Christmas Silence

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Christmas seems to have come too fast and not fast enough this year.  Like Halloween, it’s one of those long anticipation holidays.  The older I get, the more I appreciate the silence about it.  Not in a Grinch-like way, I hope.  More along the lines of “Silent Night.”  We spend so much of the year—so much of our lives—hustling about, barely having time to think.  Speaking personally, it takes about a week off work just to begin to get to that phase.  I need time to let the daily onslaught of work and capitalism and angst tune down.  There’s a quietness about Christmas that’s profound.  I suppose that’s why I like to spend it with my small family and not feeling obligated to go anywhere.  It’s like those precious moments before sunrise that I experience daily, only all day long.  That’s truly a gift.

The newspapers and internet sites have been summarizing the year for the last couple of weeks.  That always seems premature to me.  I understand why they do it, but Christmas and the days following are some of the very best of the year, and it makes sense to include those along with the stress, darkness, and ugliness that are the daily headlines.  I can’t help but think of Simon and Garfunkel’s “7 O’Clock News/Silent Night.”  Especially this year.  Christmas is for everyone, and the insistence that we make it exclusive (putting Christ back into it) makes it divisive.  Why some people have to be right all the time I don’t know.  I prefer Hamilton Wright Mabie’s take: “Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”  Simon and Garfunkel are both Jewish and I think they understood “Silent Night” better than many Christians did back in 1966.

I’ve been writing quite a lot about horror movies this year.  The months and days leading up to Christmas have often been difficult ones.  Such movies are therapy.  They can even fit into the beautiful silence of this day.  That’s my hope, anyway.  May this day include enough silence for you.  The rest of the year has no difficulty filling itself with trouble.  We need holidays.  Christmas has always struck me as the most peaceful of them all.  Ministers, and even those of us who never made the cut, tend to be holiday experts.  Those who don’t get caught up in the dogmatism of it all are the most blessed.  Christmas is for everyone.  And may it be peaceful this year.

Bears Repeating

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I read Robert C. Wilson’s Crooked Tree before I began this blog, I guess.  I remembered it being better than it seemed this time around, but it works as a horror novel.  In fact, the first third or so was quite unnerving, although I’d read it before.  After that the plot tends to require greater suspension of belief.  But then again, American Indian horror has come a long way since then.  Wilson, according to the limited information about him online, isn’t an Indian.  These days publishers are very concerned with appropriation—something that wasn’t an issue back in 1980.  And these days the work of Stephen Graham Jones, who is both a Blackfoot and an excellent horror writer, raises the bar considerably.  But Wilson is honest about the situation in his laying out of the novel.

Axel Michelson is a lawyer and he’s working to preserve the fictional Crooked Tree State Forest and prevent development.  Many of his colleagues and neighbors in Michigan are Indians, and so is his wife.  Axel’s efforts are hampered by a sudden onslaught of black bear attacks.  The description of the first three or four are scary enough to dissuade you from ever going camping again.  Axel’s assistant is an Ottawa and and he and his family suspect a bearwalk is involved.  This is the reason I read the novel the first time.  As a Native American folkloric monster, the bearwalk is difficult to uncover.  There are a couple more novels—one of them hard to find—that feature the tales, and there’s a university press book on folklore that has some accounts.  Not much more is out there that I can locate.

A bearwalk is a kind of shape-shifter.  A spirit that can control bears, in this case.  Axel becomes the white savior who uncovers the ancient ritual to stop the bearwalk, which has taken control of his wife—his main motivation for stopping it—while the Indians can’t figure out what to do about it.  They do tell him about the ritual, but mourning the loss of their culture, they fear it’s gone forever.  Meanwhile the bear attacks continue but once the shock of the first few attacks has worn off, they don’t scare so much.  There’s also a lot of supernatural involved, mostly drawn from native traditions.  It seems clear that, like Axel, Wilson did quite a bit of research on American Indian folklore.  He treats the Ottawa culture with respect and wrote a novel that might’ve had more influence than it seems. It’s well worth the read the first time around.

Movie Ancestors

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I’ve read quite a few Very Short Introductions, but this one struck me as particularly good.  Donna Kornhaber knows how to write for non-specialists, and she knows how to single out what’s interesting in the vast collective known as Silent Film.  As is the series trademark, this book is very brief, but it covers the essentials.  Kornhaber divides the silent film era, roughly 1895 to 1927, into three periods: early cinema, the transitional period, and the classic era.  During each of these, new developments demonstrated the sophistication of the industry and groundwork was laid for cinema as we know it today.  I learned quite a lot from this short treatment—so much that it’s difficult to know how to summarize it here.  Of course, it’s short so you can read it for yourself if you’d like to learn more. 

