I need to make a list:
Types of Apples that I Hate
-Granny Smith
Today my third brother said to me, "Jess.... what do I have to do to be like you ...spiritually?" This by itself isn't as monumentous as it may seem to the untrained eye but what it represents, in light of the whole conversation, in light of the past few weeks and in light of what I've been wondering in the last lil while - what it represents is very good.
"What does born-again mean?" is not as easy a question to answer as I would have guessed. I try to avoid clichés, platitudes and Christianese in general but I find it especially important when I'm speaking with people who are not Christians about anything to do with Christianity because it's not so much about my beefs as it is about the other person's understanding.
Books I am Excited to Read
-"I am America (and So Can You!)" by Stephen T Colbert.
I definitely hugged this book (sorta before I remembered I was in public) after it had been paid for and was OFFICIALLY one of my very own possessions. I don't know... I think I'll finish it in... three days. I predict three days. I'm excited.
great moment in cinematic history..
two of my brothers and I were walking last ..yesterday, and Brother #2 randomly pointed out, "Hey this is cool - we're in order of height!" and he was true. Brother #1 always flips out when Brothers #2 or 3 bring up respective height because he is the oldest yet shortest of the three (at 6'1") and takes pride in his size. He mock-cried and walked around so he could be in the "tallest" position and said, "Shut up! ... At least I'm taller in mind! .... (Brother 2 and I laughed) .. I don't know what that means."
ahhh... "I'm taller in mind." I want to find a way to over-use that phrase.
I needa sleep.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Sunday, 7 October 2007
(trying not to type the f-bomb about 3 times in this post)
It's Sunday morning (2.34 AM).
I'm thinking about what tomorrow is going to look like. It's going to be crazy. It's unbelievable how uncomfortable and helpless and s-t-r-a-i-n-e-d I feel (note: "feel") when I'm here at my dad's house.
Parent #1 asked if we wanted to get a movie and most peeps was in agreement. They all go out to the store, Parent #2 and I are left here. They come back with four DVDs after Parent #2 has gone up for a nap and asked me to ask them to wake him up upon their return. (I forget to do this.) Brother #3 eats too much cheesecake and goes to his room soon thereafter. The film has been playing for less than twenty minutes, including the trailers. Brother #1 perseveres for a while then says out of nowhere, "Well, I'm definitely going to bed. ... I got up too early." It's true: he was underslept and the Red Bull clearly wasn't helping and we all know there's no point struggling to half-watch a film when you can fully watch it later. So he left. I thought he was going to finish the Bull or just walk around or try to go to bed and then come back (it's happened before) but no, he was gone. I can appreciate that. Parent #1 remained. She got up after a little while (the film has now reached something like... minute 45 or 50) moved the couch to its proper spot, pushed in chairs at the dining table [new and weird addition!], put some dishes away, etc. etc. and I thought she was going to bed, which would make sense. But no, she flopped back on the couch and kept a-starin'. She was definitely conked out within 15 minutes, though. So... around 1.27AM I find myself alone watching a film (which, by itself, is fine) but I think it's ironic and preeeetty dumb that there was all that "excitement" and no one persevered. If, however, we had elected to watch a comedy or an action flick first, I think people's attention would have certainly been better held. We might have.. well they might have actually FOUGHT to get through it.
Earlier today Parent #1 asked if I had ever "fallen in love with a black guy."
"Uhhhhh...weird question," I throw out, as I mess my hand over my face to buy some time.
Sister #2 felt the same way I did, as I know Sister #1 does and I just .. I just think it's ridiculous that Parent #1 couldn't appreciate our standpoint. [I just had a moment of realization that blogging is so lame. For me, right now, on this topic, it is way lame. And I continue.] It's not that I would never marry a negroid or that I could never like one, it's just that... well statistically, I have more often liked white boys than..well, non-white boys. Part of it is just availability. The other part of it is the stigma. (Is there a better word than "stigma"?) I tried to explain to her that 9 of the 10 dirty men who have hit on me (or worse) were black and so, generally, I try to steer clear of those kind of guys - mostly when I'm in public and especially when I'm alone. Is that to say that I would avoid them at parties or treat them with contempt if my friend was introducing us? Heck no! I aint even think of stuff like this in the moment. It's not a kind of "Beware, he's black!" warning sign that flashes through my mind and dictates my actions. I just have a hard time (sometimes) NOT expecting them to be gross. But really.. this applies to chance meetings... not to people I actually KNOW. If I know them then they aint jerks. Or.. or, you know, I'd just leave. I aint gotta stand for that crap.
