Merry Christmas to all- I got exactly what I wanted- a big ol' 61 key keyboard so I can teach myself piano without driving everyone out of the student lounge. Unfortunately I also got a spasming cramp in my back from leaning over it for 6 hours. I have this theory where I don't want to start on the piddly crap like chopsticks. I got a book full of sheet music from Debussey (it didn't have my favorite, Sunken Cathedral, but it did have Clair deLune, which is dear to me for obvious reasons, and a nice little song called Le Petit Negre, or, The Cakewalk. I wish I knew how it got those names.) and so I plunged right in. It took me about 5 minutes to figure out where to put my fingers for the 6 simultaneous notes that began Sarabande, but it sounded so good (that first beat, I mean) that I almost didn't mind that there was no way in hell I'd be able to play the next beat without having to untangle my fingers and spend another 5 minutes studying how I should tangle them up again. It was like my fingers were playing a very competitive game of naked twister. But I'm the kind of person who gets ecstatic with every success, like a child, so I'm not too afraid of getting discouraged and throwing my lil piano across the room. It's got the coolest features for when I get bored of the high brow stuff.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
I finally saw Mel Gibson's Hamlet. Unfortunately I bought it before seeing it. Now, I apologize for what I'm about to say; I wasn't raised to use such crass language, especially in print, but there's no way around it. It SUCKS! SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS! Gibson was ok, & I love Paul Schofield. It should have been a good movie- it had a good cast. But it SUCKED! Go ahead and disagree with me; I'll be ready. Ess-you-see-kay SUCK!
Monday, December 13, 2004
The Rest
"As surely as the Earth is not the center of the universe, that the flaming ball of gas that sustains us is not Divine, there is no black and white distinction to definitively separates male from female. I see that as beautiful and amazing, and I label laughably ignorant our persistent subscription to our inaccurate categorization of gender as intrinsic substance rather than characteristic accident. I further reject the notion that instances of ambiguous gender are actually the shameful and regrettable result of Sin. Since gender is the result of the _expression of a combination of complex genetic signals, it cannot be an Is or Is Not like we have been raised to believe, and on which we base the infallible doctrine of requirements for the priesthood. And since that infallible doctrine is founded on a misunderstanding about the essence of gender, how can it stand? And ultimately, how can any infallible doctrine be so unquestionable?
"As I continue to learn about this universe and the life within it, my notions of religion and God begin to melt away. How can I profess to be so damn certain that there is an afterlife at all, much less that there are precisely three possible destinations in that assured afterlife, and that my destination is determined by a detailed list of Do’s and Don’ts categorized quite neatly into mortal and venial sin? Isn’t it patently absurd to believe that the master author of this breathtaking universe of unfathomable complexity and grandeur would bother with laws that prohibit humans from eating meat at certain intervals of their tiny planet’s rotation around its insignificant sun? Or to profess to be certain that the penalty for breaking such a law is an eternity in some hell? As another example, we have infallible doctrine that lists specific humans who have certainly achieved eternal paradise and declares that we can invoke them to help us do the same. What arrogance and self-importance to claim to have reached such masterful understanding of the cosmos and its Cause! It is more likely that the Church is a making of our own curious minds; to make sense of the world with the best of our ability, to comfort our inadequate selves, to address our innate desires to feel central and important, significant and eternal. To create an impervious, unquestionable authority from which to try to see that justice and fairness are executed, however we determine such things to be.
"And so, I have stopped allowing myself to feel guilt over not experiencing anything spectacular or supernatural when I went to mass. In fact, I have stopped going altogether and, for the first time, do not fear that eternal misery may be the consequence. In openly admitting that I have failed to find a way to pacify my spirit by living as a professed member of the Church, I have found freedom and closure and relief. It has taken exhausting courage and effort to reach this part of my own continuing journey. In breaking from the Church, I am rejected by my family as lost, ill, the victim of some secular mind-poison, the prey of Satan, a pitiable loss and even a danger to my children. Alex says I am disloyal. Mother undoubtedly thinks I have conjured up a new level of rationalization and justification for my own disgusting sinfulness. But I see it differently.
"I uncomfortably face the prospect that this may very well be the only life I have to live- that my existence here- a relative fraction of a flash in the story of creation- is quite possibly finite and fleeting. And if it is not, I cannot reasonably bring myself to conclude that whatever comes after this approximates what we arrogantly profess to have practically mapped out. And so, in spite of the possible result – the destruction of my immortal soul- I reject what has been drilled into me by my catechization and I choose to begin anew. I will spend my life, what time I have, in pursuit of truth and understanding, without the crutch or perceived comfort of relying in Faith on what those before me have professed as Revelation. I will not live my tiny life in personal sacrifice and misery as Mother has, remaining committed in marriage to someone whom I do not love, respect, or desire to be around, just because I was too afraid and weak to stand up and refuse to marry him in the first place. I will not throw the rest of my life away in hopes of achieving some eternal reward for my selfless sacrifice. I reject what I have been taught by example: to go to Church faithfully, and then leave seething and festering with hate and condemnation for the filthy people who brought guitars and tambourines into God’s house or allowed their little girls to participate in certain roles within our contrived traditional ceremonies. I choose something different- and honestly, I don’t know what that something is yet, just that it is not what I have been going through the motions, pretending, for such a tiresomely long time now.
"This is not the exhaustive enumeration of my arguments for what has you all so frightened for me, rather a sampling that I hope will help you begin to understand, at least in part, the reason for my choices. I have others, in various stages of consciousness; some I am not yet able to articulate clearly, formulate tangibly, or test reasonably.
"I find comfort knowing that I am not alone. I read some lines from Emily Dickinson that ring so true for me that I had to jot them down. They eloquently say exactly what I feel but am, so far, unable to convey in a sensible way myself.
“The Christian who longs too keenly for heaven must reject the living world that keeps him from heaven. Such a Christian welcomes death, and in doing so, cultivates dying a little every day. “ Emily saw mankind’s identity and achievements as “insignificant specks in the great whirling cloud of the solar systems.” I think that closer to the truth that the alternative, that which I have been brought up to believe."
So, what can one do? I very much love the person who wrote this, and I can address every point raised, but still, I might never make a dent.
