So I set up another blog so I could put all my boring self-absorbed relationships posts there. I find blogging catharsis, and don't really care if anyone reads that kind of crap. But I wanted a separate blog not just to improve the quality of this one, but to have a place to whine and gloat privately - specifically from my guy. I wanted a place to write about the feelings I'm having that aren't necessarily nice to share with him - like how giddy I am about it all. He's walking around weeping, and I'm thinking about life without crap everywhere and without a stupid dog.
But of course he found it. I really need my own computer - or a partner that doesn't obsessively check the history daily to see what I'm up to. And I knew he did, so I was deleting the history regularly, but this one time I forgot.
It reminds me of a couple I know. She had a diary she used to write crap typically whenever she was mad at her husband. Even in solid relationships, there's times people don't want to be touched by their partner, or can't stand they way they do x, y, or z. He found the diary, and instead of honouring her privacy, he read it. Of course the entire thing was full of bile, her darkest thoughts about their worst moments together. And of course he ended up crying his eyes out at her true feelings for him. And she said, "Good. He deserves feeling like crap right now. If he wants to see my darkest thoughts, there they are. There's a reason I tried to keep them private."
Exactly.
Yes I know it's different on a public blog, but I write publicly for two reasons: sometimes I get really insightful comments, and sometimes others tell me reading this makes them feel better about their own crap.
Whatever.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
On Memory and Honour
I've read two good books recently.
Bozo Sapiens explores how our brains work. It's a fun read. Most interesting to me is how memory works - or, in fact, doesn't really work very well at all. I've never really trusted my memory, or anyone else's, and now I know my instincts were on target. That's why I write compulsively. I like to immediately get down every little thing.
A Short History of Nearly Everything examines how scientists figure things out - from the cosmos to the atom. It's a fascinating read. What's really staying with me on this one is how many times throughout history people have taken credit for the work of others, and how often less-ruthless types get no credit for incredible discoveries and ideas, and they end up penniless while the liars live with fame and fortune. It makes me think of a situation at work.
I've been running an environmental group that's done amazing things this year. Another teacher wants to work with me next year. In the last few weeks of school, I heard over and over from people, "How come you don't want to run the group any more? Too tired? Lost energy?" He's telling people it's his group, and, knowing him, he's totally going to sap any credit he can for the strides we've made so far. I'm just a worker bee. I get stuff done, and I don't want to fight for kudos even though it's nice to be recognized. I just don't have the energy for the social engineering that's necessary to be heard above the crap. I stick to myself mainly, and he's out there with the people, so they'll believe what he says and ignore my efforts.
And that makes me think of this single idea a student bombarded my philosophy class with last year. Any time I'd talk about control vs receptive stances, or egalitarian vs hierarchical organizations, or Eisler's Parnership Way and the history of peaceful societies, or Jesus and Mother Theresa and Lao Tzu, - any time I'd get on the topic of a peaceful way to live starting with one person at a time, he'd jump up with this:
"But there's a reason we're not peaceful. The pacifists get invaded and taken over by the warriors. We can never have peaceful society again for any length of time, because others will take advantage of it as soon as they find out about it."
Peaceful types and hard-workers out to make the world a better place, get smashed by those out for fame or fortune.
But, in a few years or a few hundred years, nobody will remember any of this accurately anyway. "The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow. Do good anyway."*
It's all Plato's degeneration of the soul** (as it runs in tandem with the degeneration of the state - as is typical with him). We should be doing good for it's own sake. As soon as we do good for honour, we're starting down a very slippery slope towards becoming a "wild beast." Don't worry about money or status, just contemplate and act rightly.
And he said that a few hundred years before Jesus, yet who gets all the credit?
* Mother Theresa hung a version of the Paradoxical Commandments on her wall. Here it is in full because I find it very inspiring, although in my head I change the second last line to read "It's between you and your conscience." But that's just me.
People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true friends;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world your best anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.
** The Republic, sections 544-576.
Bozo Sapiens explores how our brains work. It's a fun read. Most interesting to me is how memory works - or, in fact, doesn't really work very well at all. I've never really trusted my memory, or anyone else's, and now I know my instincts were on target. That's why I write compulsively. I like to immediately get down every little thing.
A Short History of Nearly Everything examines how scientists figure things out - from the cosmos to the atom. It's a fascinating read. What's really staying with me on this one is how many times throughout history people have taken credit for the work of others, and how often less-ruthless types get no credit for incredible discoveries and ideas, and they end up penniless while the liars live with fame and fortune. It makes me think of a situation at work.
