Storms, Erotica Teachers and Obama (or Christianity: You're Doing it Wrong)

I wrote this on Friday. It's gray outside.

The last death toll in the US south was 280 people, which I mentioned on my facebook last night. This morning I found this response from my North Carolinian friend: Some idiot showed up in my Twitter feed yesterday who said (it took a few tweets...), "Well, maybe when people in the Southeast don't have anyone to pull them out from under trees and buildings, they'll finally un...derstand the importance of taxes." Hmm... I was mad. Probably an understatement. "s just... Well, the *most* anti-tax state happens to be New Hampshire (New England state), which has no income tax. And we DO have taxes. It's just... the South is POOR.


Then I went to my email to read the responses left on blogs where I've already posted comments, and there's a bunch of ongoing activity on a story about a couple of women who are harassing an English school teacher because she writes erotic romance novels. They think this is akin to pedophilia.


And then there's my lingering illness over the Obama thing, and the way some pundits don't even realize just how deeply significant it was. Some people seem to think it was just a ridiculous, maybe disgusting, distraction and they're glad it's been disproven and now they can get back to talking about important matters.


All this in a supposedly Christian nation. I don't say that to pick on Americans--there have been other weeks when it's all Canadian stories that depress me. But it's just to make this point...


A few days ago I said we need to bring our game up when it comes to engaging with the fashion industry. Today I'm saying, people who call themselves Christians (not all Americans obviously) need to bring up their game when it comes to wearing that label.


Because blaming poor people when their homes have been destroyed and they've lost loved ones through no fault of their own, and because they're poor, and because they live in a country where there's a great deal of income inequality; and persecuting good teachers, one of the worst paid and most important professions in North America, and particularly in the union-weak US; and treating the President of the United States like he's nothing but a n****r... these aren't the sorts of actions that people should associate with Christians. And unfortunately, they are. 

There is absolutely no doctrine that means you are a good Christian, not even the belief in Christ. There is one thing and one thing only that should mark you as one, and that's love. You should be a loving person. You should strive to love, to give it, to show it. Not to be perfect, but to try. That's it that's all. 

It's much much much simpler than any church mission statement, than any set of doctrines or rules, it's easy to remember, it's beautiful in it's simplicity, and it's good for all periods in history, all countries, all cultures. And yet, while it's simpler than anything any church will try to sign you up for, it's harder to live. Rules can be followed. I once belonged to a rules-based church, it made life very easy: You kept the sabbath, you didn't eat pork, you kept the holy days, and knew who you were and you could be self-righteous about it.

But LOVING people, really trying to be patient, and kind, and open-minded, and see things from another's point of view, and give, and to love even those who hate you, while still protecting and loving yourself... that's HARD. That's what Christians are being asked to do. That's what all humans are being asked to do, whether they believe in god or not. But if you're going to slap the name of Christ on your forehead and parade it around for everyone to see, then that is what I, as a fellow Christian, am going to hold you to.


I've put up songs before by Steve Bell, because this is the sort of Christian he is. The walking, talking, loving kind. For his latest album there's "endorsements" from fans on his site and this one made me laugh:

Here's a song, from an older album, that's about this topic of upping the game. It's Christ praying in the garden of Gethsemane, talking to god about his followers and how they just don't get it. They think it's about overthrowing Rome, and a new kingdom, and honor, and a top spot next to the throne; they're about to discover it's about sacrifice, and humility, and "the kind of love that changes everything."


If Christianity doesn't make your life uncomfortable, you're not doing it right.





May they understand the love You have for me
As the kind of love that changes everything
They argue who will sit next to the throne
And I cringe to here them say Thy Kingdom come
They think they know what they're getting into
We both know that they haven't got a clue
this is not the same
It's a different thing
Altogether
This is not the same
It's another thing
All together
This is love
This is love


Now... I have go root this bitterness out of my heart and love all the above-mentioned fools. Even Maya Angelou struggles with that one, so at least I'm in good company.

ADDED NOTE: MAY 1st - The woman who is persecuting the English teacher put this photo as her profile picture on facebook.

           

OBAMA & TRUMP WHAT THE F**K

On Wednesday I woke up at noon--a whole hour early!--cause my sister-in-law was coming over at one. I showered, I tidied the apartment. I was probably rushing about the kitchen, dishwashering, listening the CBC radio when I heard about the Obama thing.

All I remember is that I was still half asleep, and that I was busy. And then Penguin arrived, and she stayed until about 8 or 9 PM, and then I watched my shows, and spent time with Fernando, and fell into my usual evening routines.

And then today, routine routine, phone call with other sister-in-law, fight with Fernando, grumpy mood, did some work, made up with Fernando, and then in the wee hours of the morning was on facebook and was reminded...

That the President of the United States had to present his birth certificate to prove that he is an American citizen.

When I first heard it, it caused me so much cognitive dissonance, it really didn't stick. I mean... I remember standing in the kitchen thinking: NO. NO WAY. WHY DID HE GIVE IN??

It was like one of those 9-11 things where you remember where you were when it happened. Except that it was so FUCKED UP it didn't have an impact. My brain rejected it, I finished my chores, I went on with my life. I almost forgot it happened.

This is the President of the United States.

Like... in Canada, we don't have the same sort of respect for the Prime Minister that Americans have for their President. For the role in and of itself. Inauguration doesn't have the same fanfare. It just isn't as special. The Parliamentary system is different, the PM is "first among equals."

You don't ask the President of the mother fucking United States of America to produce his mother fucking proof of citizenship. You don't take birthers seriously. Because you would not let a non-American run for the fucking presidency in the first place. This sort of mistake WOULD NOT HAPPEN. Even less so to an African American, for heaven's sake.

OH MY GOD.

