Oh, wait, it doesn't matter. Because I'm not in Italy.
So, I've never been quite so excited as I was for my Italy trip. It's my first day(s) off since New Years, and I've been eagerly anticipating time away from work and sleep deprivation and with my family. And everything was going well...perhaps...too well?
So we get to the airport and we're on line to check in. I pull out my passport and I'm flipping through it. My first thought is, "hey, where are my australia stamps?" and my second thought is, "hey, why are there no stamps in here from after 2002?" and my third thought is "why don't I just flip to the front to make sure this isn't my expired passport, which I probably threw away anyway," and my fourth thought is "oh, fuck."
So we take a minute to flip out, and we call my parents' friends who graciously spent about an hour looking in the two places I could think of where the passport might be. They don't find it...so my dad and I run to rebook me on tomorrow's flight where they only have business class available, so my parents will have to spend a few thousand extra dollars for my gaff...they're thrilled. But by the time we actually get around to booking, there are NO more seats on the flight. Finally, they get me on a flight tomorrow that goes to Atlanta and another from Atlanta to Rome (Let's play a round of name that airline! If you said Delta, you know your hubs!) Luckily because it's coach and a stopover, changing my flight only costs my parents a whopping $2.96. I'm happy I'm not screwing my parents over too much.
By now it's 4:16 and their flight is at 5:20, and Natalie's standing with the luggage in another building. We're talking to the woman who's getting my tickets set up and she says, "You're flight's at 5:20? You have exactly four minutes to check in." So I RUN to Natalie and we run back. By now Natalie is, understandably, a little more than a little annoyed with the whole situation, pretty much being told to stand in one spot on her own for two hours and then being rushed like mad with the luggage. They check in, I get a car home, walk in the door, walk to the one place I didn't tell the friends to check, and find my passport within 15 minutes. The car to JFK is booked, my new tickets and passport are in my bag, the parents are texted, emailed and messaged, and I have a night to kill and a stomach to fill.
You know what word I DON'T love it when a man says? (Oh, "Sneakers" reference! Booya!)
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Sunday, May 07, 2006
We PWN the NYT
Speaking of cultural references (Sergi), check out my hip and nifty internet-speak. I'm so young and with it!
Yeah, it's two in the morning and I'm blogging because I want to brag. Tonight, Adam and I performed a feat almost unknown to mankind. We COMPLETED THE CRYPTIC CROSSWORD, mothafuckaaaaas!
For those of you who don't think that while we're worshipping God, God's worshiping Will Shortz, the cryptic crossword is a novelty puzzle that comes on the same page as the Sunday crossword once every six weeks or so. It's largely made of acronyms and wordplay, and you're likely to look through the whole thing without getting a single clue. Unlike the regular crossword, they do tell you how many letters are in each word of an answer. Here's the first cryptic crossword clue I ever figured out: "Oakland ball players sleep where horses race." Five letters. Think. I don't want to put the answer directly in the post, so suffice it to say it's the big headline word on this page (don't mouse over if you don't want to see). You see how it all comes together. The Oakland ballplayers. Where they sleep. Where the horses race. But you have to pull that from the clue. And that was one of the ones I GOT. There weren't many that day.
So tonight Adam Levine and I hunkered down and just went for it and did the whole damn thing. Well, he did more than I did, but I got maybe a third of them, and I think that's frickin' impressive.
In other news, earlier today I went to a Derby party in honor of the Kentucky Derby. We each picked horses out of a hat and put a two dollar bet in. The winner would get $38, while the person whose horse came in last got their two bucks back. I drew "Keyed Entry," a 30-to-1 long shot. The race started, and after just a little while, Keyed Entry pulled ahead, clearly in front of second place Sinister Minister. I couldn't believe it...with about 3/4 of the race over, Keyed Entry was winning! When all of a sudden, that sonofamare Barbaro came rushing ahead, beating everyone else by over six lengths. The nerve! Keyed Entry didn't even place or show...I couldn't see him at the end. We waited to find the full standings...was Keyed Entry fourth? Fifth? Sixth? It wouldn't help, I just wanted to know, so I could feel good about ole KE's performance. The stats came up, and Keyed Entry was DEAD LAST. 20th out of 20 horses. Which was awesome, because I got my two bucks back. Go, Keyed Entry!
Yeah, it's two in the morning and I'm blogging because I want to brag. Tonight, Adam and I performed a feat almost unknown to mankind. We COMPLETED THE CRYPTIC CROSSWORD, mothafuckaaaaas!
For those of you who don't think that while we're worshipping God, God's worshiping Will Shortz, the cryptic crossword is a novelty puzzle that comes on the same page as the Sunday crossword once every six weeks or so. It's largely made of acronyms and wordplay, and you're likely to look through the whole thing without getting a single clue. Unlike the regular crossword, they do tell you how many letters are in each word of an answer. Here's the first cryptic crossword clue I ever figured out: "Oakland ball players sleep where horses race." Five letters. Think. I don't want to put the answer directly in the post, so suffice it to say it's the big headline word on this page (don't mouse over if you don't want to see). You see how it all comes together. The Oakland ballplayers. Where they sleep. Where the horses race. But you have to pull that from the clue. And that was one of the ones I GOT. There weren't many that day.
So tonight Adam Levine and I hunkered down and just went for it and did the whole damn thing. Well, he did more than I did, but I got maybe a third of them, and I think that's frickin' impressive.
In other news, earlier today I went to a Derby party in honor of the Kentucky Derby. We each picked horses out of a hat and put a two dollar bet in. The winner would get $38, while the person whose horse came in last got their two bucks back. I drew "Keyed Entry," a 30-to-1 long shot. The race started, and after just a little while, Keyed Entry pulled ahead, clearly in front of second place Sinister Minister. I couldn't believe it...with about 3/4 of the race over, Keyed Entry was winning! When all of a sudden, that sonofamare Barbaro came rushing ahead, beating everyone else by over six lengths. The nerve! Keyed Entry didn't even place or show...I couldn't see him at the end. We waited to find the full standings...was Keyed Entry fourth? Fifth? Sixth? It wouldn't help, I just wanted to know, so I could feel good about ole KE's performance. The stats came up, and Keyed Entry was DEAD LAST. 20th out of 20 horses. Which was awesome, because I got my two bucks back. Go, Keyed Entry!
Friday, May 05, 2006
Thiiiis Is My (beat) Once-A-Year Book!
I'm at work but feeling pretty physically crappy...last night around 10:30 I was suddenly hit by a mac truck of dizziness, and I spent the Daily Show and Colbert Report running back-and-forth between watching the television and praying to the porcelain goddess. I felt good enough to go to sleep but woke up this morning with a bitch of a headache and some residual dizziness and nausea. I managed to drag myself out of bed, to the gym for a shower (Con Ed may have finally cut off the common electricity, which our landlord apparently never paid for, so we had no hot water), and to work. I'm glad I came in, but my usual post-lunch exhaustion is especially strong today, combined with all the now thankfully low-level crappiness. So I'm going to blog for a couple of minutes to keep my spirits up.
Onto the subject of the post. A few people may know that I have a hard and fast rule about my reading: I may read one and only one Chuck Palahniuk nover per year. Two years ago during dead week I read Lullaby, last year at Myrtle Beach I read Choke and now that it's almost exactly one year later, it's time to choose another. Right now I'm thinking Stranger Than Fiction, his collection of true stories, although there's this one about a house where people gather and strange things start happening (WHAT!? In a CHUCK PALAHNIUK NOVEL!?) that sounds really cool. Neither of those were at the B&N I dropped by this morning (so many gift certificates), so I've added three of their books to the list of possibilities. Anyway, hopefully I will have chosen by the end of the day. If you have any immediate tips, please let me know.
