Karen, nobody chooses to be homeless. It's because they did something bad

I recently had to write something called an autoethnography for class. I am publishing it because this issue has become incredibly important to me, and I want to raise awareness about it. this isn't all of it, it'll be published in increments. Thanks for reading!

Louis C.K joked about homelessness in one of his stand up acts. He described a destitute man who was lying on the street, covered in garbage. “We all walked by him, but only she SAW him,” he quips. The man had dreadlocks, “every tuft representing a year no one knew his name or cared” C.K. explains. The entire audience laughed, including myself. My real experiences with the homeless community were far less funny. Whenever I exit the freeway on my way to work, I see but do not acknowledge the people pan-handling on the corner. I busy myself with the stereo, or look the other way. I always was afraid of the homeless. Passing a homeless person on the street never failed to give me mild anxiety. The fear they would ask for money was always present. The fear that I would, without fail, refuse them was worse. My fear was a manifestation of guilt and sadness. I always knew I should do more, I knew I should recognize the ones pan-handeling on the corner of freeway exits. Instead, I put on my sunglasses and busied myself with the radio, not even making eye contact with another human being. The apprehension that I’ll be funding an alcoholism habit, and the subsequent guilt of that assumption, are easier to ignore.

 This fear magnified upon my first real experience with the homeless community. I was too afraid to go alone, so I brought a companion. After a meeting with the head of Salt Lake’s Rescue Mission, Jesus Saves, this companion informed me how pale I looked. I was afraid.

            As I parked my car and fumbled with my keys, I murmured my anxieties to my companion. My quick step matched the beat of my heart, for after one short meeting at the rescue mission, my fear of the homeless turned to fear of my emotions and of myself.  I was concerned I wouldn’t remain in control of my emotions, having teared up earlier. I, who always was in control and cool-tempered, may not be able to face the homeless community with an easy eye. Boy was I right.

I was far more emotional and shaken than I had anticipated, and this reaction shocked me more than my actual interactions with the homeless community. I often see homeless people on the street, and although I get nervous, I’m never afraid and never emotional. I am pretty street-smart and thought I could handle this well. However, I was visibly shaken and struggle to remain in control. It was an incredibly difficult experience, for I am always in control. I should have seen this coming, though, based on my behavior before even getting downtown. I kept trying to find excuses to not go, even as I parked! After my meeting with the head of the “Jesus Saves” rescue mission, I suggested going to the Scientology building instead, for it would have been much easier to interact with that group of people. I wasn’t looking forward to being emotionally shocked, at I was seriously concerned my emotions would affect how I was able to talk to the homeless people. My experience began with a long and drawn out search for the homeless shelter. I had previously called the Road Home shelter to make sure it was alright if I came down for a while. When I got there, it was closed. “This is ridiculous, I called to make sure! I want to see the manager,” I quipped. I used my wit to mask my anxieties. We walked all over 4^th west to find a shelter, and it was near impossible to navigate. Finally, we made it to the rescue mission, who redirected us to the Catholic Commuter Services, who redirected us somewhere else. I found it interesting that this area, which could almost be dubbed “Homeless block,” for all the services and buildings dedicated to the homeless and chronically homeless, was near impossible to figure out. If someone with my means and skills couldn’t find a lunchroom, how would someone with limited means do so? After leaving the rescue mission, being very pale and shaky indeed, I was slightly angry and already pushed out of my element.  When I went into the
Jesus Saves mission, I was offered a food box. Slightly offended at being homeless, but grateful for the generosity and unassuming behavior of those in charge, I asked for the person in charge. A homeless (or previously homeless) gentleman running the desk showed me to the office. The man in charge then proceeded to lecture me for half an hour about the “realness” of the homeless people and their situation. “These are real people, not just a school project,” he warned. I became angry; of course I knew that. After leaving the rescue mission, being very pale and shaky indeed, I was slightly angry and already pushed out of my element.  I was assumed to be both homeless and an ignorant college girl within the space of thirty minutes. His lecture, however, made sense. So many people come to serve the homeless from selfish motives. Many volunteers and charitable people suffer from the “God-complex” and view themselves as separate groups. Jayakumar Christian addresses is this issue in his book God of the Empty handed: Poverty, Power, and the Kingdom of God. Vanity or expectation often motivate the charitable, when in reality their actions should focus on persons and relationships,” (Reynalds, 29). The Christian bible talks about being “my brother’s keeper,” but so many volunteers and other do-gooders don’t view the homeless as people. They’re interested in proving how virtuous they are, or being “saviors” to the destitute, when really volunteers should start with creating relationships. The man in charge of the Mission understood that, as he referred to the homeless people as his “friends,” and tried to express that to me.