Perhaps what stood out to me the most was the correction of a misperception that, I hope, is not unique to me alone.  I’ve always thought of silent films as being grainy, poorly exposed, and choppy when showing people’s movements.  Kornhaber explains that most movies were of sound quality in their day, when projected properly.  Early film stock deteriorates, however, and not all stock was properly preserved.  This accounts for the graininess and the sometimes “overexposed” look of such films.  Even modern projectionists don’t use the proper speed and that leads to choppy motion.  In their own day, and with film handled by people who knew their business, early movie goers would have experienced realistic, well-rendered images.   These issues are our issues, not those of the original footage.

Another feature of the book is its focus on diversity in filmmaking.  Early silent film was dominated by France and the United States, but several other nations contributed to what we now think of as standard elements of cinema.  And the fact is that until sound was introduced many women played important roles in the development of what we expect from films.  Women directed.  Became business-savvy.  Ran their own studios.  Once the industry established itself as particularly lucrative, men began to edge women out.  The majority of early films—Kornhaber suggests around 80%—were lost as studios saw no reason to preserve them once “talkies” were the way to make money.  Consequently we’ve lost a good part of that early history.  We pretty much take movies for granted.  We can stream them any time, and we know what to expect (roughly, anyway).  What we don’t often consider is how much we owe to those who established what the movie-going experience should be, and did so before sound was added to the mix.

Could Have Understood Differently

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A lesson many authors need to learn (and I include myself here) is that titles matter.  Cutesy, clever titles may work for well-known writers, but something that describes your book, or movie, is essential.  And avoid acronyms.  I avoided watching C.H.U.D. for years, put off by the title.  I’d read a few books where it was discussed, but finally decided it was something I should see.  If you’re as put off by acronyms as I am, C.H.U.D. has a double meaning.  Initially Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, but more importantly, Contamination Hazard Urban Disposal.  I suppose that’s a bit of a spoiler, but since the movie’s been out since 1984 I’ll let it stand.  Although largely panned, I think C.H.U.D.’s a perfectly serviceable monster movie and despite what the critics say, it has a larger message.

Set in a gritty New York City, the film focuses on the homeless who live underground.  Although it’s not preachy about it, the underlying message is that these are people too.  Until, of course, the contamination hazard mutates some of them into C.H.U.D.  Then they start looking for human victims.  In a city the size of New York, they don’t have much trouble finding them either.  A government cover-up is behind all the mayhem.  Nuclear and other hazardous waste is a very real problem, and none of us really knows what happens to it.  With much of government boiling down to political theater, I’ll take my chances watching movies and wondering.  The good guys in this movie are those who actually care about the homeless.  They are a rather unsympathetic photographer and his wife, a police captain with a missing wife, and a guy who runs a soup kitchen.  They learn something isn’t right beneath the streets but can’t get the authorities to admit it.

This isn’t a great movie—there are gaps in the plot all over the place—but it’s not a horrible movie either.  Sympathetic portrayals of the poor are, in my experience, rare.  These are people who’ve organized themselves into a society that’s come under threat because of those who dwell in the light.  Some classify C.H.U.D. as science fiction,  but that’s a very loose use of the term.  It’s actually a low-budget horror film with a bit of heart.  Unfortunately the title obscures that this is a little gem of a monster movie.  I really had little idea of what it was about when I started streaming, but ninety minutes later I was glad I’d done so.  And I went down to the basement afterwards, you know, just to check.

After Effects

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Every once in a while you find a book you wish had been published sooner.  The Exorcist Effect, by Joseph P. Laycock and Eric Harrelson is one of those books.  Although it covers many of the same films I talk about in Nightmares with the Bible, it does so with a different target in mind, and a lower price point.  Drawing on the observation that human recall is often accompanied by “source amnesia,” they explore the idea that famous horror films (and some less famous) get remembered as “facts.”  This seems to be a greater danger to those who don’t actually watch horror or who watch it uncritically.  Movies such as The Exorcist become the basis for what individuals believe about demons.  But it’s far more dangerous than that, because in a culture where everything’s politicized, horror movies become “the truth” for groups like QAnon.