And speaking of books, I just finished a great novel by a Yale professor Barry McCrea. My friend Beth took a class with him last year and really (really) liked him, and then I saw him listed in the Advocate as a gay-writer-you-haven't-heard-of-and-you-should-HANG-YOUR-HEAD-IN-SHAME. So it turns out he has a book, The First Verse, about a contemporary Dublin student who gets involved in a literary cult. I'm always a huge fan of novels and art that combine insightful realism with an elegant touch of the supernatural (there's less supernatural here than in Palahniuk, but since he's just sitting in the paragraph above, I should mention the tie). I started admiring McCrea when I read a brief essay of his in the Sex Week at Yale magazine. He talked about unrequited love (it shows up in this book, too), and I felt somewhat grateful that he had taken what everyone refers to as an "obsessive crush" and legitimized it—couldn't hurt that it was coming from a cute, gay, brilliant, Irish teacher either. Right. He had some great behavioral observations that resonated with me, and his characters in this book are just as excitingly real. It's very prose-y, but in a way that works. Sometimes that shit doesn't, but here it does. Read it, y'all.
More later, I hope.
Onto the subject of the post. A few people may know that I have a hard and fast rule about my reading: I may read one and only one Chuck Palahniuk nover per year. Two years ago during dead week I read Lullaby, last year at Myrtle Beach I read Choke and now that it's almost exactly one year later, it's time to choose another. Right now I'm thinking Stranger Than Fiction, his collection of true stories, although there's this one about a house where people gather and strange things start happening (WHAT!? In a CHUCK PALAHNIUK NOVEL!?) that sounds really cool. Neither of those were at the B&N I dropped by this morning (so many gift certificates), so I've added three of their books to the list of possibilities. Anyway, hopefully I will have chosen by the end of the day. If you have any immediate tips, please let me know.
And speaking of books, I just finished a great novel by a Yale professor Barry McCrea. My friend Beth took a class with him last year and really (really) liked him, and then I saw him listed in the Advocate as a gay-writer-you-haven't-heard-of-and-you-should-HANG-YOUR-HEAD-IN-SHAME. So it turns out he has a book, The First Verse, about a contemporary Dublin student who gets involved in a literary cult. I'm always a huge fan of novels and art that combine insightful realism with an elegant touch of the supernatural (there's less supernatural here than in Palahniuk, but since he's just sitting in the paragraph above, I should mention the tie). I started admiring McCrea when I read a brief essay of his in the Sex Week at Yale magazine. He talked about unrequited love (it shows up in this book, too), and I felt somewhat grateful that he had taken what everyone refers to as an "obsessive crush" and legitimized it—couldn't hurt that it was coming from a cute, gay, brilliant, Irish teacher either. Right. He had some great behavioral observations that resonated with me, and his characters in this book are just as excitingly real. It's very prose-y, but in a way that works. Sometimes that shit doesn't, but here it does. Read it, y'all.
More later, I hope.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Pre-War
I met some of my neighbors tonight! It's pretty exciting. As I may or may not have mentioned, my building is largely occupied by one enormous extended family...relatives of the landlord. The landlord is actually the nephew of some uber-landlord, and somehow acquired this building from Uncle Ownesman-Hattan. So he lives on the second floor with his wife and daughter, and some other large portion of the family lives on the fourth floor (they're above me, so it's a little harder to tell who's where). We're on the third floor, in the smaller apartment, and Gertrude lives in the larger apartment. I've never met Gertrude, but Amy has. She seemed nice, I believe. As far as I knew, the fifth floor was totally unoccupied and currently under renovation. Not so!
I was coming home from transferring the laundry from washer to dryer when I see two men around 60 standing outside searching through their keys. I opened the door for them, and one asked me, "Did you just move in?" "Oh, a couple of months ago," I said. "You?" "We've been living here for 35 years." So a while, then. Actually, I believe my cousin Larry's done the same thing...stayed in the same Hell's Kitchen apartment since he first came to New York with the dream of acting. And the often rent-stabilized neighborhood changed around him, just as it changed around these guys. They've been here since 12 years before my landlord was born. Hardcore. Very hardcore.
But also incredibly endearing. To have that kind of immediate stability—same space, same person—for 35 years has an enormous appeal to it. It's almost like living a quiet country life in the heart of the nation's biggest city. I guess that's just what marriage is...the ability to have home, to have intimacy, to have a comforting anchor besides yourself in the most otherwise worldly of circumstances. I look at these guys, and I look at the couple from Thailand who runs the laundromat (I was teaching them some English words last week) and, even though they work together and live together, seem so happy in each other's presence and so comfortable in their banter, and I realize that I really, really do want to get married someday. And not just to any good guy, but someone I feel a real comfort and intimacy with. It's not about the structure for me...the picket fence (ew), the kids' soccer games (the hideous memories!), the community organizations. It's about finding someone who feels like home. I think that's a reasonable goal for the next 20 years or so...
I was coming home from transferring the laundry from washer to dryer when I see two men around 60 standing outside searching through their keys. I opened the door for them, and one asked me, "Did you just move in?" "Oh, a couple of months ago," I said. "You?" "We've been living here for 35 years." So a while, then. Actually, I believe my cousin Larry's done the same thing...stayed in the same Hell's Kitchen apartment since he first came to New York with the dream of acting. And the often rent-stabilized neighborhood changed around him, just as it changed around these guys. They've been here since 12 years before my landlord was born. Hardcore. Very hardcore.
But also incredibly endearing. To have that kind of immediate stability—same space, same person—for 35 years has an enormous appeal to it. It's almost like living a quiet country life in the heart of the nation's biggest city. I guess that's just what marriage is...the ability to have home, to have intimacy, to have a comforting anchor besides yourself in the most otherwise worldly of circumstances. I look at these guys, and I look at the couple from Thailand who runs the laundromat (I was teaching them some English words last week) and, even though they work together and live together, seem so happy in each other's presence and so comfortable in their banter, and I realize that I really, really do want to get married someday. And not just to any good guy, but someone I feel a real comfort and intimacy with. It's not about the structure for me...the picket fence (ew), the kids' soccer games (the hideous memories!), the community organizations. It's about finding someone who feels like home. I think that's a reasonable goal for the next 20 years or so...
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Never Say Die
So, it's been a month. That's a little over the top on the blogging neglect, but I haven't been feeling the urge much lately. Still, as the post title advises, I never say die.
Amy's heading to Italy for a month, so I'll be somewhat lonelier and therefore somewhat more likely to blog. This will be good for anyone who's still reading, even with the break. I will, however, be getting a temporary roommate, this dude Brook who used to date my friend Lara and ran into Amy as they were both traveling the world. I saw his documentary about his trip, and he seems reasonably cool, so I'm not fearing for my life or anything. It'll be an interesting experience to suddenly be rooming with someone I've never met. We shall see how that goes.
This weekend's been lovely and low key but not dull. Friday night I saw Festen with mom, a play I wouldn't recommend, but if you have to go, no need to weasel your way out of it. It was pretty trite and some of the acting was heinous (cough)Ali McGraw(/cough), but I wasn't sleeping through it, which is more than I can say for anything written by Eugene O'Neill. Right.
