poem

Conclusion

I thought
we stood at the door
of another world
and it might open and we go in.
Well,
there is that door
and such a world.

-William Bronk

What does this poem mean? I can't unravel it. It seems inspiring if you look at it from one angle, but kind of obvious from another.

Amanda

I had an interesting experience a few weeks ago. I went to my ex-aunt's (uncle's ex-wife's) baby's christening. I saw all these people that I used to spend time with when I was pretty young. My family used to go over to her parents' house for Thanksgiving, and maybe a few Easters. From the very beginning of the event, my mind was saying, "I want to go home." The service was unbelievably un-meaningful, it was almost comical. It went on and on, and the priest kept sort of forgetting where he put his prayer book, and having to interrupt what was going on to go get it. Being that he was about 800 years old, you'd think he would know the service by heart. I was sitting there in my seat thinking "oh, man, Catholicism is stupid, being out in the country is stupid, I sooo have nothing in common with these people who pop out babies to validate their exsistence" and that sort of thing. After the service we went over to my aunt's new home, which is beautiful, an old restored farmhouse, on a big plot of land with a barn and animals and everything. It's country utopia. We sat around for a while, looking at the baby, an activity which definitely has its limit for entertainment value. I mostly talked to my mom, because I figured I probably wouldn't see any of these people for years, why bother chatting? There was a 15-year-old boy there, whom I kept staring at (he probably thought I was some kind of perv), because I was trying to see if I recognized him....he would have been a little tiny kid when I used to go to the Royer Thanksgivings. I wanted to tell him, "I remember when you were THIS tall (making a motion with my hand, near the ground)" so he would realize that I wasn't a perv, but that's such a cliqued old lady thing to do, and I didn't want to get lumped into that category either. So I never ended up talking to him. I have this sort of fear of 15-16 year old boys, becuase I think that they'll get some sort of crush on me, because when I was that age, all the boys had crushes on the 20-something teachers.

After the baby was laid down for a nap, they brought out a cake for the grandfather, Joe, and sang happy birthday, as his birthday was the next day. He opened all his cards, but one had a long message that he couldn't see very well, so he handed it to his daughter to read to him. It was a beautiful message, and she read it with clarity and emotion, and by the time she finished his eyes were full of tears. Everyone was silent, just for a moment, and then the party resumed.

As we got ready to leave, the many children in the family milled around us. I wished I had talked to them more during the party, because I so often like children better than adults, as they haven't become know-it-alls or jerks yet. At the same time, I'm not one of those people who just loves kids indiscriminitely, because they're small and cute and "innocent". I don't immediately bond with kids, and I think sometimes they're not sure how to react to me. One little girl sort of gave me a weird look when I was about to hug her, and I realized - I'm not really a part of this family at all. I totally stayed inside my own head all day, and didn't really interact with anybody because of my own totally strange hangups. I felt like the day had been a failure, in some way. But as we drove away, the same little girl ran outside, yelling, "goodbye!! goodbye!" I smiled at her.
Family is a funny thing - a bunch of people, with totally different interests than yours, that you have to love, no matter what. Some people don't care much for their families, and spend as little time as possible with them, and sometimes, that can be a good thing. Families can reinforce negative beliefs and lifestyles. It's interesting that my family has chosen to keep in contact with, and treat as family, a group of people with whom we have no blood connection. My grandmother took tons of pictures during the christening itself, and after each one, she loudly wound the film, mortifying me, making a big deal over her ex-daughter-in-law's baby like a real grandma would. Maybe it's just her way, maybe obsessive picture-taking, fawning over children, and embracing any concept of family is habit for her - personality-related, like some people devour books in a single sitting, or hate any institution no matter how noble. But maybe her willingness to accept more than just her own kin as family says something else. Maybe it says something about her capacity for love.

stuff

Things that freak me out:

1) guys that like Sarah McLaughlin a lot.
2) people who drive SUVs because they like to "sit up higher"
3) how much money is involved in politics
4) My electric bill
5) Guys that wear dirty baseball caps and write and hang out in coffee shops and act fashionably jaded but also seem kind of like yuppies.
6) Hanging out at my Mom's house for any length of time. I feel like I'm going to morph back into high school Kim. I even start thinking, "hey maybe I should call David and see what he's up to!" Then I go back to my apartment with its high ceilings and wood floors, and so much nearer the ground (just barely 2nd floor), weird past-mouse-smell and mess, and I'm like "ahhhhh".
7)The misuse of apostrophes with the letter "s". Here's the rules!

a) Use an apostrophe for possessive purposes:

Examples:
Manny's Grocery Store
the Taliban's atrocities

exception: Don't use an apostrophe for posessive pronouns. Theirs, his, hers, yours, etc., do
not have an apostrophe.
This includes "its". When possessive, don't use "it's"

b) Use an apostrophe when forming a contraction by adding a word to "is"

Examples:
Here's Johnny!
What's going on?
It's not what it looks like!