The President of the fucking US has been found guilty of governing a country while black. He's been forced to produce his identity papers. It's what many African Americans were made to think of, and it's what I thought of. It reminded me of apartheid South Africa, where black people had to have their pass card on them at all times. The President had to produce his pass card.

I'm gobsmacked.

And then I saw what TRUMP SAID!!! He's the next fucking Charlie Sheen!!! He's PROUD that he did this. Proud. He said he was proud. And then implied that Obama was let into university undeservedly, and should be off playing basketball. He's a racist Charlie Sheen. And when Jerry Seinfeld withdrew from his son's charity thing, he went on some rant about it. A racist Charlie Sheen.

When Obama was elected some people said this meant they were now in a post-racial America. I hope they get it now.

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!

Okay. My brain has finally processed the information.

If you need kitty-kats, see previous post.

    

Click picture for kittehs

Watch Out! we're all works in progress and picking up steam

I collect self-help songs, I thought I would post one. Soothe everyone after kicking them in the shins with stilletos yesterday. ;-)

 

This is "Camouflage" by Brandy. I mentioned it awhile back, but I think it was new and not yet on youtube. I love it because it's about 1. telling off the person who's ragging on your flaws, 2. accepting your flaws, and 3. it contains the usual images about blossoming, but also unusual images about growing into your power. "I'm a storm that's rising, and getting stronger with every hour." Hmm. A storm usually means trouble! Heh heh. I like it.



I'm a work in progress, I'm a seed grown into a flower
I'm a storm that's rising and getting stronger with every hour
And God knows I ain't perfect, tell me who in the world is?
All I know is that I'm searching for somebody to love me with

These flaws I've got, they're all part of who I am
Take me or not, but I finally understand
I'm so done trying to be everything you want
And I have to stop 'cause baby, you ain't worth it
If I gotta camouflage, for love, for love
No, I won't camouflage, for love, for love, I won't camouflage

I need a lot of improvement, not even half way to destiny
But I'm a train that's moving and everyday I'm picking up speed
And God knows you ain't perfect
So who are you to put pressure on me?
That's why I'm still searching for somebody to love me with

These flaws I've got, they're all apart of who I am
Take me or not, but I finally understand
I'm so done trying to be everything you want
'Cause I have to stop, 'cause baby, you ain't worth it
If I gotta camouflage, for love, for love
No, I won't camouflage, for love, for love, I won't camouflage

I've learned from my mistakes
The only way you're gonna be happy
Is if someone's down to take
Here when it's good and it's bad you see
I tried giving half of me, in the end I came up empty
And that's why I'm searching, yeah
For somebody to love me with these flaws

These flaws I've got, they're all part of who I am
Take me or not, but I finally understand
And I'm so done trying to be everything you want
'Cause I have to stop, 'cause baby, you ain't worth it
If I gotta camouflage

These flaws I've got, they're a part of who I am
Take me or not, but I finally understand
And I'm so done trying to be everything you want
When I have to stop, 'cause baby, you ain't worth it
I've gotta camouflage

For love, for love, no, I won't camouflage
For love, for love, I won't camouflage
If I gotta camouflage, 'cause baby, you ain't worth it
If I gotta camouflage
Baby, you ain't worth it, if I gotta camouflage

Criticizing the Fashion Industry: time to step our game

My first media feminist course in junior college (Cegep) was Images of Women in Media and the focus was on--obviously--image. Because of my mother, I wasn't a novice at feministing and such, but looking at how women are portrayed in a movie, or magazine, or story is a good starting point for a foundation in critical thinking.

Then I moved on to university which broadened and deepened my understanding of sexism and racism and ismism to more than just How People Are Portrayed.

On that note... I just read a great post about the fashion industry, by hanna brooks olsen*, that attempts to pull the "image" issues--the easier surface issues--away for a moment, in order to look at some other aspects of the industry.

Surface issues like: Is there only one beauty type in modeling? Is it unfair to judge women models by their looks? Do runway models promote eating disorders? Ms. olsen takes issue with some of these points, but I don't want to engage on them because THE POINT, for me, is that we spend so much time on those issues that we don't talk about anything else.

Such as two other points she made:

* That financial shows only talk about this female-driven industry during fashion week, and do so in a condescending or downright sexist manner (please go read the quote by the Duke law professor on her blog, and then Be Outraged);

* That in fashion circles a female journalist can wear makeup and five inch heels and not be asked if she's someone's girlfriend, as she would be in most other media circles. Why why??

So here's my concern. If we spend all our time having not-overly-informed debates on the-same-old-fashion-issues are we sidestepping The Man and attacking our own?

I am way too lazy for five inch heels and makeup, but I don't knock them because my supa-feminist-witchy-way-intelligent-gorgeous best friend rocks them like nobody's business. And I defend her right to wear false eyelashes and Like Pretty Things and be taken seriously as a business woman. Just as, when I was in Political Science, I defended the right of my brilliant doctoral colleague to wear five inch sparkly heels and enter beauty contests, all the while kicking intellectual sand in the brains of the older students about her. (She would sneak-show me her sparkly shoes in the lobby of the library, and I confessed I was writing a romance novel.)

I'm not saying we should never talk about The Usual Suspects of the fashion world, if only because I hate the lack of fashion choice available for my size 16ness at Zellers. But I do think it's time we ratcheted up the research and thought behind our discourse. We're not in junior college anymore. :-)

Please read Ms. olsen's post. Eez good. I hope she posts more on this topic, because I don't have time to read all the good fashion business and political stuff she obviously follows--I need someone to summarize it for me!

_______
* Julie-Lunarmom-Betty's daughter.

Songs to Help You Breathe

Matt Willey

I almost posted something about politics, but this isn't a weekend for poopy politics--not during the time of rebirth and renewal and hope. Ease.


Instead, songs about breathing.