Yesterday I went to the gym (the guns are shaping up!) and had went with Ethan to Joe: The Art of Coffee (a coffee shop, not a movie). Nice place...I think I prefer Esperanto and the Hungarian Pastry Shop, but I'll put it in third place, still above The Coffee Pot. That's just in Manhattan, of course. Slave to the Grind still reigns supreme as the unsurpassed paragon of coffee shop greatness. If anybody knows any other awesome ones in Manhattan, recommendations are always appreciated. After time with Ethan, I hung around for a while, doing crosswords. I'd kept the evening free so I could buy Mike alcohol after the (NINE HOUR!) MCAT if he didn't feel like mush. He felt like mush. So around 10 PM, I took the train down to see Cat's beautiful (albeit messy) new apartment in the East Village, and then we met Evan for a bite at Yaffa. Good stuff, fun conversation.
This morning I met V for brunch, which was lovely as always. We went to the eatery (it would be a capital e if its logo weren't a large lower-case e) and I got a great poached eggs dish. It was delicious, as were some of the other customers. We walked around the neighborhood a bit, chatted and parted ways. I was somewhat impressed that Vaughan just drove in this morning despite the downpour, no questions. I think I have a lot of friends who would just call to say they didn't want to face the rain (or get out of bed) and cancel on me with hardly an apology. Props to V for not canceling. Afterwards I got coffee with Greg, and we went over the outline for his next game. I'm really excited for it...the game sounds like tons of fun, infused, as always, with his great wit and knack for creating amusing, tough-but-doable puzzles. It's going to be much longer than the first game, with better art. And he's got a new concept for the music, which should make for a more fluid and subtly diverse score. And he's got a marketing scheme up his sleeve that may work wonders. I'm going to help develop that aspect.
Now I'm just hanging around. I did the Sunday puzzle and chatted with Natalia, and I'll heat up some soup for dinner pretty soon. Good times, great oldies. Sadly, Kool 96.7 seems to be gone with the wind. It's upsetting to lose something from my formative years.
Goal for this week: Be as not tired and therefore productive at work as I was last week. I've had quite a few weeks of total exhaustion and slow research. I finally picked up the pace last week and got a bunch done for an upcoming article. Rock out.
Amy's heading to Italy for a month, so I'll be somewhat lonelier and therefore somewhat more likely to blog. This will be good for anyone who's still reading, even with the break. I will, however, be getting a temporary roommate, this dude Brook who used to date my friend Lara and ran into Amy as they were both traveling the world. I saw his documentary about his trip, and he seems reasonably cool, so I'm not fearing for my life or anything. It'll be an interesting experience to suddenly be rooming with someone I've never met. We shall see how that goes.
This weekend's been lovely and low key but not dull. Friday night I saw Festen with mom, a play I wouldn't recommend, but if you have to go, no need to weasel your way out of it. It was pretty trite and some of the acting was heinous (cough)Ali McGraw(/cough), but I wasn't sleeping through it, which is more than I can say for anything written by Eugene O'Neill. Right.
Yesterday I went to the gym (the guns are shaping up!) and had went with Ethan to Joe: The Art of Coffee (a coffee shop, not a movie). Nice place...I think I prefer Esperanto and the Hungarian Pastry Shop, but I'll put it in third place, still above The Coffee Pot. That's just in Manhattan, of course. Slave to the Grind still reigns supreme as the unsurpassed paragon of coffee shop greatness. If anybody knows any other awesome ones in Manhattan, recommendations are always appreciated. After time with Ethan, I hung around for a while, doing crosswords. I'd kept the evening free so I could buy Mike alcohol after the (NINE HOUR!) MCAT if he didn't feel like mush. He felt like mush. So around 10 PM, I took the train down to see Cat's beautiful (albeit messy) new apartment in the East Village, and then we met Evan for a bite at Yaffa. Good stuff, fun conversation.
This morning I met V for brunch, which was lovely as always. We went to the eatery (it would be a capital e if its logo weren't a large lower-case e) and I got a great poached eggs dish. It was delicious, as were some of the other customers. We walked around the neighborhood a bit, chatted and parted ways. I was somewhat impressed that Vaughan just drove in this morning despite the downpour, no questions. I think I have a lot of friends who would just call to say they didn't want to face the rain (or get out of bed) and cancel on me with hardly an apology. Props to V for not canceling. Afterwards I got coffee with Greg, and we went over the outline for his next game. I'm really excited for it...the game sounds like tons of fun, infused, as always, with his great wit and knack for creating amusing, tough-but-doable puzzles. It's going to be much longer than the first game, with better art. And he's got a new concept for the music, which should make for a more fluid and subtly diverse score. And he's got a marketing scheme up his sleeve that may work wonders. I'm going to help develop that aspect.
Now I'm just hanging around. I did the Sunday puzzle and chatted with Natalia, and I'll heat up some soup for dinner pretty soon. Good times, great oldies. Sadly, Kool 96.7 seems to be gone with the wind. It's upsetting to lose something from my formative years.
Goal for this week: Be as not tired and therefore productive at work as I was last week. I've had quite a few weeks of total exhaustion and slow research. I finally picked up the pace last week and got a bunch done for an upcoming article. Rock out.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Subconscious Update
So glad Natalie and I were able to avoid those flying and crashing Barnes and Nobles while we waited for Polina, my sophomore year acting teacher. That was a close one.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Opposite Day! Call for Submissions
So this dude has decided he's going to start "opposite day," where everyone seriously argues something he or she disagrees with. No parodies, no smirking, no choosing something you sort of understand. This is a great mental exercise, and some people have done quite a bang-up job already. I'd really like to take part, but first I need a topic. Any ideas? I suppose gay marriage is the first one that comes to mind. I've often said it's the only issue I'm really passionate about because it's the only issue where I can make up my mind. I see the case for government interference in struggling countries, and I see the case for staying out. I see the case for big spending and welfare, and I see the case for total capitalism. I'm very pro-choice, but I see a reasonable case for pro-lifeness. I'm very atheistic, but I see why people would believe in God (and I don't just think it's because they're weak). So I could do gay marriage. What else could I do? Axing funding from scientific research on alternative energy and cancer treatments?
Please send ideas. If I don't get good ones, I'll just try to do gay marriage while I'm a little more awake. And if you want to argue for something you don't believe in, go ahead. That'd be awesome.
Please send ideas. If I don't get good ones, I'll just try to do gay marriage while I'm a little more awake. And if you want to argue for something you don't believe in, go ahead. That'd be awesome.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Totally
| the Wit |
CLEAN COMPLEX DARK You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat. I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion. You probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais  The 3-Variable Funny Test! - it rules - If you're interested, try my latest: The Terrorism Test |
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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| Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test |
Monday, March 06, 2006
Dakota Panning?
South Dakota finally did it. They stepped fresh over the Roe v. Wade line and banned abortions, with the one exception of allowing abortion to save the mother's life. South Dakota has now been stuffed into the same warm place of my heart where I've always held Fred Phelps. It's the "thanks for being honest" section, reserved for people who cut straight through the bullshit of politics and the silly, silly notion that middle-of-the-road = reasonable, and just take the side they want to take. They say and do what everyone else wants to say and do but won't because they're afraid of being seen as extreme. And they are extreme! But extreme can be good. Sure, moderate can be good sometimes, too, but moderate isn't always good, and you being confused doesn't mean both sides have something important to contribute.
Now, in these cases, I think Phelps and SD are dead wrong. I think a human life (that's H. sapien, not a "person's" life) means pretty much nothing without consciousness. The only other value it has besides a continuity of consciousness is the value other people subscribe to it. This is why it's crueler to tear up a 4-year-old's teddy bear than it is to break her stereo. She (sort of) thinks her teddy's a person, and you're breaking that human connection. That, I believe, is the only wrong in, say, taking Terry Schiavo off the tube: Her parents feel extra loss. So that's my view of "what makes a person." SD thinks that a zygote is a person. All right, kids. Whatev, as they say. I feel a little insulted: You think this cell, or this bobbing cluster of cells has the same value as I do? As my friends and family do? But we're all awesome! We chat and think and read and write and sing. We do amazing things from our minds, and we are so fully present while we're doing them. We each have an "I." How cool is that? But these Dakotans think I have the same value as the blastula.
