Give Everything Up For Love?

For anyone who noticed my recent status update on Facebook I am now involved in a relationship with Gene Kelly. The only surprising aspect of that should be that it took me this long to become involved with him. The term “dreamboat” comes to mind. What has me writing tonight, however, is Brigadoon. I had never seen this musical previously; we watched Singing in the Rain last night and I absolutely loved it. (I could do a thing with all caps to show just how much I loved it, but trust me when I say I’m still on a little bit of a high over that one.)

Brigadoon, however, while not bad, wasn’t quite as good. Cyd Charisse was marvelous and Gene Kelly was marvelous (of course) and I liked the love story between them. But the plot both left me dissatisfied and got me to thinking. In this movie the town of Brigadoon is only a part of the world for one day every hundred years. The townspeople wake up, have their day, then go to bed only to wake up one hundred years later. This came about because in 1754 the pastor of the town worried about the unpleasant influences headed for the townsfolk, specifically a band of witches headed their way. He went out to a hill and prayed for a miracle. God granted this miracle by removing the town from reality for all but one day every hundred years. No one could ever cross the boundaries of the town (none of the townsfolk that is) or all of the townsfolk would wink out of existence. Well Gene comes along and finds the town and falls in love with Cyd and of course he is able to join them.

My problem is this: is it really a miracle to live your life one day at a time every hundred years and to never, ever be able to leave? You can never go anywhere else, never see anything else, never access any other part of human existence outside what is encased in your small town. One young man goes insane and tries to leave and is accidentally shot; it’s sad, but as a viewer I was left conflicted. His escape would have destroyed the town and he couldn’t stand to be there any more; death was his only real option then, but death seemed an unfair solution to him. I’m not sure I buy that what the reverend did was a good thing; I am, it should be noted, predisposed to side with witches in almost everything concerning the social view of witches in the 18th century--I freely admit that bias.

Aside from this problem there is also this very important philosophical question to consider: could I actually give up everything, my friends, family, life, everything, to live in an isolated faerie existence with my love? What made me seriously think about this, is that as I watched I realized I didn’t, and don’t, think I would.

Let’s imagine for a second really, truly falling in love over the course of a day just like the movies. The sort of love that never leaves you alone, never gets out of your system. The sort of love that takes years to heal. I’m blessed to have that sort of love, I would argue, with my friends and family. To never see them again, to never be able to see them again, would make me unhappy in a way that would lessen, possibly even negate the love I’ve found with this magical person who requires me to give everything up.

When I was eighteen I could have done it no problem. When you’re eighteen you’re still close enough to fourteen to call someone a “murderer of love” and really mean it. When you’re eighteen you can run away from life for love with no idea of what you’re giving up, and by the time you realize it’s too late to change it. But at twenty-eight things are a whole lot less melodramatic, and a whole lot more consequential. Even assuming for a moment that where I went wasn’t this magical town I could never leave (because if that were the case I really wouldn’t ever do it) assuming that perhaps I were traveling to a whole other world that was green and lush, full of arts and education and all the things that offer fulfillment. If, and this is a ridiculous if but we’re already contemplating a ridiculous situation, this other place were my own personal utopia I might do it. But the thing is I don’t think simply being with one person would make it my own personal utopia.

Is that wrong? Selfish? Unromantic? Well, certainly unromantic. But when you’re somewhere you hate, the only thing that makes it tolerable are the people you love. And if you fight or become disillusioned with the person you love sometimes the only thing that keeps you sane while you work through it is the place (if you don’t hate it) or the friends and family--other people you love. But if you’re somewhere you grow to hate, with no friends, no family, and no escape eventually you’re going to fight with this person you love no matter how true and wonderful the love is. And if there is literally nowhere and no one you can talk to there is no way to get distance or perspective and bitterness sets in. Over time (especially if you can only live one day every one hundred years) things are going to get very Tennessee Williams in that relationship until everyone is unhappy and screaming at everyone. The only way to avoid that would be for you, the person who gave up everything, to carry the load of that sorrow. And that would be a very heavy load to carry.

So no...I don’t think I would do it. Now, I admit I’m factoring into this my belief that no love could accrue over a day that I wouldn’t eventually heal from no matter how intense. In my opinion the sort of love that is worth giving everything up for happens over a little more time than that, so that plays a part. The love i have for my friends and family as accrued over years and if that means giving up Gene Kelly I think I might. Further proof of my lack of romanticism.

But I think, at the end of all this musing, what it comes down to for me, is that I actually, truly do believe there are all sorts of loves in life and a person generally needs more than one of them to get by. We can make do if we’re missing one and most people rarely have them all--family and friends can make up for no lover and vice versa; friends for family; family and lover for friends and so on--and sometimes if absolutely necessary we can get by on one. But more than one, at least in my limited twenty-eight years of experience seems to make for the most happiness. None is a sure bet and all take hard work on the part of everyone--these are givens--but realistic knowledge of that hard work makes me achingly aware of the ability of one type to magically buoy while another type fails, breaks, or hurts. So if you have a big fight you have friends and/or family there to catch you. If you’re ridiculously happy you have someone to share it with. If you start to wear on one person or group you can offer relief by visiting another.

But if everyone is stuck in Brigadoon you eventually go crazy and attempt to force mass destruction on the town to end it all. We all know that would totally be my ending.

Perhaps that’s unromantic. Perhaps I’m missing the thrill of this particular fairytale. I freely admit to all of these possibilities while placing equal fault on myself along with the movie. Gene Kelly really was spectacular, but I don’t think I could give up everything even for him.

Well...nope. Maybe 300 Spartans...maybe.

The possibility of little leather panties does add an enticing variable into the mix.

Are You Worth Saving?

I wasn’t going to do it, but I have to. The ridiculousness of the public perception of government programs and publicly funded programs has finally pushed me to the edge. Newsweek’s Article, “A Mountain of Bills” discusses the high costs of rescue operations; this is a conversation that has been sparked following the search for the missing climbers on Mt. Hood. Apparently it costs a lot to mount a search and rescue operation; there are helicopter costs, specialist costs, and *gasp* overtime costs. Well heaven forbid.

My question, and the only one I feel actually matters, is: are we really not going to put forth our best efforts to save/help people because it costs too much? Really? (That second really is part of the first question--honest.)

Obviously a search and rescue operation on a mountain is going to cost money. It cannot, realistically, be done all volunteer. Do any of us actually have a problem with making sure rangers are employed, their stations stocked, helicopters available, and orientations for mountain climbers provided? If you do you are the Grinch who made pre-Christmas ghost Scrooge look cheerful. And that argument is ridiculous outside of a fascist state so we won’t consider it here.

But, the only option for finding money for programs such as these is through taxes and all one has to do is say “taxes” and everybody gets flibbertigibbeted. That’s right. I said flibbertigibbeted cause that’s what it is. The social contract, the one we agree to live by when we make a conscious decision to be part of the American community and the one we vote on every election includes taxes. It can’t NOT include taxes. The government, so long as we chose to have one, must find money somewhere and we, the people, agree to pay money for the government to use--as it sees fit until we use our power to change the spending--our money. Now, there are any number of things we can argue about so far as how our money should be spent and I’m not going to do that because that’s not what I’m talking about here. The only premise that needs be accepted is that we should pay the government some amount of money so that it might function.

Keep in mind if you say “no” you better be very, very sure you understand what that means (and then let me know because I would be happy to consider that idea elsewhere).

Moving on, what on earth should our money be spent on except, oh I don’t know, making sure the citizens and peoples of our country aren’t on their own? We can’t not allow people to climb mountains (we could, but again, go look up fascist) and we can’t inject GPS locators onto their body (someone suggested that in the comments, I kid you not, go read a dystopian book) so in order to walk that fine line between life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (it really is that one that is the sticking point in so many things) we have to accept that sometimes people pursue happiness in dangerous ways. Does it not behoove us to provide safety nets where possible? Do we really want to run a country where the only people you can turn to for help are your friends and family? Getting robbed? Can’t call the police! Call Mom! That idea is so ridiculous I have heartburn.

And I’m not saying these ranger programs are perfect; certainly how much money, the way the money is being spent, and every other nitpicky thing would be watched as the government watches all of its money (another topic I refuse to be sidetracked by) but the thing that makes this situation different from PBS or Art Grants or any of the other myriad of programs that people debate over, is that this is specifically about saving lives. Seriously. We’re not paying rangers to play lumberjack. Is a ranger station not an important thing to have? Why not? Because you’re never going to be on a mountain, therefore it doesn’t require thought, care, or funding?

That was the thinking of some of the comments and it is that close-sightedness, the inability to think outside of their own little world, the sheer selfishness, violently protected selfishness, that irritates me and causes an article like this to be written. Hate is louder so policies and conversations keep getting had based on the noise the hateful people make. The problem, of course, is that you can’t exactly be an angry non-hater. But we could be loud non-haters if more of us, instead of screaming back at them, would simply say “that is unacceptable” and ignore them. But that definitely is a topic for another day.

In meantime, go find some gosh darn hikers!

http://www.newsweek.com/id/227009?GT1=43002

Top Ten Greatest Parts of Holiday Inn (1942)

First I must set the stage: I'm home for Christmas break and that means a lot of movie watching. Imagine two to three movies a night. Movie watching is what my dad and I do, so when I come home a game ensues of "pick the movie" which usually takes up the better part of an hour before every movie that is watched. Sometimes, as with Holiday Inn, my mother feels strongly about a movie and so attempts to steer us away from watching said movie even though she isn't going to watch it with us.

Thus it was that multiple conversations surrounding Holiday Inn went like this:

Night 1
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: It's not good. It's just another movie about a whiny guy.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.

Night 2
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Why would you want to watch that? It's awful.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.