I've been running an environmental group that's done amazing things this year. Another teacher wants to work with me next year. In the last few weeks of school, I heard over and over from people, "How come you don't want to run the group any more? Too tired? Lost energy?" He's telling people it's his group, and, knowing him, he's totally going to sap any credit he can for the strides we've made so far. I'm just a worker bee. I get stuff done, and I don't want to fight for kudos even though it's nice to be recognized. I just don't have the energy for the social engineering that's necessary to be heard above the crap. I stick to myself mainly, and he's out there with the people, so they'll believe what he says and ignore my efforts.
And that makes me think of this single idea a student bombarded my philosophy class with last year. Any time I'd talk about control vs receptive stances, or egalitarian vs hierarchical organizations, or Eisler's Parnership Way and the history of peaceful societies, or Jesus and Mother Theresa and Lao Tzu, - any time I'd get on the topic of a peaceful way to live starting with one person at a time, he'd jump up with this:
"But there's a reason we're not peaceful. The pacifists get invaded and taken over by the warriors. We can never have peaceful society again for any length of time, because others will take advantage of it as soon as they find out about it."
Peaceful types and hard-workers out to make the world a better place, get smashed by those out for fame or fortune.
But, in a few years or a few hundred years, nobody will remember any of this accurately anyway. "The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow. Do good anyway."*
It's all Plato's degeneration of the soul** (as it runs in tandem with the degeneration of the state - as is typical with him). We should be doing good for it's own sake. As soon as we do good for honour, we're starting down a very slippery slope towards becoming a "wild beast." Don't worry about money or status, just contemplate and act rightly.
And he said that a few hundred years before Jesus, yet who gets all the credit?
* Mother Theresa hung a version of the Paradoxical Commandments on her wall. Here it is in full because I find it very inspiring, although in my head I change the second last line to read "It's between you and your conscience." But that's just me.
People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true friends;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world your best anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.
** The Republic, sections 544-576.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
HP6 and Whatever Works
I saw the new Harry Potter today, and it's well worth the crowds and 3 hours of film if you include excessive previews. It's a delight to watch! I particularly found it difficult to take my eyes off Malfoy. He went all out this time round. And whenever I see Maggie Smith (almost 75), I will always think of Miss Jean Brodie: "I'm past me prime gels," or, even better, "Six inches is perfectly adequate. More is vulgar!"
I don't, however, recommend this movie to a restless 5-year-old - not mine anyway. She loves all the movies, but only when she's watching them at home. For this, she was bored after about 20 minutes, and we had to make a few trips to the bathroom, and I was glad to have some toys on hand to entertain her because I wasn't bored in the least. She spent more time watching the audience than the film.
As for Whatever Works, I was sorrily disappointed. I hadn't thought much of Woody lately, but I loved Vicky Cristina Barcelona. So I was looking forward to something special, but it kinda sucked. The actors spoke like they were on stage, and the main character, Boris, spoke to the audience frequently, and that's typical for Allen, but I find it awkward to watch. It's impossible to get lost in the film when you're constantly aware these people are acting. I liked that Boris tells it like it is to everyone he meets. I tend to admire people like that. But his love interest, Melodie, was supposed to be his opposite particularly to his brilliance, but her stupidity was over the edge and grating. A few lines of hers were funny, but too many were just uncomfortable. He's the heartless brain, and she's the brainless heart, and they're both painfully two-dimensional.
At 92 minutes, it feels like it goes on forever, yet it really needs another half hour or so. Characters change paths abruptly and unbelievably. There's too many to get to know them very well in the time allotted, and most feel like they're just doing a first reading of the script. Instead of subtle dialogue and action leading the plot, everything's spelled out in efficient asides that are devoid of any creativity or poetry. By the end I felt beat over the head with the big message: Enjoy life in any way that works for you. There. I spoiled the ending for you, so you don't have to go. Your welcome.
Hannah and Her Sisters it's not. Too bad.
I don't, however, recommend this movie to a restless 5-year-old - not mine anyway. She loves all the movies, but only when she's watching them at home. For this, she was bored after about 20 minutes, and we had to make a few trips to the bathroom, and I was glad to have some toys on hand to entertain her because I wasn't bored in the least. She spent more time watching the audience than the film.
As for Whatever Works, I was sorrily disappointed. I hadn't thought much of Woody lately, but I loved Vicky Cristina Barcelona. So I was looking forward to something special, but it kinda sucked. The actors spoke like they were on stage, and the main character, Boris, spoke to the audience frequently, and that's typical for Allen, but I find it awkward to watch. It's impossible to get lost in the film when you're constantly aware these people are acting. I liked that Boris tells it like it is to everyone he meets. I tend to admire people like that. But his love interest, Melodie, was supposed to be his opposite particularly to his brilliance, but her stupidity was over the edge and grating. A few lines of hers were funny, but too many were just uncomfortable. He's the heartless brain, and she's the brainless heart, and they're both painfully two-dimensional.