Give me a taste of something new
To touch to hold to pull me through
Send me a guiding light that shines
Across this darkened life of mine
Breathe some soul in me
Breathe your gift of love to me
Breathe life to lay 'fore me
Breathe to make me breathe



'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe



And uploaded from my collection, a gentle traditional hymn interpreted by the gentle voice of Steve Bell. It's the perfect tempo for calm, peaceful breathing. (Interpret the god bits anyway you want.)

I feel the winds of God today
Today my sail I lift
Though heavy oft with drenching spray
And torn with many a rift
...Great pilot of my onward way
Thou wilt not let me drift
I feel the winds of God today
Today my sail I lift

I also found a breathing exercise from zenhabits.net. It's cute!

1. Find something divinely touched, like:

Nature, music, love in any form, yourself doing anything good no matter how tiny...

2. Take a slow deep breath: "Repeat. Each inhalation brings with it more inspiration, and each exhalation releases tension."

3. "You are now filled with the Breath of God. Take this inspiration and use it, be moved, and do something."

   

Where could I be without my mistakes?

One of the Betties is Judy, Judy, Judy who writes a blog where she puts up all the good bits of books she's enjoyed. Her current fave, which she's already mailed out to another Betty, is The Love Goddess' Cooking School by Melissa Senate.

You can read J, J, J's full post here, but this is one of the quotes she pulled out for special mention, and what follows in blue is her comment on it:

“…mistakes can bring you where you need to be.”

I’ve made so many mistakes I shudder to think where I could be if they weren’t taking me where I need to be.

Ms Senate's original phrase is graceful, lovely and to the point. It's good writing. But I have to say... J, J, J's negative reversal of the phrase really struck me. Where would I be without my mistakes? It's a weird thought.

We imagine that if we don't make mistakes we'll take the straight and easiest path to our destination, and therefore all mistakes = bad.

Certainly I don't want to imply all mistakes = good. Or that repeating the same mistake over and over again is, well, endlessly useful. Burning my tongue on hot soup once is information. Doing it two or three more times is a lesson in impatience. Doing it another twenty times is stupid.

But those first few times are important. Who would I be if I never burned my tongue on soup? I guess I'd be an exceedingly cautious person? Who has maybe never had a hot bowl of soup in her life because she always waited too long for it to cool down? Or would "no mistakes" mean I would research the perfect soup temperature and use a thermometer? Which means I wouldn't eat soup outside of the house cause who wants to carry around a thermometer all the time? I guess I'd miss out on some life experiences. Which just leads to other kinds of mistakes.

I'm not sure where I'd be without my mistakes. But I'm afraid who I would be is a shadowy version of myself. A kind of ghost maybe. Safe but ...insubstantial?

Calm in the face of racism - go Jimmy!

Since I was blogging about political correctness awhile back, this is the perfect follow-up.

I hadn't heard about this young woman at UCLA who posted a shocking "humorous" rant about Asians talking too loud and too often on their cell phones in the library, until my dad told me about it just now.

Here's the original video by Alexandra Wallace, take a moment to watch it:


Besides her wtf-atudinous "ching chong ling long ting tong" routine, why should she care if her neighbor's families come over on the weekend to cook and do laundry? I would have found that lovely. Hello Other Cultural Ideas? Approaches? Ideas of Things? When my husband and his sister lived together they had a nice family living above them, I think they were Indian, who used to bring them vegetables all the time. I don't know why, but isn't that lovely?

The worst part of the rant has to be her callousness towards the tsunami. And in the same video as she talks about her nice girl American manners. Heaven forbid someone had made jokes like that about Americans during Katrina--how would she feel then?

A lot of people responded to her, but this enterprising musician, Jimmy, responded with some humor of his own, and a lot of creativity. Also a must-watch:


Yes, if you're having an epiphany every time you study, you are indeed doing something wrong.

I don't want to rag on the girl, cause she's already gone through death threats, and made her apology. Which is a relief, cause frankly I've seen just as offensive videos or twitter posts elsewhere (usually about gay people) and there was nowhere near this level of outrage, and either no apology, or usually a misdirected apology. (And I'm Thank goshly the unacceptability level for ching-chong-ling-long-ting-tong has at least come this far.

Now if only wa-kunta-koola-lay-lay was also deemed that unacceptable when representing Generic Black Skinned Cannibals. ...Or maybe we could not represent them at all. Not that some people didn't complain about this video when it came out, but most of us were in the minority. (Can you imagine calling a Generic Black Skinned Cannibal "Kunta Kinte" in the United States and getting away with it? Neither can I. But in Canada you can. There's a cultural difference for you.)

Life Lessons From Drugs: Addendum to Yesterday

It's 5 AM so I gotta keep this short. Evil Minion is trying to convince me to go to bed, cause that's when she gets her crunchies.

I'm one day behind in my blog reading again. But it's okay, I blame it on the Topamax. Which one wise Betty pointed out, sounds like Tampax. That can't be good.

One of my friends was concerned by my description of Topamax side effects. I understand some people don't like to take drugs that might f*** with their brains. I can't say it super bothers me. Because...

1. Well, I'm just not so attached to this life that I'm determined to keep it forever. "This causes cancer! This causes death!" Yes yes. I WILL die one day. But that's a post for another day.

2. I'm not anti-"natural remedies" but I'm not anti-science either.

3. The thing about my original malady, having headaches every single day, all day, is that that has side effects too. Chronic headaches also cause foggy thinking. And depression. And frustration and aggression. I can't wear glasses, hats, headphones, or anything else on my head. It gets to a point where I can't read, do work/homework, or concentrate. So... anytime I take a new drug I'm just weighing the side effects of the drug against the "side effects" of having headaches all the time.

4. I'm an intellectually curious person. This will sound insensitive but... I would probably like to experience what it's like to feel suicidal, if it were in a controlled setting. (Topamax has this effect on a small number of people, in a short period of time.) Because then I could understand how that feels. I've never felt suicidal, but I know many who have.