Night 3
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Whiny, whiny man!
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Me: I want to watch Holiday Inn! Mom, you're not going to watch it anyway!
Mom: Well that's true. But it's a bad movie.
Dad: You're mom doesn't want to watch that one.
Me: Mom's not watching!

Repeat scene.

You begin to have an idea of the epic quest it is to pick just one of the two to three movies that gets watched when I'm home.

But, eventually after much struggle and battle, we did watch Holiday Inn and my mom was right. It was pretty awful. In honor of the stupendous, marvelous, tremendous awfulness though I give you this top ten list. Keep in mind that every time something happened that upset me, causing me to cry out in horror, my father brought up Aaron Burr, the man that shot Alexander Hamilton on the grassy knoll. Why did he bring up Aaron Burr? I don't know. My best guess was to get me to stop screaming about the movie.

Top Ten Greatest Parts of Holiday Inn

10. Severe Lack of Surprise When His Fiancee Throws Him Over
It's hard to believe Jim, Bing Crosby, loved Lila all that much when he shrugs off her abandonment in the space of two seconds. And that's not an exaggeration.

9. Ted Hanover's Existence Seems to Rely Solely on Screwing His "Friend" Jim
It's almost like Ted, Fred Astaire, doesn't have a purpose if he can't ruin Jim's life. How is that a basis for a friendship, and why does Jim keep letting him hang around? Oh, that's right, cause Jim has no backbone and is more than a little emo.

8.Lila--The Gold-Hunting Man-Eater
She ends up back with her man at the end and it's a happy ending. Kind of. Really she's getting a little long in the tooth and she obviously needs to get someone to marry her before it's too late. Now that's true love.

7. A Madonna/Whore Complex That is Subtle Like a Semi-Truck
You gotta love a Madonna/whore complex that is so thoughtful as to even divide up the women according to hair color. Linda=Madonna=blond hair. Lila=whore=brown hair. That's the sort of consideration I appreciate in my movies.

6. Self Righteousness Following the Sabotaging of Your "Fiancee's" Career
Only Bing could sabotage his "fiancee;" the fiancee, by the by, he forgot he proposed to, and then get all self righteous about her destruction of his dream before she even says anything. My mom was right. He is whiny.

5. Two Men Who Have a Friendship Based on Stealing Women From Each Other
There are so many parts of this aspect to take joy from. Do we laugh because the women are objects waiting to be stolen? Do we wink at the friendship that seems not quite friendly? Do we root for men who hang out with each other only to ruin the other one's life? It's all just so cute and quirky.

4. A Black Cook/Nanny Named Mamie
She even has bad grammar. I mean, I know it's 1942 and we have to keep the time the movie was made in mind, but that doesn't mean we can't get a good laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

3. Dropping the Woman He "Loves" in a Pond Instead of Marrying Her
Jim doesn't marry the women he loves; instead he pays the cab driver to ruin their career and drop them in a pond in the middle of Connecticut. Cause that obviously makes the most sense. Gee Bing, it's a mystery why these women would leave you for Fred Astaire isn't it?

2. The Shameless Stealing of Another Man's Fiancee
This one's tricky as it speaks to the constancy of the women in the film, but regardless the entire film seems to revolve around one man stealing another man's fiancee the night before the marriage. Talk about romance and true love.

1. Blackface Song About Lincoln
Oh yeah. There's blackface in the song for Lincoln's birthday. The stereotype abounds with the sort of awful sublimity that is only possible in a time where racism is funny.

Marriage Over 30

I’m home again in Macomb, where dreams do to come true (please note the sarcasm) and I ended up on the WIU campus today as I waited for my mom to get done with a meeting. The meeting and the circumstances behind it are funny stories by themselves, but they aren’t mine to tell so I’ll stay quiet.

As I’m sitting on the couch in the lounge, however, I hear one of the student workers behind the desk, a young sorority girl by the sound of her, say, “If I weren’t married by, like, 30, I don’t know what I’d do! I mean, like, all my friends would be married and that would be so weird. I would feel like my life was over!”

You wish I was making this up. I wish I was making this up. Unfortunately, I wrote down what she said because I knew I was going to want to repeat it.

The really sad thing is I don’t not understand why she was saying this. When I was 21 the idea that I might be unmarried by 30 seemed foreign and impossible to me. I don’t think I was ever stupid enough to think my life would be over without it, but marriage was so inevitable I never envisioned my life without it. That’s what little girls do. As I sit on the porch of 30 however, some of my friends are inside the house, I have a much different outlook on things. Honestly I don’t know if I will ever get married and that idea both thrills and disappoints me.

On the one hand I really, really, REALLY like being single. It’s almost ridiculous how much I like being single. I like moving where I want to move when I want to move there. I like going on trips and staying out without anyone to worry about me. I like being as selfish or not as my mood moves me. I don’t like to cuddle (particularly) I don’t like to talk about my feelings and I hate being emotionally genuine. I’m also, on occasion, slightly curmudgeonly.

But when I look at my new nephew I think about how nice it would be to have kids. When I go to family reunions and funerals I become acutely aware of how nice it would be not to be alone. When I do feel like cuddling (approximately 3 times a year) I become incredibly sad for the empty spot on the couch next to me.

But what gets me about the young lady today, and most everyone’s thoughts about marriage in general, is the belief--sometimes verbalized, sometimes silent--that a person’s life is incomplete without marriage. The belief that if, especially as a woman, you don’t get married it’s because you’ve done something wrong. If you aren’t married by 30 then obviously you aren’t pretty enough, feminine enough, or family oriented enough. Some people consciously believe this, but everyone--at least that I’ve ever talked to--subconsciously purports this if they don’t obviously believe it. That--that pressure, disappointment, and judgment--makes me want to get married more sometimes then any actual urges towards marriage I have.

The truly humorous part about all of this is that I rarely feel this pressure from my happily married friends. Perhaps when we’re older things will change, or perhaps none of them actually believe I won’t get married, but there seems to be a bit of “the grass is greener” going on when we hang out. I’m ambivalent towards marriage in general and they are realistic about it’s wonders and stresses. That means they sometimes wish they were single, and I sometimes wish I was married, but our interactions are based on the wisdom that no path is by default more fulfilling or happy-making than another.

And there is that point again. The idea that by default marriage makes you happy. You are automatically happier if you’re married. You’re automatically validated as a human, as an adult, as a human being. If you aren’t married by 30 then you’re an old maid, unwanted, used goods. I get irritated just thinking about it. My mom was appalled when I told her what the young girl had said. “That anyone in this day and age could believe that,” were her words. But it isn’t shocking to me because I once thought those words even if I never said them. And, as I approach 30 while I’m not in any particular hurry to get married, I feel a very real weight judging me for not doing so.

That young girl probably will get married before 30, but I’d still rather be me than her. She’s going to get married because she can’t imagine any other option. Let’s hope she doesn’t settle for just anyone. And let’s hope for all the little girls growing up today, that someone explains that, single or in a couple, no one can make you happy but yourself.

And that’s a good thing.

All I Want For Christmas Is Some JCVD!

That’s not actually all I want for Christmas, but it’s definitely at the top of the list. In all honesty I would also like a werewolf, a vampire, a pirate, a ninja, and a jedi. Preferably all in one person who maybe, on occasion, holds aloft his magic sword and says, “By the power of Greyskull!”

I thought it behooved me to meditate on Christmas for a moment. A recent conversation reminded me of the consumer aspect of Christmas and I agree that it is awful how much pressure is put on all of us to spend the appropriate amount of money, and buy the right gifts, and follow the traditions etc. But as I opened presents with my roommates tonight and watched them open the presents I bought for them I realized how much I totally don’t care about all of that.

I love me some Christmas.

This is odd; I’ll admit that. I’m not Christian, not capitalist, not even particularly sentimental so it defies reason that I should enjoy Christmas as much as I do. But, it occurred to me, in true Jimmy Stewart fashion, how little it matters whether you believe in any single aspect of Christmas--religion, presents, or sentimentality. It doesn’t matter because it’s a tradition that creates family; when you put a tree up together and decorate together and buy gifts for each other it creates a shared memory of enjoying each other’s company. That’s the kicker. That’s why it doesn’t matter if you care about the tree or the gifts or not. The tradition is the part that matters because it solidifies a family dynamic that offers a free zone to love each other without awkwardness or complication.

Sure, someone no doubt might say why do we need Christmas to show how much we care? And they would be right. But it isn’t that we need Christmas, it’s that we have Christmas. A festival, tradition, etc, isn’t necessary, but it does offer structure and the chance to share and express emotions that might not find a viable outlet otherwise. Christmas is a version of carnival right?

But in this changing world of both increased connectivity and isolation, there aren’t moments to create family that often anymore. Ritual can solidify emotion; that’s one of the reasons it is so powerful. The Christmas ritual then, when done correctly anyway, can solidify a social unit’s--a family’s--love for each other. And the beauty of the Christmas spirit, I might hazard, is that everyone agrees to be a part of the larger social unit of humanity if only for a month. That feels nice.

Now Christmas can also be an incredibly depressing time of year; I would never be so silly as to not admit to that. But again, while the “joyous holidays” might show how alone you are, it also provides the opportunity show how not alone you are. That’s important when it’s cold, dark, and bleak outside.

Anyway, that’s why I love me some Christmas. You buy the gifts and you put up the tree because it can feel nice to make those around you happy, and sometimes it’s the holiday that most makes me want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, but for every moment of pure agony I usually have a moment of pure joy too.

It’s nice to have a day where nobody minds if you tell them you love them. :)

Are Emotions A Useful Evolution?

Before I even begin to contemplate the slightly college freshman-esque question I have posed here I want it understood that I always answer yes. Self awareness is required for mental evolution and with self awareness must come emotion. To say otherwise is fairly ludicrous in my opinion.