"As I continue to learn about this universe and the life within it, my notions of religion and God begin to melt away. How can I profess to be so damn certain that there is an afterlife at all, much less that there are precisely three possible destinations in that assured afterlife, and that my destination is determined by a detailed list of Do’s and Don’ts categorized quite neatly into mortal and venial sin? Isn’t it patently absurd to believe that the master author of this breathtaking universe of unfathomable complexity and grandeur would bother with laws that prohibit humans from eating meat at certain intervals of their tiny planet’s rotation around its insignificant sun? Or to profess to be certain that the penalty for breaking such a law is an eternity in some hell? As another example, we have infallible doctrine that lists specific humans who have certainly achieved eternal paradise and declares that we can invoke them to help us do the same. What arrogance and self-importance to claim to have reached such masterful understanding of the cosmos and its Cause! It is more likely that the Church is a making of our own curious minds; to make sense of the world with the best of our ability, to comfort our inadequate selves, to address our innate desires to feel central and important, significant and eternal. To create an impervious, unquestionable authority from which to try to see that justice and fairness are executed, however we determine such things to be.
"And so, I have stopped allowing myself to feel guilt over not experiencing anything spectacular or supernatural when I went to mass. In fact, I have stopped going altogether and, for the first time, do not fear that eternal misery may be the consequence. In openly admitting that I have failed to find a way to pacify my spirit by living as a professed member of the Church, I have found freedom and closure and relief. It has taken exhausting courage and effort to reach this part of my own continuing journey. In breaking from the Church, I am rejected by my family as lost, ill, the victim of some secular mind-poison, the prey of Satan, a pitiable loss and even a danger to my children. Alex says I am disloyal. Mother undoubtedly thinks I have conjured up a new level of rationalization and justification for my own disgusting sinfulness. But I see it differently.
"I uncomfortably face the prospect that this may very well be the only life I have to live- that my existence here- a relative fraction of a flash in the story of creation- is quite possibly finite and fleeting. And if it is not, I cannot reasonably bring myself to conclude that whatever comes after this approximates what we arrogantly profess to have practically mapped out. And so, in spite of the possible result – the destruction of my immortal soul- I reject what has been drilled into me by my catechization and I choose to begin anew. I will spend my life, what time I have, in pursuit of truth and understanding, without the crutch or perceived comfort of relying in Faith on what those before me have professed as Revelation. I will not live my tiny life in personal sacrifice and misery as Mother has, remaining committed in marriage to someone whom I do not love, respect, or desire to be around, just because I was too afraid and weak to stand up and refuse to marry him in the first place. I will not throw the rest of my life away in hopes of achieving some eternal reward for my selfless sacrifice. I reject what I have been taught by example: to go to Church faithfully, and then leave seething and festering with hate and condemnation for the filthy people who brought guitars and tambourines into God’s house or allowed their little girls to participate in certain roles within our contrived traditional ceremonies. I choose something different- and honestly, I don’t know what that something is yet, just that it is not what I have been going through the motions, pretending, for such a tiresomely long time now.
"This is not the exhaustive enumeration of my arguments for what has you all so frightened for me, rather a sampling that I hope will help you begin to understand, at least in part, the reason for my choices. I have others, in various stages of consciousness; some I am not yet able to articulate clearly, formulate tangibly, or test reasonably.
"I find comfort knowing that I am not alone. I read some lines from Emily Dickinson that ring so true for me that I had to jot them down. They eloquently say exactly what I feel but am, so far, unable to convey in a sensible way myself.
“The Christian who longs too keenly for heaven must reject the living world that keeps him from heaven. Such a Christian welcomes death, and in doing so, cultivates dying a little every day. “ Emily saw mankind’s identity and achievements as “insignificant specks in the great whirling cloud of the solar systems.” I think that closer to the truth that the alternative, that which I have been brought up to believe."
So, what can one do? I very much love the person who wrote this, and I can address every point raised, but still, I might never make a dent.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
A Letter
"As I study molecular biology, I marvel at the chemical code that drives the mechanics of every living cell. I watch in amazement as a four letter alphabet of ATCGs instructs cells to produce the tens of thousands of unique proteins that make us alive. I read about the recent discoveries of sulfur-based life in the thermal vents on the ocean floor that revolutionize our very definition of life. The practical inevitability of soon finding water and microbial life on one of Jupiter's moons, and fossils on at least one of the dried ocean beds of Mars: these are the tangible facts that excite my curiosity and vitalize me in indescribable ways. I consider that it has been in the relative blink of an eye that humanity has gone from just a tiny nomadic group venturing out of the African plains to populate this tiny planet in an unfathomably vast universe. I read journals about the analysis of mitochondrial DNA that carry in its sequence the maternal lineage of humanity itself in its brief existence here. It might as well haev been just last week that we worshipped the sun, that wondrous, inexplicable life-force in the sky on which we were dependant for survival and went to great lengths to placate. That distant ball of explosive gas was our God, and Earth was the center of all of creation.
"I cannot articulate the wonder and amazement I feel when I contemplate all the complexity and beauty and brilliance I see as I study creation both on the atomic level as well as in the scope of light years' distance. Everything I was raised to believe begins to disintegrate, until only one precept remains. There is a Cause; something brilliant and worthy of worship behind all that I see. I feel ecstatically close to It when I watch through a microscope as enzymes flawlessly replicate a sequence of millions of genetic letters to allow one tiny cell, human or bacteria alike, to grow and persist in its struggle for order in a universe characterized by increasing entropy. A thrill of wonder and adoration of this Cause races through me the first time I understand that time really is relative, and my previous understanding of the sensible world must be completely upheaved and reorganized to satisfy the implications of that truth, just as with discovery that the earth is not the center of all, and that the sun is not God. The conclusion i reach is this: I am not willing to subscribe to a religion, Catholic or otherwise, that professes with such ludicrous certainty, to have the Cause figured out to the degree that they do. My world view has been completely reordered as I have to incorporate the amazing facts I have encountered through observation and study, and my already precarious Faith did not survive the reordering.