What I have experienced with Top, is what it's like to have uncontrollable crying, or to feel like your emotions are on edge. And to feel hopeless. To borrow a phrase someone else used, Hopelessness was never on the Mabel Menu until this past February. It wasn't pleasant, and I'm thankful I only felt it in a narrow way (towards my marriage), but it was a great learning experience. Or empathetic experience. I can't say I want to give that up, or that I regret it.

My parents will recall that when I had to have jaw surgery, at 16, I was excited because it would be good experience. Everything in those days was seen through the lens of: This is good experience for my writing!

And so... on we go with Topamax, 100 mg. Today I had a completely clear day, except for the last hour. Which always happens when I DON'T GO TO BED ON TIME. Well, I can try one of my new painkillers then. Goodnight!

My drug can take the world's troubles on its shoulders

I decided to cross-post a personal entry today. :-)

Some background info.

1. This past winter my husband and I came to a bit of a crisis point in our marriage. No new issues, just a higher need to finally resolve old ones. And before you express sympathy for me, I've been more of the guilty party. :-(  I actually made myself a star chart to form some new better marriage habits. (Not stars, though. Stickers of kitties and dogs.) (You won't believe how motivated I am by stickers.) Anyway, we got through the worst of it, and we intend to go to counseling later, so all is well.

But the salient info is that almost every time we fought I ended up crying. And to the point that I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. And one day in February, outside of a comic book store on a busy street, set off by something truly meaningless, I started crying uncontrollably and couldn't stop. This has never happened to me before. It was intellectually interesting. But it also turned out to be the turning point. A week later, after a speech by my husband, and a day of philosophizing while riding around on the bus, I pulled myself out of my general breakdown. But I do still cry easily.

2. I got a cold in February, which landed in my lungs. Once the cold cleared up, my lungs remained inflamed and I've had a cough ever since. Two weeks ago my GP gave me a pump, and it's pretty much gone now.

3. I've had chronic headaches since I was 20 (I'm 37). For a couple years I've been seeing a specialist. I take a daily medication (Elavil) that's helped a lot, and I have good drugs for getting rid of headaches when they come. In January I started a second daily med to prevent headaches. I reached the full dosage my doc was starting me at in February.

Today's Story
Today I went to see my headache doctor and we talked about the Topamax. I'd read about the side effects when I first went on it, but I don't tend to remember everything. And I'm not a worrier, so I don't look for side effects. When I started getting a lot of pins and needles, I remembered it was a side effect. When I was sick and found myself getting hot too easily, I realized I was sweating less and remembered it was a side effect. One day in February I had a Coke that tasted flat even though it wasn't flat, and hours later I remember it was a side effect (isn't that totally weird?)

But I forgot that one possible side effect is sluggish thinking, for example. Probably because I wouldn't want to remember that. I remembered today when she asked me about it. I told her that when I learn new French words, they seem to stick, so no, I don't think it's been a problem.

Then she asked me, how are my moods? I didn't know what she meant. She asked if I was feeling angry, or aggressive? No. Was I crying more?

... !!

Yeeees. I told her about my marriage problems.

She asked if the crying was uncontrollable.

!!!!

I told I thought I'd been having a nervous breakdown!

She kept asking more questions, I assume until she was comfortable I wasn't going into a depression, before upping my Topamax dose. And she said if the side effects get too bad, then to just cut my dose back again.

Just now I went back to re-read the side effects. I can see why the moods thing didn't stick with me, cause it's very broad. It doesn't say "uncontrollable crying" -- that might be something she's run into in her practice, or in journals etc.

BUT. It does say: upper respiratory tract infections.

So the thing is... I'm now going to blame everything in my life on Topamax. Got a cold? It's the Topamax. Marriage problems? Topamax. Cats fighting? Must be the Topamax. Not in the mood to do any chores? Obviously it's the Topamax.

Feel free to blame your problems on my drug too. My drug is big enough to handle it.

I Surrender! (zee art of letting gooo)

Last week Fernando and I watched the episodes of Master Class featuring Oprah. I want to retell a great story she told.

An Oprah Story
She was raped at 9, and pregnant at 14, so when she read The Color Purple she was gobsmacked by it. It starts like this:

The main character has been raped and is pregnant. When Oprah heard it was being made into a movie she was determined to get a part. When she tried out, it was for a role opposite the character Harpo--Oprah spelled backwards. She was sure it was a sign, but the casting director was completely scornful: We have real actresses reading for this part. Alfre Woodard is reading for this part.

Someone told her, if she had any chance at all she'd have to lose weight. So off she went to a fat farm, miserable and hopeless. One day she was running around the track, talking to God. She wondered why he brought her this close to the movie, only to slam the door in her face? But as she ran, she made a decision that she was just going to have to let it go. That if she didn't get the part, it was going to be okay, she just wouldn't see the movie.

But that wasn't good enough, she thought. She had to let it go to the extent that she could see the movie. See the movie and not only accept Alfre Woodard in the part, but enjoy it, and believe her to be the right person for the part. Oprah started singing something to herself, and thinking these thoughts, until she really believed it. Until she finally let The Color Purple go.

RIGHT THEN someone from the retreat ran out and said she had a phone call. It was Steven Spielberg, who was directing The Color Purple. He said: I hear you're at a fat farm. We're considering you for Sofia, but if you lose one pound you might not get the part.

She left the center, and had Dairy Queen on the way home.

"God can dream a bigger dream for me, for you, than you could ever dream for yourself. When you've worked as hard and done as much and strived and tried and given and pled and bargained and hoped...surrender. When you have done all that you can do, and there's nothing left for you to do, give it up. Give it up to that thing that is greater than yourself, and let it then become a part of the flow." (Oprah in Master Class)

I've been thinking about it all week, especially since surrender recently turned up in a card in Julieland and resonated with folk. I don't think we'll all experience the Miracle of the Phone Call at the Fat Farm, but I still think this is great advice: "When you have done all that you can do, and there's nothing left for you to do, give it up."