But, leaving all of that aside, I’ve been having a reasonably hard time of it this semester. To say that it’s been a rough sixteen weeks seems both sarcastic and understated. I don’t know if I’ve ever, at least since I’ve become an adult, had sixteen weeks like these. None of this matters except as backstory; specifically as I attempt to push through finals week, finish grading, write a final, write a paper, put in grades, etc., it all comes down to me whining at the world. A large part of me just wants to walk away from it all with the sort of disdain and sneer only my seventeen year old self could muster.

On a side note: isn’t it odd how no matter how old we get, circumstances can still promote our teenage selves to come out and sneer at the world on occasion? Or maybe that’s just me and my perpetual immaturity.

But here’s where the question about the evolutionary wisdom of emotions comes in: life totally doesn’t care about how I feel. If one were to personify life a conversation with it would go like this:

Me: “Life, I’m really tired of this.”
Life: “Get over it.”
Me: “Why don't you care about me?! You’re no good for me! You never let me play video games or watch movies or just relax anymore!”
Life: “Bored.”
Me: “Don’t you care about me anymore?”
Life: “You got bills to pay.”

This is what I’m saying. Being an adult means you don’t get the luxury of whining anymore--well, some people certainly still whine, but it doesn’t make a difference and they shouldn’t. No matter how over it all you are you still have to do it; bills need paid, chores need done, and mothers need called. Becoming a hermit in Montana and seceding from the United States is no longer a legitimate option--if indeed it ever was. (But I had dreams! Dreams of living a life outside the bounds of the law! Dreams where I could use the Force and travel the cosmos! Wait...wrong dreams. Sorry.)

But we evolved emotions and, for myself at least, I spend a significant amount of time attempting to consciously further evolve my emotions in an attempt to better myself as a human being. Wishing to be more compassionate, more wise, more dialogic I sit around and think about things A LOT. And I have to wonder sometimes, especially when the adult side of me is required to overtake the rest of me, what is the purpose?

Consider it sincerely for a moment: leaving out all of that human condition crap and movie cliché “there’s a silver lining to every tragedy” boloney, does it not make sense from a purely evolutionary standpoint for emotions to either a) not exist or b) be more directly connected to the social stratification we are drawn to genetically? Furthermore, human society itself is caught in a Catch-22 of its own making. We must have emotions to create and improve society, but emotions limit our ability to work ourselves to death for society’s benefit (and we all know how I feel about the commodification of human beings). As a citizen, then, you end up in the untenable position of needing emotion to be a member of society and constantly fighting against those same emotions as you attempt to accomplish all that is required of you as a member of said society.

Are we all following me here?

If we cannot be human without emotion and if we all agree emotion and the evolution of emotion allows us to be better human beings, then it follows that emotion cannot be the problem. Therefore, if emotion and social duty do not coexist peacefully that would seem to imply that social duty is the problem.

Obviously we should be more like France with an automatic 6 weeks of vacation.

But being aware that something is broken both in what is expected of individual citizens and the apparatus within which the world is made does nothing but irritate me more because at the end of the day there is no other apparatus within which I might exist. That means that I have to suck it up and do what needs to be done.

Which brings us full circle to what is actually spurring this meditation on emotion this afternoon. Because society both deifies and demonizes emotion, the average person is left almost completely defenseless when it comes to the awareness, analysis, and critical contemplation of his/her own emotions. You’re told from your earliest days that you should feel like this and act like this and good people do these things and respond in these ways to situations a, b, and c. You’re also told from your earliest days that only babies cry and strong people are stoic and nobody has the patience or time for an emotional mess. Neither of these expectations can be fulfilled as no one reacts or feels the same way about anything, and no one exists successfully (not counting sociopaths) without emotion. To pretend you are without emotion or always in control of emotion is as idiotic as never being in control of emotion.

So we’re left with the middle of the road, once again, being the seemingly best option. Sometimes emotion must be shelved so action can be accomplished, but sometimes actions are not nearly so important as feelings. I knew all of this when I started, but what I’m attempting to work through is the complication of trying to figure out which situation is which.

When do you put on a happy face and make everyone else happy, and when do you take a stand and demand that life bow to you? I suppose this is what one might call the tightrope of responsibility and happiness. And, in all honesty, more often then not an individual situation is fairly easy to read--like the end of the semester. It would be the sort of stupidity that makes my father shake his head and my mother cry for me to just give up this close to the end. There isn’t really any question there about what should be done. But other situations like relationships, social obligations, or family gatherings are not so easy. Just because you feel a thing does not mean it matters or should matter and, likewise, just feeling something is sometimes reason enough.

I don’t have any answers. Where’s the Sex and the City episode about all of this?!

Sports and Gender Politics

I had an interesting conversation with my father the other day, and I never got around to discussing it as I felt I ought. We were discussing male athletes versus female athletes. Specifically, a girl can wrestle all year except in the playoffs. This rule exists because an all boys team won the state championship in girl’s bowling (I think it was bowling anyway--you’ll have to fact check me on that one). Upon hearing this news I said “Well that’s dumb. Why even have boys and girls teams in bowling?”

My dad said whether we should or shouldn’t, the fact remained that the best boy bowlers still bowl better than the best girl bowlers. There are any number of factors that could (and do to some degree) go into this: the boys are stronger, the boys use heavier balls; all together that means the best male bowler and throw with greater speed and force down the lane than the best female bowler. I don’t accept this as a reason to separate the genders, however.

I’m not going to figure out the math, but I have a theory that there is a finite amount of force needed to knock down all ten pins and that force can be reached easily by either a male or female. Assuming all other things are equal--ability to throw straight, etc--strength and speed should cancel out. But then I had this thought: what if the best male bowler is still better than the best female bowler because the best female bowler never competes against the best male bowler?

I believe that while you can achieve a particular level of skill and success based on your own practice, drills, etc, in the end you are only going to be the best if you regularly compete against everyone. Otherwise you are never driven mentally (and probably not physically) to be the best. If girl bowlers played co-ed from high school onward, those that wanted to be competitive with the boys would have to develop the strength, skill, and speed to do so. This might mean training their bodies to use a heavier ball. This might mean engaging in any number of physical activities to propel their body to the level it needs to be. But I think, in bowling at least, this is a completely feasible idea. Obviously with some sports, football, basketball, and probably baseball, a woman just isn’t going to be as competitive as a man--maybe (MAYBE) the right woman with the right training, but they would almost always be a very slight minority.

But could it be that our gender bifurcating has done as much as it can? Could it be in some sports, like bowling and maybe golf, women would become competitive with men if that was their competition all along? I know the arguments; we want to give women an equal opportunity to participate etc. But this wouldn’t be limiting women’s ability to participate. To some degree I think it might limit their ability to continuously keep women competing only with women. Sure, that means that some women won’t be able to succeed as easily as they did when competing only against other women. Sure that means size, speed, and strength would be a problem for many. But it would be no more of a problem for the women than it is for any number of underdeveloped boy freshman.

And what might be achieved by creating co-ed sports where feasible? It would eliminate, possibly, many of the boy vs. girl mentality that seems to dominate since the 70s. It would teach girls honestly and truthfully what it means to compete and succeed, not just amongst other girls, but amongst other human beings. It would teach boys that girls aren’t fragile and breakable any more than boys are, and, quite possibly, help make girls more tough as well.

This little experiment would be a mess in the beginning; for awhile, perhaps for a long time, boys’ teams would dominate. But I think if sports were turned co-ed where possible eventually the integration would present a possibility of healing the gender wars in much the same way racial integration dealt with racism. Things wouldn’t be perfect and they certainly wouldn’t be fixed quickly or easily, but just what might happen if sports could be used to better males and females together instead of separately?

Top Ten Thanks 2009

Last year I did a top ten list of things I was most thankful for, and it ended up being such a pleasurable exercise that I thought I ought to do it again. Drum roll please...

Top Ten Things I Am Most Thankful For in 2009

10. My Parents' Hot Water Heater
It's probably not new at this point; I can't remember exactly when it was bought, but I know when I was little a hot shower in the winter was more like something slightly better than lukewarm. Somewhere along the way, though, they got the sort of hot water heater that approaches the surface temperature of Mercury and I am so very thankful for that.

9. Twilight
Yeah, that's right. I love those stories, and I really love the movies. Perhaps I'm more thankful because the Harry Potter movies are so hit and miss; perhaps I'm blinded by the wolf pack of 8 packs on the screen in front of me. Whatever the reason I like it, and I say thank you to the universe.

8. TV on DVD
I have cable, but it only really shows Judge Judy and Dr. Phil. Thankfully, though, the entertainment industry offers TV on DVD and this means that my roommate, friends, and myself can luxuriate on our newly acquired seating and bond over Sex in the City and CAM ON THE TABLE! (Bones). We also, following in aforementioned roommate's footsteps, now scream "MAKE OUT!" whenever Bones and Booth get within kissing distance of each other. It's the sort of emotional bonding that makes a person thankful to be where they are with the people they are.

7. Memphis Championship BBQ
Revealed to me by the brilliance of a good friend and her husband, my husband-in-law (it's a long story (not really, but it sounds more exciting if I call it a long story)) I now eat the delicious Burnt Ends of Memphis Championship BBQ about once a week. I would feel guilty about that, except that it seems silly to feel guilty over enjoying perfection. I'm just saying.

6. Living Somewhere With Many, Many Movie Theaters
I love movies. This isn't surprising. But what you might not have known, is that I love to go to movies late, late at night. Lucky for me I have a friend that also likes to go to movies after she gets off work at eleven pm; thankfully we get to go to late night movie together. There are days I don't think I would cry if Las Vegas was swallowed up by the sinkhole of damnation that sits below it, but on nights when my insomniac self can't sleep, I'm really happy I live somewhere with late showings.