"As one example: I remember learning about "substance" versus "accident" in terms of some theologian's (Aquinas?) explanation of Transubstantiation. The substance of the host was the essence of Divinity, the accidents were the physical appearance and sensible characteristics of bread and water. These concepts of substance and ccidents are also applied to our definitions of ourselves. Our gender is part of our substance, not an accidental quality like hair color. This concept of gender as substantial rather than accidental is inherent to the infallible doctrine of prohibiting women from the priesthood. But on a genetic level, I have learned that gender is absolutely as accidental as hair color, only a bit more chemically complex in its determination. Gender is nothing more than an expression of a combination of genes. The first cause the exact same developing sex organs to either remain in the bocy and act as ovaries, or to descend outward to be named testes. Then hundreds of other genes that code for hundreds of unique proteins must be individually turned on and off in perfect concert to induce specific chemical signals that cause all the secondary sex characteristics to phenotypically express themselves. Individuals can and do end up landing anywhere on a chemical spectrum that determines whether they are more male or female, depending entirely on variables like which protein hormones get made, at what concentration, and at what stage of development. Granted, the vast majority of us develop in such a way as to end up safely ans unmistakably at one extreme of that spectrum, but what about the rest?
"And so, the reality is revealed: God did not simply make us male or female. It only appeared that way to our best sensibilities until recently. Now we can see that the truth is much more beautiful and complex than that. There are humans all over the spectrum, including some right in the middle who are anatomically both male and female. Are we too embarrassed by this and show Christian sympathy for those individuals, while trusting that the Almighy had a reason for making this "mistake"; this failure to create within the parameters that we have drfined as normal and right? I am taught to recognize such "deformity" as a cosmic consequence of original sin, as is all suffering and deformity."
More of this letter later. I'll also explain why I'm posting it.
"I cannot articulate the wonder and amazement I feel when I contemplate all the complexity and beauty and brilliance I see as I study creation both on the atomic level as well as in the scope of light years' distance. Everything I was raised to believe begins to disintegrate, until only one precept remains. There is a Cause; something brilliant and worthy of worship behind all that I see. I feel ecstatically close to It when I watch through a microscope as enzymes flawlessly replicate a sequence of millions of genetic letters to allow one tiny cell, human or bacteria alike, to grow and persist in its struggle for order in a universe characterized by increasing entropy. A thrill of wonder and adoration of this Cause races through me the first time I understand that time really is relative, and my previous understanding of the sensible world must be completely upheaved and reorganized to satisfy the implications of that truth, just as with discovery that the earth is not the center of all, and that the sun is not God. The conclusion i reach is this: I am not willing to subscribe to a religion, Catholic or otherwise, that professes with such ludicrous certainty, to have the Cause figured out to the degree that they do. My world view has been completely reordered as I have to incorporate the amazing facts I have encountered through observation and study, and my already precarious Faith did not survive the reordering.
"As one example: I remember learning about "substance" versus "accident" in terms of some theologian's (Aquinas?) explanation of Transubstantiation. The substance of the host was the essence of Divinity, the accidents were the physical appearance and sensible characteristics of bread and water. These concepts of substance and ccidents are also applied to our definitions of ourselves. Our gender is part of our substance, not an accidental quality like hair color. This concept of gender as substantial rather than accidental is inherent to the infallible doctrine of prohibiting women from the priesthood. But on a genetic level, I have learned that gender is absolutely as accidental as hair color, only a bit more chemically complex in its determination. Gender is nothing more than an expression of a combination of genes. The first cause the exact same developing sex organs to either remain in the bocy and act as ovaries, or to descend outward to be named testes. Then hundreds of other genes that code for hundreds of unique proteins must be individually turned on and off in perfect concert to induce specific chemical signals that cause all the secondary sex characteristics to phenotypically express themselves. Individuals can and do end up landing anywhere on a chemical spectrum that determines whether they are more male or female, depending entirely on variables like which protein hormones get made, at what concentration, and at what stage of development. Granted, the vast majority of us develop in such a way as to end up safely ans unmistakably at one extreme of that spectrum, but what about the rest?
"And so, the reality is revealed: God did not simply make us male or female. It only appeared that way to our best sensibilities until recently. Now we can see that the truth is much more beautiful and complex than that. There are humans all over the spectrum, including some right in the middle who are anatomically both male and female. Are we too embarrassed by this and show Christian sympathy for those individuals, while trusting that the Almighy had a reason for making this "mistake"; this failure to create within the parameters that we have drfined as normal and right? I am taught to recognize such "deformity" as a cosmic consequence of original sin, as is all suffering and deformity."
More of this letter later. I'll also explain why I'm posting it.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Where does it end?
Neteroneous called me Thursday night to tell me he was in the area (in fact he had never been east of Arizona till this past week) so since I had Friday off we spent the day whizzing around DC, trying to get in some of the sights. Mostly I just got us lost. Ah, tradition. We went to a lecture @ CUA given by Alistair McIntyre (now that's a name!) and when the lecture ended, out flooded TAC grads! Everywhere! Jamie Spiering, Vic Vincent, Pat Bissex, Wink! Neteroneous & Bissex were getting into a critique of the various Thomists here and I, impatient to get to the Dubliner and settle into a tall foamy beer, picked up on pieces of the conversation and said, somewhat sarcastically, "I didn't even know there were different schools of Thomistic interpretation." Pat looked a little at a loss for words, and Neteroneous looked at me mischeviously and said, "That's because they only teach you one kind at TAC." Hmm.... sheltered at TAC from... other Thomists...
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Go ahead. Give your neurosis a name.
Gamophobia Fear of marriage
Rhytiphobia " " getting wrinkles
Arachibutyrophobia (a personal favorite) '' " peanut butter stuck to the roof of one's mouth
Homilophobia " " sermons
Onomatophobia " " hearing certain words
Ephebiphobia " " teenagers
Genuphobia " " knees
Necrophobia " " death
Scoleciphobia " " worms
Anuptaphobia " " staying single (wow I guess it would suck to be gamophobic and anuptaphoic)
Myxophobia " " slime
Amychophobia " " getting scratched
Chionophobia " " snow. Oh come on!
Novercaphobia " " one's stepmother
Coulrophobia " " clowns.
