrupt them somehow -- in the case of the so-fine-its-invisible-to-the-camera web in the above photo, I didn't see it until I was about to walk right through it. Good thing it's teeny tiny maker was there to catch my eye. 

I generally think that spiders are pretty horrible, but this micro-specimen seems harmless enough. It's made itself a pretty web, is staying outside, is too small to be scary... not much more I can ask for. Do your thing, sir. 

Let's see what else is going on in the garden:

 My one Lily of the Nile is about to flower, which is exciting. 

Even better, the spindly little peach tree in the front yard -- that was pretty sickly when we first moved in two years ago -- is gracing us with a mega-load of peaches this year. This is all thanks to my dad, I'm sure. He's like a fruit tree wizard; his pruning skills are magic. Whatever he prunes is super happy through the next year. The tree is so prolific, in fact, that I'm a little worried that all this extra weight is going to snap a limb or two.

The peaches are almost ripe enough to pick from the tree. Maybe in a couple of days. I'm being especially vigilant because I know that the blue jays (my arch nemesi) and squirrels (disgruntled tree nesters) have their eyes on them too. Last year, they got to the one peach the tree produced and I was dismayed. NOT THIS SUMMER, YARD DWELLERS. 

Procrastination Investigation: Medicinal Cannibalism and the Dogged Return of the Sack Man

I thought that I was done with the Sack Man after my handful of posts from earlier this year (it really was a full six months of Sack People, wasn't it? how depressiiiing). I find this kind of spooky, sinister, historically based folk-stuff absorbing and exciting, but even I have my limits. It eventually starts to get tired and depressing and macabre -- not the fun kind of macabre, but the truly sordid, disturbing kind of macabre -- especially when what was once all fun and fantastical games turns out to be all too real. It's sobering. When I finished my final Enriqueta Martí post in June, I thought that I had "exorcised" the fascination once and for all. But just like any other kind of unfinished business, the specter of the Sack Man popped up into my imagination yet again. Even Procrastination Investigations can haunt and spook. 

Egyptians embalming a corpse, source.

Enter the Smithsonian Magazine's May 7 article "The Gruesome History of Eating Corpses as Medicine."*

The article, written by Maria Dolan, highlights the recent work of Dr. Louise Noble of the University of New England, Australia, and Dr. Richard Sugg of Durham University, England. In their most recent books, they (separately, they aren't collaborators) explain that for centuries -- peaking in the 16th and 17th c. -- many Europeans ingested wildly popular "remedies" containing human bone, fat, and blood for ailments running from headaches to epilepsy. BOOM, THIS SOUNDS FAMILIAR. These medicaments were frequently used by royals, priests, and scientists, and lead to the desecration of ancient burial grounds in both Egypt (powdered mummy was quite popular) and Ireland (ancient powdered skull, too).** The proles made due stealing from local graveyards and gathering free blood and body parts at public executions. Dolan writes:

"... consuming human remains fit with the leading medical theories of the day. 'It emerged from homeopathic ideas,' says Noble. 'It's "like cures like." So you eat ground up skull for pains of the head.' Or drink blood for diseases of the blood."

AHORA TODO TIENE SENTIDOOO. "Like cures like." In the case of the consumptive (tubercular) patient in the late 19th/early 20th centuries -- whose illness mainly manifested itself in malaise, dwindling body weight, and the coughing up of blood -- "new" blood cures "bad" blood. These folk-remedies -- poultices made with bodily fats, drinking the blood of children -- bound-up in the Sack Man folk-mythology make quite a bit more sense now that we can "read" them as part of a long-standing, European medicinal tradition. What at the turn of the century were "old-wives"/witches' cures, or "home-remedies", had previously been the status quo -- medicaments favored by the rich and powerful -- for millennia. 

The execution of Charles I of England. Note spectators sopping up the beheaded king's blood,
presumably for consumption. Source: National Galleries of Scotland

The article goes on to reference other academics working on the history of European corpse medicine, detailing the eventual discrediting of medicinal cannibalism by the European medical elite -- and the sway it still held over the common people even centuries later -- in this way:

"As science strode forward, however, cannibal remedies died out. The practice dwindled in the 18th century... But Sugg found some late examples of corpse medicine: In 1847, an Englishman was advised to mix the skull of a young woman with treacle (molasses) and feed it to his daughter to cure her epilepsy... A belief that a magical candle made from human fat, called a 'thieves candle,' could stupefy and paralyze a person lasted into the 1880s. Mummy was sold as medicine in a German medical catalogue at the beginning of the 20th century. And in 1908, a last known attempt was made in Germany to swallow blood at the scaffold."