5. Netlix Instant Watch
This one goes along with #6 in the movie category, but this might be the single greatest invention ever...after indoor plumbing, antibiotics, and adhesive maxi-pads.

4. Not Being Raised by Crazy People
As police bust up the polygamy compounds, I see kids with some really disturbing visions of how the world works, and then rock stars' daughters accuse them of incest. I am quite grateful that I was never abused, ignored, or married off as wife #45 at the age of 9. I think that's a good thing to remember at Thanksgiving.

3. Not Being of Easily Kidnappable Size
Have you seen Taken? I have never been so happy to be fat in my life. Seriously--it might cut my lifespan short and cause any number of health problems, but most likely no one's going to kidnap me and attempt to sell me on the sex slave market. Also, I'm too big for an anaconda to eat, and that means they wouldn't bother stalking me (which they do!). Those are both excellent reasons to say thank you!

2. Never Having to Take Comprehensive Exams Again
I never have to take comprehensive exams again...ever.

1. Shannon (my new nephew)
I know. It's so cute even I threw up in my mouth as I typed it. Doesn't mean it's not true though.

Top 25 Songs

I engaged in this exercise last year, but I never felt like I really sat down and fulfilled my list to my satisfaction. So, in an effort to further procrastinate, I revised the following list to my current mood. Below are the 25 songs that I would chose if I could only listen to them for the rest of my life. I suppose you could call it my top 25. In order to narrow my list down I limited myself to one song per band/composer--at times that was the most difficult part of the process. Also, they are arranged with being played in mind, not necessarily in order of preference. The first disc would break after the 1812 Overture and the second disc would start at More Than a Feeling. I invite everyone to who hasn’t done this to do so; it’s fun and surprisingly difficult.

1. Don’t Stop Believing’ -- Journey
2. If I Could Turn Back Time -- Cher
3. Drift Away -- Dobie Gray
4. Jupiter from The Planets -- Holst
5. Battle Hymn of the Republic -- Mormon Tabernacle Choir
6. Bohemian Rhapsody -- Queen
7. Pennies from Heaven -- Louis Armstrong
8. Mack the Knife -- Bobby Darin
9. I Want You Back -- Jackson 5
10. Dare -- Stan Bush
11. Hysteria -- Muse
12. 1812 Overture -- Tchaikovsky
13. More Than A Feeling -- Boston
14. Jurassic Park (Theme) -- John Williams
15. Lightning Crashes -- Live
16. Man in the Mirror -- Michael Jackson
17. Defying Gravity -- Wicked
18. Joshua -- Dolly Parton
19. Life is a Highway -- Tom Cochrane
20. Mamma Was A Looker -- Garth Brooks
21. Elvira -- The Oak Ridge Boys
22. Suspicious Minds -- Elvis
23. I’m Shipping Up To Boston -- Drop Kick Murphy’s
24. Sweet Child O’ Mine -- Guns ‘N Roses
25. William Tell Overture -- Rossini

New Moon or How I Learned to Handle Inappropriate Teenage Werewolf Attraction

Don’t try to act surprise. You all knew it was coming. I’ve never hid my Twilight love, though perhaps there were those that hoped feverishly I was just pretending. I wasn’t.

New Moon was, quite literally, everything I hoped it would be. There were a few things here and there that I wished might have been more explicated, of course, but overall it was a better made movie than the first one and carried far fewer cringe-inducing moments. There were no random monkey references that were both incongruous and slightly pornographic; there no were no bad animal metaphors that made you want to eat a rack of lamb and shoot a lion. But there was an exceptional amount of shirtless werewolf--often in the rain. I can’t even explain how strongly I feel that was an excellent directorial decision.

Watching this film alongside a theatre full of teenage girls was a humbling experience. For example, the first time each male lead appeared on scream a general “Wooo!” went up from the crowd in the way only teenage girls can. At first I thought I would mock them--I couldn’t possibly allow it to be believed that I might ever partake in such silliness. But as the movie continued I realized that while I might mock them outwardly, the sad fact was the teenagers behind me were screaming the reactions I was having in my own head. It was like meta-Twilight. You sit and watch the film quietly, but every strong thought and/or emotion that passes through you is rerouted through the voices of 300 others who express it with both volume and sincerity. I could pretend I was above it all, but that would be a lie and my dad taught me not to lie.

But all of this is an excuse to avoid what I feel should be addressed: my general lack of sympathy for Jacob’s teenage boy angst and Bella’s continued stupidity with Jacob’s feelings. First, Jacob’s teenage boy angst. He really loves her; she really loves someone else. That hurts. I get it and I’m over it. His rage at her for her refusal to see/consider/explore why Jacob is better for her really wears on me. Not to mention, I feel very strongly that when your best friend is in love with someone else, you know they’re in love with someone else, and they tell you at every opportunity they’re in love with someone else, you sort of lose the sympathy vote when you get angry because (SHOCKING) they’re in love with someone else. It’s not like Jacob can’t say he didn’t see it coming.

But yes--all of his heartbroken moping (especially when paired with aforementioned werewolf wardrobe) can make a person feel kindly towards him. However--and this is definitely I sign of my soulness--I’m over it. You have a short window when you think maybe, possibly, there might be a chance that the person you love is no longer going to be with the person they love and so might love you, and when that all falls a part it could take a moment to bounce back from it. I respect the need to go mope in the woods for a few hours following that. It’s a heartbreak. I have two more movies, however, to sit through his repeated anger at Bella for not loving him back when she never loved him, never said she loved him, and only said, in fact, that she could/would never love him. The girl was pretty dang clear. I have to prepare myself for this annoyance now or the teenage girls aren’t going to so much be spouting my inner monologue so much as shocked at an adult’s reaction to teenage stupidity and their strongly held belief that a boy is allowed to emotionally abuse you if you break his heart.

I acknowledge Bella does complicate the situation as well. When you break a boy’s heart what you don’t keep trying to explain to him is that you really, honestly, truly do love him...just not like that. All he’s gonna hear is “I love you” and the really important part that comes after is carried away on sound waves that never find a home. Her perpetual need to deny Jacob his moping is also irritating; his heart is broken, let the boy go. But no, she’s gotta keep him close for maximum dramatic possibilities.

In the end, the conclusion that must be drawn from all of this is that I will never write books as exciting as Twilight. My story would go as follows: girl meets vampire. Vampire and girl have problems working out relationship. Girl’s best friend steps in. Vampire comes back. Girl breaks vampire’s face before they make up through excessive making out. Girl’s best friend gets jealous. Girl tells best friend to get over it. Best friend runs off and mopes. Girl and vampire live fairly happily for some exceptional amount of time that seems like forever. Best friend realizes stupidity and returns for the occasional cup of coffee. The end.

There’s just not nearly enough angst there for a best-seller.

Don’t Be A Funsucker!

This time MSN has gone too far. There’s no joy they won’t deny. There’s no pleasure they won’t investigate. There’s no life they won’t destroy.

They’re trying to take away my movie theatre popcorn.

I know; it’s shocking. I too had to take a moment to collect myself, to remember what it is I love about going to movies. The darkness, the big comfy chairs, the ability to lose one’s self in the fantasy of celluloid—most importantly, though, the chance to engage in socially approved physical inactivity for between 1 ½ -- 2 hours while eating corn popped in oil, slathered in butter, and sprinkled with salt. Perhaps with a Bunchacrunch by a my side.

But these Tapeworms of Fun don’t want to let us have that. It’s not enough they want to tax our Little Debbie and take away our Soda Pop. It’s not enough that they make us feel self conscious on the beach, on the plane, or in the grocery store (where we’re buying the over-taxed Little Debbie). No, now they want to make us feel guilty about our popcorn. I won’t have it! I will not let them take this from me!

YOU CANNOT HAVE THE POPCORN!

I don’t care if it contains the caloric count of Cambodia’s daily intake. I don’t care if it stops up my heart valves and renders me paralyzed and drooling by the age of 65. I won’t give it up and if they try to make me I will fight. I will call for revolution. I will find the energy not only to get up off the couch, but to rally the troops and lead us all to victory.

You aren’t scared right now because you think we’ll all run out of breath before our revolution really takes off. You’re not wrong. But where stamina and health abandon us sheer persistence will win out. Have you ever seen what happens when you stand between a movie lover and their popcorn? Have you ever seen the carnage left behind when the hedonistic are denied their impulse gratification? It’s mass chaos people. It’s a Dionysian festival of carnage and slaughter topped off with the victorious ceremony of eating junk food and drinking large quantities of alcoholic beverages.

Neither calories, nor fat, nor salmonella will keep us from our small pleasures. Not broken joints, quadruple by-passes, or diabetes will make us put the popcorn down. Your scare tactics are no good here. Your hate rhetoric has no home in our hearts. We will not let you take what is most sacred to our movie going experience and tarnish it with your research.

You are the kid that wouldn’t go swimming because the water wasn’t chlorinated. You are the kid that never ate raw eggs. You are adult that offers only pure fruit juice and water to those in your household alongside organic vegan foods cooked no higher than 108 degrees. Your love is a plastic bag over our face suffocating the joy and pleasure in our existence. You are the funsucker of life.

We are immune to your guilt. LONG LIVE THE POPCORN!


http://health.msn.com/health-topics/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100249578>1=31057

Othello or How I Learned to Hate Love

I should probably start by saying I don’t hate love. Really--I love love. Who doesn’t? But watching Oliver Parker’s film adaptation caused the same rage in me that reading the play did. What a ridiculous tragedy. I say this knowing that many people love it and have written truly brilliant things about it, but for me I find nothing tragic in Othello. I never have been able to find tragedy in people’s inability to handle life. Really, though, if someone is capable of killing you because of supposed infidelity is that tragic? Are blatant flaws of humanity tragic? I feel it accords them too much honor or prestige to label them tragic.