Rhytiphobia " " getting wrinkles
Arachibutyrophobia (a personal favorite) '' " peanut butter stuck to the roof of one's mouth
Homilophobia " " sermons
Onomatophobia " " hearing certain words
Ephebiphobia " " teenagers
Genuphobia " " knees
Necrophobia " " death
Scoleciphobia " " worms
Anuptaphobia " " staying single (wow I guess it would suck to be gamophobic and anuptaphoic)
Myxophobia " " slime
Amychophobia " " getting scratched
Chionophobia " " snow. Oh come on!
Novercaphobia " " one's stepmother
Coulrophobia " " clowns.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
So many cute little adventures in New York! I got lost in what I thought was just a very very black neighborhood on the upper west side, filled with black people fighting and selling cds on blankets. Everyone was angry. Even the t-shirts they were selling were angry: one was an angry t-shirt that yelled: JESUS WAS A BLACK MAN and it listed arguments in support of this. The streets were all black-themed, too: African Avenue, Martin Luther King Blvd, etc. After I told Liripipe about this all-black and angry neighborhood in the upper west side, she smiled, patted me on the head and said, "You were in Harlem, dearie." Ha! How fun.
Another adventure that tickled my heart was outside of Port Authority on 42nd, late at night, where, in my humble experience, I believe there to be the highest concentration of weirdos in the city, there was a crazy black guy (ok, yes, black again. I'm not racist; I'm just painting the picture for you) yelling all sorts of obscenities and telling someone, or maybe no one in particular, to perform something vulgar on his person, and then, like the Red Sea, the crowds parted and up strutted a brigade of New York's finest. Strong, tall, authoritative & fearless. There were about 7 of them and they marched up to where the little nasty man was. His eyes bugged out, he dropped his umbrella (which was about 4 ft long) and ran like hell. The tallest policeman stooped over, picked up the umbrella, and WHACK, snapped it over his knee! I don't grudge them little liberties like that.
Sak's. It doesn't say Sak's Fifth Avenue; it just says Sak's & Co. It's on 5th Ave., so that would be superfluous. I marvel at how cute that is. I went shopping there, bright & early the day after Thanksgiving. 9 floors, not counting the 10th floor, which no one can get into unless they have an appt., and probably a Fortune 500 husband. It's the salon and the escalator to the 10th floor was roped off to keep out the riff raff like me. I wanted to buy my mother something cashmere from Sak's. I asked a man in a suit, who didn't like the fact that I had a backpack on in his store, where I could find socks. I figure cashmere socks is more in my price range than anything else. He looked momentarily disgusted that I came to Sak's on the busiest shopping day of the year with my bookbag and unbrushed hair to bother him about socks. I debated telling him that it's ok, because I'm only interested in cashmere socks; I'm not a yokel. When I found the cashmere socks I found that they were $60. You don't believe me, I know! You think I'm trying to spice up a drab scok story by exaggerating the price! Well I'm not! Sixty, I tell you! I found a cashmere sweater for the same price, so I bought that instead. Then I went outside and bought a, ahem, cashmere scarf for ten dollars. I went cashmere crazy. I couldn't stop. It had a sticker on it that said it's made in england and that it's 100% real and the lady selling it to me had very bloodshot eyes and she had a lot of trouble figuring out the change for a 20 dollar bill. But enough of this.
I will leave you with a disturbing lil tidbit: More Americans went shopping last Friday than voted this year.
Discuss.
Another adventure that tickled my heart was outside of Port Authority on 42nd, late at night, where, in my humble experience, I believe there to be the highest concentration of weirdos in the city, there was a crazy black guy (ok, yes, black again. I'm not racist; I'm just painting the picture for you) yelling all sorts of obscenities and telling someone, or maybe no one in particular, to perform something vulgar on his person, and then, like the Red Sea, the crowds parted and up strutted a brigade of New York's finest. Strong, tall, authoritative & fearless. There were about 7 of them and they marched up to where the little nasty man was. His eyes bugged out, he dropped his umbrella (which was about 4 ft long) and ran like hell. The tallest policeman stooped over, picked up the umbrella, and WHACK, snapped it over his knee! I don't grudge them little liberties like that.
Sak's. It doesn't say Sak's Fifth Avenue; it just says Sak's & Co. It's on 5th Ave., so that would be superfluous. I marvel at how cute that is. I went shopping there, bright & early the day after Thanksgiving. 9 floors, not counting the 10th floor, which no one can get into unless they have an appt., and probably a Fortune 500 husband. It's the salon and the escalator to the 10th floor was roped off to keep out the riff raff like me. I wanted to buy my mother something cashmere from Sak's. I asked a man in a suit, who didn't like the fact that I had a backpack on in his store, where I could find socks. I figure cashmere socks is more in my price range than anything else. He looked momentarily disgusted that I came to Sak's on the busiest shopping day of the year with my bookbag and unbrushed hair to bother him about socks. I debated telling him that it's ok, because I'm only interested in cashmere socks; I'm not a yokel. When I found the cashmere socks I found that they were $60. You don't believe me, I know! You think I'm trying to spice up a drab scok story by exaggerating the price! Well I'm not! Sixty, I tell you! I found a cashmere sweater for the same price, so I bought that instead. Then I went outside and bought a, ahem, cashmere scarf for ten dollars. I went cashmere crazy. I couldn't stop. It had a sticker on it that said it's made in england and that it's 100% real and the lady selling it to me had very bloodshot eyes and she had a lot of trouble figuring out the change for a 20 dollar bill. But enough of this.
I will leave you with a disturbing lil tidbit: More Americans went shopping last Friday than voted this year.
Discuss.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Sometimes I think Rayna is the only one who reads my blogs. If this is not, true, I relaly wish other people would comment, you know, just to say hello.
I don't know if any of you have read the Washington Compost during the campaign, but I think it's very cute that they always referred to Kerry as John F. Kerry. I guess it didn't help him seem presidential enough, but God bless 'em, they tried.
