Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre
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"Good Evening to everyone coast to coast, border to border, and all the ships at sea. I'd like to welcome you to Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre , where we delve into tales of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs and practices both familiar and extraordinary. Greetings to my lovely listeners who have already guessed the hidden theme of the last ten episodes, which I've now properly titled "Route 666." For those still in the dark or just joining us, your hostess with the mostest is now calling out to you from the village of Yaangna, otherwise known as El Puebla de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles. Otherwise known as Tinseltown, the Big Orange, City of Sun and Flowers, La-La Land. Los Angeles. Per tradition, and probably a law somewhere, now that I'm here there are a couple of topics I am required to cover.Very soon you will be joining me on an exploration into the Winchester Mystery House, and of course we'll dive into Hollywood Cults via the lens of Charles Manson, but tonight, tonight we talk about lost hopes, twisted narratives, and the many ways this town can kill a dream. Tonight, we tell the tale of Elizabeth Short. (Minerva goes on to summarize Elizabeth Short's life, her loving but broken family, her ill health, the repeated losses she experienced, her father's abandonment, the yearly separation from her family, the death of her fiance. She specifically does not describe her death or finding in any detail, save to say that it was clearly a crime of predation and sickness, not passion or personal wrath. And then how even the memory of Elizabeth Short was tainted by the lies told about her in the lurid stories after her death, the fake nickname, the way her mother was cruelly tricked by the press, the whole-cloth tales about her being a prostitute, a lesbian, frigid, and so on. "Because you see, these stories about Elizabeth Smart, they'r ea very special kind of mythology. They're the myths society tells you to make you feel safe. What happened to Elizabeth can't happen to you, or your sister, your daughter, your wife, because there was something wrong with Elizabeth. Something bad. That she made herself a target. That this doesn't happen to good people, smart people, clean people, 'normal' people. But all Elizabeth was was young, and pretty, and vulnerable. Maybe even strong, special in a way, because even after all she had gone through, all she had had taken away from her, her health, her security, her dreams, she still had hope. She still survived, still made friends, still smiled and laughed and danced. There's nothing we can do to save Elizabeth. No way now to even hold someone accountable for her end, not the lifetime small dashed dreams or the final violent death. But there's millions of Elizabeth's out there, you are surrounded by these flowers, these dahlias, so beautiful and so easily crushed. Maybe you even are one yourself. So do what you can for them, and for you. Feed dreams, accept difference, lend a hand, open a heart. Stand up for one another, watch out for each other, and know that you yourself are worthy of better than the world tries to give you. And most of all, tell their true tales, when others try to paint them with dirt and scandal and blame. My next episode will be a visit to the Echo Park Time Travel mart, and a discussion with staff about the 826A organization and its work with Los Angeles students. Until again, my friends."
Greetings friends and strangers, nobles and serfs. Welcome to Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre, where we delve into tales of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs and practices both familiar and extraordinary. Time is elastic. No matter what the clocks tell you, it stretches and contracts like the elastic in Thanksgiving waistbands. As Albert Einstein said, "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute." But one thing we know is that time always travels in one direction. Or does it? Today we're making a visit to Echo Park Time Travel Mart, the place you need to go before jumping timelines whether you're saving the Library of Alexandria or rescuing your great great great grandchildren from Morlocks. (Minerva has an audio tour of the shop, talking with one of the proprietors about the items available, then lead to the back to see the REAL time travel machine... which is where the interview switches to a discussion of the 826LA non profit organization and their mission teaching writing to under-served students in Los Angeles, as well as interviews with some of the students there talking about what the organization means to them). "So next time you need to pick up a dinosaur egg, robot milk, or your favorite Heisenberry slushy, remember