My Experience

Fernando's avatar.

When my husband and I were first going out, he fell into a depression and I had to ask myself: If he remains like this forever, can I still be with him? And the answer was yes. And that's when I was able to let my worries go. And Cheerful Fernando returned, in his own time.

I was once talking with a friend of Gilby--she was complaining about her boyfriend who always went out with the boys after work and never came home. I gave her the same advice: What if he never changes, can you be happy with him just as he is? She later told Gilby I was an idiot. But only a few months later she'd broken up with the guy and the next time I saw her she had a new man in her life, someone serious and committed to her. My guess is that she let go of the idea that he would change, and that allowed her to let go of him.

Letting go isn't like having a wand that makes your dreams come true the way you want them to. That's not surrender. I think it's about accepting your life as it is in the present, and to accept the idea that if your ideas for the future don't come true, your world won't crumble. And to leave space for even better ideas.

For example, Oprah started off wanting to be a teacher, she became a news reporter, and one day they stuck her on a talk show. And only then did she realize what kind of teacher she wanted to be. She could not have dreamed up that job when she was 10 years old.



The other advantage to letting go is just the peace of mind it brings. What kind of damage do we do to ourselves when we hold onto disappointment and bitterness?

My Final Musings
So. What I've been pondering this week is how to draw the balance between "doing all that you can do" to reach your goals, and "surrendering." Because that's the other part of this statement: You first do everything in your power to make all your goals and dreams come true. Then you let them go. But doing everything can be a long road. If you're trying to be a professional athlete you'll know by a certain age whether it's gonna happen; not so if you're trying to be a published writer.

 

Maybe there's something to be learned from the idea of wu wei, from yesterday's homework:

The Essential Chijang T/L1 Trans Hamill & Seaton

And now I'm curious if anyone else has ever found "letting go" to be true?


[Further edits done April 20.]

Dao and the Constellation of the Heart (just being alive can really hurt)

I just took on an online tutoring assignment on an online homework-help site. It's on odd site--they're trying very hard to stay away from having tutors writing people's homework or papers for them, but a lot of students come there expecting it, and you so wonder if some tutors do it--when the students offer to pay enough. If it's a new student, then they just don't know. But returning students? Hum. (Cute posting from a new student: They posted their assignment and wrote: "Need this in 2 days, no plagiarism." ... ... People unclear on the concept.) I mostly stick to the assignments that ask for help with essays--correcting them, or not understanding how to go about writing one.

But I just had a fun one. The student's assignment was to find a picture that represents the way of Dao, and describe in a few sentences why. The student said they didn't understand how to do this, just needed ideas. I warned the person to count on their own knowledge of Dao from class, but that I would pull some phrases from wiki and find pictures to match them, to show ideas of how to go about it.

I pulled out 8 phrases and found 8 pictures. It was, you can imagine, fun. This was my favorite picture, to illustrate the idea that the way to understand the universe is by understanding yourself:

Kate Gibb (wired.com)

Which in turn reminds me of one of my favorite Kate Bush songs called "Constellation of the Heart." It's about turning the telescope away from the sky and towards your own heart. It ends with a confrontation between a ship's crew and its captain, who's frightened because they're sailing right into the secrets of her own heart. [Video might be blocked in the US.]



Well we think you’d better wake up capt’n
There’s something happen’n up ahead
We’ve never seen anything like it
We’ve never seen anything like it before

I want a full report
That’s it
What do you mean, that’s it?
That’s all you get
You’d better do something ’bout it
What am I supposed to do about it?
We don’t know, but you can’t run away from it
Maybe you’d better face it
I can’t do that
C’mon face it!
I can’t do that
C’mon, c’mon face it
What am I gonna do?
It is gonna hurt, it is gonna hurt me bad?

Ooh here’s the constellation of the heart

Who said anything about it hurting?
It’s gonna be beautiful
It’s gonna be wonderful
It’s gonna be paradise
 
Just being alive, it can really hurt...

Johnny Get Angry take II

Re yesterday's post: Since widdershins remarked on what a cute butch kd was when she was Just Little, and my brother remarked how much the Reclines must have enjoyed being her band, I had to post this recording of Johnny Get Angry too. Cause she's even CUTER in this one, and you can really see how much fun the band is having! The only reason I chose the other video was because the operatics just went on and on and were so astounding.



And a sample of the cutesiness being subverted: (Though it's hard to hate a song with a kazoo solo)




The person who posted this lang version also pointed to the googlebooks version of this book that has a long section on the song:

Understanding rock: essays in musical analysis

 By John Rudolph Covach, Graeme MacDonald Boone

Feeling Feminist? A song and a movie

Once again I'm full of things to talk about, and completely short on time. In the meantime I'm just catching up one at a time on other people's bloggies, and non-net friends. Here's a classic kd lang performance to keep you company. I'd always thought this was a joke song she'd written--didn't realize it was her subversive take a on a real 60s song!

(Don't miss the opera singing at the end.)


And as a companion, may I recommend this movie Fernando an I rented tonight, about the women Ford machinists who shut down the plant in their fight for equal pay. It's called Made in Dagenham and it's very entertaining. I don't remember seeing a single ad for it, unlike their other movie Calendar Girls. Movie about women taking off their clothes = $96 000 000 gross. Movie about landmark women's rights strike, made in the same light, fun, upbeat, inspiring tone as Calendar Girls = $9 000 000.



Johnny get angry indeed.



  

Monster Barbie is coming to eat you! (And then purge you, of course)

Not much time to blog this week--the husband is back in town, and he's been having a rough few weeks. The kitties and I are in High Attention Mode. Pancakes, cookies, movies, cuddles...