But she didn't get it. She said that she was.. either "disturbed" or "concerned" by this notion. It was one of those or it was "disappointed." It was something harsh(-ish); not an every day stance/emotion. I don't really like this. I wish we could have talked about this further so we could understand one another better. I know I'm not wrong and I know that she thinks I am only because she doesn't get what I'm saying.
I'm not even saying I don't like black guys, I'm saying I don't like guys who do certain things in relation to me. I don't like that they make me feel so disgusting and so little I want to scream. It's ridiculous. There was this one time I was walking down the street with my sister, from 26th street to 42nd, and in that distance, there and back, five different guys or groups of guys called out to us. The last one - holy SHIT - made me so mad I punched a lamppost. Punching a lamppost sounds dumb but getting a quick, violent release for anger feels good some times. We all know that. Good? Yes. Healthy? Maybe not so much. I think the worst part about this whole fiasco is that I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do to prevent it, I don't know what to do in the moment and I wouldn't know what to do by way of remedy AFTER the fact. I mean, a preventative measure might be staying home forever. I would, but I need my 5 minutes of vitamin D every day to keep the seratonin floating. My variation on this is called wearing a hoodie or shapeless clothing or otherwise hiding your face/looking away/crossing the street... I'm amazed at how that doesn't help, some times. Simply amazed. In the moment, I'm pretty good at scowling but most guys don't see that. I'm not sure it actually registers for them that I am NOT amused. This also boggles my mind. Afterwards? Ai.... what can I say? Breathing deeply would be good. Trying to "let it go" is a popular choice. I've often wondered if I could yell profanities (I'm imagining a drive-by situation). I've always thought that yelling something colorful would "help" but it won't. People would say that's "stooping to their level," or, "letting them get the best of you." I don't mind either of those accusations but I DO mind not being found blameless so I forego the option.
Sisters 1 and 2 get it. The problem is that demographic X seems to be attracted to demographic Z which, my sisters and I are a part of. It's predictable. You can see a person and just KNOW what they're going to say or do... it's weird. I'm getting frustrated just typing it because I imagine any one reading this won't get it. It's... it's screaming at a brick wall. My own brother thinks I'm/we're imagining it. Ahh.... and that's the end.
I'm thinking about what tomorrow is going to look like. It's going to be crazy. It's unbelievable how uncomfortable and helpless and s-t-r-a-i-n-e-d I feel (note: "feel") when I'm here at my dad's house.
Parent #1 asked if we wanted to get a movie and most peeps was in agreement. They all go out to the store, Parent #2 and I are left here. They come back with four DVDs after Parent #2 has gone up for a nap and asked me to ask them to wake him up upon their return. (I forget to do this.) Brother #3 eats too much cheesecake and goes to his room soon thereafter. The film has been playing for less than twenty minutes, including the trailers. Brother #1 perseveres for a while then says out of nowhere, "Well, I'm definitely going to bed. ... I got up too early." It's true: he was underslept and the Red Bull clearly wasn't helping and we all know there's no point struggling to half-watch a film when you can fully watch it later. So he left. I thought he was going to finish the Bull or just walk around or try to go to bed and then come back (it's happened before) but no, he was gone. I can appreciate that. Parent #1 remained. She got up after a little while (the film has now reached something like... minute 45 or 50) moved the couch to its proper spot, pushed in chairs at the dining table [new and weird addition!], put some dishes away, etc. etc. and I thought she was going to bed, which would make sense. But no, she flopped back on the couch and kept a-starin'. She was definitely conked out within 15 minutes, though. So... around 1.27AM I find myself alone watching a film (which, by itself, is fine) but I think it's ironic and preeeetty dumb that there was all that "excitement" and no one persevered. If, however, we had elected to watch a comedy or an action flick first, I think people's attention would have certainly been better held. We might have.. well they might have actually FOUGHT to get through it.