I don't know if any of you have read the Washington Compost during the campaign, but I think it's very cute that they always referred to Kerry as John F. Kerry. I guess it didn't help him seem presidential enough, but God bless 'em, they tried.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
blah blah bleh
Still not sure if I should go to NY for Thanksgiving. Money, of course, is the factor. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. I can do it for under $200, but until I find out how much I can borrow to go back to school in less than 2 months, I'm freaking out over every dime. If only McLean would write me back!!!! Every day I search the mail in a cold sweat, but I find nothing. Yes I think I will go to NY. I think I shall buy tickets now.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Waterloo Bridge
This is a 1940 movie w/ Vivien Leigh (Scarlett O'Hara) about an English ballerina and a handsome soldier who fall in love and get engaged right before he has to fight in the last year of WWII. She finds out her ballerina friend got her medicine when she was sick through prostitution, hanging around soldiers just coming back or heading out. Viven gets word her fiance's dead and since there's nothing to stay true to anymore,and she feels abd that her friend is bringing in all the money, she sells herself too. Fiance turns up not dead, in fact he sees her in a flashy dress at the train station, thinks she miraculously decided to show up there, waiting for him. He whisks her off to his Scottish manor, introduces her to the folks, etc., all the while she keeps wincing whenever he says anything tender. Finally she runs away, leaving a Dear John. Meanwhile his mother knows what happened, cuz Vivien broke down & told her, but made her promise not to tell. Which brings me to the point of this blog. This guy, who's painted to be Prince Charming, has this to say when ballerina friend helps him look for her, but fails to find her in her usual places, and explains to him that Vivien's been selling herself for food and shelter: "She is lost from me. I will never find her, but I will never stop looking."
Then, unbeknownst to him, Vivien throws herself in front of a truck. The end.
My dormant feminist rage has awakened! " She is lost and I will never find her" !!!?Is that supposed to be Mr. I'll always be there and forgive you and love you? I ususally find 1940s/1930s movies more inspiring and truthful, but this one ticked me off big time.
Recommendation: How Green Was My Valley. Makes me proud to be Welsh.
PS Why are my blogs always movie reviews?
Then, unbeknownst to him, Vivien throws herself in front of a truck. The end.
My dormant feminist rage has awakened! " She is lost and I will never find her" !!!?Is that supposed to be Mr. I'll always be there and forgive you and love you? I ususally find 1940s/1930s movies more inspiring and truthful, but this one ticked me off big time.
Recommendation: How Green Was My Valley. Makes me proud to be Welsh.
PS Why are my blogs always movie reviews?
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Haha! Land Ahoy!
I changed my template! Something I've wanted to do for awhile. It's crisp & refreshing; just like me, just like the sea air! Arrrh, mateys!
BTW I'm about to embark on an adventure of sorts, one I've never had the guts to do, so wish me luck, ye landlovers!
BTW I'm about to embark on an adventure of sorts, one I've never had the guts to do, so wish me luck, ye landlovers!
Sunday, November 07, 2004
I'm pretty sure that the reason wintry air tastes wet is that it condenses in your mouth while you breathe.
N.B. See Eternal Sunshine if you haven't. Blew me away. Reminds me of my own crazy trips to the beach with certain people for random reasons. People who maybe thought they wanted to erase those memories themselves. Hmm. Beach. Talking. Sand whipping your face, getting in your beer. Trying to block said beer without geting it warm. Thinking, half-consciously, if the wind makes me so cold, why doesn't it do anything for the beer? But you know the answer so the question dies on your mind's lips. Trying to light a cigarette at the beach, behind a blanket, while the sun is setting/rising(either, it doen't matter which; you've done both), and that turns into an opportunity for someone to wrap his blanket around you, ostensibely to help you light your cigarette. "Light me one too," he says, rubbing your back, trying to keep you warm. Nobody ever told you California could be so cold. You wonder how the hell you got to the beach and why you didn't buy more booze when you had the chance. Oh well, it's almost 6 am, you can buy some more. Does that make you an alcoholic? You smile. Sun's definitely up now. Magic's fading. gotta be a useful member of society now. Says who?! Says they.... they who write the rules, unwritten rules but still, what are you gonna do about it? Gonna revolt? Ok, but for how long? Got a lot of seminar to read. Wish you could melt in his arms. You yawn. Shatters the sexiness. Or not. He senses you're tired but, better still, he senses you want to be bundled up in the moment so he stays still. Rubs your back harder. Draws you near. You don't fight it anymore. Cars on the 101, you wonder, why are they rushing past the beach so fast? You want to be swallowed up in his thoughts forever, thoughts that keep you whole and loved, and always there in the front of his mind. He'd take you to the beach anytime. Even just to sit and try to light cigarettes and down a box o' Lucky and try to solve the puzzles on the caps. Finally the silence is broken. It had to be some time or another. I'm not in heaven yet, you say to yourself; this had to end somtime. Might as well be now. "Want a Hot Pocket?" He knows your desires. You smile. Yeah. But one more cigarette. God, don't ever let me forget these moments. Here, let me light that, he offers. We got a beer left too. Wanna go back to school soon? You put your head on his shoulder and try to memorize the rhythm of the ebb and flow. No, you say. Wake me up only if you absolutely must. As you close your eyes you feel the strengthening sun. You fall asleep to the sound of the sizzling cigarette he's smoking, and seagulls in the crashing waves.
N.B. See Eternal Sunshine if you haven't. Blew me away. Reminds me of my own crazy trips to the beach with certain people for random reasons. People who maybe thought they wanted to erase those memories themselves. Hmm. Beach. Talking. Sand whipping your face, getting in your beer. Trying to block said beer without geting it warm. Thinking, half-consciously, if the wind makes me so cold, why doesn't it do anything for the beer? But you know the answer so the question dies on your mind's lips. Trying to light a cigarette at the beach, behind a blanket, while the sun is setting/rising(either, it doen't matter which; you've done both), and that turns into an opportunity for someone to wrap his blanket around you, ostensibely to help you light your cigarette. "Light me one too," he says, rubbing your back, trying to keep you warm. Nobody ever told you California could be so cold. You wonder how the hell you got to the beach and why you didn't buy more booze when you had the chance. Oh well, it's almost 6 am, you can buy some more. Does that make you an alcoholic? You smile. Sun's definitely up now. Magic's fading. gotta be a useful member of society now. Says who?! Says they.... they who write the rules, unwritten rules but still, what are you gonna do about it? Gonna revolt? Ok, but for how long? Got a lot of seminar to read. Wish you could melt in his arms. You yawn. Shatters the sexiness. Or not. He senses you're tired but, better still, he senses you want to be bundled up in the moment so he stays still. Rubs your back harder. Draws you near. You don't fight it anymore. Cars on the 101, you wonder, why are they rushing past the beach so fast? You want to be swallowed up in his thoughts forever, thoughts that keep you whole and loved, and always there in the front of his mind. He'd take you to the beach anytime. Even just to sit and try to light cigarettes and down a box o' Lucky and try to solve the puzzles on the caps. Finally the silence is broken. It had to be some time or another. I'm not in heaven yet, you say to yourself; this had to end somtime. Might as well be now. "Want a Hot Pocket?" He knows your desires. You smile. Yeah. But one more cigarette. God, don't ever let me forget these moments. Here, let me light that, he offers. We got a beer left too. Wanna go back to school soon? You put your head on his shoulder and try to memorize the rhythm of the ebb and flow. No, you say. Wake me up only if you absolutely must. As you close your eyes you feel the strengthening sun. You fall asleep to the sound of the sizzling cigarette he's smoking, and seagulls in the crashing waves.