At 92 minutes, it feels like it goes on forever, yet it really needs another half hour or so. Characters change paths abruptly and unbelievably. There's too many to get to know them very well in the time allotted, and most feel like they're just doing a first reading of the script. Instead of subtle dialogue and action leading the plot, everything's spelled out in efficient asides that are devoid of any creativity or poetry. By the end I felt beat over the head with the big message: Enjoy life in any way that works for you. There. I spoiled the ending for you, so you don't have to go. Your welcome.
Hannah and Her Sisters it's not. Too bad.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Same Blog, New Look
I finally got brave enough to update the blog template. I'm such a luddite, I was sure everything would be lost forever. But here it is! And my blogroll is in alphabetical order finally! (And now I can't find anyone.) My motivation was being able to use labels. I've been labelling stuff since the beginning, but couldn't figure out how to make them show up at the side. Now here they are.
Whew. That's enough excitement for one day.
Whew. That's enough excitement for one day.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Boy Bitching
Things are too personal right now for me to be political even though much is happening in the world that requires comment. Others are doing a fine job of that. So I'll forge on.
He often laments that he doesn't know what's going on with me until he reads it here. But I talk and talk and write it all down for him on paper. Maybe it's the realization that others are seeing it too that makes him sit up and pay attention a bit.
I went away for a week with the kids. He offered to do a whole host of major jobs around the house in my absence. I declined, and asked that he just do the necessary tasks: take the garbage out, mow the lawn, tidy and sweep. I just wanted to come home to a clean house.
Then I came home to a disaster. He said he was so tired at night, he couldn't do anything. But he did manage to take the dog for lengthy walks, and bathe him, and get out all the free weights (and leave them in the middle of the room). I'm assuming he actually used the weights for a period of time. But he couldn't muster the strength to carry the garbage can from the back of the driveway to the curb. Or he forgot all these trivial things, so I came home to a clean dog, but a stinky house. He's resigned to his forgetfulness, "Guess I fucked this one up too." Golly gee, too bad I'm such a dope.
The dog and the cabin are the highest priorities. He's up there right now starting to work on the inside. I'm home cleaning the mess he left in his wake. The house and family come a distant second to the cabin and dog. Actually I come second because I can potentially provide pleasure. The house and family come after his work and his friends. They're at best sixth in line.
But I wrote way back here about our respective idiosyncrasies. He's ADHD. How much can be excused because of a condition or disorder or whatever? I mean, he's too tired or forgetful to get the garbage out, but he can get supplies and drive four hours to work on the cabin all weekend. But that gives him more pleasure and satisfaction than trivial mundane tasks that need doing over and over around the house, so I'm supposed to be understanding of this.
But who wouldn't rather build something than clean it?? His thing is, he gets so much more pleasure out of the one, and so much pain from the other, that he just can't possibly be expected to remember or have energy for basic cleanliness. Somehow he sees himself as differently-abled from others in just this one respect, so I'm not to get too upset that I have to do all the tidying up after him.
And now, another back-breaking straw, I have to tidy up after his dog too. I have to clear out all the toys from the yard to mow, and I regularly have to sweep up all the stuffing from my couch cushions that he destroys every minute he's left unsupervised - which is often. And even though he washed the dog, he didn't wash the bedding (the kids' beach towels which we sorely missed last time we swam at the cabin), so it still stinks like wet dog in the house.
Yesterday, as I unpacked from the camping trip, I had the doors open to go in and out with stuff. The dog got loose three times. Each time he got annoyed at the kids and me for opening the doors in the house. He didn't offer to help me unpack, and he didn't offer to take the dog for a walk to get him out of the way for a bit. He just kept leaving the dog in the house, disappearing somewhere, then getting mad when he escaped again because of our carelessness.
And as I was trying to get my older two kids re-packed and off to their dad's for the weekend, he kept rambling on and on about his work. I kept asking him to wait until the kids were off, but he'd stop briefly while I spoke directly to one of them, then continue his rant. I was unpacking, doing dishes, and saying good-byes to the kids, all the while he was telling his tales of woe of yet another job site he's going to hate.
ADHD or just plain inconsiderate? I don't really care anymore.
He often laments that he doesn't know what's going on with me until he reads it here. But I talk and talk and write it all down for him on paper. Maybe it's the realization that others are seeing it too that makes him sit up and pay attention a bit.
I went away for a week with the kids. He offered to do a whole host of major jobs around the house in my absence. I declined, and asked that he just do the necessary tasks: take the garbage out, mow the lawn, tidy and sweep. I just wanted to come home to a clean house.