Given that, however, they're doing the totally right thing. If I honestly thought the blastula had the same value as a fully developed human, abortion would be horrific! No, you can't kill someone just because you were raped, even if it was by your father. Very, very bad times for you, and gee that's a sad thing, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to kill someone, especially someone who's completely innocent. The only acception, of course, would be if you could only choose one life to save. Then, it's not so strange to choose the mother. The baby's life is less stable anyway...you have a better chance of saving the one already around. It's a sensible ban, South Dakota, given your totally absurd premise.
That said, I realize a lot of pro-lifers are really more anti-choicers. They don't like sex or impurity and want sinners to live with the consequences of their actions. I actually didn't fully believe they thought that until I saw a video today where a State Senator says he'd make an exception for a pure, religious virgin who planned on staying a virgin and was savagely raped. You just dug yourself into a hole, man. Please don't get out.
Now, in these cases, I think Phelps and SD are dead wrong. I think a human life (that's H. sapien, not a "person's" life) means pretty much nothing without consciousness. The only other value it has besides a continuity of consciousness is the value other people subscribe to it. This is why it's crueler to tear up a 4-year-old's teddy bear than it is to break her stereo. She (sort of) thinks her teddy's a person, and you're breaking that human connection. That, I believe, is the only wrong in, say, taking Terry Schiavo off the tube: Her parents feel extra loss. So that's my view of "what makes a person." SD thinks that a zygote is a person. All right, kids. Whatev, as they say. I feel a little insulted: You think this cell, or this bobbing cluster of cells has the same value as I do? As my friends and family do? But we're all awesome! We chat and think and read and write and sing. We do amazing things from our minds, and we are so fully present while we're doing them. We each have an "I." How cool is that? But these Dakotans think I have the same value as the blastula.
Given that, however, they're doing the totally right thing. If I honestly thought the blastula had the same value as a fully developed human, abortion would be horrific! No, you can't kill someone just because you were raped, even if it was by your father. Very, very bad times for you, and gee that's a sad thing, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to kill someone, especially someone who's completely innocent. The only acception, of course, would be if you could only choose one life to save. Then, it's not so strange to choose the mother. The baby's life is less stable anyway...you have a better chance of saving the one already around. It's a sensible ban, South Dakota, given your totally absurd premise.
That said, I realize a lot of pro-lifers are really more anti-choicers. They don't like sex or impurity and want sinners to live with the consequences of their actions. I actually didn't fully believe they thought that until I saw a video today where a State Senator says he'd make an exception for a pure, religious virgin who planned on staying a virgin and was savagely raped. You just dug yourself into a hole, man. Please don't get out.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
What They Don't Want You To Know
That always works as a good title, don't you think? Even if you know it's a sucker-trap, you're still going to read anything entitled "what they don't want you to know." This post: High School Edition. Here are things I've found out recently that they don't want you to know.
1. Teachers are sometimes attracted to their students. Now, this isn't usually the case, I'm sure, but one of my many friends who's started student teaching (or teaching) this year says a bunch of her fellow student teachers come to class and talk about nothing except which students are hot and are "totally into" them. Great, boys. As a recovering chronic teacher-crusher (when's my next CTCA meeting?), I feel qualified to say that the safety of the teacher not liking you back is crucial. It's not that I consciously wanted the teacher not to like me back, it just wasn't an issue. I didn't have to worry about the obscene complications that would result were that the case. And that was good. The power dynamic is so strong you can taste it (but don't), so teachers who think your students are attractive, don't even think about acting on it. Don't tempt yourself. Be professional. Find someone your own age. And if that's too much to ask, you're in the wrong line of work.
2. STD/STI transmission rates are low low low. Take a look at this slide. The chances you'll catch HIV from a single act of vaginal intercourse is significantly less than 1%. Here it is again. I don't see either of these explicitly say whether the sex studied is protected or unprotected...it looks unprotected. Because if the risk of transmission during receptive anal intercourse with a condom is 7%, I know a fair people who would probably be infected by now and aren't. Yeah, don't bottom without protection. Really, don't do anything without protection, and don't let anyone bottom for you without protection: If you infect someone that way you're a moral travesty. But I never would have thought that having unprotected sex with someone who's HIV+ would put you at a less than 10% risk for catching the virus. Apparently the risk is much, much lower.
3. College may or may not be wild and totally awesome. I'm still bitter at everyone who told me college would be the best four years of my life. I'm still even more bitter at the people who think I'm now in some sort of "we know what the wild side is because we went to college" club. High schoolers be forwarned: college is school with no parents around. In some ways it's different from high school, in some ways it's different from whatever you'll do after it, but it's not some sort of unique communal experience. Don't expect to much. You'll spend more time doing work than anything else...and it won't all be, like, feminist theory. My friends and I estimate somewhere between 15% and 25% of you will graduate virgins (estimates based on our group). You may never see anyone smoke pot during the four years you're there. If you want to go crazy, you'll have to make yourself go crazy. Good luck.
I only really had two things to tell you, but then I needed to round it out to three, so I stuck in my perpetual whinging. But if anyone thinks of anything else they don't want you to know, please post it in the comments.
1. Teachers are sometimes attracted to their students. Now, this isn't usually the case, I'm sure, but one of my many friends who's started student teaching (or teaching) this year says a bunch of her fellow student teachers come to class and talk about nothing except which students are hot and are "totally into" them. Great, boys. As a recovering chronic teacher-crusher (when's my next CTCA meeting?), I feel qualified to say that the safety of the teacher not liking you back is crucial. It's not that I consciously wanted the teacher not to like me back, it just wasn't an issue. I didn't have to worry about the obscene complications that would result were that the case. And that was good. The power dynamic is so strong you can taste it (but don't), so teachers who think your students are attractive, don't even think about acting on it. Don't tempt yourself. Be professional. Find someone your own age. And if that's too much to ask, you're in the wrong line of work.
2. STD/STI transmission rates are low low low. Take a look at this slide. The chances you'll catch HIV from a single act of vaginal intercourse is significantly less than 1%. Here it is again. I don't see either of these explicitly say whether the sex studied is protected or unprotected...it looks unprotected. Because if the risk of transmission during receptive anal intercourse with a condom is 7%, I know a fair people who would probably be infected by now and aren't. Yeah, don't bottom without protection. Really, don't do anything without protection, and don't let anyone bottom for you without protection: If you infect someone that way you're a moral travesty. But I never would have thought that having unprotected sex with someone who's HIV+ would put you at a less than 10% risk for catching the virus. Apparently the risk is much, much lower.
3. College may or may not be wild and totally awesome. I'm still bitter at everyone who told me college would be the best four years of my life. I'm still even more bitter at the people who think I'm now in some sort of "we know what the wild side is because we went to college" club. High schoolers be forwarned: college is school with no parents around. In some ways it's different from high school, in some ways it's different from whatever you'll do after it, but it's not some sort of unique communal experience. Don't expect to much. You'll spend more time doing work than anything else...and it won't all be, like, feminist theory. My friends and I estimate somewhere between 15% and 25% of you will graduate virgins (estimates based on our group). You may never see anyone smoke pot during the four years you're there. If you want to go crazy, you'll have to make yourself go crazy. Good luck.