But here's a short post.

End Fat Talk's facebook page posted this Huffington Post article showing life sized Barbie. We've all read about "Barbie's figure if she was a real woman..."

• If Barbie were an actual women, she would be 5'9" tall, have a 39" bust, an 18" waist, 33" hips and a size 3 shoe.
• Barbie calls this a "full figure" and likes her weight at 110 lbs.
• At 5'9" tall and weighing 110 lbs, Barbie would have a BMI of 16.24 and fit the weight criteria for anorexia. She likely would not menstruate.  [From the above Huff article]

but nothing like a straw Barbie to make the point!

Read the story to find out why and how Galia Slayen made monster Barbie.


  

Cause if you haven't danced on a pole, you just haven't lived

Remember the nice little left-brain right-brain ballerina?

I looked up a word on a French dictionary site today and... the ballerina is now a stripper.

 

I am... le discouraged.


  

Imma Homo

I couldn't post last night, toooo tired. Finally finished my fresh! new! CV. It'll need more work later, but it's a start. Today the Fernando gets back from three weeks in Calgary with his sister, so I'm off to get provisions. It's tough times here at Casa Mabel. I didn't do any shopping while I was tied to the computer in a vicious cycle or procrastination, guilt and work.

But here's a great song I came across on Spin today. They've had a couple interesting articles on hiphop and homosexuality lately.

I'm mediocre and proud of it

I love the movie Amadeus, and the play it's from by Peter Shaffer. Sometimes people complain about it being inaccurate, but it isn't a biopic. Shaffer took real people and created an imaginary story, about the composer Salieri who is confessing to a priest (and in the play, to the audience) that he murdered Mozart, and why and how.

I want to explain why I love it, but I have to share a few scenes from the story.

The main theme of the story is mediocrity, and that's most clear in the play. As a child Salieri looks down on his parents whose only wish is to remain "preserved in mediocrity." He wanted to "blaze like a comet across the firmament of Europe." Salieri prays to God for fame: "Let me be a composer! Grant me sufficient fame to enjoy it." He becomes the most successful musician in Vienna.

Then Mozart comes to town...


He's filled with terror because he fears God hasn't chosen him as his conduit... this is God's music. He finally convinces himself that what he heard was an accident.

Until he meets Mozart...


And sees his music...

Now for the first time I feel my emptiness as Adam felt his nakedness. Tonight at an inn somewhere in this city stands a giggling child who can put on paper, without actually setting down his billiard cue, casual notes which turn my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. Grazie, Signore! ...And my only reward--my sublime privilege--is to be the sole man alive in this time who shall clearly recognize your Incarnation! Grazie e grazie ancora! So be it! From this time we are enemies, You and I!

He achieves fame, but watches his music die, as Mozart's lives on and grows more famous:


At the end of the play he tells us this:

What had I begged for in that church as a boy? Was it not fame? ... I was to be bricked up in fame! Embalmed in fame! Buried in fame--but for work I knew to be absolutely worthless! This was my sentence: I must endure thirty years of being called 'distinguished!' ...and finally --his Masterstroke!-- when my nose had been rubbed in fame to vomiting, it would all be taken away from me. Every scrap. I must survive to see myself become extinct!

As his final act against God and attempt at immortality he writes a note falsely confessing to poisoning Mozart. He'll go down in infamy! Then he slashes his own throat.

Unfortunately he survives the cut, and ends up in the nut house where no one believes him. Mediocre to the last.

And when you feel the dreadful bite of your failures--and hear the taunting of unachievable, uncaring God--I will whisper my name to you: Salieri, Patron Saint of Mediocrities! And in the depth of your downcastness you can pray to me. And I will forgive you. Vi saluto. Mediocrities everywhere--now and to come--I absolve you all. Amen!

I love the destroyed look on the priest's face at the end.

I first loved the movie because of the music, of course. As a young 'un, unversed in the Ways of Mozart, it was a revelation. And it's a really entertaining story with first rate acting and character actors. (There it is!) But what I came to appreciate was the theme of mediocrity.

Because we're not all geniuses. We all have a few things we're really good at, and those things are often in our character, or reflected in our relationships, and measured this way perhaps we all possess a spark of genius. But when it comes to being a Great Athlete or a Great Artist or a Genius Businessperson etc., these tangible things that might leave a record behind that future generations (besides our own kids) will be interested in... well no, most of us won't be that person.

And that knowledge ruins Salieri's life. Except for the melancholy beauty of that last scene where he puts on the mantle of Patron Saint of Mediocrity, and absolves the poor men he's locked up with, and absolves us.

If my fiction is never published, Salieri absolves me. If it's published but little read, Salieri absolves me. If I never get the kind of job I want, Salieri absolves me. If I do and I'm terrible at it, Salieri absolves me. I'm certainly not going to let any of this ruin my pleasant little mediocre life.

I don't need to be an instrument for God's voice. I'm content to be... God's janitor.

amusement: writers & their kittons

Pictures of famous writers and their cats at this tumblr.

This is the perfect living room. Records, books, cats.

On today's menu: Serving up a little love

On April 1st my dad posted on his blog about the apostle Paul's famous writings on lurv. I wanted to re-read the passage, and decided to share.

But if you're feeling too worn out by life to get through the long-winded writing of Paul, then sit back and let Alicia Keys sing to you instead. Cause she knows what you're going through.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became an adult, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

If you made a Best Parts version of the Bible (à la Princess Bride) this would definitely make the cut.

I hope your spring-a-tude weekend contains...

A little faith: in yourself, in your fave show to cheer you up, in anything!

A little hope: Emily Dickinson says it never dies.

And a little love: if not, I sends you some in the form of my step-mother with her dear departed lovebird, Agape.

______
That was 1 Corinthians 13. I chose the New King James, for the sheer poetry of it, though I changed "man" to "adult." To see other versions, or the context, check out this handy site.