Then I came home to a disaster. He said he was so tired at night, he couldn't do anything. But he did manage to take the dog for lengthy walks, and bathe him, and get out all the free weights (and leave them in the middle of the room). I'm assuming he actually used the weights for a period of time. But he couldn't muster the strength to carry the garbage can from the back of the driveway to the curb. Or he forgot all these trivial things, so I came home to a clean dog, but a stinky house. He's resigned to his forgetfulness, "Guess I fucked this one up too." Golly gee, too bad I'm such a dope.
The dog and the cabin are the highest priorities. He's up there right now starting to work on the inside. I'm home cleaning the mess he left in his wake. The house and family come a distant second to the cabin and dog. Actually I come second because I can potentially provide pleasure. The house and family come after his work and his friends. They're at best sixth in line.
But I wrote way back here about our respective idiosyncrasies. He's ADHD. How much can be excused because of a condition or disorder or whatever? I mean, he's too tired or forgetful to get the garbage out, but he can get supplies and drive four hours to work on the cabin all weekend. But that gives him more pleasure and satisfaction than trivial mundane tasks that need doing over and over around the house, so I'm supposed to be understanding of this.
But who wouldn't rather build something than clean it?? His thing is, he gets so much more pleasure out of the one, and so much pain from the other, that he just can't possibly be expected to remember or have energy for basic cleanliness. Somehow he sees himself as differently-abled from others in just this one respect, so I'm not to get too upset that I have to do all the tidying up after him.
And now, another back-breaking straw, I have to tidy up after his dog too. I have to clear out all the toys from the yard to mow, and I regularly have to sweep up all the stuffing from my couch cushions that he destroys every minute he's left unsupervised - which is often. And even though he washed the dog, he didn't wash the bedding (the kids' beach towels which we sorely missed last time we swam at the cabin), so it still stinks like wet dog in the house.
Yesterday, as I unpacked from the camping trip, I had the doors open to go in and out with stuff. The dog got loose three times. Each time he got annoyed at the kids and me for opening the doors in the house. He didn't offer to help me unpack, and he didn't offer to take the dog for a walk to get him out of the way for a bit. He just kept leaving the dog in the house, disappearing somewhere, then getting mad when he escaped again because of our carelessness.
And as I was trying to get my older two kids re-packed and off to their dad's for the weekend, he kept rambling on and on about his work. I kept asking him to wait until the kids were off, but he'd stop briefly while I spoke directly to one of them, then continue his rant. I was unpacking, doing dishes, and saying good-byes to the kids, all the while he was telling his tales of woe of yet another job site he's going to hate.
ADHD or just plain inconsiderate? I don't really care anymore.
Bitter Film Bites
I was recovering from a vodka-cooler induced headache this morning, and ended up watching an oldie on TCM: Panic in Year Zero! with Frankie Avalon in a non-singing, non-Gigety role. It suited my mood because I recently had a very apocalyptic dream. I can't remember it at all anymore, but I do remember the feeling of having it.
I remember a different dream, however, in which I was auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance, and I made it to choreography, but I was wearing big black rain boots, so it was all very awkward. And I didn't want to take the boots off because they were my signature style or something like that. It felt like the end of the world albeit not literally.
Back to the film. It's 1962, and the Russians nuked most of the large cities in the U.S., and Ray Milland and family were fleeing into the countryside (where the radiation can't possibly get them). There was general chaos everywhere as people turned to lawlessness in the face of imminent death. One scene really made me mad. The dad and son go off hunting, and the daughter wants to come. But, of course not, silly. Girls shouldn't be using guns. Go back in the cave to make us lunch. Then the girl is raped by two bad guys, and the dad and son hunt them down and kill them (instant death with one shotgun blast to the belly - and no blood!).
It bugged me that the guys were obviously not very good protectors of this girl, yet they refused to teach her how to use a gun or even let her hold the thing for good measure. She wasn't allowed to protect herself, but was left alone. And it was all her fault for leaving the cave in the first place. She should know her place and do what she's told.
I got the same outraged feeling watching a very different movie: Straw Dogs. About his film, Sam Peckinpah said, "I didn't want you to enjoy the film. I wanted you to look into your own soul." Well alright then. I didn't enjoy the film. Even worse, I watched it with a bunch of guys who did.
The movie's about a mathematician and his pretty wife moving into the country where she gets raped. Apparently people should stay in the city for safety. Anyway, the wimpy math-dude gets clever over the course of the film and defends his home against a whole tribe of drunken rapist types. But that's just the thing - he defends his home, not his wife. The brutes sent him on a wild-goose chase while they buggered his woman, and he's more angry at being duped than outraged at the violation his wife has endured at their hands. His ego rates way higher than his wife's body and soul.