I only really had two things to tell you, but then I needed to round it out to three, so I stuck in my perpetual whinging. But if anyone thinks of anything else they don't want you to know, please post it in the comments.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sexual Relativity
AKA: Everyone thinks he or she is inexperienced. This continually strikes me as odd, especially because the most sexually experienced people I know tend to think they're the least experienced. This, admittedly, is probably because they're gay men, and gay men just have more partners on average than any other quadrant.
The random Durex sex facts site I find myself on says that the average man has 12.4 sex partners and the average woman 7.2. 27% have had sex exactly one person, while 21% have had sex with over 10 people. Quite the little distribution curve, there! And it must be because of that little distribution curve that lots of people feel inexperienced: The far hump is very visible. Someone like me can see the people with >10 sexual partners and say "wow, I'm really inexperienced," while someone like, um, a completely anonymous fairly experienced 30 year old gay man could have had, what, 70 sexual partners? And he could see the however many percent in front of him (5%? Maybe?) and see that there are a fair number of people who've had 500 sexual partners.
Ooh, it's totally wealth. Like how nobody feels rich. The curves are totally the same. Check out this thing:
Look at the wealth curve. You've got the lots of impoverished people (0-1 partners) and then a slowwwwly climbing middle class (2-10 partners) and then at the top, you start piling on these people with buttloads of partners. And you're always socially in a position where you can see how many people are wealthier than you/see how many people sleep with more people than you. Because class just works that way, as does, generally, sexual mores. Because of my location, politics, occupation, etc, I hang out with people who aren't all about the free love all the time but don't feel the need to wait until marriage before having sex. Hence my range. I see someone like the anonymous 30 year old gay man and think "Wow, that dude's had a LOT of sex," just like if you lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere, the person with the really big house would seem totally rich, even if they couldn't afford a one bedroom in a prime, prime area of Manhattan. But then maybe the person, being town high society, goes to a country club in Florida and sees people who drive Rollses and thinks "Damn, I'm not that wealthy," and the 30 year old gay man sees a few friends who have sex with a new person every week and thinks "Damn, I don't get any."
Everyone sees people above and below and tends to ignore those below. So one friend has kissed a few people and nothing more. He knows some people who are Shomer Negiya and won't touch the opposite sex for a handshake. They probably know people who don't even think about what it would be like to touch the opposite sex. The gradations get finer. But everyone knows those super wealthy/promiscuous people exist. And so few people can match them...you'll never meet those people. Don't bother.
I made my point two paragraphs ago. I'm just enjoying being in the city. Woot!
The random Durex sex facts site I find myself on says that the average man has 12.4 sex partners and the average woman 7.2. 27% have had sex exactly one person, while 21% have had sex with over 10 people. Quite the little distribution curve, there! And it must be because of that little distribution curve that lots of people feel inexperienced: The far hump is very visible. Someone like me can see the people with >10 sexual partners and say "wow, I'm really inexperienced," while someone like, um, a completely anonymous fairly experienced 30 year old gay man could have had, what, 70 sexual partners? And he could see the however many percent in front of him (5%? Maybe?) and see that there are a fair number of people who've had 500 sexual partners.
Ooh, it's totally wealth. Like how nobody feels rich. The curves are totally the same. Check out this thing:
Look at the wealth curve. You've got the lots of impoverished people (0-1 partners) and then a slowwwwly climbing middle class (2-10 partners) and then at the top, you start piling on these people with buttloads of partners. And you're always socially in a position where you can see how many people are wealthier than you/see how many people sleep with more people than you. Because class just works that way, as does, generally, sexual mores. Because of my location, politics, occupation, etc, I hang out with people who aren't all about the free love all the time but don't feel the need to wait until marriage before having sex. Hence my range. I see someone like the anonymous 30 year old gay man and think "Wow, that dude's had a LOT of sex," just like if you lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere, the person with the really big house would seem totally rich, even if they couldn't afford a one bedroom in a prime, prime area of Manhattan. But then maybe the person, being town high society, goes to a country club in Florida and sees people who drive Rollses and thinks "Damn, I'm not that wealthy," and the 30 year old gay man sees a few friends who have sex with a new person every week and thinks "Damn, I don't get any."Everyone sees people above and below and tends to ignore those below. So one friend has kissed a few people and nothing more. He knows some people who are Shomer Negiya and won't touch the opposite sex for a handshake. They probably know people who don't even think about what it would be like to touch the opposite sex. The gradations get finer. But everyone knows those super wealthy/promiscuous people exist. And so few people can match them...you'll never meet those people. Don't bother.
I made my point two paragraphs ago. I'm just enjoying being in the city. Woot!
Friday, February 17, 2006
In the Kitchen
It has been too long. Yes, I've been horrible about updating, but I never say die. So here I am with another post. First and most importantly, our lease has begun! And I have a picture for you folks, but with the old tennant's furniture. Isn't our living room sexy?
I have a bed, desk and computer in our new room but no internet, which, let's be honest, is the most important thing. We'll need to deal with Time Warner this weekend and get ourselves some comedy central and wireless road runner. Sweet.
We had a few issues moving in. It turns out the old tennants weren't moving out because they were taking on a third roommate and needed a three-bed; they moved out because one of them was a violent drunk who would come home at night, fight with his boyfriend and break things (including Amy's door). At least that's what the super and landlord tell us. To get revenge on the powers that be for kicking him out, the guy left the place a bit of a wreck, complete with december-expired milk in the fridge. The only problem is the powers-that-be didn't bother to clean the place before we got there, so Amy, my mom and I were stuck sweeping and swiffering and throwing shit out. My door doesn't really close. Amy has holes in her wall. We'll deal. We also didn't get keys for about 8 hours because the old dude had given them to his lawyer to hold. And the toilet overflowed...it's fixed now.
I'm still thrilled with the place. It's beautiful and generally functional and a good space to work with. The neighborhood's fun, and I'm looking forward to exploring. Ninth Avenue has some of the best food in town at a wide range of prices, and the population of Hell's Kitchen seems to be an interesting mix of gay men, latinos, and the many adorable children who go to school within a couple of blocks from our place. I'm just thrilled to be in Manhattan...it's where I've wanted to be for years. Plus, I'll be home with the parents a bunch. I won't be ditching the old folks entirely...they're great folks, and I'll probably want a little break from the constant noise of Tenth Avenue every so often. I've got plenty more to say, but work is officially starting right about now, and I've got to hit the RSS feeds and see what's going on in the "global science conversation" that's the colorful white noise of my days.
I have a bed, desk and computer in our new room but no internet, which, let's be honest, is the most important thing. We'll need to deal with Time Warner this weekend and get ourselves some comedy central and wireless road runner. Sweet.
We had a few issues moving in. It turns out the old tennants weren't moving out because they were taking on a third roommate and needed a three-bed; they moved out because one of them was a violent drunk who would come home at night, fight with his boyfriend and break things (including Amy's door). At least that's what the super and landlord tell us. To get revenge on the powers that be for kicking him out, the guy left the place a bit of a wreck, complete with december-expired milk in the fridge. The only problem is the powers-that-be didn't bother to clean the place before we got there, so Amy, my mom and I were stuck sweeping and swiffering and throwing shit out. My door doesn't really close. Amy has holes in her wall. We'll deal. We also didn't get keys for about 8 hours because the old dude had given them to his lawyer to hold. And the toilet overflowed...it's fixed now.