Tragedy is supposed to invoke catharsis; that might be the only thing Aristotle and I agree on. Good tragedy, or what I define as good tragedy, should present some aspect of life that is unavoidable and horrible I feel. There should be a level of inevitability to it. There is nothing inevitable about Othello except maybe that if you marry because of what you think someone is you will inevitably find sorrow in the realization of who they are. What I mean by that is, when we love someone for the object we have created out of them in our mind when their agency and humanity presents itself we will have no recourse for the processing or handling of that. But I don’t find that tragic.

Lawrence Fishburne plays Othello in this movie and he does a marvelous job of it. I found the acting moving and the adaptation truthful. It is a beautiful film. But I was enraged by the end. Desdemona is Othello’s thing, she isn’t a woman to him but a pretty pretty who is his. He would rather she die than be possessed by any other man. Desdemona obviously took issue with that, but I find her trust and acquiescence to his rage also infuriating. In her defense I don’t think she could have swayed him; the passion with which Othello took to the idea of her infidelity wasn’t something she could fight against.

But is jealous rage tragic? Does extreme human failing count as tragedy? Certainly in the most recent century it seems we’ve gone this way; the normal man, the average person who is destroyed by life or rendered inert by circumstance and either wastes away or destroys everything around them. I don’t know that I honestly consider that tragic. Or, rather, I might consider it tragic if the characters existence was so stymied as to be inescapable. But I don’t feel that Othello’s is. Most of Shakespeare’s love tragedies seem to revolve around our inability to get outside ourselves and I can see the argument for why that is tragic; we are our own worst enemy and all of that. But can we even call what Othello feels for Desdemona love? Should we?

On the one hand I’m moved to say yes. Love does not always present itself in healthy, safe ways. Looking under the more destructive versions of love then it could certainly be said that Othello very much loves Desdemona and it is precisely that love which kills her. It could also be taken that the play presents a particularly powerful commentary on the varied nature of love and why people should be wary and self-aware of what they consider love. Feeling powerfully does not, by default, make what you feel a good thing. I can accept that as a reason for why we continue to read this play and should discuss it.

But does that make it tragic? That’s the word that I think I might take issue with. I think something must be more than sad for it to be tragic; I think something ought to be more than awful as well. And on the surface Othello does present something larger than life and more powerful; it also provides catharsis in regards to sketchy love experiences, but all of these experiences weren’t brought about by fate or lack of knowledge. Perhaps the problem is that I don’t find Othello particularly noble either in his goodness or his faults. In order for me to label a character’s suffering tragic I need to feel like they possess some level of nobility, something that raises them above simply having a really bad day.

We know that Othello is a good general and we know that his men love him. But the speed with which he turns on Cassio and then Desdemona--is that the quality of a noble man? Sure you could say his jealousy is his tragic flaw, but jealousy isn’t something self contained like pride. Jealousy encompasses a whole host of other characteristics like trust, pride, ownership, and love. Othello’s jealousy, therefore, seems to me more symptomatic of larger issues rather than one characteristic he is powerless against.

The long and short of this is that I hate tragic love stories. Mostly I just want to say get over yourself already. I know--that kind of shows I’m dead inside. But...if that means I never get strangled to death by my husband I’m kind of okay with that.

Why Can’t The World Just Recognize My Brilliance?

So there’s a cliché somewhere about how anything worth having is worth fighting for...or struggling for...or being mildly inconvenienced for. Something like that. My point is, however, I think that’s a load of hooey. You know that makes something sweeter? It being easy.

We’re not supposed to talk about these things; we tell our kids “crime doesn’t pay” and “hard work makes the rewards more worthwhile” but it’s all a lie. You know when crime doesn’t pay? When you get caught. You know why a cold drink tastes better after working outside in the hot summer sun than it does after you’ve sat on the couch all day? Because you’re tired and dehydrated. Clichés are what we use to convince ourselves that playing by the rules is worth it.

Now, before you go and get worried I’ve slipped into some sort of uber-cynical coma understand that my outlook isn’t any different today than it was a week ago, but as I prepare to submit an article for publication (and I have to submit a hard copy which seems so 1999--don’t you agree?) I realize that my life would be better if I could just say “World--here is my brilliant article! Take it and love it!” and the World would reply, “Indeed yes. I like what you’ve done here.”

The Suzy Sunshines of the world would say, “you don’t really want that. It feels better when you’ve fought for publication and really worked for it.” I hate the Suzy Sunshines. They’re completely and utterly wrong. You know what feels better? Having my article accepted. The difference in emotion between the first submission and the tenth one happens because after about the third rejection my soul starts to wither and die, and when it finally gets accepted the healing process begins. But that doesn’t make the acceptance sweeter; it just makes it necessary for me not to turn into an uber-cynical crazy person. I now know why so many professors have crazy hair, crazy eyes, and crazy clothes. This life will drive you crazy.

But my latest round of “look at me, I have something to offer the world” has me irritated with all the people that try to make you feel better. You know who tries to make you feel better by offering anecdotes about how your pain and suffering is worthwhile? People who don’t have pain and suffering. Seriously, has anyone whose ever suffered a situation offered some trite piece of advice about how it’s good for you? No. A person whose lived through the situation says, “Yeah...that totally sucks. Nothing for it, but it totally sucks.” I appreciate that person. There’s no silver lining there. No clichés designed to convince you that annoyances, poverty, and lack of job will make you a “better person” in the end. You know what makes me a better person? Being independently wealthy; that’ll make me a better person.

And all of this raises an interesting existential question: do we become compassionate, caring, sympathetic people because we suffer, or if we didn’t suffer would there be no need to be compassionate, caring, sympathetic people? That’s an interesting one. We assume the suffering is good because it teaches you all manner of things about morality and ethics, but what if our consideration for fellow human beings is only necessary because fellow human beings suffer so much? This is, of course, a mute point as suffering (used here to include everything from annoying one floor elevator riders to people with a life like Job’s) isn’t going anywhere. But I find myself short tempered with the very puritanical viewpoint of suffering as good for the soul.

For example, what happens when you recognize the necessity or inevitability of something, i.e. the world has yet to understand my brilliance and so getting a job is going to be difficult, but don’t attempt to view it as a positive thing? What if it is simply viewed as a course of existence, horrible or annoying, and accepted as inevitable? Does it make sense what I’m saying here? I think it makes more sense to approach things that way. At least then there wouldn’t be any Suzy Sunshines trying to convince me that a) it’ll all be okay (cause sometimes it’s not and I get irritated when people just assume it will be) and b) that it’s good for me. A glass of orange juice is good for me. Perpetually high blood pressure due to stress that is occasionally relieved by a small victory is not good for me.

Thank you. I feel better now. Time to go to the post office and send this thing off so one more person can inform me I’m not good enough. But that’s okay--I totally know more about Star Wars, Star Trek, and Twilight then them. We must take our victories when they come.

The 10 Goofiest Moments from Twilight

I can’t believe what I’m about to do. In fact, I’m so ashamed of myself that I might not be able to show my face in public...at least not until November 20th when we all know what movie I’ll be attending. But a friend just finished Twilight and got addicted and now we’re watching the movie so I thought hey, I should do a little something about this not so hidden obsession of mine. Because I can’t sincerely admit to my Twilight love, however, I offer this list instead. The top ten goofiest, lamest, and flat out bad moments from the movie Twilight. New Moon is going to prompt the top ten moments when I go to hell for lusting after men too young for me, but that’s another day.

10. You’re like my own personal brand of heroin.
It’s hot in theory; when I read the line I thought to myself, “self, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if someone said that to you.” But upon further reflection I have to take a minute for the sheer teenage silliness embedded in this sentiment. First, it’s only hot for someone to be addicted to you when you’re too immature to realize the implications of that. Second (and this one might be the most important) if you drive someone into a nearly uncontrollable state of lust and violence that could end badly for you both.

9. Every time the vampires are supposed to react.
I don’t know what Catherine Hardwicke was thinking in the editing room, but for creatures that are supposed to be “super fast” their reaction times are a lot more like casual head turns. Seriously--every time there is supposed to be a snap reaction it’s a little bit like watching Dopey Dwarf turn his head.

8. The Make Up
This isn’t a goofy moment, but it deserves to be mentioned. Please, please, please--PLEASE--can someone promise that in New Moon the vampires won’t all be wearing “Sassy Red” lipstick?

7. Bella’s Freak Out
At the end of the movie Edward says Bella should move to Florida and Bella freaks out, ending said freak out with “you just can’t say things like that to me.” Nothing like a girlfriend who has a panic attack when you express your concern to promote good communication. A young man in the theater said “she crazy!” I think that sums up this moment adequately.

6. The Lion-Lamb Fiasco
The line goes like this: “So the lion fell in love with the lamb.” “What a stupid lamb.” “What a sick sado-masochistic lion.” Only teenage love takes metaphor and turn it into something so awfully toxic.

5. Rosalie’s Oddly Porno “Monkey Man” Comment
After Emmett catches a baseball Rosalie says in her best porn voice “my monkey man.” It makes a person feel dirty, uncomfortable, and turned off simultaneously. Rosalie’s a bitch, but do we really have to turn her an Emmett into some sort of sexually aberrant couple?

4. Spider Monkey Abuse
Edward is hot. I mean Edward is HOT. And I can say that cause he’s really 90 so I’m not going to hell for inappropriate attraction. However, when he says “hold on spider monkey” it’s like the heroin moment; suddenly a character that is primarily defined by his hotness becomes weird, awkward, and disturbingly not hot. I would guess the reason is because it is impossible, against the laws of nature impossible, to be hot while saying “hold on tight spider monkey.” Simply can’t be done.