I read the above passage and just yelled at my computer screen: "Helloooo! Sack People! In Spain! Until 100 years ago!!! That was happening too and at the same time!!!" The Sack Man is just part of a larger story. 

Dolan goes on to make other excellent points, highlighting the hypocrisy of the European Imperialist that reviled the cannibalism encountered in the New World, and ends the article exposing the hypocrisies underlying our own current day revulsions by deftly connecting the corpse medicine/medicinal cannibalism of yesteryear with present-day medical practices and research (namely, blood transfusions, organ transplants, skin grafts, stem-cell research). But, of course, I'm still too fixated on the Sack People to even start considering all these new (post)colonial connections (though they are compelling).

At the very end, she touches on the global black market trade in body parts/organs, and my synapses immediately start firing at top speed.

Sack People: they're still out there, adapting and evolving just like the rest of us.***

In true PI form, I diligently researched and scrounged up a handful of publications examining the subject further. If you're interested, Noble's 2011 text is here. Sugg's more recent 2012 text is here. I love both their titles.

Other web articles and scholarly texts (not mentioned in the Smithsonian article) are here, here, and here (and I'm throwing in this Daily Mail article because it references one of my favorite disturbing-movies-I-watched-too-young, Alive). Of course, we fall even further down the rabbit hole with these other texts that, instead of considering corpse medicine, deal with out-right cannibalism perpetuated by Europeans in times of war and famine (equally as fascinating, by the way). You're welcome.

Cannibalism in Russia and Lithuania, 1571. Source.

All these publications attest to the popularity of the study of Western cannibalism in the academe right now (it's a thing, okay? just like how the zombie apocalypse is a thing? I'm actually getting to be so over the zombie apocalypse and bath salts and all the rest of it...) and it seems as if there's only more to come. 


The more I learn, the more normal the abnormal becomes. Or is it that the more abnormal the normal becomes? Oh, Sack Man. And again, the things we forget. 

***

* I would be remiss to not mention that I found said Smithsonian Mag article through the blog of The Order of the Good Death, an arts and science collective (founded in 2011 by Los Angeles-based mortician Caitlin Doughty) that examines mortality, death, and how we currently face them (and fear them) in our the modern (Western) world. See the post with the link to the Smithsonian Mag here, and a second OGD blog post on corpse medicine here. I think their work is wonderful and fascinating and it's given me nightmares and I just can't get enough of it. Have you seen Doughty's "Ask a Mortician" webseries? Oh my god, go and be amazed!
** Let's not even get into the fetishistic/Imperialistic implications of the consumption of ground up skull taken from ancient Egyptian tombs and Irish burial grounds because it's so repulsive that it makes my brain turn to goo. 

*** I know, I sound like an X-File. I don't care.

Point of Contention: Squirrel's Nest

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been forced into some unsavory "arguments" in my front yard with a squirrel. The scene is always set in the same way: I'm lying in my hammock (see photo here), enjoying the stupendous outdoors, and a squirrel comes and sits high up in one of the oak tree's trunks and starts barking at me. 

And barking. And barking. 

And I stare at it. And it barks some more. And I stare. And it eventually moves further up the oak tree trunk (as it continues to bark at me), and we stare at each other until it finally shoots up the tree and jumps across to another and leaves. 

And for the longest time I thought: "What an jerk." Because, really, what was I doing to him/her/it? I was just lying in my hammock, minding my own business, reading my books or perusing the web on my laptop. Innocuous, innocent, unobtrusive. 

Until the afternoon that I chanced to gaze straight up from my supine position in the hammock.

Take a look: 

 Look closer...

 Now look closest.

That tree trunk you see is directly next to my hammock (in fact, it is the very trunk from which one of my hammock's ends hangs). That tangled knot of twigs and leaves and who knows what else that you see in the background of the photo(s) is a squirrel's nest. And, gathering from all the barking and glaring and staring and "arguments", is the squirrel nest of my little rodent foe.

I feel bad.

Said trunk is the the one from which said squirrel must climb to reach it's home.

I feel bad, but clearly not so bad that I abandon the hammock. And that makes me feel worse -- like some kind of horrible stealer of territory, a colonialist of front yard space, a neighborhood conquistador... But, you know what?

Whatever. It's a squirrel. It's an oak tree. It's a hammock. Let's all just get along.