I'm still thrilled with the place. It's beautiful and generally functional and a good space to work with. The neighborhood's fun, and I'm looking forward to exploring. Ninth Avenue has some of the best food in town at a wide range of prices, and the population of Hell's Kitchen seems to be an interesting mix of gay men, latinos, and the many adorable children who go to school within a couple of blocks from our place. I'm just thrilled to be in Manhattan...it's where I've wanted to be for years. Plus, I'll be home with the parents a bunch. I won't be ditching the old folks entirely...they're great folks, and I'll probably want a little break from the constant noise of Tenth Avenue every so often. I've got plenty more to say, but work is officially starting right about now, and I've got to hit the RSS feeds and see what's going on in the "global science conversation" that's the colorful white noise of my days.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Free Lonnie Latham!
Continuing in their grand tradition as one of my favorite organizations in America, the ACLU has filed an amicus brief asking an Oklahoma court to dismiss charges against Southern Baptist minister Lonnie Latham.
It's important to note, as a preface, that Lonnie Latham is a total douche. He's known for being homophobic, and he supported the Southern Baptist church's adoption of a policy encouraging Baptists to befriend homosexuals and convert them to heterosexuality. Great.
So it will come as a surprise to no one that Latham actually likes sex with men. At the beginning of the year, Latham was arrested in Oklahoma for soliciting oral sex from an undercover cop, under charges of offering to engage in an act of lewdness. He could face up to one year in jail and a $2,500 fine if convicted of these charges. Of course the immediate reaction is a hearty "Should've known! Serves him right!" It's always fun to see fire-and-brimstone preachers get arrested for trying to pick up 13-year-old boys, or catching family-values-toting senators with prostitutes (preferably minorities).
But then there's the second reaction to Latham's predicament: "Wait, what did he actually do that's illegal?" He didn't offer to pay the undercover cop. The undercover cop was an adult. The undercover cop had shown some vague interest in hooking up with Latham. He didn't just whip it out in the middle of the street. Where's the crime in asking someone back to your place if they're looking you in the eye and smiling? Even if the other person doesn't seem interested, why the hell is that illegal?
The ACLU thinks it shouldn't be, and they are supporting Latham, hoping to get the charges against him dropped, and I am 100% with them. "Lewdness" is the most absurd, poorly-defined law ever. Part of the definition in Oklahoma is "the giving or receiving of the body for indiscriminate sexual intercourse, fellatio, cunnilingus, masturbation, anal intercourse, or lascivious, lustful or licentious conduct with any person not his or her spouse." So...sex with anyone not your spouse is illegal in Oklahoma? That doesn't jive with Lawrence v. Texas at all. But wait, they say "indiscriminate." What does that mean? OK, being on one end of a public glory hole is indiscriminate. But choosing a one night stand...is that indiscriminate? I don't think so. I'm not a legal scholar, but this definition blows.
So, Oklahoma, please dismiss the charges, and don't arrest people for trying to get some. And to you, Mr. Latham, stop being a douche. If people aren't hurting anyone, just let them live their lives, as the state of Oklahoma will hopefully let you live yours.
It's important to note, as a preface, that Lonnie Latham is a total douche. He's known for being homophobic, and he supported the Southern Baptist church's adoption of a policy encouraging Baptists to befriend homosexuals and convert them to heterosexuality. Great.
So it will come as a surprise to no one that Latham actually likes sex with men. At the beginning of the year, Latham was arrested in Oklahoma for soliciting oral sex from an undercover cop, under charges of offering to engage in an act of lewdness. He could face up to one year in jail and a $2,500 fine if convicted of these charges. Of course the immediate reaction is a hearty "Should've known! Serves him right!" It's always fun to see fire-and-brimstone preachers get arrested for trying to pick up 13-year-old boys, or catching family-values-toting senators with prostitutes (preferably minorities).
But then there's the second reaction to Latham's predicament: "Wait, what did he actually do that's illegal?" He didn't offer to pay the undercover cop. The undercover cop was an adult. The undercover cop had shown some vague interest in hooking up with Latham. He didn't just whip it out in the middle of the street. Where's the crime in asking someone back to your place if they're looking you in the eye and smiling? Even if the other person doesn't seem interested, why the hell is that illegal?
The ACLU thinks it shouldn't be, and they are supporting Latham, hoping to get the charges against him dropped, and I am 100% with them. "Lewdness" is the most absurd, poorly-defined law ever. Part of the definition in Oklahoma is "the giving or receiving of the body for indiscriminate sexual intercourse, fellatio, cunnilingus, masturbation, anal intercourse, or lascivious, lustful or licentious conduct with any person not his or her spouse." So...sex with anyone not your spouse is illegal in Oklahoma? That doesn't jive with Lawrence v. Texas at all. But wait, they say "indiscriminate." What does that mean? OK, being on one end of a public glory hole is indiscriminate. But choosing a one night stand...is that indiscriminate? I don't think so. I'm not a legal scholar, but this definition blows.
So, Oklahoma, please dismiss the charges, and don't arrest people for trying to get some. And to you, Mr. Latham, stop being a douche. If people aren't hurting anyone, just let them live their lives, as the state of Oklahoma will hopefully let you live yours.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Houston, We Have Apartment
We have an apartment, wooo! On February 15th, Amy and I will officially be Hell's Kitchen residents, and I couldn't be more excited. The neighborhood looks lovely, the place is BEAUTIFUL, and there are tons of perks, such as a working fireplace, roof access, and a key to the wonderful garden down the block. All this is thanks to our awesome broker, Alex. If you're looking for a place in Manhattan, let me know and I'll give you his number/email. He chauffeured us to every apartment we looked at with him, and he has an EMT parking permit, so he can park anywhere. He also prescreened apartments after the first two, so he could tell us whether they'd be worth our time or not, based on how we'd reacted to other places. Two thumbs up. Anyway, when I go later this week to measure completely I'll take some decent photos and possibly post them. Our apartment. So hot right now.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
The Defense
Well, I made #4 on The BEAST's 50 Most Loathsome People in America, 2005. I suppose we all did, but I feel I should at least answer the charges. Here they are:
The evidence: Nita Lowey, bitch.
Sentence: Yeah, I suppose I'll take it. But considering I'm not totally guilty on all the charges, and they really have no evidence, I think I'll instead take a deathbed realization that my live was only wasted opportunities and not stupid mistakes...I've made a few stupid mistakes, but I'm much more of a wasted opportunities sort of gal, wasting opportunities such as college. And I think I deserve befuddlement, not scorn, and, God no, not indifference. The cold, meaningless demise? Sounds about right. Although if, in honor of my death, we could keep the thermostat at 72 degrees for just a couple of days, that would be great. I'll let you know when I'm a few days from death and willing to use all my money to pay for the wasted oil that went into heating my final hours. But hopefully the price of oil will be down by then.
In other words, I'm creating a special circle of hell for incompetent and/or scheming realtors, along with blood-sucking insurance companies. A small, vaguely special place in heaven goes to the guy in the breakfast cart who knows my order and smiles when he gives me my coffee and to the young, upbeat cab driver who makes talking about the weather seem like something slightly more than smalltalk.
4. YouOK, let's start with my pleas to the charges, in order: guilty, guilty, guilty, not guilty unless you count caffeine as an antidepressent, only slightly guilty, guilty, guilty. I guess I didn't do to well.
Charges: Silently enabling and contributing to the irreversible destruction of your planet. Absolving yourself of your responsibility to do anything about it that your immediate neighbors don't. Assuming that it's normal behavior to spend several hours each day totally inert and staring into a cathode ray tube. Substituting antidepressants for physical motion. Caring more about the personal relationships of people you will never meet than your own. Shrugging your shoulders at the knowledge that your government is populated by criminal liars intent on fooling you into impoverished, helpless submission. Cheering this process on.
Exhibit A: You don't even know who your congressman is.
Sentence: Deathbed realization that your entire life was an unending series of stupid mistakes and wasted opportunities, a priceless gift of potential extravagantly squandered, for which you deserve nothing but scorn or, at best, indifference, and a cold, meaningless demise.