Admittedly, I went shopping briefly after my excursion at the rescue mission. I definitely felt buyer’s remorse after that shopping trip. I finally made it over to the road home and Catholic services buildings, and after locking my possessions safely in my care, steeled myself as I ventured forward into the unknown. Looking back, I am somewhat ashamed for locking my stuff out of sight because I automatically assumed there proved danger of them being stolen. I had so many pre-conceived notions of the homeless community. This can be attributed threatening villains (Reynalds, 21). to how they are represented in the media. Jeremy Reynalds discusses in his book Homeless Culture and the Media, that homeless people are unfairly represented in news media. He argues that homeless coverage by the media “is incomplete and thus inaccurate.” He says the media educate the general populace about the homeless culture, and the inaccuracy results in unfair and negative portrayals, (Reynalds, 66). There are basically 5 representations of homeless people on television: mentally-ill people, institution avoiders, families and children, runaway teens, or violent criminals. In actuality, mentally ill people make up a minority of the homeless community, and as for institution avoiders, very few are chronically homeless and refuse help. only 18% of people in one study were chronically homeless; the rest use resources available to get themselves off the street.  Based on these representations, I was slightly nervous as I was approached by two youths near the road home. I assumed they were either coming to talk to the only girl in the 2 block radius (They were about 17 years old, which broke my heart) or they noticed my bright orange back and were trying to swindle me. Instead, the asked if they could be of assistance guiding me to where I was going. They wrongly assumed I went up the wrong street. After thanking them and declining their help, they responded, “alright, just trying to look out for you.” Although I’m not totally convinced they weren’t trying to get a little money out of me, it was interesting that we both had inaccurate jugements about each other. I obviously didn’t belong there, and they wrongly assumed I was lost. They were homeless, and I  wrongly assumed they wanted money. However, I observe them notice be, giggle, and proceed towards me. I sort of stuck out, and The leader of the Rescue Mission did warn me not to go anywhere alone as I was a young girl. This was something I was actually surprised to hear. I assumed I would by physically safe among the homeless, but he warned that many of the homeless men have low social skills and could mistake a simple smile for a flirtation invitation.

Upon entering the lunch room, the first thing I saw were the tables. The next was the shame. Everywhere I looked, men were eating their lunches in shame. I assumed many would be used to this, but hardly a soul lifted his eyes. There were some people chatting and enjoying company but most of the men in that crowded room were completely alone. We were pegged as intruders or outsiders immediately. Nearly everywhere we went, we were looked on with curiosity and even distrust. In my ignorance, and trying to look “homeless,” I wore a sort of kerchief in my hair ( I hadn’t brushed it that morning). I forgot to leave my bright orange bag in the car, however. These were obvious indicaters that I was an outsider. We grabbed a tray and sat with uncertainty next to a couple of guys. Within minutes, however, almost every seat around us was empty. The homeless community are very guarded and careful around newcomers. This may result from volunteers suffering from “The God-complex.” People who invade the space the homeless community create for themselves with thoughts of charity and service come to serve themselves. One man, Demetrius, opened up to us. After eyeing my bag, he asked us how we were.

“How it do?”

“Pretty good, whats new?”

“Ya know, Just tired of being broke all the time.”