At the end, the nerd is setting up traps in his home. The wife is a bit useless. And my bf at the time turned to me and said, "If that ever happened to us, you better be more help to me than that!" He was right there with the protagonist. And I was right there with the wife. I was incensed that the idiot had no ability to protect his wife, yet she was offered no means to protect herself. It's his job to protect her, and he failed. She paid the price, but that's not what really matters. It's his feelings that matter. And it would have been just as bad for him, I'm guessing, had she successfully protected herself against attack. That would be just as demoralizing.
That potential scenario reminds me of New York, New York. There's a woman who can take charge of her life, and he runs her down every time she tries. Instead of being her supporter, he's her competitor. Thank god he left. He was just a burden - but a charming burden.
The women in these first two movies were just offered up to the men, and the focus wasn't on their pain, but on how their poor men were holding up against some type of theft. In the Panic film, the mother tells Ray that their daughter is more worried about him than about herself. The poor dad is having to cope with his little girl's loss of innocence, and that's where our sympathy is meant to dwell.
I've never met a man that I thought could protect me. There seems to be a code of sorts that says, step aside for another man in pursuit of his happiness, then call your girl a slut if she can't fight him off adequately. Well, that's my old bf's deal anyway. His best friend since age two accosted me frequently, and I was lucky to be able to keep him at bay. But I'll never forget the talking to my bf gave me when I kicked his best bud in the nuts. "You just never do that to a guy - never!"
Fuck you, dickwad. Ya I'm still mad about that. Deal.
And in NY, NY, Francine has to celebrate alone when she finally signs a record deal. Jimmy can't feel joy for her accomplishments because it puts him in second place. I worked towards a goal for a year and got two first place awards for my efforts. And there were no streamers or cake to come home to. Just a lament about his horrible day at work - again.
I tell him he has to go. Sometimes he doesn't seem to believe it. But that was the straw that broke my back.
ETA: Twisty recently wrote about the misogyny on TCM here. I'd comment, but it's over the 200 mark.
I remember a different dream, however, in which I was auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance, and I made it to choreography, but I was wearing big black rain boots, so it was all very awkward. And I didn't want to take the boots off because they were my signature style or something like that. It felt like the end of the world albeit not literally.
Back to the film. It's 1962, and the Russians nuked most of the large cities in the U.S., and Ray Milland and family were fleeing into the countryside (where the radiation can't possibly get them). There was general chaos everywhere as people turned to lawlessness in the face of imminent death. One scene really made me mad. The dad and son go off hunting, and the daughter wants to come. But, of course not, silly. Girls shouldn't be using guns. Go back in the cave to make us lunch. Then the girl is raped by two bad guys, and the dad and son hunt them down and kill them (instant death with one shotgun blast to the belly - and no blood!).
It bugged me that the guys were obviously not very good protectors of this girl, yet they refused to teach her how to use a gun or even let her hold the thing for good measure. She wasn't allowed to protect herself, but was left alone. And it was all her fault for leaving the cave in the first place. She should know her place and do what she's told.
I got the same outraged feeling watching a very different movie: Straw Dogs. About his film, Sam Peckinpah said, "I didn't want you to enjoy the film. I wanted you to look into your own soul." Well alright then. I didn't enjoy the film. Even worse, I watched it with a bunch of guys who did.
The movie's about a mathematician and his pretty wife moving into the country where she gets raped. Apparently people should stay in the city for safety. Anyway, the wimpy math-dude gets clever over the course of the film and defends his home against a whole tribe of drunken rapist types. But that's just the thing - he defends his home, not his wife. The brutes sent him on a wild-goose chase while they buggered his woman, and he's more angry at being duped than outraged at the violation his wife has endured at their hands. His ego rates way higher than his wife's body and soul.
At the end, the nerd is setting up traps in his home. The wife is a bit useless. And my bf at the time turned to me and said, "If that ever happened to us, you better be more help to me than that!" He was right there with the protagonist. And I was right there with the wife. I was incensed that the idiot had no ability to protect his wife, yet she was offered no means to protect herself. It's his job to protect her, and he failed. She paid the price, but that's not what really matters. It's his feelings that matter. And it would have been just as bad for him, I'm guessing, had she successfully protected herself against attack. That would be just as demoralizing.
That potential scenario reminds me of New York, New York. There's a woman who can take charge of her life, and he runs her down every time she tries. Instead of being her supporter, he's her competitor. Thank god he left. He was just a burden - but a charming burden.
The women in these first two movies were just offered up to the men, and the focus wasn't on their pain, but on how their poor men were holding up against some type of theft. In the Panic film, the mother tells Ray that their daughter is more worried about him than about herself. The poor dad is having to cope with his little girl's loss of innocence, and that's where our sympathy is meant to dwell.