Considering Rosemary’s Baby, The Exorcist, and The Omen as prime examples, they then move on to consider the fascinating, if weird, lives of Ed and Lorraine Warren, and Malachi Martin.  Popularizers such as these three influenced both horror films and general public opinion about demonic possession and exorcism.  The study moves on to the Satanic Panic of the eighties and nineties and how heavy metal music both utilizes and ties into the Exorcist Effect.  This important book ends by discussing the very real dangers of a society that elects presidents and others based on this Effect, which confuses reality and movies.  The book shows how many of the ideas behind conspiracy theories either misremember, or intentionally misuse, horror films.

Back in the days when I started Nightmares with the Bible there was comparatively little published in readable terms that discussed demons or, specifically, the portrayal of exorcism in movies.  Laycock and Harrelson’s book would’ve been a welcome contributor to that dearth of resources.  As someone who works on the fringes of the fringe, I don’t always hear the discussions other scholars have and I’m often left to my own devices when it comes to finding and reading information on horror films.  Without library privileges, it often means having to purchase the books to access them.  I was thrilled when I first learned about this book and I’m glad to have finally had the opportunity to read it.  I’m sure I’ll be coming back to it on occasion.  After writing Nightmares, I took a bit of a break from demons because being in the dark for too long can do odd things to a person.  But not knowing about them, as this book shows, might cause even greater problems.

Edge of Civilization

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This is not a movie to be watched by someone with PTSD.  I watched Outpost for the scenery (I’ve been to the area it was filmed many times) and because the New York Times highlighted it.  It ended up being the scariest movie I’ve seen since The Shining.  I mean the kind of scary where your heart is still battering around your chest even after the credits roll.  As an indie horror film it may not be well known.  For clarity’s sake I need to say it’s the Outpost released in 2023.  The one about a woman who goes to spend a summer in a fire tower to recover from domestic abuse.  If you haven’t suffered PTSD, and you’re not as emotionally involved as I let myself become, you might guess by about halfway through what’s really going on.  But there are a bunch of people in the northern Idaho woods that you just don’t trust.

I’ll try not to spoil the ending, but here’s how it goes: Kate was beaten by her husband.  And sexually abused by an uncle when she was growing up.  Against the advice of her best friend, whose brother works for the forestry department, she takes a summer job on a fire lookout tower.  The locals at the store, all men, are threatening in her eyes.  Her new boss doesn’t think she’s a good fit for the post, but to help smooth things over with his sister, he lets Kate have the job.  Along with lighthouses, fire lookout towers are some of the loneliest places in the civilized world.  When a couple of young guys hike by, noting she’s all alone in the tower, your skin begins to crawl.  She keeps having flashbacks to the violence in her past.  Then she meets an older woman hiker who stays awhile and teaches her how to shoot.  A local retiree teaches her how to chop wood.

Kate still doesn’t trust the local retiree.  One of her colleagues from the forestry service has surreptitiously taken photos of her and ogles them.  And day after day after day she has to follow a routine and sees no one.  You get the picture.  I don’t want to give too much away, but for some of us this may be among the scariest movies we’ve ever seen, despite most of it being in the clear summer sunshine of northern Idaho.  The movie ends with a contact number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline.  Joe Lo Truglio, the director, is an actor known for comedy.  Outpost makes me think there’s something else behind the laughter.

Shadowy Clouds

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Okay, so it had Chloë Grace Moretz in it, and her face is on the cover of Holy Horror.  And it was tagged as action horror.  And apart from many highly improbable situations, Shadow in the Cloud is a perfectly serviceable movie.  Part “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” part Aliens, and part Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, with any generic war movie thrown in, the movie is fun and a tribute to indy productions.  The plot is, admittedly, convoluted.  Moretz’s character (“Maude Garrett”) is a pilot officer who comes aboard a B-17 on a top secret mission.  She has a high priority parcel that must be kept safe.  The all-male crew use just about every sexist trope in the book but one of the crew takes her seriously.  While in the ball turret, she spies a gremlin.