Earlier today Parent #1 asked if I had ever "fallen in love with a black guy."
"Uhhhhh...weird question," I throw out, as I mess my hand over my face to buy some time.
Sister #2 felt the same way I did, as I know Sister #1 does and I just .. I just think it's ridiculous that Parent #1 couldn't appreciate our standpoint. [I just had a moment of realization that blogging is so lame. For me, right now, on this topic, it is way lame. And I continue.] It's not that I would never marry a negroid or that I could never like one, it's just that... well statistically, I have more often liked white boys than..well, non-white boys. Part of it is just availability. The other part of it is the stigma. (Is there a better word than "stigma"?) I tried to explain to her that 9 of the 10 dirty men who have hit on me (or worse) were black and so, generally, I try to steer clear of those kind of guys - mostly when I'm in public and especially when I'm alone. Is that to say that I would avoid them at parties or treat them with contempt if my friend was introducing us? Heck no! I aint even think of stuff like this in the moment. It's not a kind of "Beware, he's black!" warning sign that flashes through my mind and dictates my actions. I just have a hard time (sometimes) NOT expecting them to be gross. But really.. this applies to chance meetings... not to people I actually KNOW. If I know them then they aint jerks. Or.. or, you know, I'd just leave. I aint gotta stand for that crap.
But she didn't get it. She said that she was.. either "disturbed" or "concerned" by this notion. It was one of those or it was "disappointed." It was something harsh(-ish); not an every day stance/emotion. I don't really like this. I wish we could have talked about this further so we could understand one another better. I know I'm not wrong and I know that she thinks I am only because she doesn't get what I'm saying.
I'm not even saying I don't like black guys, I'm saying I don't like guys who do certain things in relation to me. I don't like that they make me feel so disgusting and so little I want to scream. It's ridiculous. There was this one time I was walking down the street with my sister, from 26th street to 42nd, and in that distance, there and back, five different guys or groups of guys called out to us. The last one - holy SHIT - made me so mad I punched a lamppost. Punching a lamppost sounds dumb but getting a quick, violent release for anger feels good some times. We all know that. Good? Yes. Healthy? Maybe not so much. I think the worst part about this whole fiasco is that I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do to prevent it, I don't know what to do in the moment and I wouldn't know what to do by way of remedy AFTER the fact. I mean, a preventative measure might be staying home forever. I would, but I need my 5 minutes of vitamin D every day to keep the seratonin floating. My variation on this is called wearing a hoodie or shapeless clothing or otherwise hiding your face/looking away/crossing the street... I'm amazed at how that doesn't help, some times. Simply amazed. In the moment, I'm pretty good at scowling but most guys don't see that. I'm not sure it actually registers for them that I am NOT amused. This also boggles my mind. Afterwards? Ai.... what can I say? Breathing deeply would be good. Trying to "let it go" is a popular choice. I've often wondered if I could yell profanities (I'm imagining a drive-by situation). I've always thought that yelling something colorful would "help" but it won't. People would say that's "stooping to their level," or, "letting them get the best of you." I don't mind either of those accusations but I DO mind not being found blameless so I forego the option.
Sisters 1 and 2 get it. The problem is that demographic X seems to be attracted to demographic Z which, my sisters and I are a part of. It's predictable. You can see a person and just KNOW what they're going to say or do... it's weird. I'm getting frustrated just typing it because I imagine any one reading this won't get it. It's... it's screaming at a brick wall. My own brother thinks I'm/we're imagining it. Ahh.... and that's the end.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
"And what does your husband do?"
Someone asked me that at a Euchre table yestereve. I just... don't even know where to begin with how weird that was. All I could do was nervously laugh, "My husband??!" They looked at eachother strangely and then I had to ask (since no one understood the ludicrousness), "What ever made you think I had a husband?" (Slight awkward pause) "Oh... nevermind. I don't know where I got that idea. I thought you just said..." (I had just finished answering a question about me studying Music or Agriculture or something so this was lost on me.) The girl to my right was like, "I thought you were laughing at your husband and I was like, what?"