But don't get a parrot! As my parents learned after getting parrots, selling them should be absolutely banned. It's a horrid industry and birds need to live in flocks. My parents put hours of work into caring for their two remaining birds, and they support this rescue which has to care for all the beautiful sick creatures that people discovered were too hard to care for after they bought them.  >:-(

Childhood Potential: still up for grabs!

I was reading today about someone who was remembering what she was like as a child--cheerful, bright, creative--and how she hopes to get back to being that child. She wants to be Like Herself again, as reflected in the above song.

A worthy goal! :-D  We all feel that way sometimes (albeit this is someone who's had a very hard life and I tip my ten gallon hat to her.)

So today I want to post another of my favorite Joseph Campbell passages, for her. Because Campbell promises us that our Inner Toddler Goofball never goes away! Yay!

...the infantile unconscious. ...We carry it within ourselves forever. All the ogres and secret helpers of our nursery are there, all the magic of childhood. And more important, all the life-potentialities that we never managed to bring to adult realization, those other portions of ourself, are there; for such golden seeds do not die.

If only a portion of that lost totality could be dredged up into the light of day, we should experience a marvelous expansion of our powers, a vivid renewal of life. We should tower in stature. Moreover if we could dredge us something forgotten not only by our entire civilization, we should become indeed the boonbringer, the culture hero of the day--the personage of not only local but world historical moment.

In a word: the first work of the hero is to retreat from the world ...

 Here's my inner child. She's got a book and a cat. Big surprise eh?

BRB

 

Taking an offline day today. Or two. See you soonz!

The Road Taken: Any regrets?

I was chatting with someone awhile ago who was having a Moment of Doubt about some past decisions re. schooling and such. They're in their 30s now, and feeling the pressure to only make The Right Decisions now. Like, if they take a course to help their career path along, it has to be the right course, cause there's no time or money for f***ing up. And this person was thinking about the past ten years, and how much they might have accomplished in the field they have NOW chosen, if they had chosen it back then.

I understand the feeling. I always knew I wanted to teach Cegep (Quebec college) for which you just need an MA, but at the end of my English BA I was no longer living at home, and I wasn't sure how to finance an MA right away (the concept of using student aid was foreign to me--I have huge fears of debt). And I was quite, quite brain-tired.

I was working full-time at a bookstore, and a few years later I was promoted to management. And every time I thought about going back to do my MA, it never felt Quite Right. I'm a strong believer in making sure big decisions feel RIGHT before I do them, so I continued on my path. But I eventually returned to school, this time in political science (rightness!), did a BA and MA, and graduated in 2008. All the while keeping my same job, part-time.

I have never regretted those decisions, but the reality is this: The big hiring window in the Cegep system happened 10 years ago, around the time I accepted my first management promotion. No job materialized at graduation time, so I took a management promotion again, which wasn't much fun (hence my finally leaving the company.)

It could be years, now, before I get a teaching job, if ever. ...Does THAT make me regret the choices I made ten years ago? It almost did.

But.

I am the woman I am today because of those last 10-15 years. Most of my best friends were made at that job. I gained tons of great skills there, most of them applicable to teaching. I amassed a gorgeous collection of books. And I would probably be teaching English Lit, as opposed to having spent 5 awesome years studying the Middle East, gender and sexuality in the Middle East, developing areas, development economics, and political science.

I'm currently reading a very interesting blog by a woman who did get hired as an English Cegep teacher ten years ago--I'm reading the entire thing, chronologically. Right now I'm in 2007, and at the time she was struggling with burnout, frustration at the system, the feeling of no longer being inspired and energized by students, and so forth. All the same feelings I had at my job last year. In fact, some of our experiences are so parallel it's spooky. (Okay I was never inspired by selling, but I mean, re. the aspects of the job that I had used to enjoy.)

If I had become a Cegep teacher ten years ago, would I be burned out on teaching, the way I burned out on retail management? Hard to say, but after ten years I would be struggling with Something. Some kind of tiredness, need for rejuvenation, need for inspiration, etc. Maybe I'd be tired of English and wishing I'd studied some other topic, and not even sure what that was.

And if my friend had gone into their now-chosen-métier ten years ago, they too might be disillusioned with it today, or dislike it in some way, or have fallen into the wrong arm of the industry, and be dreaming they were in Some Other Aspect of the business... such as the very aspect that my friend is presently in.

Regretting the road not taken is like thumbing through People magazine, sighing over the glamorous life that Alternate Universe You is living because of the sweet choices she made when she was 20. Meanwhile Alternate Universe You is thumbing through US magazine regretting all the dumb choices she made at 20, and wishing she was you.

If I get a teaching job in a few years, I'll be 40, which means I might not experience any job boredom/frustration/doubts til I'm 50 or 55. Or maybe I won't have quite that experience, because I'll be starting a career at a later stage of life, with 15 years of experience under my belt from another industry, with 40 years of self-knowledge, and teaching topics I took an interest in later in life. If it happens for me, it might turn out to be a richer experience than I would have had at 25 or 30. Just as I'm positive my friend's many years' of experience have created the perfect soil for their current endeavor.

Unless we can time travel, we really only have two choices: Think negative thoughts about the road not taken, or positive ones. So if I may take a page from Julie's book--I choose to be thankful to, and honor, the road I've chosen in life. I like positive feedback, so I figure my road does too, and she will appreciate the pat on the back, and respond in kind.

Am I being too positive? Are there some career roads that you really can't unregret?

Alanis Morissette says thank-you to the Universe

What book are you?