* You do use the apostrophe with "it" when it forms a contraction.

HOW NOT TO USE AN APOSTROPHE:

"All Membership Application's must have a signature"
"For sale: two futon's"
"Our band is called 'The Ladykiller's"

plural = no apostrophe


:)

testing

Something weird is going on with this main page. Maybe this will fix it.

good news

I like the sound of a "philanthropic corridor":
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=519&ncid=519&e=18&u=/ap/20050414/ap_on_re_us/philanthropic_corridor

The beauty of hate

I'm deeply disturbed by the popularity of a new film called "Sin City". I've read some reviews, and what most disturbs me is the objectification of women, not only in this film but in this genre as a whole (comic book-like film noir). There's violence, sexual violence, grotesque images and grotesque concepts, like incest. (the last is portrayed in a way that the reviewer considered "irresistable", even "fun") Why does this genre have such popularity in our culture? Why is it so highly reviewed? (Pulp Fiction, Resevoir Dogs, etc.) Are the films really so beautifully done that one can block out the ugliness of their themes? Are they portraying ugly themes to make elegant and beautiful points about them? Maybe in some limited cases. But I contend that a large part of their pull is that they appeal to our lower natures. We watch them for the same reason we watch soap operas and reality shows. They're just prettier, more intellegent filth.
Am I too much of a Puritan. to believe this way? I can be as cynical as the next person, but I do believe that it is important to preserve our innocence as a culture. We are bombarded by so many images of violence and cruelty, that many of us have become desensitized to them. Why is violence, and specifically, cruel, strange, horrifying violence, a source of entertainment for people? Why do men, especially, find this genre so fascinating? I'm reminded of Johnny Cash's song about his inner "beast". I've talked to men that really identify with this song, and feel that they have a similar creature lurking within them. Is this just a part of a man's genetic code, or is it a learned response to gender-specific behavioral cues? Is it natural to get a little delight in evil, or is it simply wrong?
My personal belief is that while over-sanitized, Disneyfied, 50's-style purity is bullshit, innocence is essential to civilized culture. It's one thing to admit that cruel, evil, awful things sometimes happen, and to mourn that. It's quite another to revel in the most base, disgusting things that humans are capable of, as entertainment. I don't mind the occasional "guilty pleasure" or "mischief", but I draw a line above laughing at a rape scene in a movie. Call me a Victorian, if you will.

Now, I'll admit, a LOT of people feel differently about this subject than I, so I'll need some help with your comments and feedback. I'll add that I don't believe censorship is the answer.

Being a Whore Doesn't Pay

Check out this great article http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7369199/site/newsweek/
It's a really interesting look into a way a musician tried to pay her bills while breaking into her career, and found it drained her so much that she didn't have any artistic energy left. For a musician, the dream day job pays $20 an hour and you only have to work three days a week, the rest of the time you can spend on your music. The problem is, many jobs that fit that formula require so much preparation, and drain you so much that your creativity is sapped by the time you enter into your free time (where you thought you'd be so productive). Jobs like teaching travelling music lessons, and tutoring, seem perfect for a musician or writer, but they often fall short of the win-win expectations. In this author's case, she even had moral issues with the position she held, so she had to add self-hatred to the job's downsides. I felt the same way (though perhaps not as dramatically) about the last job I held. I had to work side-by-side with deeply conservative people who were sometimes kind, but also racist, sexist, and deeply self-absorbed. Being around people with such narrow world views was so stifling to my creativity. I felt like I was being someone else every day - I didn't join in their racist jokes, or even laugh at them, but I didn't tell them exactly what I thought of their close-minded, compassion-less attitudes, and that in itself was a farce.
Not only did the owners of the business have regrettable attitudes, the store engaged in some shady accounting and Machiavellian sales ploys that I had to overlook, or even subtlely participate in. And I did this all, just to live near my work and not have to think too hard while I was there. Which, supposedly, is a musician's dream. I did have plenty of time to work on my musical pursuits, but no energy, or specifically, no drive. I spent my days off numbing my mind with compulsive behavior, and I realize now that I was trying to erase the memory of the guilt. And I tried to blame the feeling of guilt on everything except the job itself, because I felt I needed it for survival.
The moral of the story, of course, is that being someone else to faciliate self-expression backfires. I have yet to find the ideal artist's life - the one where the artist has peace of mind, a healthy lifestyle, and productivity, but I'm no longer convinced that it's an impossibility. Funny how one opportunity can turn you into an optimist.