“hmmmmm” I replied non-comittally. Demetrius then procided to talk for about 15 minutes. I t was difficult to understand him at first, and I couldn’t tell if it was unstable rambling or incredibly profound. Either way, the things he said were heart breaking. He talked about his son, and how he tells his son that the dirty clothes and face were just a mask for a rich person. He was ashamed of his situation, and tried to protect his son from that shame. He also spoke about his favorite movie “Chucky.” Although this part of the conversation was less clear, I gathered he like this movie because chucky was a doll that was controlled, and he could relate to that. He in turn was being controlled by society and culture, and understood chucky’s violence. Again, this was my own analysis of his synopsis of Chucky. Demetrius did talk about the difficulties of making it in America, and how the idea of the “American Dream” is out of his reach. “The world is run by swag, but it should be run by beauty,” he explained. IT was extremely difficult to remain calm during my conversation with him. While he talked and I observed, all I could feel was sadness, horror, and heartbreak. I felt like such an outsider. No one would sit near us, and even Demetrius noticed how my mom and I shared a tray, and how I “wasn’t even eating [my] meat.” One of the most difficult things I have ever done was to eat that food after his comment. It tasted like ash in my mouth, not just from the quality, but because of the reality of our situation compared to theirs. I only lasted 15 minutes in the lunchroom and had leave because I no longer was calm. Luckily, and older homeless gentleman with about 7 teeth and who was under the influence of some aphedamine based on his excessive perspiration, lifted the mood. “You are a beautiful lady,” he exclaimed. “Thank you! I was about to go gay before I saw you, and you saved me!” Well, at least I did some good there that day. 

Suit Up!

Hey guess what, there's a new Bond movie! Bond, like a good wine, only gets better with age.

When we first see Bond much of his face, like his past, is shrouded in shadow. He creeps into the light, illuminating his face, his perfectly tailored suit, and his situation; he’s on the hunt. This is our man, the Bond we know. Suited and armed, he proceeds with caution.

 Bond, suave and collected, engages in a shoot-out that seems almost like a pissing contest. Both contestants are trying to show off or outdo each other instead of kill each other.  It’s no surprise his adversary’s gun takes the shape of a phallic symbol. The inevitable car chase follows, with quick shots and shaky camera work. Sam Mendes loses no time in zooming in on Bond’s watch as he ever so casually lifts his arm to commandeer the wheel and send the car flying into their prey.  Crunching, smashing, panting, and zooming follows; but it’s not all onomatopoeia from there.  M sends this into chaos by consciously ordering the shot that may take out Bond. And it does, or so it seems.  With that one ringing shot, the familiar Bond is ended.

A Golden Oldie

            M makes the tough calls, as the film reminds us with repeated shots of a ceramic bulldog with the British flag painted across its back. M is branded with patriotism and makes the “bloody best calls” she can, as she reminds Bond.  Their sharp, yet loving banter throughout the film resembles a shadow of the Bonds of past. She is sentimental about Bond as her Boss dares to point out. But still, she is a bulldog.

When we see him again, he looks like hell.  Unwashed, soaked in alcohol and with a beard flecked with grey, James Bond is transformed. Perhaps he resents M for trigger-happy decisions. Well, at least he got a 3-months’ vacation from it. He returns to work, but he isn’t the same. He shuffles through the running test, wheezed through strength tests and I don’t even want to talk about the shooting range. The film often suggests that James is old, outdated, or past his prime. M’s boss, Ray Fiennes, questions whether James should think about retiring.  Are they talking about the agent or the franchise? This movie marks 50 years of James Bond, perhaps it’s time to throw in the towel as it were.  What’s your hobby, the villain asks. “Resurrection.”

Evil is as evil does.

Silver, the villain is the best Bond villain yet. He is Bond’s perfect foil. As he is first introduced, Silver tells Bond a story of how his grandmother trapped rats to keep them from eating coconuts. Instead of burning the rats or throwing them into the ocean, his grandmother chose to starve them so they would eat each other instead. They are reprogrammed so they only eat rat, he informs Bond. His speech is terrifying, not only because we’re worried about the mental health of his grandmother, but because his speech is erratic. He stumbles over the words, his pauses in all the wrong places, until he finally releases the last bit of information ever so slowly and menacingly. To call him an unstable evil genius is a gross understatement. A maniacal, insane child playing a game as sick and twisted as his anecdote is far more fitting. “Don’t lose your head” he giggles as he places a shot glass on a woman’s head in preparation for a test of William Tell-like marksmanship.  Bardem is phenomenal. Sometimes subtle and terrifying, other times hysterical, slightly humorous, and completely menacing, Bardem balances somewhere between calculating villain and overly emotional toddler. This villain embodies the sociopath, the narcissist, the unhinged manic, and a slight Oedipus complex in one neat package.  He is as theatrical as his garish, overly peroxide-treated locks.