Friday, October 22, 2004
To Vote, or Not To Vote
Rock the vote! Yeah! Or, don't, if you don't want to. Let me point out two things:
1.It is the duty of an American adult to be involved in the political process, yes, but not in the way MTV & Bruce Spreensteen are trying to push on Generation Y. If you don't have a clear preference or if both major candidates go against your core values, you should not vote! Pulling the lever in the booth isn't supposed to be like a slot machine! You don't do it just cuz REM & M0by are pressuring you to vote (cough, for Kerry). "Vote for something" is the Rock the Vote mantra. As in, vote for anything. Don't like the way Bush stammers? Make your voice heard! Vote him out! Against war? Hell yeah! Vote him out! Cuz your vote counts for just as much as those middle-aged squares who vote on issues. Unfortunately.
This is exploitation. The baby-killers want votes, and panderers that they are, they will pander to that largely untapped 20-something vote. We're too ADD to care about grown-up issues, so just make it cool for us. Throw parties with sign-ups for the party-goers to promise not to have sex for a week if they don't vote, and to only have sex with people who have voted for a whole week (I'm not making this up- my imagination, as wild as it is, could never have come up with that). Exploit us in such a way that we walk away feeling powerful. You, the same ones who gave us condoms in school so we don't procreate like rabbits, tell us Vote or Die! (P. Diddy's new T-shirt) Because we're grown-up enough to vote, but too lazy and stupid to do it without our favorite pop stars getting palsy with us.
2. The other thing that gags me is the sly cutesy "We're not endorsing anyone wink wink nudge nudge but you don't really want that war-mogerer for another 4 years. Just vote. For whatever. " WHAT? I want to discourage people from voting if they're going to be voting against my favored candidate! I mean, isn't that the point? To get more votes than the other guy? Isn't that what it means to support one candidate instead of another? My boss, who's college educated, mid-50s, said to me, "I guess I ought to vote this year. I haven't voted in so long. This seems like a big election. " Me, eagerly: "Who are you going to vote for?" Him, half-heartedly: "I don't know. Bush seems like an idiot, but I don't trust Kerry. And he's got a horse face." Me, pleadingly, "Don, don't vote if you're going to vote for Kerry, ok? Can you promise me that? For your best employee, can you do this favor? Huh?" The Vote For Whatever people don't have the guts to say, Vote for Kerry. They pretend like it's all good, but if that's the case, then what is so vital about everyone voting? If you're trying to garner votes for Candidate X, but under the guise of, Vote no matter what, then isn't the jig up? I mean, I know these volunteers don't care whether I, pesonally vote and make myself heard. Their goal isn't to give Mr Jones and Mrs. Smith a soap-box. They want votes for Candidate X. Just say so, you lousy jerks. But why would they? We 20-somethings are only good for our fickleness and ignorance and the votes we cast, and you rotten Hollywood bastards want to curse war on your gilded thrones and boycott the furs you hide in your closets. You want to eat your damn cake and I won't have it.
Let's take a cue from the hippies. They didn't like either candidate so they all registered just so they could write in a damn pig. Oink oink. A real pig. They made their voices heard, but it wasn't for the candidate they were pressured into voting for. Do you waste your vote by not voting? No! If you don't have a reason to vote for candidate X or Y, don't vote. Voting is a privilege. In Rome, it was for citizens, landowners. In America, it used to just be for white men, then just men, finally women too. It's not your right and it's not your placeholder in American society. It's a real pity that bumper stickers and road signs have an effect; that you can actually sway voters just by sensory overload. And it's a pity that this election will hang on the people who don't like the way Bush talks or the fact that Teresa is a train wreck. I hate to agree with the maitre'd of Chez Quis (Ferris Bueller's Day Off), but, "I weep for the future." I still hold out hope, though, that my peers will grow up when they haev to take the helm of this great nation. I think we'll be ok.
1.It is the duty of an American adult to be involved in the political process, yes, but not in the way MTV & Bruce Spreensteen are trying to push on Generation Y. If you don't have a clear preference or if both major candidates go against your core values, you should not vote! Pulling the lever in the booth isn't supposed to be like a slot machine! You don't do it just cuz REM & M0by are pressuring you to vote (cough, for Kerry). "Vote for something" is the Rock the Vote mantra. As in, vote for anything. Don't like the way Bush stammers? Make your voice heard! Vote him out! Against war? Hell yeah! Vote him out! Cuz your vote counts for just as much as those middle-aged squares who vote on issues. Unfortunately.
This is exploitation. The baby-killers want votes, and panderers that they are, they will pander to that largely untapped 20-something vote. We're too ADD to care about grown-up issues, so just make it cool for us. Throw parties with sign-ups for the party-goers to promise not to have sex for a week if they don't vote, and to only have sex with people who have voted for a whole week (I'm not making this up- my imagination, as wild as it is, could never have come up with that). Exploit us in such a way that we walk away feeling powerful. You, the same ones who gave us condoms in school so we don't procreate like rabbits, tell us Vote or Die! (P. Diddy's new T-shirt) Because we're grown-up enough to vote, but too lazy and stupid to do it without our favorite pop stars getting palsy with us.