Ai... how do you smooth over the awkwardness and sheer weirdness of such a situation? You don't. You just keep playing.
(I kept trying to play back what I had just said to figure out what was misinterpreted or misheard and I couldnst figure it out to save my life. I think the problem was that the shock blanked out my immediate memories. Usually I'm pretty good with playback but this was just crazy.) I thought I was so careful and all.. I don't know these people well at all so if they know then maybe everyone knows.... Or it was just a fluke/lucky guess. yiikes.
Ai... how do you smooth over the awkwardness and sheer weirdness of such a situation? You don't. You just keep playing.
(I kept trying to play back what I had just said to figure out what was misinterpreted or misheard and I couldnst figure it out to save my life. I think the problem was that the shock blanked out my immediate memories. Usually I'm pretty good with playback but this was just crazy.) I thought I was so careful and all.. I don't know these people well at all so if they know then maybe everyone knows.... Or it was just a fluke/lucky guess. yiikes.
I'm making cheesecake. You are not.
I am excited about it. You might be.
I got to talk to my brother #2 the other day and I'm still riding the high of it. You might not appreciate that.
I think I'm hungry but I can't tell. It doesn't quite make sense. I don't know if I had dinner or not.
I wonder why I can't play piano like I used to.
I wonder if I should go to Bible college.
I wonder why people read blogs.
I wonder why people read my blog.
I wonder... hmm.
I wonder when I'll get to start working.
I wonder where I will be on October 27th. I'm already double-booked with the the potential to be triple-.
I love reading and I need to do it more.
I don't read update newsletters from my friends who work for Campus for Christ very often. When I read them, I do it thoroughly and proplerly but I'm often a few weeks or a few months behind because I can't always (or often feel that I can't always) devote the time to ... devote the time...
HmmmMMMM. I wonder if I'll ever own an i-pod. I wonder if I'll ever get married. I wonder if I'll ever be a mother.
I wonder if I can ever get it. I wonnnnnnnnderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Will I ever have someone to answer to?
I definitely am hungry, despite the banana split from 1.5 hours ago.
Tight pants are a funny business...ill-fitting clothing is awkward in general.
Bad grammar pisses me off. I still wanna read. I love.... delving into a world that someone else has created. Hey - non-fictions are cool, too.
suspicious?
I am excited about it. You might be.
I got to talk to my brother #2 the other day and I'm still riding the high of it. You might not appreciate that.
I think I'm hungry but I can't tell. It doesn't quite make sense. I don't know if I had dinner or not.
I wonder why I can't play piano like I used to.
I wonder if I should go to Bible college.
I wonder why people read blogs.
I wonder why people read my blog.
I wonder... hmm.
I wonder when I'll get to start working.
I wonder where I will be on October 27th. I'm already double-booked with the the potential to be triple-.
I love reading and I need to do it more.
I don't read update newsletters from my friends who work for Campus for Christ very often. When I read them, I do it thoroughly and proplerly but I'm often a few weeks or a few months behind because I can't always (or often feel that I can't always) devote the time to ... devote the time...
HmmmMMMM. I wonder if I'll ever own an i-pod. I wonder if I'll ever get married. I wonder if I'll ever be a mother.
I wonder if I can ever get it. I wonnnnnnnnderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Will I ever have someone to answer to?
I definitely am hungry, despite the banana split from 1.5 hours ago.
Tight pants are a funny business...ill-fitting clothing is awkward in general.
Bad grammar pisses me off. I still wanna read. I love.... delving into a world that someone else has created. Hey - non-fictions are cool, too.
suspicious?
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
I'm not sure humans were made for water
..but I just can't deny how I love to be submerged in it. Ahhh to swim.
It's so unique among all activities and the feeling can't be replicated anywhere. I've never been in a bathtub full enough and showers just don't cut it.
Every single part of you touched by cool eau... It's great.
I don't think I have been this nervous for any given interview this job-search session. (Or maybe ever... probably ever.) I'm not quite sure WHY, either. It wasn't a "big deal" as far as big deals go but I would really like to eat some toast right now. This is why I think it'd be a good idea for me to go buy some bread.