The evidence: Nita Lowey, bitch.
Sentence: Yeah, I suppose I'll take it. But considering I'm not totally guilty on all the charges, and they really have no evidence, I think I'll instead take a deathbed realization that my live was only wasted opportunities and not stupid mistakes...I've made a few stupid mistakes, but I'm much more of a wasted opportunities sort of gal, wasting opportunities such as college. And I think I deserve befuddlement, not scorn, and, God no, not indifference. The cold, meaningless demise? Sounds about right. Although if, in honor of my death, we could keep the thermostat at 72 degrees for just a couple of days, that would be great. I'll let you know when I'm a few days from death and willing to use all my money to pay for the wasted oil that went into heating my final hours. But hopefully the price of oil will be down by then.
In other words, I'm creating a special circle of hell for incompetent and/or scheming realtors, along with blood-sucking insurance companies. A small, vaguely special place in heaven goes to the guy in the breakfast cart who knows my order and smiles when he gives me my coffee and to the young, upbeat cab driver who makes talking about the weather seem like something slightly more than smalltalk.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Touching Base
Wow; it's been too long. As you can probably guess, this means I've been a busy, busy girl for the past three weeks. I am now officially "Staff Writer for the Web" for Seed, which means very little change in what I actually do and very much welcome change in what they pay me. Because I am now officially a working woman, I've started the apartment search with Amy (Greenwood...a good friend of mine from high school who just got back from touring The World). We've been casually looking for about two weeks and just decided to pick up the pace by calling a real broker and getting her to find us the best places the day they come out. Last Thursday we saw the best place yet: a two bedroom on 56th between 9th and 10th with enormous bedrooms, a nice bathroom, and a small-as-all-hell-assuming-souls-are-planck-length living space. The last attribute is why we didn't take it. We planned on going on an apartment binge on Saturday, but apparently nobody shows on Saturday, so we were only able to see one apartment. It blew.
Dating Mike again is going extraordinarily well. I feel totally at ease with him—mentally, physically and emotionally. I guess that's the big perk of dating someone you've already had an intense, long-term relationship with: You don't have to get past the awkward getting-to-know-you stage. I hate that stage...with friends, coworkers, teachers, whatever. I like to be free and easy with people. It's also great that Mike doesn't socialize much and doesn't socialize at all with people I know. I'm so much more comfortable one-on-one than in group situations...or public situations. Spending hours chilling in his (awesome west village) apartment is simply perfect. The time-limit looms (September, when he goes to some random still-unknown city to teach private school), but it's a ways off, and I'm happy to enjoy the time while it's here.
More thoughts later...right now I'm exhausted.
Dating Mike again is going extraordinarily well. I feel totally at ease with him—mentally, physically and emotionally. I guess that's the big perk of dating someone you've already had an intense, long-term relationship with: You don't have to get past the awkward getting-to-know-you stage. I hate that stage...with friends, coworkers, teachers, whatever. I like to be free and easy with people. It's also great that Mike doesn't socialize much and doesn't socialize at all with people I know. I'm so much more comfortable one-on-one than in group situations...or public situations. Spending hours chilling in his (awesome west village) apartment is simply perfect. The time-limit looms (September, when he goes to some random still-unknown city to teach private school), but it's a ways off, and I'm happy to enjoy the time while it's here.
More thoughts later...right now I'm exhausted.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Vacation Winds Down
For the last time for a long time I've spent 10 days lazing about, sleeping late, and hanging out with friends in restaurants and coffee shops. It has been a lovely 10 days, and I will miss them dearly as I return to 7 am wakeups, 9 hour workdays and a bare-bones social life. It took me until Friday to really drop work from my mindset. With a combination of evil hormones and worker's residue, much of last week was spent in a restless state of anxiety I couldn't quite shake. And then it shook, and I revived myself as I was from June through September. It's such a lovely, easy way to be.
I might as well chat about the cryptic comments from a couple of weeks ago. I'm currently dating—but not in a relationship with—my ex. He doesn't want anything serious, which right now I'm all for, but I'm of course concerned that will change over time. At least the lack of seriousness and future dampens the "crawling back home (without ever going abroad)" feeling that was initially pretty strong. As it stands, seeing him is just a nice way to pass time, and I'm good with that. The other concern is that I really like hanging out with him and flirting with him and looking at him, and I trust him and feel close with him, but those things don't necessarily add up to wanting to date him. I'm not sure I do. Hopefully this will all become clearer with time. Hopefully nobody will get hurt. Hopefully the whole world will eventually find love and happiness. It's a lot to hope for.
I might as well chat about the cryptic comments from a couple of weeks ago. I'm currently dating—but not in a relationship with—my ex. He doesn't want anything serious, which right now I'm all for, but I'm of course concerned that will change over time. At least the lack of seriousness and future dampens the "crawling back home (without ever going abroad)" feeling that was initially pretty strong. As it stands, seeing him is just a nice way to pass time, and I'm good with that. The other concern is that I really like hanging out with him and flirting with him and looking at him, and I trust him and feel close with him, but those things don't necessarily add up to wanting to date him. I'm not sure I do. Hopefully this will all become clearer with time. Hopefully nobody will get hurt. Hopefully the whole world will eventually find love and happiness. It's a lot to hope for.
Reading Kids' Diaries
I think we should read kids' diaries. I'm also just a little bit pro-Bush's-spying-program, assuming he really is just scanning for terrorist plots and not preventing robberies or extra-marital affairs or meetings where people get together and burn Bush effigies or anything crazy like that. But that's not today's topic. I'm not talking about violating civil liberties for the sake of security here, I'm talking about violating civil liberties for ART.
If there is one consistent problem with all fiction (and even non-fiction) it is the unrelenting portrayal of children as adults perceive them, never the portrayal of children as they are. Now, I can't capture children as they really are—at age 22 I'm hardly in that position, and I never was able to keep a diary as a kid—but I do remember thinking, when I was a child, that every portrayal I saw was horribly charicatured and never represented the world I knew.
Exhibit A: Bullies. Stories about children are rife with bullies, children who live to make other children feel bad, and that's fine, because there are plenty of bullies in elementary school and middle school. They were, however, never of the Malfoy-Crabbe-Goyle variety. Never one obvious leader with cronies who had no other friends who would show up just to torture people. As I recall, it was the legitimately popular kids who were bullyish. The vast, vast majority of boys, especially around age 13, are obscenely insecure. It's not like college (or even high school), where the secure crowd rises to the top and wins everyone's love, and an insecure minority are stuck being assholes whom everyone kind of hates but may have some power due to sheer force. No no no. In middle school, the entire popular crowd is insecure and generally takes it out on anyone they can. And they're less explicit about their bullying. There's no obvious building themselves up...it's just about shooting the other person down. It's about exchanging looks with a group of five that say "Wow, this person just made a really bad choice. Why would anyone do THAT?" It's not about shoving people into lockers. It's about subtle mockery and exclusion. It probably wouldn't look that bad if an adult listened to the whole thing.
I'm a little too caught up in exhibit A to run through other exhibits, but they would partially concern the inner life of children. What do they think about? I famously thought about my kindergarten teachers molesting miniature versions of the von Trapp children. What do normal children think about? The exhibits would otherwise concern the interactions between children. What do they talk about? What kind of signals do they give? I have relatively little recollection. I don't think TV shows, books, plays and other art forms portray these accurately, even when they capture something fundamentally true about people. They fail to capture childhood as it is, not how we vaguely recall it to be or see it in other children. I only know because I was overwhelmingly frustrated as a child by the innacuracies. I just didn't do anything about it.