This is a real gremlin, as implied in “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.”  Set in World War II, the film has other threats.  Japanese Zeros find them and a dogfight begins.  In the meanwhile it’s revealed that the one crew member who doesn’t dismiss “Garrett” had an affair with her and the secret parcel is actually their infant son.  Meanwhile, the gremlin and the Zeros keep up their attacks, killing several of the crew, including the pilot.  Maude takes charge, and oversees the crash landing of the bomber and when the gremlin, still angry at being shot and hacked by her, steals the baby.  This leads Maude to beat the gremlin to death with her bare hands.  Improbably, both her lover and baby survive intact, along with two other not too bad crew members.

The film manages to be pretty heavy on social commentary, and even shows archival footage of women in various Air Force roles during the closing credits.  The production values and the message are what really save this from being a bad movie.  I mean, this entire mission would’ve ended with everyone dead if not for Maude, driven by maternal instinct, keeping her baby alive.  She’s a pilot, a dedicated mother, an acrobat, and, if you’ll pardon the expression, a total badass.  The film is kind of a tribute to women who served in the military despite the innate sexism of the period.  And it has a monster, so what’s not to like?  From the first few minutes on there’s nothing really believable in the plot, but a woman leading the way, both as the star and as her character, is reason enough to pay attention.

Evolving Holidays

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Holidays evolve.  I noticed this Thanksgiving that protests against the origins of the holiday have grown.  The same is true concerning the “Christmas Wars” every single year.  Some holidays (of which we have relatively few in this country) are disappearing altogether.  What seems to have been overlooked, or forgotten here, is that holidays change over time.  Public analysts and early holiday promoters encouraged government recognition of holidays as a means of bringing the nation together.  It’s easier to do this if we recognize that holidays evolve and the general trajectory is toward becoming more and more inclusive.  There will always be those who protest the “secularization” of holidays, but they share a large part of the Venn diagram with those that believe the Bible is a science book.  Things change.  Evolution is real.

I’m not just writing this because Thanksgiving and Christmas represent holidays from my tradition.  It’s true that they represent what was the majority religion (Christianity) at the time they were established here, but I would be glad for holidays from other traditions to be added as well.  Americans need more time to rest and recharge.  Anyone who’s studied the history of Christmas, say, realizes that its origins aren’t really Christian.  It’s a combination of a Christian alternative to Saturnalia, the recognition of St. Nicholas (December 6), Germanic Yule, and the festival of Roman Calends to start the new year.  Among other things.  Early Christians didn’t celebrate Jesus’ birthday.  Nobody had any idea when it was, but a tradition grew and as it grew from diverse roots it became more and more inclusive.  Why should we protest a day when we can acknowledge its troubled past and look for ways to make it better?  Something for everyone.

Holidays bring people together.  I’ve been researching them for years and I’m amazed to see how those that survive eventually catch on and bring people together for a common purpose.  Think of Halloween.  Masking disguises who we are.  It’s a day when everyone is welcome.  There are those who protest it, of course.  But holidays need not be seen as triumphal celebrations of some past misdeed.  (Here’s a hint from history: almost no historical event is seen as positive from everyone’s point of view.)  Instead, why not embrace those few red letter days that we have and use them to seek a common purpose?  Why not encourage those in positions to make decisions to consider the good of a few more holidays?  Trouble can always be found, but holidays, if done right, may help heal.  It’s the way of evolution.

Not Quite Christmas

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Holidays have always fascinated me.  Although we grew up poor, I always have cozy memories of childhood Christmases.  It was a combination of things—being out of school for a couple of weeks.  Presents.  Christmas trees.  Time outside ordinary time.  I’d read Penne L. Restad’s Christmas in America: A History years ago.  So many years, in fact, that I forgot that I wrote a blog post on it before.  That was back in 2012, in my early days of commuting to New York City, and early days of blogging.  Sometimes I have to come back to a book, however, and rereading this one reminded me of why.  There’s a lot of good stuff in here.  It mostly focuses on the nineteenth century, but it does go back before that and steps into the twentieth century (when it was written) toward the end.  I’d forgotten a lot of what I’d learned before.

This time through, having worked as an editor for a decade and a half now, I could tell that it was originally a dissertation.  It’s pretty hard to remove that completely from any book project.  Nevertheless, it’s engagingly written and full of facts.  I’d forgotten that Santa’s red clothes were not, in fact, Coca-Cola’s invention.  And that Washington Irving played quite a role in introducing Americans to the holiday.  And just how interconnected Christmas is with Thanksgiving, New Years, and yes, even Halloween.  Of course, no book can be adequately summarized in a brief blog post.  My previous one highlights some of what I found here, but this reading brought out other interesting features.  I spend quite a bit of my energy anticipating holidays.  Some years they’ve been minimized due to circumstances, but they are definitely the fixed points around which my life revolves.