Anyways, I did certainly clap my hands (involuntarily?) with excitement when I saw the posting for this job a week or two ago and I was pretty confident they'd call me in for a view soon enough. But that lil twelve-minute walk to the gallows, it was harder than expected! I couldn't help lamenting how I "didn't feel prepared". Heck, who am I kidding? I NEVERZ feel prepared, not for these things. I wish I could have done more research or planned my answers or cleared my mind or SOMEthing. I don't know how to do this crap...
But anyways.. I fell into the old familiar groove, that bum depression in your favorite chaise. Historically familiar, anyways... not actually... recently familiar (-ish). I remembered how there once was a time (and a man from Nantucket) when I was happy to be uncomfortable or nervous or lacking confidence because it meant that I had to drag my sorry self back to the Padre and ask for help. Not just to ask for help but to admit that I was fully incapable of doing activity X on my own. It's cool. It's relieveing to admit your weaknesses and shortcommings. I stopped on the bridge on my way there to tell Him about all my shortcommings, weaknesses, faults, voids, etc. etc. and how I thought they would make the perfect breeding ground for His abundance, strengths and perfection. [I'd like to take this opportunity to throw in the word "longcommings".]
So, (dot, dot, dot), I didn't have a miracle breakthrough, I didn't suddenly feel all better. But I did what I was supposed to do and that's good. It's good to.... take action in spite of myself...action that I know will bring me closer to being who I should be, some time in the not-so-distant future.
The interview was fine. I ..border-line enjoyed it. I mean.. I did say something stupid when he first introduced himself but there's a good chance he didn't hear me/doesn't care. Quoi d'autre? .... Well it's over and I do enjoy the post-interview high. It often smells like accomplishment. But, I do also realize that I'm back at the proverbial drawing board but there we are.
It's so unique among all activities and the feeling can't be replicated anywhere. I've never been in a bathtub full enough and showers just don't cut it.
Every single part of you touched by cool eau... It's great.
I don't think I have been this nervous for any given interview this job-search session. (Or maybe ever... probably ever.) I'm not quite sure WHY, either. It wasn't a "big deal" as far as big deals go but I would really like to eat some toast right now. This is why I think it'd be a good idea for me to go buy some bread.
Anyways, I did certainly clap my hands (involuntarily?) with excitement when I saw the posting for this job a week or two ago and I was pretty confident they'd call me in for a view soon enough. But that lil twelve-minute walk to the gallows, it was harder than expected! I couldn't help lamenting how I "didn't feel prepared". Heck, who am I kidding? I NEVERZ feel prepared, not for these things. I wish I could have done more research or planned my answers or cleared my mind or SOMEthing. I don't know how to do this crap...
But anyways.. I fell into the old familiar groove, that bum depression in your favorite chaise. Historically familiar, anyways... not actually... recently familiar (-ish). I remembered how there once was a time (and a man from Nantucket) when I was happy to be uncomfortable or nervous or lacking confidence because it meant that I had to drag my sorry self back to the Padre and ask for help. Not just to ask for help but to admit that I was fully incapable of doing activity X on my own. It's cool. It's relieveing to admit your weaknesses and shortcommings. I stopped on the bridge on my way there to tell Him about all my shortcommings, weaknesses, faults, voids, etc. etc. and how I thought they would make the perfect breeding ground for His abundance, strengths and perfection. [I'd like to take this opportunity to throw in the word "longcommings".]
So, (dot, dot, dot), I didn't have a miracle breakthrough, I didn't suddenly feel all better. But I did what I was supposed to do and that's good. It's good to.... take action in spite of myself...action that I know will bring me closer to being who I should be, some time in the not-so-distant future.
The interview was fine. I ..border-line enjoyed it. I mean.. I did say something stupid when he first introduced himself but there's a good chance he didn't hear me/doesn't care. Quoi d'autre? .... Well it's over and I do enjoy the post-interview high. It often smells like accomplishment. But, I do also realize that I'm back at the proverbial drawing board but there we are.
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Octobes hath arrived.