3. Edward’s Wardrobe
Who dressed him like it was 1985? I know the 80’s are back. I cry about it every night before sleep. But seriously; skinny pants are not hot, and the only thing that makes them even less hot is an awful gray jacket from 1988.

2. Edward and James’ Snarling Match
Nothing says “I’m a badass vampire who is going to rip you apart” like opening your mouth and fo-snarling in someone’s face. Honestly--who looked at that shot and thought to herself, “this is the best way I can show the violence and tension of this moment”? Oh I know, the same person that thought “hold on tight spider monkey” and “my monkey man” was hot. Apparently there is some sketchy animal love in Catherine Hardwicke’s subconscious.

1. Bella’s Belief that She is Somehow Going to Save Her Mom
This is my biggest gripe with the book and movie. James, the bad vampire, says come alone or I kill your mom. And she does it?! Has Bella never played a strategy game?! You think a dude that eats people is going to let your mom go after he kills you?! Really? Bella totally deserves to die in that moment. If a vampire tried to lure you away from your only defense you just say no!

Michael Jackson’s This Is It

I’ve been mulling over this one for almost twenty hours at this point, and I’m still not sure what I want to say except I know that I want to say something. How’s that for a paradox? The short answer: go see it. If you like Michael Jackson definitely go see it; if you have any appreciation for music at all go see it. If you’re dead inside it might not do anything for you.

I’ve loved Michael Jackson, literally, my whole life. He was my first cassette tape (Janet was my second) and I still want to bounce up and down in my chair like a four year old when I watch him sing “Smooth Criminal” or “The Way You Make Me Feel.” Aside from the performance aspects, though (which were amazing) it is so interesting to watch MJ and Kenny Ortega put that show together.

One of my on-going battles in life is to explain to people why material must change for different mediums; a book must change when made into a movie and vice versa. Songs should change when performed live. Each experience makes different demands of the reader/viewer/listener and attempting to meet those demands with the same material is an incredibly difficult thing to do. LOTR, for example, had to cut some things out and add some things in (and before you jump my crap understand I don’t agree with all of the changes) in order for that story to not only entertain on screen, but to feel like LOTR.

Watching Michael Jackson craft a concert was, quite frankly, like watching genius at work. It was just stupid brilliant. Not only does he recognize that the songs must be the same songs that his fans expect and know, but he uses video, dance, and sound to craft a performance not simply a concert. This means that as an audience member you are watching a show, not just a singer sing his songs. I generally hate going to concerts because I find them boring. I don’t derive any fulfillment from watching someone stand still and sing their songs; I can listen to the c.d. anytime I want. MJ, however, was creating theater which is something very different; that concert would not only have impressed but entertained. It looked to very much resemble musical theater.

Someone a while ago asked me why Michael Jackson was such a genius; what was so special about him? He had a whole lot of crazy, and I throw that in so anyone wondering where I stand on the issue understands I’m not unaware. But he was an amazing singer, dancer, and musician--he was just crazy talented. He wrote songs that are, at times, almost too funky to bear. You only wish I was making that up. He was one of the first performers to dance while he sang; we take it for granted now when we watch young pop stars that there will be good dancing to go with the singing, but MJ was one of the first to promote that. And he consistently melded music and technology in incredibly impressive marriages.

On a personal level, watching this film is really, really hard if you gave up a music career at some point in your life. From the age of eleven on I didn’t think about doing anything with my life other than music; even as I went to school for an English degree my life revolved around drums. I didn’t want to go through all the audition anxiety and try to make a go of it professionally either in percussion or piano, but I don’t think I realized at the time that I was really giving it up. On some level I think I thought I could still have it on the side.

Watching this film, though, and listening to the dancers talk about pursuing their dream of dancing because of Michael Jackson I was reminded of that single minded resolve I once had to play drums no matter what. Everything took a backseat. Hell, I even went back to school to become an English teacher because of band camp--figure that one out. But while I don’t feel bad about my decision to pursue English instead of music, and I know I could pick up a community band gig wherever I land, it isn’t the same. Watching these guys prepare for the tour I very vividly remembered just how not the same it was. I was in band because I liked to entertain people. I practice because it’s fun to make the audience feel that thrill when you lay down something particularly sweet. It would have been really, really fun to work on a tour like that and This Is It is too raw and honest not to make anyone with memories like mine not miss it...a lot. So be prepared for that.

That’s my plug for this movie.

How to Survive a Demon Attack

I went and saw Paranormal Activity last night. I won’t ruin it for you, but it’s worth mentioning that I slept by sheer force of will last night—not because I felt safe and sound in my bed. In honor of this ridiculously frightening movie, therefore, I thought I would share a new top ten list in hopes that these following words of wisdom might one day save someone.

Top Ten Ways to Survive a Demon Attack

10. Don’t Play with a Ouija Board
It’s a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea. All of us, no matter how cynical, still giggle a little at the idea of the Ouija board. And you want to know why? Because it’s a bad idea.

9. Don’t be a Hero
When shit gets real don’t try to take care of it yourself. There are any number of trained personnel with the experience, mental fortitude, and Jedi ways prepared to take out the demon. If you’re made uncomfortable by the “demonologist” who looks like a guy named Frank still living in his mom’s basement playing WOW then call a shaman. If you don’t know any Native Americans go hunt yourself down a priest. If you’re uncomfortable with Catholics call your nearest Latter-Day Saints ward. And if all of that doesn’t work go back to Frank. Even if he is a loon he’ll probably stand a better chance against the demon than you will.

8. Do Not Antagonize USE’s (Unknown Spiritual Entities)
You don’t know what this thing is. It could be the ghost of Fluffy the neighbor’s goldfish or it could a demon looking to possess and impregnate your girlfriend before killing you. When your immortal soul is at risk do you really want to call the thing out? There’s a time for trash talk—card games, sporting events, really intense games of croquet—and there’s a time for recognizing that volume does not equal bad-assery. Specifically the USE doesn’t care how loud you shout at it; it doesn’t care what threats you make. You want to know why? Because it will just kill you in your sleep by making the roof fall on you or push you down the stairs or have someone you love turn into a flesh-eating demon zombie like creature. You can’t fight what you can’t see, sense, or touch and probably you can’t do any of those things if you’re dumb enough to antagonize the USE.

7. Buy Yourself Some Sage or Make Really Good Friends with Someone That Has Some
The USE is not some drunk guy at a bar. Yelling at it, threatening it, and generally mocking it is ineffective (see #8). What you need is something that will at least slow the thing down. I recommend sage, but a safer bet is really to just find yourself a Jedi Knight and let them do the dirty work (see #9).

6. Don’t Play with a Ouija Board
It’s important. I like to accentuate this point.

5. If It’s Connected to the House…LEAVE
Poltergeist taught us this one, and I feel The Grudge really drove the point home. Once a tree eats your son, weird shadows form in corners and kill your mother, and/or general mayhem ensues don’t question why it happened. Don’t worry about being crazy. Don’t go to sleep that night in your bed. If a lion attacked you would you lay back down in its den? I think not. Go to the hotel. Do not pass go. Do not gather your belongings. You can figure out whether you’re crazy or not when trinkets aren’t flying at your head.

4. If It’s Connected to Someone Decide Just How Much You Love Them
This one’s a bit trickier. If said demon has decided it wants to make the sweet demony-love to your girlfriend you have a decision to make. How much do you really love her? Cause wherever she goes, it goes, and you can live out the rest of your days in peace and happiness. Of course, if you actually care about the person this situation gets more tricky. I refer you to #’s 10-6

3. Turn the God Forsaken Lights On
Why hang out in the dark? If things are bad enough the lights won’t help, but at least you’ll see what’s coming at you (maybe). Regardless, monsters in the dark are scarier than monsters in the light. Don’t wander around your house with a flashlight, candlelight or any other version of light that be definition makes a Care Bear look like a serial killer. Turn on the light. It’s not hard to do. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this one.

2. Do Not Rely on Your Internet Research to Save the Day
This one goes along with #9 and #7. When mugged do you consult the internet for a proper response? Do you search the web instead of attending a self-defense class? Then why, in the name of all that is other-worldly, would you rely on the internet to save you from a demon?! WHY?! Because a demon’s not real? Has someone’s head spun all the way around? Has a child tried to kill you? Has a tree tried to eat you? Has strange slime appeared in inexplicable places? Do priests, preachers, shamans, and psychics go running out of your house without even saying goodbye? If you answered yes to any of these things then you deserve what you get if you break this rule (or any of the others really).

1. DO NOT PLAY WITH A OUIJA BOARD
I just feel like I can’t emphasize this one enough. Let me explain why by analogy. Once when I was young, but not so young I didn’t know better, I watched my brother clean out the window wells by first lighting the leaves on fire and then pouring gasoline on it. From the can. His plan was good in theory; burn the leaves and suck up the ashes with the shopvac. However, two very important factors were forgotten—1) the window well was right next to the house and 2) pouring gasoline on the fire directly from the can may blow you up. For the record I knew it was a bad idea (honest). If you have a USE, using a Ouija board seems like a great idea in theory. You can talk to it; you can find out what it wants. You can politely ask it to leave. You can get a thrill. But as in most things, theory and practicality are almost entirely divorced. Do you want to know why you can talk to it? Because you threw the door wide open and had it over for afternoon tea. Now the thing, from Fluffy the dead goldfish to the blood-thirsty demon lusting after your girlfriend can wander around your house freely with nothing between its machinations and your very fragile mind.

All I’m saying is when your house burns down, your significant other tries to kill you, or you mysteriously fall down the stairs breaking your neck don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

So these are my 10 simple steps to avoiding Death by Demon. If you follow them you’ll survive (most likely) and if you don’t at least you can go down knowing you died smart and (most likely) didn’t lose your immortal soul.