to get it from the Echo Park Time Mart, where they not only teach kids how to travel through time, but also how to bring us all along with them through the power of words. If you'd like to see some of todays tour and interviews, video clips are available on my patreon. Next week, Subterranean Lizard People under L.A.? Stories abound, and I can't wait to tell them to you. My final words to you before we must part: Almost every time travel story cautions us that the tiniest change we make visiting the past can have huge repercussions in the present. Why is it so hard for us to believe that the small things we do today can make a real change in the future? (OOC note: Echo Park Time Mart and the 826LA organizations exist IRL and are pretty amazing, and worthy of support. Do check them out at 826LA.org)
Hello and welcome, to one and all, flora, fauna, and mineral. So glad you are joining us for Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre, where we delve into takes of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs, and practices both familiar and extraordinary. No doubt you've heard of recent conspiracy theories that we are in fact ruled by an ancient race of lizard people, capable of masquerading as humans and inserting themselves into any power structure, to unknown but no doubt nefarious ends. But that's not the story I'm bringing you today. Today I want to tell you about a very different sort of Lizard People, who, the stories say, lived in tunnels underneath Los Angeles. Nineteen Thirty Four. The height of the depression. California was still being inundated with Dust Bowl migrants, tent cities sprung up throughout the state, and the workers of San Francisco had a General Strike. California's boom and bust roller coaster was in the midst of serious bust. And then on the morning of January 29, the people of Los Angeles opened the Times to read this headline: "Lizard people's catacomb city hunted." There had been a few articles about this before, but perhaps because of the accompanying illustrations, or perhaps just the luck of the draw, this is the article that became a sensation. No doubt, some of it was due to the exceedingly vibrant prose of the author. "Busy Los Angeles, although little realizing it in the hustle and bustle of modern existence, stands above a lost city of catacombs filled with incalculable treasure and imperishable records of a race of humans further advanced intellectually and scientifically than even the highest types of present day peoples, in the belief of G. Warren Shufelt, geophysical mining engineer now engaged in an attempt to wrest from the lost city deep in the earth below Fort Moore Hill the secrets of the Lizard People of legendary fame in the medicine lodges of the American Indian." Riveting words indeed, who wouldn't feel compelled to read on? People living through such hard times needed a story, and this story had everything. Hidden gold, newfangled "radio x-ray" science, exotic Native American legends, and the approval of the county board of supervisors." (Minerva goes into chronological detail about the history of 'hidden wealth on Fort Moore Hill', Shufelt's theories, shafts dug, etc. Debunking the most outrageous and frankly racist claims but appreciating the rollicking good tale.) Will we ever know if Shufelt was running a get-rich-quick grift, or was a true believer? Probably not, and either way he died without attaining his goal. But what he did attain was fame, the attention and admiration of the masses and isn't that what so many came to L.A. and failed to achieve? His other achievement? A story that helped distract the city from the grim reality of the depression, if only for a short while, gave them something to dream about, connect over, and inspire. And is there a treasure greater than that? Next week, a little trip away from the sunny shores of Southern California to tell the tale of little girls, the author of Sherlock Holmes, and the first worldwide viral Photoshop fake. Yes, it's the Cottingly Fairies. (The L.A. Lizard People Catacomb Search was a real thing in the world, to read the article quoted, go to this [1])