I've never met a man that I thought could protect me. There seems to be a code of sorts that says, step aside for another man in pursuit of his happiness, then call your girl a slut if she can't fight him off adequately. Well, that's my old bf's deal anyway. His best friend since age two accosted me frequently, and I was lucky to be able to keep him at bay. But I'll never forget the talking to my bf gave me when I kicked his best bud in the nuts. "You just never do that to a guy - never!"
Fuck you, dickwad. Ya I'm still mad about that. Deal.
And in NY, NY, Francine has to celebrate alone when she finally signs a record deal. Jimmy can't feel joy for her accomplishments because it puts him in second place. I worked towards a goal for a year and got two first place awards for my efforts. And there were no streamers or cake to come home to. Just a lament about his horrible day at work - again.
I tell him he has to go. Sometimes he doesn't seem to believe it. But that was the straw that broke my back.
ETA: Twisty recently wrote about the misogyny on TCM here. I'd comment, but it's over the 200 mark.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
And Another Thing...
Whatever happened to the Carnival of Feminists?? Apparently the last one was in January or February. I've been out of the game for a while, busy and all, but I thought I would have heard something about such a great carnival totally dying off.
And I've got eczema something fierce! Last time I had it was after buying the house next door and contemplating the floor to ceiling garbage in every room. I thought I had really taken on more than I could chew that time, and it played itself out on the itchy mounds on my hands. Now I've got tenant problems, partner problems, money problems, and that general running out of time feeling I get more and more after hitting forty. So much to do, and so many barriers to doing it all.
But then again, nothing really needs to happen. I don't have to mow the lawn or make the gardens look presentable, or even clear off the kitchen table. I just think I do because I've been sucked into status anxiety for the time being. It'll pass. I try to remind myself I really just need food and shelter and people to love. And I've got all that in spades. My kids wanting stuff really tugs at me, but if I can refuse them, then maybe they will also learn to enjoy what they have. Maybe.
Which brings me to the "Thought Du Jour" in today's Globe and Mail: Sir Isaiah Berlin once said, "Philosophy is a wonderful subject, ubt it is necessariy unfinished and unfinishable. You really can't solve anything. At the end of my life I want to know more than I did at the beginning. And I couldn't get that from philosophy."
I agree with the first part, but I certainly understand more - or think I do - now than I did before studying philosophy. It's everything - how to govern, how to live, how to love, how to think. Sure there's no cut and dried right and wrong. But I think much of what we think we actually do know for sure is illusory anyway.
I've just finished the book Bozo Sapiens which contains many facts and scientific-type analysis of the human brain in a quest to determine why we do such stupid things all the time. It's a very good read. But really, at the end of it all, nobody's come much farther than Plato's analysis that we just don't measure very well. When we see something in the distance, it has less impact (as a means of pleasure or pain) as something in the foreground. It just does. You can study all the neural activity you want, and you really don't get much past that as the final conclusion. So the final chapter was a bit of a let down. Sorry, I just gave away the ending.
And I've got eczema something fierce! Last time I had it was after buying the house next door and contemplating the floor to ceiling garbage in every room. I thought I had really taken on more than I could chew that time, and it played itself out on the itchy mounds on my hands. Now I've got tenant problems, partner problems, money problems, and that general running out of time feeling I get more and more after hitting forty. So much to do, and so many barriers to doing it all.
But then again, nothing really needs to happen. I don't have to mow the lawn or make the gardens look presentable, or even clear off the kitchen table. I just think I do because I've been sucked into status anxiety for the time being. It'll pass. I try to remind myself I really just need food and shelter and people to love. And I've got all that in spades. My kids wanting stuff really tugs at me, but if I can refuse them, then maybe they will also learn to enjoy what they have. Maybe.
Which brings me to the "Thought Du Jour" in today's Globe and Mail: Sir Isaiah Berlin once said, "Philosophy is a wonderful subject, ubt it is necessariy unfinished and unfinishable. You really can't solve anything. At the end of my life I want to know more than I did at the beginning. And I couldn't get that from philosophy."
I agree with the first part, but I certainly understand more - or think I do - now than I did before studying philosophy. It's everything - how to govern, how to live, how to love, how to think. Sure there's no cut and dried right and wrong. But I think much of what we think we actually do know for sure is illusory anyway.
I've just finished the book Bozo Sapiens which contains many facts and scientific-type analysis of the human brain in a quest to determine why we do such stupid things all the time. It's a very good read. But really, at the end of it all, nobody's come much farther than Plato's analysis that we just don't measure very well. When we see something in the distance, it has less impact (as a means of pleasure or pain) as something in the foreground. It just does. You can study all the neural activity you want, and you really don't get much past that as the final conclusion. So the final chapter was a bit of a let down. Sorry, I just gave away the ending.