There’s a New Man in Town

            Sam Mendes takes Bond in a whole new direction. From the opening credits sequence to the last images, He transforms bond into something completely new. The series has always been evolving, always changing but now, with Mendes at the helm, it ventures forward into uncharted waters. He creates a more artistic film. There are metaphors everywhere. In one particular symbolic scene, Bond heads into a gambling den associated with the villain. It is gated by a giant Chinese dragon head; he literally enters the mouth of the dragon. Mendes masters the blending of drama, humor, action, and style into one memorable film. It just may be the best Bond yet.  That doesn’t mean the series has to end with a bang. James Bond: 50 years young.






James, is that a gun in my face? Or am I just happy to see you(r new movie)?



















































































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The new Don Draper?

Has Don Draper turned over a new leaf? The latest episode of "Mad Men" has me thinking he may have started over. The only explaination I can think of is Megan... has all that french singing and those mod mini dresses paved way for a new and improved Mr. Draper? He's still a gin-swilling ad man who peppers the lightest conversation with exestential interjections. But gone are the affairs, the bitter remarks and I have yet to see any drunken weeping. I don't see how Matthew Weiner can continue Don's life until present day with this kind of behaviour. Don will have to make some fatal mistake; how will Don be able to look back on his life in the year 2013 if this new act continues? There will be no Bildungsroman! I prefer this virtuous Don, but the life of the show depends on his selfish need for fulfilment and validation. I just hope Megan escapes before she turns into fat Betty and her bags of Bugles.


Could this be a new leaf?

Film Review... The Artist!

This past weekend I saw The Artist. I must say, it was AMAZING! And although I expected it to be so, it surpassed those expectations. I loved the film's blending of humour and reality; though it was quirky and adorable and funny it also had its "heartstring" moments. Watching the film gave me the impression of stepping out of the real world and into some wonderful dream land full of wonderful people, which is exactly what early film was about; escapism. It did not rely on charm and quirk, however. The director embraced the reality of Valentin's situation. There is one dramatic and ambiguous point near the end of the film that made many a movie-goer gasp, and honestly I would have ended it there. But that wasn't the point of this film. It wasn't a "slice of life." The Artist celebrates 1920s film. Because it was silent and because it was filmed in black and white only added to the charm of the plot, which was not only wonderful but Jean Dujardin as George Valentin looks as though he stepped directly out of a Mack Sennet film.
He had the dancing grace and cheeky charm of Gene Kelly, great comic timing, and flawless expressions. He was egomaniacal, he conveyed joy and sadness, illustrated frustration and despair, was obviously humbled and enchanted  without making a sound.  His expression of enchantment and confusion at being enchanted by the lead girl captivated me.
Speaking of enchanting, Bernice Bejo as Peppy Miller was utterly adorable. I haven't seen anyone that charming (especially in the facial expression department) since Audrey Tautou in Amelie. Seriously, Peppy Miller was quite the enchantress; the kind of girl you could never be friends with because she is spunky, adorable, and beautiful. The costumes were stunning, the direction was wonderful and the acting was brilliant! I sincerly hope Jean Dujardin wins the acadamy award for best actor because he really deserves it. Although he was almost outshined by his partner in crime, a clever little Jack Russel Terrier.
I cannot recommend this filmy highly enough. Although it looks like a film only critics would enjoy, I assure you that the Jordan Commons theater at 8:45 was quite dazzled and delighted. It's as Roger Ebert said in his review, "During a good [black and white film], I fall into a reverie, an encompassing absorption that drops me out of time." The Artist achieves that subtly and brilliantly.