(Excerpts from the Podcast "Mysteries, Merriment, and Macabre with Minerva Michaelson" Episode 192: Victorian Deepfakes) Hello and welcome, to one and all, visions, gentles, and friends. So glad you are joining us for Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre, where we delve into tales of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs, and practices both familiar and extraordinary. Tonight's tale is one of cultural upheaval, the end of empires, seismic changes in the world as it was known, science versus magic, belief versus reason, technology versus faith, and how two little girls fooled the greatest minds of a generation OR changed the nature of legend forever. To understand the context in which a pair of young girls could come to worldwide attention because of some photos they took out in the back garden, we have to understand the kind of upheaval the world was going through at the time. Nowadays we take breakneck technological change as a given, but in the years preceding 1917, the world had gone from primarily agrarian to increasingly industrialized, and rural to urban. In England, where we lay our scene, the country had not only gone from Victoria's steady rule of over 60 years to two monarchs in less than 20 years, plus the first modern world war. People were both excited at the onrush of science and all it could do and horrified with many of the results that had come to pass. Many turned to the church or to ancient lore as a respite from this chaos and uncertainty. Many looked at the many wonders science brought forth and made the connection that other wonders might also be real. (Minerva goes on to lay out the rise of Spiritism in England and the U.K., how early photography was very quickly used to fake images for both art and profit's sake, the chronological history of Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, as well as Arthur Conan Doyle's part in the whole story, culminating in the confession by Elsie that four of the photos had been faked and how they were done, as well as Frances' insistence that the fifth photo came from her thoughts.) And so we are not left with many questions, but hopefully with two very vital pieces of advice: First, don't believe everything you see. Second, and most importantly, never underestimate the power of young girls to change the world. Because not only have the interests and tastes of young girls been a deciding factor in cultural change, from language to novels to music even when their tastes are reviled and disregarded at every turn, but also because largely due to two young girls in Early 20th century England, the word Fairy brings to mind not the Shining Host, the Kindly Ones, the Good Neighbors, the People Under The Hill, but rather little creatures that sleep in flowers and bathe in back gardens and never, ever steal babies from the crib. But for a few years, the world, or at least England, believed in Fairies again. Next week, a story about wishes and bargains, chords and bars, and how some people will give anything for their dreams, even selling their souls. We'll meet again for episode one ninety three, The Devil Gives Music.
(Excerpts from the Podcast "Mysteries, Merriment, and Macabre with Minerva Michaelson" Episode 193: The Devil Gives Music). Hello and welcome, to one and all, angels and demons, djinn and ifrit, terrestrial and celestial. So glad you are joining us for Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre, where we delve into tales of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs, and practices both familiar and extraordinary. Neil Gaiman, a favorite writer of mine and, quite possibly, the majority of my audience as well, wrote "Hell has all the best composers." I am, of course, taking this extremely out of context to make a point. Music has long been a favorite warring place between the sacred and the profane. The more theocratic the religion, the more likely it is to restrict music to a very limited canon or deny it altogether. Because music has power. It has the power to lift us up, to connect us to the divine. But it also has a very different power indeed... <The episode goes on to cover in short two different intersections of the devil and music. First, the concept of the Devil's Chord or the Devil's Tritone, and how discordancy in music, so common in popular music now, was seen as necessarily coming from a dark and dangerous place. Second, an overview of some of the musicians who were said to have sold their soul for talent, and in more detail the story of Robert Johnson and how one night in Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the crossroads of highways 49 and 61, he sold his soul to the devil to play blues guitar. Included are some snatches of the few recordings of Johnson still in existence.> Of course, the thing that music deemed of the devil so often has in common (outside, of course, of outright racism) is this. It's music that connects us to our humanity, that does not lift our spirits soaring to the ethereal, but instead repeats and hastens the beat of our hearts and the pace of our feet. That brings us together not in worship of that which is above and outside us, but to worship one another in joy, or in sorrow, or in desire. And what endangers power more than when we learn we can come together without them? Next week: Look forward to a little surprise, my lovelies. The topic next week is a little up in the air, but know this: Reports of unusual strigiform activity on UCLA campus have been confirmed... and your hostess with the mostest is holding an envelope full of mystery.