Powerlessness
I'm so pissed right now, I'm shaking. I don't know if I should sit or stand or jump or yell or cry or punch a wall.
It's the landlord-tenant act.
Well, more specifically, it's two asshole tenants that I want to do some damage to, but won't, and I should probably even delete that last line in case this blog is found and it comes up at the trial, but I won't do that either - gotta draw the line somewhere.
The Rundown:
Mid-May they want the place. There's no lease because it's not a legal apartment being in a basement with low-headroom and all. Yes, I know all about the wicked route of deception and lies biting me in the butt and all that crap. And here we go. They give me last's month's rent cheque, and I tell them I'll get the first month's rent when they move in June 1st.
June 1st - They run and hide when we show up (really!), and don't answer the door for seven days. I realize they're deadbeats, but also my guy's moving out. We're still together, we just can't live together. So, just as well, he can slide in there. If a landlord needs the place, you can take it back with notice. I know I have to give them until September 1st, so I bargain with them. I ask them if they'll go the end of the month if I give them $300 cash back from the rent they already paid. If they want to stay longer, just give me the rent cheque, and move out the following month. They don't have any cash, so they agree to move out the end of the month. All's well.
June 30th - They say they're not leaving. We have to give sixty days notice. I say, "I know the rules, but you verbally agreed to take cash in exchange for leaving at the end of the month." But I didn't say it all calm like that. I got all red in the face and loud and even called him a shit at some point, and he kept trying to close the door and I kept shoving my foot in it. In short, I went nuts. Totally. The upshot - he denies saying he was going to leave, and we can't get in there to move my guy in, AND they still haven't paid for June.
Funny thing is my guy's the one with the temper. On the way down he was asking what to do if he starts to lose it. I told him, just don't lose it. HAHAHAHA!!! My guy was silent, and I was freakin' out! And no legal venues are open until Thursday morning because of Canada's birthday tomorrow. Stupid birthday.
The problem with the landlord-tenant act is that if they don't pay rent, I have to give them a day's grace then serve them notice of eviction, then they have 14 days to get rent together. If they pay within 14 days, then they can stay. And we can do that every single month for six months before we get to go to court. It's bullshit.
All of a sudden I feel like I've got an ulcer or I'm going to barf. Yum. The best part, is, if we CAN get them out by August 31st - at the earliest - I'll put money on it they'll trash the place for all the trouble we've caused them.
I'm too stupid to live.
It's the landlord-tenant act.
Well, more specifically, it's two asshole tenants that I want to do some damage to, but won't, and I should probably even delete that last line in case this blog is found and it comes up at the trial, but I won't do that either - gotta draw the line somewhere.
The Rundown:
Mid-May they want the place. There's no lease because it's not a legal apartment being in a basement with low-headroom and all. Yes, I know all about the wicked route of deception and lies biting me in the butt and all that crap. And here we go. They give me last's month's rent cheque, and I tell them I'll get the first month's rent when they move in June 1st.
June 1st - They run and hide when we show up (really!), and don't answer the door for seven days. I realize they're deadbeats, but also my guy's moving out. We're still together, we just can't live together. So, just as well, he can slide in there. If a landlord needs the place, you can take it back with notice. I know I have to give them until September 1st, so I bargain with them. I ask them if they'll go the end of the month if I give them $300 cash back from the rent they already paid. If they want to stay longer, just give me the rent cheque, and move out the following month. They don't have any cash, so they agree to move out the end of the month. All's well.
June 30th - They say they're not leaving. We have to give sixty days notice. I say, "I know the rules, but you verbally agreed to take cash in exchange for leaving at the end of the month." But I didn't say it all calm like that. I got all red in the face and loud and even called him a shit at some point, and he kept trying to close the door and I kept shoving my foot in it. In short, I went nuts. Totally. The upshot - he denies saying he was going to leave, and we can't get in there to move my guy in, AND they still haven't paid for June.
Funny thing is my guy's the one with the temper. On the way down he was asking what to do if he starts to lose it. I told him, just don't lose it. HAHAHAHA!!! My guy was silent, and I was freakin' out! And no legal venues are open until Thursday morning because of Canada's birthday tomorrow. Stupid birthday.
The problem with the landlord-tenant act is that if they don't pay rent, I have to give them a day's grace then serve them notice of eviction, then they have 14 days to get rent together. If they pay within 14 days, then they can stay. And we can do that every single month for six months before we get to go to court. It's bullshit.
All of a sudden I feel like I've got an ulcer or I'm going to barf. Yum. The best part, is, if we CAN get them out by August 31st - at the earliest - I'll put money on it they'll trash the place for all the trouble we've caused them.