Ad parade

Well the super bowl is in a few weeks, which means ADVERTISING TIME!! I love the super bowl; the intensity, the competition, the creativity... the only thing I don't like is the stupid football interruptions. I mean who watches the super bowl for football?? I have always loved watching the commericals during the superbowl, but as a Strategic Communications student, I'll be having the time of my life. I can't wait to watch the parade of advertisements! Previous contenders have set the bar prettttyyy high. Here are a few of the best superbowl ads so far:
http://www.aolnews.com/2011/02/03/the-7-best-super-bowl-commercials-ever-aired-videos/

Can't wait to see what they come up with this year! In my mind, the ads are having their own superbowl. Who will come out on top?

Zooey or Elizabeth?

As per my previous post, those who have read it will know I LOVE Elizabeth Taylor. I love her talent, her beauty, and her flippin allure. She sure knew how to make men fall at her feet. So often do I find myself wishing I had that kind of confidence, that kind of power of people... oh the things i could do with power. MWUAHAHAHAHAH! aaaaah and there it is, the reason I can NEVER be like her: i'm a raging nerd. I often describe myself to new acquaintences as a "less-endearing Zooey Deschanel." DOrky, goofy, quirky, and doesn't really care. Well, this weekend I went to my first nightclub and the experience has given me pause... a chance to re-examine my interactions with the opposite sex.  I mean, I didn't dress the part of quirky girl (this time, anyway) and I attempted the femme fatale persona, but it doesn't always work for me. I suppose I am comfortable with the adorkable chic. I'd even go so far as to say i quite like it.  Yet, as elizabeth taylor is an idol of mine, I do wish I could pull off the cool, sexy type. But when the opportunity presents itself, I get really uncomfortable and choke. NOt only do I get uncomfortable, I get pissed. I HATE being checked out. Correction: i hate being OVERTLY checked out. I admit, when someone makes a comment a part of me is mildly flattered( are you happy Jace Stephenson?) but when it boils down to it, I'd rather be admired for a second, and then have a guy make some attempt at gettting to know me in a respectful way (and preferably, in a respectable establishment, not a gross nightclub). At the same time, why is it so wrong to flaunt what you got? Can't i just take a compliment? Elizabeth Taylor knew how good she looked, and used it to her advantage. Yet when I am presented with this sort of situation, i feel ridiculous and objectified. I don't want my looks to be the basis of someone's interest. Especially a half-drunk loser who hasn't a respectable thought in his mind. How can I reconcile these two frames of mind? How can a blend the Zooey with the Elizabeth? A zoolizabeth. I have to stop being such a dork or I will end up being devoured by my 37 cats. But I refuse to be objectified. Is there another way to look at it? As good ol' liz taylor said, “People who know me well, call me Elizabeth. I dislike Liz.” but she also said "big girls need big diamands." Man, she was wise.


ps, this is me and my cuz on the night out (im the short one... and she wouldn't let me wear my nerd glasses.)

Flavor of the month

What back again so soon?

I have a few flavors of the month right now... RUSSELL BRAND! and the 60s. Well, you could say the 60s is always a flavor of the month since im always attempting to embody the foxy ladies of the silver screen (That would be Elizabeth Taylor, Marylin Monroe, and Joan Halloway among others). But recently I bought three new vintage colored lipsticks, and am about to purchase a pair of cigarette pants. Seriously, the 60s rocked! All  I listen to right now is 60s inspired music such as Amy Winehouse, Adele, and Nikki and Rich (and of course musicians actually from the 60s.) But enough about that wonderful time period. I wanna talk about Russell Brand, my future husband (for now at least). Ummm what can I say except he is hilarious, dead sexy, smart, and super weird. He has transitioned from hot mess to hot comedian poking fun at the mess that was once his life. Man that was a mouth-full... needless to say I'm just getting the hang of the blog-tone thing. But I digress. Russell Brand, when you're ready to enter the dating pool again, you know where to look (PICK ME! MEMEMEMEME!!!)