(Excerpts from the Podcast "Mysteries, Merriment, and Macabre with Minverva Michaelson" Episode 194: The Mummy House) Hello and welcome to one and all, stars and starlets, producers and directors, dancers and choreographers. Thank you for joining me for Mysteries, Merriment and the Macabre, where we delve into tales of wonder, sorrow, joy and pain, explore the liminal spaces where fiction meets reality, and delight in experiencing myths, legends, beliefs and practices both familiar and extraordinary. Today I bring you another L A story. I've brought you horror. I've brought you folly. Now I lay before your feet a mystery. I don't have all the answers, my darlings. I have only the ones I want to hear. But let me tell you a tale of greed and cunning. Or perhaps of horror and madness. Or maybe, in the end, of love and devotion unwilling to give way in the face of society and even death itself. Let me tell you the tale of the Mummy House. (Following is an in depth story of early Hollywood leading man Clyde Winters, his early fame, his waning years. How unlike so many of his generation how he eschewed smaller parts or the switch to the small screen. No disaster movies or guest spots on the Love Boat for him. How he bought a home in Laurel Canyon, closed the gates behind him and, essentially, disappeared. The rumors that followed, of scandalous parties, drug fueled weekends, decadence .. and how those rumors too faded, just like his stardom. Then the official story, with pictures from the papers. How thirty years ago, the mail stopped being signed for, the grounds became in disrepair, and then the police finally made their way in to find the dead body of an older man... but he wasn't Clyde Winter. No, he was the butler, Mr. Winter's long time assistant, the only other person who lived on the property, dead of natural causes. Mr. Winter was found as well though... a mummified body, long since dead. Years gone. The press went wild again at the scandal, the sensationalism, but with no one to inherit, and no one to speak.. it all faded once again once the assets and debts were dealt with in the courts, left only to neighborhood gossips and internet rumor in the dustiest corners.) So what was it, my darlings? Was the butler a grifter, cheating studios and the draining the lost star's riches? Was it a long-term murder suicide? Who is to truly say, those who could are gone from us now. But. Ah yes, there's a but. But your hostess with the mostest was able to wrangle an invite from the current owner of the house, properly and truly named "Winter's Retreat" and take a tour, for which endless thanks will never be enough. And I learned this. Mr Winters' body was not mummified by the dry air and sun of Southern California. No, it was an act of great intention and care. And when those bodies were found, they were not far apart. The last act of the butler was one of embrace, for the bodies were found together, in each other's arms. Madness? Or love? Or somewhere on that fine, fine line that sometimes separates the two. Was this an act of fevered mind and morbid greed? Or lasting devotion that survived the Hollywood machine, the slow decay of stardom, anonymity, and finally death? I have no answers, but I know the one I believe. Select pictures of my tour are available for my Patreon subscribers. I look forward to bringing you more of the wonders of the world. Next week: The long strange tale of a medical miracle from a faraway land, a lost people, and a lifesaving medication that almost disappeared forever. Until then.
The most recent patreon extra material has come out for the Mysteries, Merriment, and the Macabre podcast, and this time it's a doozie! The larger part of the upload is a video, with accompanying material thereafter, including stills from the video of research materials in better, high quality images. The video starts with the sound of rhythmic ocean waves and the wind on the beach, then Minerva's voice comes in, definitely in storyteller mode. "Not too long ago, one of my Patreon subscribers contacted me to let me know about a ghost sighting they had early one morning while out surfing at a remote, little known cove." fade in: the image appears of the ocean on a bright, cloudless day, panning to take in the huge waves rolling in to a sandy cove between cliffs, a giant, treacherous outcropping of rocks off to the side. "Today, I return to look into the story of a surfer who was one with the waves and then suddenly, tragically, one with the rocks, and whose final moments have replayed here on this beach for over sixty years. Today, the death, the afterlife, and the release of Georgie Frink." Scene fade back to the beach, though this is clearly from a phone, the camera facing Minerva now in portrait mode, and it's clear that this video will not be entirely on the serious side (which is frequent for her Patreon posts), as she starts filming herself from head to toe, first her giant black sunhat, her huge sunglasses, her bright red lipstick. "We're serving glamour. We're serving Breakfast at Tiffany's. We're serving retro." then a 50's style red and white polka dot bathing suit with a black sarong around her waist. "We're serving beach blanket bingo. We're serving... really bad shoe