2. The other thing that gags me is the sly cutesy "We're not endorsing anyone wink wink nudge nudge but you don't really want that war-mogerer for another 4 years. Just vote. For whatever. " WHAT? I want to discourage people from voting if they're going to be voting against my favored candidate! I mean, isn't that the point? To get more votes than the other guy? Isn't that what it means to support one candidate instead of another? My boss, who's college educated, mid-50s, said to me, "I guess I ought to vote this year. I haven't voted in so long. This seems like a big election. " Me, eagerly: "Who are you going to vote for?" Him, half-heartedly: "I don't know. Bush seems like an idiot, but I don't trust Kerry. And he's got a horse face." Me, pleadingly, "Don, don't vote if you're going to vote for Kerry, ok? Can you promise me that? For your best employee, can you do this favor? Huh?" The Vote For Whatever people don't have the guts to say, Vote for Kerry. They pretend like it's all good, but if that's the case, then what is so vital about everyone voting? If you're trying to garner votes for Candidate X, but under the guise of, Vote no matter what, then isn't the jig up? I mean, I know these volunteers don't care whether I, pesonally vote and make myself heard. Their goal isn't to give Mr Jones and Mrs. Smith a soap-box. They want votes for Candidate X. Just say so, you lousy jerks. But why would they? We 20-somethings are only good for our fickleness and ignorance and the votes we cast, and you rotten Hollywood bastards want to curse war on your gilded thrones and boycott the furs you hide in your closets. You want to eat your damn cake and I won't have it.
Let's take a cue from the hippies. They didn't like either candidate so they all registered just so they could write in a damn pig. Oink oink. A real pig. They made their voices heard, but it wasn't for the candidate they were pressured into voting for. Do you waste your vote by not voting? No! If you don't have a reason to vote for candidate X or Y, don't vote. Voting is a privilege. In Rome, it was for citizens, landowners. In America, it used to just be for white men, then just men, finally women too. It's not your right and it's not your placeholder in American society. It's a real pity that bumper stickers and road signs have an effect; that you can actually sway voters just by sensory overload. And it's a pity that this election will hang on the people who don't like the way Bush talks or the fact that Teresa is a train wreck. I hate to agree with the maitre'd of Chez Quis (Ferris Bueller's Day Off), but, "I weep for the future." I still hold out hope, though, that my peers will grow up when they haev to take the helm of this great nation. I think we'll be ok.
Friday, October 15, 2004
My workplace has been under heavy geriatric attack this past week- very stressful, very stressful. It seems my pharmacy has the only flu shots in all the D.C. Metropolis. "My little girl's pediatrician doesn't have any more and he said come to you! He said you were my last hope! My little girl is in chemo and has asthma! She'll die if you don't give her a flu shot!" "I'm very sorry ma'am, but it's against state law for us to administer shots to anyone under 18." "So you want my little girl to die? Maybe I should wheel her in so you can tell her that she has to die before Christmas. Explain to her that the chemo was all for nothing."
I'm paid $11.80/hour before taxes. If I had any gumption, I'd demand a dollar raise to be the harbinger of death to sick children. But that's not the worst part. Well, maybe it is. But it's not the most time-consuming part. It's the old people; between the semi-old and the really old; from the newly-retired to the How the hell is that body still functioning, I've seen a lot of old people the past week. Funny old couples who play off each other and send me into fits of hysteria (my favorite), sad old couples, widowed, etc etc etc. Old black couples, old Asian couples, fat old people, skinny old people, flirty old men, cranky old men. And they all lined up outside my store at four in the morning yesterday.
We announced that we would only have 250 shots to give on our last date, yesterday, that, as before, it's limited to high risk patients, and that we would bgin giving out numbers at 8 a.m., when the pharmacy opened. Boy do I feel stupid for telling people to be sure to be here bright & early at 8. By 8 a.m. there were 400 old people winding in a line around the grocery store. The first 200 had camped outsdie the store at 4 a.m.; some had been there all night. And then, as I stared at the uniformly old bunch, I cocked my head to the side, tweaked the picture a bit and then came a chuckle. They all brought lawn chairs and folding chairs and all sat meekly in line waiting for the doors to open so they could get their ticket and be the envy of the nursing home. Some old people met up with people they hadn't seen in years, and it was very heartwarming & all, but the thing that really tickled me pink is that they looked like teenagers who had been waiting for concert tickets for a very very long time.
I'm paid $11.80/hour before taxes. If I had any gumption, I'd demand a dollar raise to be the harbinger of death to sick children. But that's not the worst part. Well, maybe it is. But it's not the most time-consuming part. It's the old people; between the semi-old and the really old; from the newly-retired to the How the hell is that body still functioning, I've seen a lot of old people the past week. Funny old couples who play off each other and send me into fits of hysteria (my favorite), sad old couples, widowed, etc etc etc. Old black couples, old Asian couples, fat old people, skinny old people, flirty old men, cranky old men. And they all lined up outside my store at four in the morning yesterday.
We announced that we would only have 250 shots to give on our last date, yesterday, that, as before, it's limited to high risk patients, and that we would bgin giving out numbers at 8 a.m., when the pharmacy opened. Boy do I feel stupid for telling people to be sure to be here bright & early at 8. By 8 a.m. there were 400 old people winding in a line around the grocery store. The first 200 had camped outsdie the store at 4 a.m.; some had been there all night. And then, as I stared at the uniformly old bunch, I cocked my head to the side, tweaked the picture a bit and then came a chuckle. They all brought lawn chairs and folding chairs and all sat meekly in line waiting for the doors to open so they could get their ticket and be the envy of the nursing home. Some old people met up with people they hadn't seen in years, and it was very heartwarming & all, but the thing that really tickled me pink is that they looked like teenagers who had been waiting for concert tickets for a very very long time.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
I've been invited to fly out to NM to help swing the state; the RNC would pay for my airfare, natch, and I would meet all sorts of the political type people that I enjoy so much, but I probably won't do it because I'm a wimp & I can't tell my boss that I'm demanding 2 weeks off with only 10 days' notice. He brought in a birthday cake to work a few days ago (on my birthday) so I can't be cruel to him. Damn! It even had a little pink candle on it! Double damn!