One of the interesting things I noticed this time, introduced literally on the second-to-last page, was that the book mentions holiday horror.  Restad’s focus is on America so she doesn’t really delve into the British tradition of telling scary stories at Christmas.  (I do discuss this in The Wicker Man, I would note.  Although set on May Day, it was released in December, fifty years ago.)  These kinds of interconnections fascinate me.  Our culture reflects who we are and American culture includes Christmas for any who want to take part in it.  In fact, the book makes the point that becoming secular helped Christmas spread goodwill to people of all religious persuasions, or none at all.  It’s not really even a Christian invention.  It’s a blending of traditions that bring light to the darkest time of year.  And here I am like a kid, eagerly awaiting it again.

Not What It Seems

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Now for the local news.  The ironic thing is I know very few people locally and even though folks are friendly around here nobody really wants to get to know you, it seems.  But that’s not unique to this area and it’s off point.  No, locally some months ago The Satanic Temple (which I’ve written about before) tried to start an after school club in an eastern Pennsylvania school in response to an explicitly Christian after-school club receiving sponsorship.  Of course it caused local furor.  That’s what the Satanic Temple intends to do.  The members do not believe in, let alone worship, Satan.  They exist to try to counter Christian hegemony, often in the form of courthouse lawn Christian imagery, or, as in this case, biased treatment to Christian groups wanting to use public property, such as school facilities, to promote their religion.

The reason I’m bringing this up is to show how the Christian agenda raises your taxes.  According to the ACLU, this school district, after challenged in court, has agreed to pay $200,000 and it must allow the Satanic Temple to meet if it allows Christian groups to meet.  That hefty chunk of change (enough to buy a house in this area) has to come from taxpayers because the school board (until a recent election) was controlled by a right-wing group that played the Christian narrative and apparently supposed the Satanic Temple was really a Satan-worshipping group.  It’s not.  The Satanic Temple is a national organization whose goal is to maintain freedom from religion in government and publicly funded spheres.  “Satanic” causes shock and panic and the sheep scatter.  And local citizens foot the bill.

Although I understand what they’re doing, I really don’t like to see my taxpayer dollars having to be spent to coddle the egos of groups who spread the narrative that Christianity is the only religion allowed in America.  In fact, one of the truly fascinating things about this country is the wide varieties of religions that exist in it.  Although the melting pot metaphor has fallen on hard times lately, I’ve always felt this was one of America’s biggest charms.  We’re a Frankenstein’s monster of a nation that’s just like the creature—not really a monster, but not like anything else you’ve seen.  Cookie-cutter populations seem to lead to wars and hatred.  Celebrating difference, indeed, encouraging it, leads to peace and shared prosperity, if we’ll let it.  It’s only when we want to keep all the good stuff for ourselves that things begin to break down.  And your local taxes go up because a faulty narrative is on the agenda.

Buy Books

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It’s funny how the bad guy can become the good guy in new circumstances.  I’m thinking in the bookstore context.  Now, I love independent bookstores.  I shop in them whenever I can.  Still, I had a genuine fondness for Borders.  My wife introduced me to Borders when I moved to Ann Arbor to be with her.  Borders was headquartered in Ann Arbor and it was our go-to for browsing.  (This was before Amazon, of course.)  Compared to Barnes & Noble it was intellectual and inviting.  B&N had gone for the corporate stodgy aesthetic that drives me frantic.  We literally mourned when Borders closed, spending hours in the New Jersey stores as they were selling off stock.  There was a long time when Amazon seemed the only game in town.  Our part of New Jersey had no indies, but the B&N sat on the hill.

Then B&N started having trouble.  By now I worked in publishing and seeing the only brick-and-mortar outlet crumbling was scary.  We need to fight the ebook invasion.  To do this we need bookstores!  (Fortunately we have a few good indies where we live in Pennsylvania, but even so, at least two of them have closed in the last five years.)  Then something happened.  James Daunt bought Barnes & Noble.  Daunt was known as an innovative British bookseller.  His stores (I’ve only seen pictures) are the thing of dreams.  Could he steer this corporate stodgy ship into open waters?  It seems to be working.