I'm too stupid to live.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Benjamin Button
I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button last night. I didn't love it for the same reasons I didn't love Forrest Gump. It felt contrived and forced in too many places. But it sure pulled at my heartstrings. I was a basketcase by the end of it. And, unlike my mediocre reaction to Tom Hanks, I find it hard to look away when Brad Pitt's filling the screen - especially in scenes where he looks just like he did in A River Runs Through It.
Life and death as on-going and inevitable was beaten into us in the film. But I was hit by a few other themes, particularly the difficulty with being different, not fitting. Yet Benjamin actually did find a niche here and there - he managed to find a few groups of people that he fit with. It hits me hard that I still struggle so hard to fit anywhere. I'm a good teacher, and that fits me, but I'm not supposed to hang out with students, and a shift in the relationship would destroy what's created in the classroom. Soif even a bizarre character like this is able to find a place in the world, what's my freakin' problem? This is why I love Hedwig and the Angry Inch. He ends up alone, willing to accept the isolation inherent to life. That felt more real, or at least, more familiar.
And I liked the ideas around love - how it's possible to be accepting that the time just isn't right and the people we love might be with other people until we're really to connect completely. And that even if we're in love, it's not always the best choice of housemate. Sometimes practical issues do get in the way of emotional bonds.
And I like the little bit on the randomness of life. Little things happen all the time that affect everything else, and we have no control over all these little things that end up changing our world in myriad ways. It's all a crap shoot. Well, of course there are choices we're able to make to blaze the trail in a better direction, but those choices aren't the only thing creating the path we walk. And sometimes they're barely even significant.
Life and death as on-going and inevitable was beaten into us in the film. But I was hit by a few other themes, particularly the difficulty with being different, not fitting. Yet Benjamin actually did find a niche here and there - he managed to find a few groups of people that he fit with. It hits me hard that I still struggle so hard to fit anywhere. I'm a good teacher, and that fits me, but I'm not supposed to hang out with students, and a shift in the relationship would destroy what's created in the classroom. Soif even a bizarre character like this is able to find a place in the world, what's my freakin' problem? This is why I love Hedwig and the Angry Inch. He ends up alone, willing to accept the isolation inherent to life. That felt more real, or at least, more familiar.
And I liked the ideas around love - how it's possible to be accepting that the time just isn't right and the people we love might be with other people until we're really to connect completely. And that even if we're in love, it's not always the best choice of housemate. Sometimes practical issues do get in the way of emotional bonds.
And I like the little bit on the randomness of life. Little things happen all the time that affect everything else, and we have no control over all these little things that end up changing our world in myriad ways. It's all a crap shoot. Well, of course there are choices we're able to make to blaze the trail in a better direction, but those choices aren't the only thing creating the path we walk. And sometimes they're barely even significant.
Treasure Hunting
Funny story:
My little one loves treasure hunts. So, for her fifth birthday, we set up a big treasure hunt for all the kids. Luckily the rain held off so we could have it outside. Of course my girl pitched a fit right before, and her brother did all the finding for her loot bag. But that's beside the point.
All the moms dropped off their kids and left. All except for one mom, who said very little, didn't want anything to eat or drink, and she just hovered near her boy. I didn't know her or him very well, and I found it difficult to engage her in conversation, so I just left her be.
Anyway, the kids are all searching for toys in the back. One kid, of course the one who's mom is in constant watch, reaches into the cat door that leads to the garage. I put it in so I wouldn't fret if I couldn't find all the cats during a storm or something. So the kid reaches his hand in and pulls out a treasure. "I found a movie!" I go to see, and of course it's not Bambi or anything tame, it was Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I told him that wasn't part of the game.
Well, at least it wasn't Back Door Sluts 9.
I'm very alone these days, and feel constantly misunderstood - it's frustrating to the point of silencing me. Soon I'll share more.
My little one loves treasure hunts. So, for her fifth birthday, we set up a big treasure hunt for all the kids. Luckily the rain held off so we could have it outside. Of course my girl pitched a fit right before, and her brother did all the finding for her loot bag. But that's beside the point.
All the moms dropped off their kids and left. All except for one mom, who said very little, didn't want anything to eat or drink, and she just hovered near her boy. I didn't know her or him very well, and I found it difficult to engage her in conversation, so I just left her be.
Anyway, the kids are all searching for toys in the back. One kid, of course the one who's mom is in constant watch, reaches into the cat door that leads to the garage. I put it in so I wouldn't fret if I couldn't find all the cats during a storm or something. So the kid reaches his hand in and pulls out a treasure. "I found a movie!" I go to see, and of course it's not Bambi or anything tame, it was Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I told him that wasn't part of the game.
Well, at least it wasn't Back Door Sluts 9.
I'm very alone these days, and feel constantly misunderstood - it's frustrating to the point of silencing me. Soon I'll share more.
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