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Sweet dreams are made of these...
My dreams sometimes play out like miniseries; every night all week I'll have a continuation of some thread or another, of the previous night's dream. Once at That Anonymous College I dreamed for a week straight about Satan trying to kill me in my sleep. Everynight, true to miniseries's form, was more frightenening and, dare I say, thrilling. This week, however, I've been plagued rather pleasantly, not with demons and death, but gardens. That's right; I've been having garden-themed dreams and I couldn't be more delighted. Lush green gardens, secret gardens, neatly manicured Buddhist gardens, overflowing jungly English gardens. I smell the flowers, I hear the hum of the insects, I seek refuge from the imaginary beating sun under twisting vines and stooping sunflowers. Giggly streams wind around my feet and tadpoles dart past my toes. It's fantastic. Some of the dreams have plots to fill out the scene, but what's really lovely is waking up amidst the demise of summer but blissfully, if momentarily unaware, because I awake each morning from visions of perfect, idyllic gardens, forever immune to the swirling autumn winds just beyond my window.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Hello, My Name is_______
Ok so I want to spice up my routine & I found a great way, but this only works if your job involves name tags. Be a different name every few days. Even if it's not a real name. For example, if your name tag accidentally loses letters or rearranges to form exciting new words or, if you've got the grapes, word fragments. Today I was "ie" and yesterday I was "icer." I've been Matt a few times; once I was even Department Manager, but I felt silly & took it off after twenty minutes.
Monday, September 13, 2004
#$*&@%!!!
I am so f***ing pissed off! Everytime I try to do my promised follow-up post I get f***ing booted off the f***ing internet. F***ing hours wasted. Except, I guess, writing practice for my book. And patience practice for my soul. Ok, maybe it's a blessing. Or whatever. Hmph.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Thursday, September 02, 2004
The Fun Parent
"I'm a slovenly liberal and he's a fastidious conservative."
"I smell a sit-com!"
-Family Guy
Ok, so as I was commenting on Clara's blog, I decided to make this theme a blog of my own: Wanna know the difference between a conservative and a liberal? Examine the meanings of the words themselves: liberal means generous; conservative means, well, if you wanna say stingy, I wouldn't go that far, but you get it. It's self-evident that liberality is a nicer idea than conservation. Giving things away to the poor, to the needy, to the deserving- wouldn't life be great if it were like a giant birthday party where everyone gave and no one lacked freedom, material basics, or fellowship? Yes. Yes it would be. But it's not in the notion of government, especially a minimalist government like America's, to give willy-nilly. Two reasons (at least) that govt. "charity" is a bad, impractical idea.
1) Too much overhead. Waste. You pay a dollar in taxes and by the time it's processed it's 80 cents (gotta pay the IRS!). Then it goes to Congress. There goes another 40 cents, etc etc, until it goes into paving the damned road and it's only 4 1/2 cents.
2) Taxpayers have no way to direct their "charity" money if the guvmint has the fianl say. For example, condoms in public schools.
The truth is that liberality has no place in guvmint. Charity comes from an indiviual and must go, if not directly to the beggar in the street, at least to a low-overhead group, secular or religious, who distribute your money themselves. It counts as virtue for NO ONE if you give money to the poor b/c it's raped out of your paycheck. You don't get any brownie points b/c you were forced, the guvmint don't get any brownie points cuz they the guvmint, and the poor people begin to see their welfare as a right instead of what it ought to be, charity.
More on this next post, including an explanation of my title.
"I smell a sit-com!"
-Family Guy
Ok, so as I was commenting on Clara's blog, I decided to make this theme a blog of my own: Wanna know the difference between a conservative and a liberal? Examine the meanings of the words themselves: liberal means generous; conservative means, well, if you wanna say stingy, I wouldn't go that far, but you get it. It's self-evident that liberality is a nicer idea than conservation. Giving things away to the poor, to the needy, to the deserving- wouldn't life be great if it were like a giant birthday party where everyone gave and no one lacked freedom, material basics, or fellowship? Yes. Yes it would be. But it's not in the notion of government, especially a minimalist government like America's, to give willy-nilly. Two reasons (at least) that govt. "charity" is a bad, impractical idea.
1) Too much overhead. Waste. You pay a dollar in taxes and by the time it's processed it's 80 cents (gotta pay the IRS!). Then it goes to Congress. There goes another 40 cents, etc etc, until it goes into paving the damned road and it's only 4 1/2 cents.
2) Taxpayers have no way to direct their "charity" money if the guvmint has the fianl say. For example, condoms in public schools.
The truth is that liberality has no place in guvmint. Charity comes from an indiviual and must go, if not directly to the beggar in the street, at least to a low-overhead group, secular or religious, who distribute your money themselves. It counts as virtue for NO ONE if you give money to the poor b/c it's raped out of your paycheck. You don't get any brownie points b/c you were forced, the guvmint don't get any brownie points cuz they the guvmint, and the poor people begin to see their welfare as a right instead of what it ought to be, charity.
More on this next post, including an explanation of my title.
Monday, August 30, 2004
We'll start my blog with a poll. If you could either fly or be invisible, which would you be? Defend your answer. Few people are romantic enough to choose flying, so, those of you who do will have a special place in my heart. No pressure though. Sure, there's no end to the practicality of being invisible, but if movies have taught me anything, it's that the people who try to have it all end up with nothing. But, to fly! That's just one thing! We've all had dreams of flapping and taking off like a bird or, like me, flapping and taking off like a helicopter, which sounds awkward, but was actually exhilarating. And people would crowd around me like -remember that 80s movie, The Boy Who Could Fly?- and they'd ask How do you do it? And, honestly, i didn't know how, except by pure will. People chased me in one dream through lush green fields and my feet couldn't carry me any further, so, as I approached a cliff, I just... flew. And I could always fly as long as I could hold my breath and believe in myself (oh man I wanted to avoid saying that, but I can't help my dreams). Anyway, that light-headed feeling as you ascend and the buoyancy of the air, invisible but holding you up, keeping you from death and at the same time giving you the most ecstatic happiness you've ever felt... I wouldn't trade that for all the cheating you can get away with if invisibile. And when you can fly, you have a kind of freedom and independence I can literally only dream about.
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