A piece in a recent New York Times praises the new B&N effort.  Instead of stamping “one size fits all” all over his business, Daunt wants his stores to take on local flavor.  Not look like every other B&N.  And it seems to be working.  I still prefer my indies, but the last time I was in the local B&N I noticed subtle changes that can come when a corporate overlord hands a local manager a bit of autonomy.  The stores are looking better.  And folks, let me be frank here.  Christmas is coming and books, real books, need your help.  Silicone Valley is trying to force us onto our screens for even more hours of the day.  I get off work and pick up a paper book to read.  To look at something real.  To connect with the actual world.  Support your indies, but don’t feel guilty about ducking into B&N.  It may not be the place you remember.

Biggest Book

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As a bibliophile it’s kind of embarrassing to admit that I’ve only just learned about the world’s largest book.  If you’re like me you’re probably imagining an enormous tome that required acres of trees and fifty-five-gallon drums of ink to print.  But that’s not it at all.  This particular book is located in Mandalay in Myanmar.  If I say it’s a religious text you might be clued in that it represents the Tripitaka, or Pali Canon.  These are Buddhist scriptures.  They are extensive, as scriptures tend to be.  I’m certainly no expert on religions in that part of the world, but it’s clear that the world’s largest book, as a monument, required a massive amount of effort to put together.  Housed at the Kuthodaw Pagoda, the texts were inscribed on stone housed in 729 stupas that are stunningly beautiful.  (Take a look for other photos online—it’s impressive!)

Photo credit: Wagaung at English Wikipedia, published under GNU Free Documentation License

The monument was completed in 1868.  When the British invaded southern Asia, however, there was much looting and damage was inflicted on the shrine.  It was eventually repaired and still stands as the largest book in the world.  It’s no real surprise that this honor would be relegated to a religious text.  Bibles of all sorts become symbols and their symbolic nature often supersedes what’s written inside.  The idea of the sacred book has an unyielding grip on the human psyche, whether we think the book comes from God or an enlightened human being.  Indeed, the sacred itself is an integral part of being human.  When one group wants to dominate another, it often goes for its sacred artifacts.  Cathedrals as bombing targets in the Second World War demonstrate that well enough.  Ironically, we’ve ceased paying much attention to the sacred but we still revere it.

Books represent the best of our civilizing nature.  They’re ways of coming to see the point of view of others.  It really is a privilege to read.  Banning books is, in its own form, a crime against humanity.  Those who ban almost inevitably end up promoting yet more sales of the offending book.  I often see books that make me angry or upset.  My knee-jerk reaction is to want to deface them—this is a human enough response.  But taking time to reflect, I realize that these writers are entitled to their opinions, benighted though they may be.  A civil exchange of ideas is essential to getting along in a world with billions of different opinions.  Every nation should have a monument that shows its love for books.

Sleep Well

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It’s scary, actually.  How you think depends on how you sleep.  I suspect that the degree of this differs individual by individual, but I recently had a couple of consecutive nights where the differences were striking.  To put this in context, it was after ending Daylight Saving Time (it should be kept all year but with Republicans in the House unable to pick a speaker, what chance do we have of them ever passing a simple, but necessary measure?).  Mondays, for some of us, we naturally awake earlier since, well, work.  I happened to wake excessively early that morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, no how.  I functioned alright during the day, but those who work 9-2-5 aren’t allowed naps and some of us aren’t young anymore.  I thought it was a fairly normal day.  That night I slept well.

Photo by Kate Stone Matheson on Unsplash

The next morning it was like my thoughts were supercharged.  I was thinking things I’d failed to pick up on the previous morning.  I was efficient and energized.  What a difference a good night’s sleep makes!  But the herd mentality—work must be eight hours and those hours must be from nine to five (if you work more, that’s great!)—doesn’t allow for bad nights.  It’s ageist, really.  Once you reach a certain age, you don’t sleep as well at night.  Work times are non-negotiable, so you’re forced to keep going through the yawns that a good nap would take care of.  So much depends on a good night’s sleep.

In reading about the history of holidays (I’ve been doing this for years, as The Wicker Man demonstrates), it’s clear that the United States stands out in the dearth of its holidays.  It’s been that way from the beginning.  Most employers don’t give Veteran’s Day off.  None note May Day, which is Labor Day in many parts of the world.  No time to sleep in in this country!  Work while you’re tired, work while you’re wakeful, just as long as you work those sacred eight hours and more.  Of course, all of this may come from that grouchy feeling a poor night’s sleep bestows.  I don’t keep a sleep diary, but I do wonder how many social ills are brought about by a bad night’s slumber.  It’s the darkening time of the year.  Nature’s telling us that reasonable animals hibernate.  The rest of us set alarm clocks to wake us before it’s light, no matter how we fared the night before.