Which is where the civil liberties violation comes in. Isolate children from portrayals of themselves. Force them to keep diaries under the guise of secrecy. But then read the diaries. Read them all, and from them get an idea of the collective experience of individual children.
Of course this is impractical, but we should find some way of getting the information from them without letting them just confirm our suggestions, without them just spewing back the portrayals of them they've seen. Save art! Help human understanding! Exploit children!
If there is one consistent problem with all fiction (and even non-fiction) it is the unrelenting portrayal of children as adults perceive them, never the portrayal of children as they are. Now, I can't capture children as they really are—at age 22 I'm hardly in that position, and I never was able to keep a diary as a kid—but I do remember thinking, when I was a child, that every portrayal I saw was horribly charicatured and never represented the world I knew.
Exhibit A: Bullies. Stories about children are rife with bullies, children who live to make other children feel bad, and that's fine, because there are plenty of bullies in elementary school and middle school. They were, however, never of the Malfoy-Crabbe-Goyle variety. Never one obvious leader with cronies who had no other friends who would show up just to torture people. As I recall, it was the legitimately popular kids who were bullyish. The vast, vast majority of boys, especially around age 13, are obscenely insecure. It's not like college (or even high school), where the secure crowd rises to the top and wins everyone's love, and an insecure minority are stuck being assholes whom everyone kind of hates but may have some power due to sheer force. No no no. In middle school, the entire popular crowd is insecure and generally takes it out on anyone they can. And they're less explicit about their bullying. There's no obvious building themselves up...it's just about shooting the other person down. It's about exchanging looks with a group of five that say "Wow, this person just made a really bad choice. Why would anyone do THAT?" It's not about shoving people into lockers. It's about subtle mockery and exclusion. It probably wouldn't look that bad if an adult listened to the whole thing.
I'm a little too caught up in exhibit A to run through other exhibits, but they would partially concern the inner life of children. What do they think about? I famously thought about my kindergarten teachers molesting miniature versions of the von Trapp children. What do normal children think about? The exhibits would otherwise concern the interactions between children. What do they talk about? What kind of signals do they give? I have relatively little recollection. I don't think TV shows, books, plays and other art forms portray these accurately, even when they capture something fundamentally true about people. They fail to capture childhood as it is, not how we vaguely recall it to be or see it in other children. I only know because I was overwhelmingly frustrated as a child by the innacuracies. I just didn't do anything about it.
Which is where the civil liberties violation comes in. Isolate children from portrayals of themselves. Force them to keep diaries under the guise of secrecy. But then read the diaries. Read them all, and from them get an idea of the collective experience of individual children.
Of course this is impractical, but we should find some way of getting the information from them without letting them just confirm our suggestions, without them just spewing back the portrayals of them they've seen. Save art! Help human understanding! Exploit children!
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
A Childhood Memory...of Why People Suck
I just recalled an incident from when I was eight, which reminded me why I sometimes get really annoyed with people. It also reminded me that adults act like children, or children imitate adults, or people just maintain the same sort of irritating behavior throughout life and only seem more mature because they change their presentation. The memory:
I was in Mrs. Honig's Hebrew school class one evening in third grade. I was reading a passage (in English) and suddenly had the idea so pronounce the "c" in "scissors" when the word came up in the reading. To see if people were listening. To see how they'd react. Well, the decision was made in a split second, I pronounced the "c" and the reaction was incredible. The entire class JUMPED to correct me. Twenty-five eight-year-old Jewish kids, all trying to beat each other to be the first to tell me I was wrong. To look at each other with smug superiority.
I know I'm viewing this through the lens of the slightly socially awkward eight-year-old that I was, but I think that's a far fairer lens than seeing how an adult would have perceived the behavior of the children. They might have been glad the kids knew how to pronounce the word. They might have been glad the kids were listening. They might have been mildly perplexed that one of the better readers in the class had mispronounced a word everyone else knew, but they would have been glad that I had learned from my classmates. But adults seem not to observe the behaviors of kids as other kids do, and I think they therefore miss out on the subtleties of the exchange. Kids do have a pretty intricate social world, and they can be very cruel to each other. A child's comment that may seem innocent or just funny to adults may seem horribly demeaning to other kids. And I think those kids are the ones who get it. The adults don't. And the attitude I got from the other kids in third grade I've seen over and over again in every stage of life. People are incredibly eager to jump on each others mistakes, correct each other, win arguments for the sake of winning, not for learning or teaching or commonly arriving at truth.
If you don't find this story compelling, let me give you another:
I was seeing a high school show with my friend Monica in fourth grade. As we entered the high school she said to me, "Maggie, I think some of the more popular girls are here, so if I see them, can we pretend we didn't come together? I'm just becoming accepted by them, so, no offense but, you know..." And I said, "Oh sure, I understand." And I did.
Perhaps Monica didn't show great virtue, but her actions bothered me so much less than the attitude the third graders gave me in Hebrew School. Again, my perspective let me know where Monica was coming from and the attitude she directed at me. She didn't dislike me or disrespect me, life was just easier if the popular girls liked her, and being with me in front of them would make that a much more difficult goal to achieve. I thought I might do the same thing in her shoes. I actually give her points for saying that directly to me. I think that showed she respected me, that she was able to let me know exactly why she might not stand with me if they came over. She wasn't passive-aggressive. She was assertive. And I have to give it to her for that.
I was in Mrs. Honig's Hebrew school class one evening in third grade. I was reading a passage (in English) and suddenly had the idea so pronounce the "c" in "scissors" when the word came up in the reading. To see if people were listening. To see how they'd react. Well, the decision was made in a split second, I pronounced the "c" and the reaction was incredible. The entire class JUMPED to correct me. Twenty-five eight-year-old Jewish kids, all trying to beat each other to be the first to tell me I was wrong. To look at each other with smug superiority.
I know I'm viewing this through the lens of the slightly socially awkward eight-year-old that I was, but I think that's a far fairer lens than seeing how an adult would have perceived the behavior of the children. They might have been glad the kids knew how to pronounce the word. They might have been glad the kids were listening. They might have been mildly perplexed that one of the better readers in the class had mispronounced a word everyone else knew, but they would have been glad that I had learned from my classmates. But adults seem not to observe the behaviors of kids as other kids do, and I think they therefore miss out on the subtleties of the exchange. Kids do have a pretty intricate social world, and they can be very cruel to each other. A child's comment that may seem innocent or just funny to adults may seem horribly demeaning to other kids. And I think those kids are the ones who get it. The adults don't. And the attitude I got from the other kids in third grade I've seen over and over again in every stage of life. People are incredibly eager to jump on each others mistakes, correct each other, win arguments for the sake of winning, not for learning or teaching or commonly arriving at truth.
If you don't find this story compelling, let me give you another:
I was seeing a high school show with my friend Monica in fourth grade. As we entered the high school she said to me, "Maggie, I think some of the more popular girls are here, so if I see them, can we pretend we didn't come together? I'm just becoming accepted by them, so, no offense but, you know..." And I said, "Oh sure, I understand." And I did.
Perhaps Monica didn't show great virtue, but her actions bothered me so much less than the attitude the third graders gave me in Hebrew School. Again, my perspective let me know where Monica was coming from and the attitude she directed at me. She didn't dislike me or disrespect me, life was just easier if the popular girls liked her, and being with me in front of them would make that a much more difficult goal to achieve. I thought I might do the same thing in her shoes. I actually give her points for saying that directly to me. I think that showed she respected me, that she was able to let me know exactly why she might not stand with me if they came over. She wasn't passive-aggressive. She was assertive. And I have to give it to her for that.
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