You're The Poisonwood Bible!

by Barbara Kingsolver

Deeply rooted in a religious background, you have since become both
isolated and schizophrenic. You were naively sure that your actions would help people,
but of course they were resistant to your message and ultimately disaster ensued. Since
you can see so many sides of the same issue, you are both wise beyond your years and
tied to worthless perspectives. If you were a type of waffle, it would be
Belgian.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Mabel discovers her inner New Age girl (turns out she's a Butterick pattern)

When witchyfriend Mae was over last week I was giving her le tour of le apartment, and when we reached my office corner I had to explain something to her.

First there was Le School
I graduated from my MA in 2008, the goal of which was to teach Cegep. (In Quebec you finish high school one year earlier, go to a sort of community college for two years called Cegep, and then only do three years to get your BA. Or you do a 3 year technical program.) I've been applying for jobs, but nothing yet.  <-- Mae knew all that already.

But when I graduated I'd just done both an MA and BA, so 5 years of political science reading, and I was tired of nonfiction books. (I already had an earlier BA in English Lit.) In the intervening years I've kept up with what's going on in the world, but in terms of thicky-books I dove back into fiction. I also write fiction, so that side of me was really starved. AND I worked in a book store, so it was part of my job.

Mae knew all that too.

Then there were Le Books
What I pointed out to her was the sorry state of my school book shelves, which house the kinds of materials I would want to eventually teach. Mind you, at Cegep you don't assign material at this level; but I would need to refer to these books to plan lessons, to review my own knowledge, and so forth.

I said to Mae: "I'm generally not a New Agey sort of gal, though I don't look down on these beliefs because I do, after all, believe in God. But overall the sciencee part of my brain tends to fight against most of it, and some elements--like extreme "law of attraction" I find downright distasteful.

"BUT. But. There is a teensy, tiny, wee mystical voice in my head... that says I will not get a teaching job until I clean up these book shelves."

And Mae just gave me a pitying look that said: Well, um, YES. But out loud she said gave it some sort of rational patina to make me feel better. I confess I don't remember what she said, because I already felt better just admitting it. I felt ready to embrace my inner mystic.

Then there was La Powder Puff
Later Mae--she of the scenty things--was showing me some special perfumes coming soon to her online store, and we found that my skin tended to turn perfumes to a powdery-flower smell, like something from my childhood.

So I figure she's this 1970s Butterick pattern that I'm pretty sure my mother made me a costume from  when I was a kid. I remember the gold rope belt.

Practical uses of La Butterick
So far my Butterick Mystic is doing a good job. Today I wanted to move one lamp, and ended up cleaning up the entire mess of cables that connects our TV, internet etc. to make it all cleaner and nice. Then learned in Julieland that Mercury is in retrograde which screws with communications and machines. (Her husband accidentally kicked off the surge protector while she was writing about it, and she lost her whole post.)

I'm not surprised BM was in tune on that one. Mercury in Retrograde reminds me of Swiss Girl, who first read the term in her Young Miss horoscope when we were 13, and thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She brings it up to this day and we're 37. So I have fond, friendship feelings about Mercury in Retrograde.

I'm ready for the new New Age me. :-)

___
PS - Remind me to tell you sometime about The Idiots Guide to Astrology. Most hilarious and accurate astrology book.

Cats on Vacation

My friend Swiss Girl loves to travel and has a fun blog about her trips. She always takes pictures of the cats she meets along the way. She just got back from Istanbul so click on the pic if you've always wanted to know...

what Turkish kitties look like! 

My journée

***LOL  I'm SO tired I posted this on the wrong blog. Oh le sigh.***

CATS

- Minion has a chewing fixation. She's tearing up paper now, which is okay, that'll dissolve. She eats our wood baskets--not so okay, I've had to hide or cover them all. Trying to find something chewy for her. The dog chews the vet gave me were too tough, and when soaked too soft. I bought doggy faux-bacon strips, and she worked through a strip in a few minutes--at it up piece by piece. I need something tougher.

She likes to sleep on a Snuggy in her toy box. But then she started eating the toy box, so now the Snuggy covers the wood.

I don't mind if she eats pharmacy bags and amazon receipts. I drew the line at paper towels cause I fear they're less dissloving, more clumping. (She doesn't always ingest, but...)

 

 

When she tries to eat my love letters to Fernando, or my lists of French words to look up, I have to give her her own piece of paper. You can see what she thinks of that.

 

"If you would give me your finger 24-7 this wouldn't be an issue." 

 

HOME

- Fernando accidentally snapped out smoke detector off its bracket last month when trying to turn it off from a nuisance alarm (cooking something smokey.) It was a cheap one installed by the building, and also, I learned, in the wrong place. If you only have one, it should be by the bedrooms. This past week I installed the fancier one I bought, which detects both slow and fast moving fires. Today I bought another of that kind, as well as a carbon detector for my bedroom, which is over the garages where the dudes are always working on their cars and boats etc.

MOI

- Also saw my doctor re various little healthatude things that piled up during the year. I save them up for her. She gave me a dermatologist referral to get a benign but itchy mole removed, and I've always wanted to get some others removed. I something cut them with my nails. She also gave me a pump to clear up my lungs.

- Because of the AM appointment I had to get up early, which means it's 3 AM and I'm dead tired. So maaaaybe I can get back onto a normal bedtime (which for me means 4 AM instead of 6 AM.) If I'm asleep by 4 AM I feel healthy, I sleep well, less headache, I feel "en forme." But later than that and I start to feel crummy and I get headaches. But I haven't been able to break it! Every night I've been getting a surge of mental energy at 3-4 AM that lasts til 5 AM. Then I feel exhausted, I crash, and fall asleep around 6 or 7 AM. Luckily Haley wakes me up at 2 PM like clockwork so it hasn't gotten any worse than that. But I feel shplecky.

FROLICKS

- Tomorrow I'm hanging with my oldy high school friend Banana. (An oldy but a goody.)

So it's a few minutes to 3 AM. I've got to start pretending to go to bed, so I can be asleep by 4. Wish me luck!