game." Because dirty old black Chuck Taylors? The shame! The video shifts to a more expected 'talking head' video, with Minerval slightly off to one side, behind her a bookcase filled with books and a mix of spooky and cute art and tchotchkes, also doubling as a space where stills are edited in as she tells the tale of George Frink who at the age of 19 in 1959 disappeared while out surviving. The tragedy for the Frink family continued, with his older brother dying in the military the year after, his father dying of a heart attack soon after that, and his mother going into treatment for depression and never really leaving the hospital again and dying in the early 1970s. As far as the family knew, George was never seen again. Segue to an interview with a grizzled old surfer, who tells the tale of one quiet night seeing a ghostly surfer going up for a wave crest and a back spin on waves that weren't there and then soundlessly crashing in to the rock outcropping. Minerva returns to confirm that this is the exact same story that she was told by her Patreon informer. The rest of the day research was done <insert LIBRARY MONTAGE> where the tale of George Frinkle was found, including pictures of his family and shots of their obituaries, and then a return was made late that night. It's clear from the images and videos that there must have been someone else there with her, but no one is directly referenced. That night at the beach, a fire is built and drinks and food procured, with intent to watch out for the ghost of George Frink. <insert video of campfire shining through bottles of beer and rum while "Twilight Time" by The Flying Platters plays for a few seconds>. But in a stunning turn of events, a chunk of George's surfboard was ejected from the rock outcropping <insert video of a sodden wet Minerva in a giant hoodie that falls to her mid-thighs running up from the water with a log-size chunk of wood in her arm and a huge smile on her face>. Once the wood dried, it was added to the fire and blessings were sent to George's soul. <Video insert of Minerva standing in front of the fire: "Georgie Frink! The tide rolls out and the fire lights your way! You've been one with the ocean, and one with the rocks, it's time to come in and be one with the universe, to drink in Valhalla, trod the stair to heaven, or move to the next level of your being. Your surfing will be legend. Your memory shall not fade! Come back to the beach, Georgie, and while we celebrate your life, go to your long awaited and well deserved reward." And with that she GLUGS most of her rum and coke and then turns and tosses the dried chunk of patterned wood onto the fire and tosses in the last of her drink in with it calling out "To Georgie Frink!"> "I can't tell you whether or not he found peace, but I do know this. There have been no known reports of sightings of George Frink since that night. And when I left before sunrise, the beach felt like a calmer, quieter place. Was the ghost real? Who is to say. But the tragedy was, and a life unmourned deserves mourning. Thank you for joining me for this Patreon special." <insert, this picture with the third person highlighted; link is [2]> Credits roll. Along the bottom of the Patreon page, there's a feed of recent social media posts related to the podcast, probably boosted by likes and reshares. One of the current top posts is a reshared Instagram post by one @Darren_STAR364 showing a picture of Minerva slow-dancing in the arms or a taller, African American man with 'locs (recognizable to those who know him as Ezekiel), her head on his chest, face turned towards the camera, eyes closed. His face is dipped towards the top of her head, eyes also closed. The OP has tagged it: @Minerva_M & @Darkling_king Painfully cute! And it was reshared by @Minerva_M with #instaofficial. A second somewhat-less popular but more recent image is a table full of Ziploc bags, packs of wet wipes and athletic socks and feminine supplies spread out on it with the caption by @Minerva_M: Prepping to shadow Father Hobbes on his street ministry tomorrow morning!
The entirety of Episode #195 of Mystery, Merriment, and the Macabre with Minerva Michaelson "Hello my lovelies and darlings. I know, my voice has been quiet for far too long. This truly has been the August and September of our discontent. I promise, life will spring anew, and plans are being made for a special event. But this episode is but a burst in the quiet so that I can amplify another voice. I know that a tale of green fog and mysterious explosions and random weather changes might seem like something I should be delving into, but this time it is decidedly not. Mine are tales of wonder and speculation and intrigue... this is a story of pain and danger and it is all too real and immediate. And so today I turn over my podcast and my audience to David Marcus, a fellow podcaster I've had the pleasure of meeting in the past. What he has to say is vitally important, especially to those Angelinos in my audience. Remember, we are all connected.. what touches the least of us will grab us all in turn. Do what you can, help where you might, speak truth to power. <Insert audio of bbpost 8/27> #GetOutENDRON
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