Unexpected Gifts

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Sometimes horror movie therapy doesn’t go the way expected.  (No surprises there, so no snarky comments, please.  No therapy is “one size fits all.”)  This was brought home to me when watching The Gift.  I was attracted to the speculative aspect of the premise and although it came out over twenty years ago I hadn’t heard of it before.  Although there are speculative elements—at least two ghosts—it is largely a human drama and one that hit me unexpectedly.  As a public service for those who also practice horror movie therapy, I thought I’d consider it here.  (Then call my regular therapist.)  Annie Wilson is a psychic in rural Georgia.  She gives readings for donations to help supplement Social Security since she’s a widow and she has three young sons.  I don’t know why this didn’t start the warning bells a-jangling, but when it was over I realized her situation was like mine, growing up.  (My father was alive, but nobody knew where he was, otherwise I’m on board.)

A violent neighbor, scarily played by Keanu Reeves (forever Neo in my mind), keeps threatening the family since he’s a wife-beater and Annie recommends his wife leave him.  Then a woman is murdered and her body is in his pond (or better, bayou).  Annie realizes that this threatening bully, who’s convicted of the crime, is actually innocent.  Her lawyer, however, doesn’t see the problem—the guy was a menace to society and he’s locked up.  Annie, however, insists on finding the truth.  I have to say that this movie genuinely scared me.  I almost stopped watching.  It wasn’t the speculative part, though.  It was the human part.

Religious locals accuse Annie of being a witch and a Satan-worshipper.  She is, however, simply trying to get by in a society that has failed her.  Having an unstable neighbor threatening her kids doesn’t help.  What’s so scary is that this isn’t far from real life.  For those of us who grew up poor, safety nets are few and the weave is very, very loose.  And you’re made, even as a kid, to feel the social stigma of the crime of being poor.  Annie has a good heart.  She tries to get a man wrongly accused released from jail, knowing that he’ll probably begin threatening her again, if not actually harming her.  Society, however, doesn’t really care.  Raising three small children on welfare on your own isn’t easy.  And, in fact, those kids may well grow up needing therapy.  Even if it’s watching horror to try to make sense of life.

Asking Questions

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Strangely appropriate pareidolia is one of those oddly specific things that generates a lot of internet interest.  I was late to find out about the “question mark” in space photographed by the James Webb Space Telescope.  Okay, a couple of things: photographs, like the one below, taken by U.S. Government agencies are in the public domain (thanks, NASA!).  This one can be easily enlarged on the James Webb Space Telescope webpage.  To see the “question mark” you need to start from the center red star and look down to the two bright blue stars just to the left of center.  The image I’m using has been enlarged so that it’s obvious.  Serious news outlets have discussed this, but it’s clearly a case of pareidolia, or the human ability to attribute specific meaning, or design, to something that’s random.  We see faces everywhere, but question marks are somewhat less common.

Photo credit NASA: public domain

Given the state of the world—people like Trump able to continue scamming millions of willing believers for his own benefit, hurricanes hitting California, Putin going to war against the rest of the world, capitalism, war in the Holy Land—it’s no wonder that people like to think a big question mark is hanging over everything.  Looking into the sky we expect to see God.  Isn’t it a little disconcerting to see a huge query instead?  I, for one, think it might be best if we learn to recognize false signals rather than seeing some giant message tucked away in some small corner of the universe in the hopes that we’ll turn our seeing-eye telescope that way.  What font is it anyway?  Does it violate some cosmic copyright?

Some signs are, I’m convinced, for real.  I think they tend to be on a much smaller scale.  Way down here where  we can see them.  What appears to be, from our viewpoint, a question mark may be seen as an exclamation point from a different angle.  It’s all a matter of how we look at things.  One of the most important lessons of life is that people see the same thing from different points of view.  If we can accept that, others don’t seem so threatening and strange.  In a small planet plagued with xenophobia, it’s important to discover strangely appropriate pareidolia every now and again to get us thinking about the deeper issues.  We may not find the answers, but often asking the question is the more important thing to do.