Let’s Talk About Tao

Let’s talk about Tao baby
Let’s talk about you and me
Let’s talk about all is one and all the same that all may be
Let’s talk about Tao.

I know. Sometimes I hate me too, but these songs just come to me and I’m helpless in the grip of the muse.

So I had to teach Taoism! And I had no idea what the differences between Taoism, Zen Buddhism, and Hinduism really are! So I bought a book. Cause that’s how I roll.

The book I bought was What is Tao? by Alan Watts and it is brilliant. I’ve read Alan Watts before, specifically The Book, and I found his description and laying out of Tao to be as accessible, careful, thorough, and educational as his life philosophies. Not to mention I’ve discovered that I have some serious love for Tao (and I’m guessing Zen too, but I haven’t got there yet).

But it’s a weird thing contemplating my existence as a post-modern Taoist. Why do you ask? What a fantastic question, I’m so glad you did. As a post-modernist I believe that language defines reality and, to a very large part as explicated before, knowledge is created simultaneously with language. For a Taoist words have value because they have meaning and society values words but Zhuangzi does not because he does not value what society values. American translation: once you discover The Way you won’t need language anymore because you’ll have evolved past it. You won’t need to understand or define things; you’ll just know them.

Obviously this business about “just knowing” goes against the grain for me. I’m all about knowledge and language being intertwined and what we know stemming very precisely from what we can create. (Again, language here is almost any form of communication--“there is no outside the text” as everyone’s second favorite Frenchman would say.) But it is that process of taking an emotion, an inkling, an intuition, a premonition, an electrical impulse in your brain and consciously making sense of it that, in my previous and possibly current opinion, allows for self-awareness, critical thought, and obtainment of knowledge.

The real question then is not who is right--according to this mind boggling philosophy I have stumbled into we can both be right as neither of us are actually RIGHT--but whether the possibility exists outside of my comprehension. What we have here is something a bit like death; there is no way to conceive of it as we have nothing in our consciousness or experience that is anything like it. Anything like it. We can make similes, therefore, death is like sleep, or state what is, we will know without language, but we don’t actually have any real knowledge of what that means. We can’t. It’s sort of like consciously and carefully contemplating the size of the universe and then imagining it getting bigger; your mind shorts out after awhile.

Now some are thinking “I can imagine knowing something without language” but I’m going to say “No. You can’t.” I’m saying that specifically because from our earliest memories we have moved past the pre-language state and so our minds are formed around creating meaning, a.k.a. language; furthermore, what is being discussed here, and I would put my not inconsiderable close reading skills behind this statement as evidence, is an evolution past language not a return to the infancy. Granted, simultaneously I would be simplistic and infantile in the perception of others, but if I did attain The Way their perception of me offers no real clue to what I actually am.

Mind boggling. So here I am, getting’ down with my post-modern self contemplating the origins of knowledge, the role of language, and what whatever comes next might feel like. Lucky for me I got some Memphis BBQ in the fridge--when considering The Way it is good to know the way to the BBQ restaurant. I’m just sayin’.

New Rhetoric, Feminism, and Why I Don’t Care That I Care

I am going to take my final written test tomorrow for my comprehensive exams. I’ll let you know how I feel about it once I know that I’ve passed. In my reading for my tests, though, I found myself revisiting some composition theory and writings on rhetoric in an attempt to refresh my memory and prepare myself. What I found there was tiring, exhilarating, and reminded me why I loved comp theory so very, very, much.

Let me ‘splain. No, that will take too long; let me sum up:

I do not believe in transcendent truth or knowledge as it exists outside of language. Don’t confuse truth with knowledge in that previous sentence. I do believe the world (and universe) operates according to set of laws and that it will do so regardless of my awareness or explication of those laws. I do not, however, believe that I can speak or know those laws without language. Hence, knowledge does not exist outside of language. Truth I define as different from fact; the Earth (to the best of our human knowledge) revolves around the Sun and that is, therefore, a fact. It exists without any intervention by humans. That it is always wrong to hit a baby would be an example of transcendent truth; a truth is an abstract concept existing purely within the realm of human social constructions. I might agree that it is always wrong to hit a baby, but what if that baby was buried in Pet Cemetery and is now trying to kill you? That is why I don’t believe in transcendent truth.

Before we continue anyone who disagrees with my truth/knowledge construction should understand I am not proposing this construction as proper for everyone, but explicating what I believe. You can argue with it, therefore, (and I invite you to do so) but remember you are arguing with my world view from your world view, not disproving the conclusions I am about to reveal having come from said world view. We all still together?

Building from this there are a few main reasons I chose to communicate ideology that matters to me. 1) To explain why I believe what I believe and allow people to know me. My goals in these sorts of situation are not persuade but to share--a completely different urging. The hoped for outcome when I chose to explicate what I believe is for dialogue; I say I believe in X and someone else says “why is that?” or “I’m not sure I agree” and we talk about it. Perhaps we argue. Perhaps we throw things. But we dialogue about who believes what and why. 2) To debate with someone why I feel their particular ideology is flawed or to point out an error in some belief or conclusion they have reached. It should be known that in this case I am still interested in dialogue; regardless of whether persuasion happens, and I must be honest and admit that I hope it does, my goal is to share my conclusions about the subject and provide a different lens--not simply to convince.

The reason that I focus more on dialogue and less on convincing someone I’m right is because--going back to knowledge existing within language--I only feel someone knows what I know, critically and thoughtfully agrees with me, if they possess the language to encompass that knowledge as well. That means we must first dialogue before persuasion can happen; if agreement is accepted immediately nothing new has happened. A poorly understood idea has been exchanged for another poorly understood idea.

So, how does all of this fit in with feminism and why I don’t care that I care so much about feminism?

First, when I talk to people about gender issues (note the use of the word gender there please) I don’t want them to feel guilty, feel angry, or follow me blindly. When I talk about how women still connect their moral worth with their virginity, or wonder why it is all of my female friends feel intimidated to argue passionately with my male friends, or contemplate the implications of always being accused jokingly (except not) of being an irrational, emotional, over-zealous feminist--I want other people, hopefully those I’m talking to, to understand that none of that is okay. It might not be life threatening; it might not even be life shaking, but it’s not okay. In order for such a realization to happen the point must be for us to converse or share in dialogue, not persuade or convince.

Now despite the problems with allowing someone, anyone, to see that I care about gender issues, I do it anyway. Usually only in particular situations, but that I chose any situation outside of an enclosed gynocracy to do so could be considered silly by some and poor arguing by others. In particular there are those that would argue I am only causing myself more pain instead of empowerment by focusing on these issues. There are others that accuse me of losing the argument from the moment I show emotion (and there are probably at least three of you saying to yourself right now, “Crap--is this about me?” And it is, but there have been many, many more than only you three and there will be many, many more so don’t feel special or pointed out).

My response is this: based on the aforementioned premise that knowledge is only available through language I state that language about ideology is never impersonal for me. Therefore, I have to care. I can’t not care. If I don’t care then I don’t care about myself, my world, or all the myriad of factors that have created me. To not care is to pretend that every time I’ve felt inadequate because I wasn’t woman enough and every time I felt inadequate because I wasn’t man enough didn’t happen. It did happen. I got over it, but it happened. Part of the reason I got over it, too, is because I acknowledged that it happened, examined it, and created new knowledge, through language, about what it meant that it happened and what it was going to mean for me. I wouldn’t have gotten over it if I hadn’t cared; I would have repressed it. That’s not true for everyone, but it is true for me, and, judging by the wealth of literature available, it is true for a great many other people as well.

Secondly, if, as soon as I show emotion, someone judges me, stereotypes me, or stops listening to me, then they are not in a place to dialogue and our conversation becomes pointless. They don’t want to hear what I have to say, they want to argue, debate, or tear down. With a situation such as this I am not interested in any of those three things. That I’m passionate demonstrates that it matters, and that it matters should demonstrate that the person conversing with me should care. If my passion, emotion, “female irrationality,” etc. serves instead as a marker that I am vulnerable, weak, or irrational then I am attempting to converse with someone who is incapable of recognizing inherent gender stereotypes in their ideology. And that’s okay; they don’t have to recognize them, but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to dialogue with them. If I “convince” them of anything, it will only be that I’m a “cool” girl, or “just one of the boys,” but still somehow removed from all the other “crazy females” they’ve known. That’s not what I want to do. I don’t want to be the exceptional female. I just want to be me, and I am just a female in the same way that I am just a human being.

I want the ways in which I’m exceptional to have nothing to do with how I am not like a group that has been defined based on notions of power relations. I do not want to be exceptional in spite of my race, gender, or upbringing, and I don’t want to be exceptional because of those things. I want those things to be aspects that have shaped my world view and the lenses through which I have seen things others without those lenses have not. If I have to deny how I feel and what I am in order to persuade, then I am no longer arguing what I believe.

I care about the things that I feel shape and affect the world. I’m not limited by that, and I’m not ashamed of that.

This would be one of my truths, though not transcendental by any means.

Yes, I’m Talking About Fat People...Again

Slate’s latest article “Let Them Drink Water!” by Daniel Engber (found here http://www.slate.com/id/2228713/pagenum/all/#p2) deserves some consideration. My goal in life is not to fight the good fight for fat people even though it seems my posts are unequally weighted (ha) in that direction, but I still feel strongly that awareness must be raised.

I suppose my over-arching question is this: what are our goals as a society and what sort of society do we want to be?

That was two questions but whatever. If we consider ourselves a democracy where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is the primary goal for each citizen then legislating pleasure is a dangerous and tricky business. If we consider ourselves a democracy (or a theocracy or something else entirely) where support of government, productivity, and socially approved lifestyle is the primary goal for each citizen then legislating pleasure is a necessity. Before we go any further it should be understood that if you feel the second set of goals is preferable to the first then you are not in support of a free society.

That might seem like a ridiculous statement, and no doubt many would take offense at their support of freedom being questioned, but saying you believe in freedom and actually believing in freedom are two different things. Never mind that the first is significantly easier than the second. Furthermore, true freedom is impossible outside of anarchy. The reason for this is that once you agree not only to live with other human beings, but to allow your behaviors to be policed by a ruling group for the good of all you have given up some freedom. It isn’t a big deal; certainly I’m happy that we have a society that functions (fairly well) and allows for many freedoms. This agreement to cohabitate is not slavery or tyranny or anything so melodramatic as that, but it is an agreement to allow some personal rights to be restricted in favor of public harmony. Examples of this range from the mundane to the extreme: you are not allowed to sunbathe naked on your front lawn where others might see you, and you are not allowed to assault someone else because they irritate you. I don’t consider myself less free because of this, but I feel “freedom” can still be applied to my situation specifically because I am allowed to pursue my own endeavors, education, and pleasure so long as it remains within the private sphere dictated by our social agreement. We don’t (or shouldn’t) arrest people for engaging in consensual adult sex acts--even if we personally feel they are perverse. We don’t (or shouldn’t) keep people from pursuing whatever philosophy/religion appeals to them, even if that philosophy/religion worships classically defined notions of evil.

But if our goals as a society are the support of government, productivity, and socially approved lifestyle then it is no longer an issue of giving up some freedom in the public sphere in order to pursue the individuality that appeals to each citizen, and it becomes a society based on conforming. To borrow from Marx we really do become cogs in the machine. If a citizen is not allowed to be unhealthy because it restricts their labor producing capabilities than that citizen becomes not a human being, but a laborer. If a citizen is punished for illogical, unhealthy, or unwise pursuits that are bad decisions for their longevity, even their happiness, then we aren’t allowing liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And this is the problem with being a society that seeks to promote citizens who pursue liberty and happiness.

Because of the nature of the social agreement, not all happiness can be pursued. Some of it must be restricted or denied because it hurts others and/or society. Child pornography is an extreme, but apt example. When one moves away from the extremes, however, the lines become less clear. Is an unhealthy lifestyle an acceptable pursuit? At what point does a citizen fail to contribute acceptably and at what point does that failure constitute being a leech on society? The question of when society should or should not support non-contributing citizens is a chapter in itself and I will not consider that here.

The problem, I feel, lies in how we define “harm to society and others.” What constitutes a harmful act? This is not an easy question. Many have and will argue effectively that a non-contributing member of society, or simply a less-contributing member of society, is causing harm. Many have and will argue effectively that a citizen cannot and must not be evaluated based on their societal contribution. To do so is to commodify them, which in turn dehumanizes them.

To connect this to the article, therefore, is to say that fat people and smokers cost their healthcare providers more money on average than thin people and non smokers. This cost lessens the overall profit of these businesses, which in turn requires the businesses to raise their rates in order to maintain and increase their profit. This raise affects those not costing healthcare providers money and so the lifestyle of some affects the lifestyle of all. Furthermore, because these few have health problems they are also not providing an effective labor force which lessens the productivity of the economy as a whole thereby lowering whatever nebulous achievements society imagines could be had if productivity were at a maximum.

This is a very compelling argument. It as also an argument that leans away from life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness because at its base it argues non productive citizens and unhealthy citizens are harming society because they cost it money. That’s the sticking point. Once you argue that harm is connected to monetary value, citizens are no longer human beings. We can choose to be a society like that; we can choose as citizens to accept our role not as human beings exploring their humanity, but as laborers seeking as much personal profit as possible. There is nothing inherently right or wrong about that choice. But it is a choice that should be made intentionally, not because of a conflation of morality and money.

Now, can a society that pursues liberty and happiness also encourage its citizens to be healthy? I don’t see why not. I don’t even see why we can’t tax pleasurable activities; we tax property and income as part of the social agreement, why shouldn’t we tax pleasure? But to specifically tax one pleasure specifically taxes one group, and that is not encouragement but discrimination. If we can all imagine that we don’t want a society based on monetary achievement and we do, in fact, want to pursue life, liberty, and happiness, then the choice to tax tobacco but not movies, junk food but not sport’s tickets creates a value-laden hierarchy where particular lifestyles are seen as better than others. Once something is seen as better it is simultaneously seen as more right. Once something is seen as more right it is seen as more moral.

This is why people view smokers not as a group of people that choose pleasure over health, but as immoral questionable folks who are less intelligent, less interesting, and less “good” than others. This is why people view fat people not as a group of people who are large for all sorts of reasons ranging from laziness to economic status, to genetics and instead think of them as inhuman caricatures. Choosing a lifestyle that isn’t wise isn’t a personal choice, therefore, but something akin to substance abuse. Everyone understands that you aren’t strong enough, bright enough, or moral enough to be what you should be, and they really hope that someday, you’ll find it in yourself to become a better person who can better interact with those around her. As a fat person your unattractiveness, both due to your size and your apparent unhealthiness, implies a mental and physical slovenliness that is a personal and moral affront to everyone.

That is what happens when you target one group specifically and tax them not because it makes good economic sense, but because you want to punish them for how they live. Especially when promises are made that the punishment will stop at exactly the same time their lifestyle changes. At exactly the same time they change.

I’m not opposed to taxing pleasure; I think we should legalize drugs and tax them. I think we should tax tobacco. I think we should tax professional sport’s tickets. People will pay for tickets with the same enthusiasm that they buy cigarettes, alcohol, and junk food. It’s a pleasure they feel is worth the cost. That’s why taxing them makes such good sense. What I’m opposed to is using taxes to support a morality that is imposed on citizens with a monetary agenda, and full awareness that such a morality can never be fulfilled.

There will always be people who are less than whatever standard is set. A utopia of healthy, thin, productive citizens is a ridiculous dream that can never be reached--no matter whether it should be reached or not. Once fat people are effectively turned into a minority like smokers another group will be targeted and another “unwise” pleasure will be attacked. This is because society needs conflict to fuel the economy. Whatever group is demonized, people will spend money to get out of that group and to keep themselves from falling into that group. And my dream, an educated self-aware populous that chooses to be what it is knowingly and with acceptance of that choice is a utopia as well. I am aware of that.

But along with the people holding up signs that say President Obama is a “communist, socialist, anarchist” (which doesn’t work as those three things don’t exist in harmony with each other) there are people that consistently fail to realize what a morality based on commodity really is.

As a fat person I don’t want to be discriminated against. As a human being I don’t want to be a commodity. For me, it’s just that simple.

Samwise the Brave--I finally understand.

I just completed my yearly watching of The Lord of the Rings, and for the first time in my life--in all the times I have read the books, watched the movies, talked about the story, and thought about the story--I have finally had genuine sympathy and empathy for Sam Gamgee.

In the course of my life I have always loved Merry and Pippin; they’re fun. I carry deep passion for Aragorn (that one doesn’t even need to be explained). And Gimli and Legolas are the two cool kids you wish will be your friends. Gandalf obviously needs no explanation. But Frodo and Sam have never seriously captured my interest. I understood it was hard for Frodo and Sam to make it to Mount Doom; more than hard, it was a quest with such little chance of success that their completion of it defies any true understanding. But watching Lord of the Rings this time around it struck me how hard, how unimaginably hard, it must have been for Sam.

Frodo is effectively a substance abuser; the longer he carries the ring the more his mind is no longer his own. He lashes out at those around them, doesn’t take care of himself, and sinks deeper and deeper into a world where no one can follow. Frodo could not have made it without Sam because he would have crumpled under the ring. I think anyone who attempted the quest on their own would have. Sam’s job, therefore, is not only to accompany Frodo and help him but to carry him, literally and figuratively, all the way. Sam must bear the burden of the journey and the burden of Frodo. Yes, Sam doesn’t have to worry about the ring working on his mind, but he is alone, hated, and abused in turns. Gollum, another necessary figure doesn’t make anything easier. And to watch his best friend turn to Gollum over him, and to be able to understand it (perhaps) objectively but never emotionally.

And Sam can’t walk away. No matter what Frodo does to him. No matter what Frodo makes him do. No matter what Frodo requires of him. Sam is the pack mule, the load bearer. There is nothing glorious or archetypically heroic about Sam Gamgee; he isn’t the most interesting or charismatic or funny. But he’s strong and staid and to have made that journey with Frodo and Gollum, to have stood by Frodo all that way and to bear no resentment and no ill will when it was all done--I don’t think I have ever appreciated what sort of strength that would take.

We don’t glorify that sort of strength in our society; I’m not sure I know of a society that does. We look up to the Aragorns and revere the Gandalfs. We have people who bluster and preen and imagine themselves Legolases or Gimlis, but no one sets out to be Sam. Sam isn’t glamorous. And on the surface of it, why would you want to be Sam? He wants nothing more than to live a quiet life; he wouldn’t adventure if it weren’t thrust upon him, and he certainly doesn’t want to keep adventuring when it’s over. But as I’ve contemplated what makes a hero I think there is an aspect of immovable strength combined with simplistic decency that should be considered. Most people are neither naturally good enough nor naive enough to be Sam, and more than that most people could not survive bearing the load Sam does. But despite his lack of glory he is a truly impressive character.

Perhaps even among LOTR lovers my ode to Sam seems a bit much. But I share it anyway because even with all of my imagined philosophizing about any number of things I still miss the most obvious things sometimes. How could I live my whole life with LOTR and never once until just now, fully understand--emotionally and objectively--how impressive Samwise the Brave truly is? What does it mean for my own philosophies if they now metamorph to include an idea of heroism that is neither exciting nor glorious, but unimaginably difficult, tedious, and necessary?

I remember a professor said once that we return to stories over and over in our lives because each time we revisit them we might find they mean something different. He was right.