On tonight's episode of the Colbert Report, Colby was doing another installment of "Cheating Death with Dr Stephen T. Colbert" which is always great. I was actually only half listening ... cuz I'm no longer obsessed with him and cuz I was talking to someone online but I did manage to crib these few nuggets:
"When you ingest chemicals that are bad for you, [your body] alerts you ... by dying."
This one, I remember, was from VaxaMamm, a male breast reduction cream. Apparently you're supposed to, "Apply it once and then go immediately to the hospital. [Laughs] Get that stuff off. It burns. Side effects may include: autonomous nipples, migrating genitals aaand .... brain-tooth."
That last one really got me. "Brain-tooth." Ha... some how it's not such a foreign thing for me to conjure a mental image for and I do blame The Simpsons. His "Cheating Death" segments are very similar in format and tonight I was reflecting on how it is very possible that the writers of the show will soon run out of obsure side-effects to cite. I mean, that's how he ends his spiel on every product. It's a .. trademark but I don't know that it's a staple. I think it's part of a larger picture. I think it serves to make the whole segment ridiculous (duh), to make Colb a clearly UNqualified "doctor" and to make every product COMPLETELY unmarketable and undesirable and unhelpful, etc. etc. ... rendering the whole thing useless.
But I mean... I haven't gotten tired of it yet. Most of the side-effects are gross (the audience will groan) but they are related to the product they are connected to which is good. It's a little tiny thread tied onto sensibleness. (...sensibility?) But brain-tooth....ahhh so great. I liked the time he recommended something where one of its side-effects was the actual ailment it was meant to cure. great times.
"When you ingest chemicals that are bad for you, [your body] alerts you ... by dying."
This one, I remember, was from VaxaMamm, a male breast reduction cream. Apparently you're supposed to, "Apply it once and then go immediately to the hospital. [Laughs] Get that stuff off. It burns. Side effects may include: autonomous nipples, migrating genitals aaand .... brain-tooth."
That last one really got me. "Brain-tooth." Ha... some how it's not such a foreign thing for me to conjure a mental image for and I do blame The Simpsons. His "Cheating Death" segments are very similar in format and tonight I was reflecting on how it is very possible that the writers of the show will soon run out of obsure side-effects to cite. I mean, that's how he ends his spiel on every product. It's a .. trademark but I don't know that it's a staple. I think it's part of a larger picture. I think it serves to make the whole segment ridiculous (duh), to make Colb a clearly UNqualified "doctor" and to make every product COMPLETELY unmarketable and undesirable and unhelpful, etc. etc. ... rendering the whole thing useless.
But I mean... I haven't gotten tired of it yet. Most of the side-effects are gross (the audience will groan) but they are related to the product they are connected to which is good. It's a little tiny thread tied onto sensibleness. (...sensibility?) But brain-tooth....ahhh so great. I liked the time he recommended something where one of its side-effects was the actual ailment it was meant to cure. great times.
Saturday, 29 September 2007
roll over
Ludwig Von Beethoven was a brilliant man. I don't know about how he spoke or what kind of books he read, or science he understood but his creative output is just glorious.
The first movement of his Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp Minor: Quasi una Fantasia (Op. 27 No. 2) is so sensible, according to the rules of tonal harmony and in the style of good mathematics. I say, "sensible" but I mean perfect. It just works. It's the structure of a building that'll never fall. I think that's why I love playing it so much because, as I progress and I consciously analyze everything going on, I see that it all just fits. Wonderful.
I think that, if I were feeling particularly ambitious and didn't have another HUGE mother - but time-sensitive - thing to do, I would explain dissect this sonata right here. I'd do it in as little detail as I could get away with. There's so much foundation, though; I don't know if it's feasible this way. One day... It'll prolly be called "roll over pt. 2" because I'm original like that.
The first movement of his Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp Minor: Quasi una Fantasia (Op. 27 No. 2) is so sensible, according to the rules of tonal harmony and in the style of good mathematics. I say, "sensible" but I mean perfect. It just works. It's the structure of a building that'll never fall. I think that's why I love playing it so much because, as I progress and I consciously analyze everything going on, I see that it all just fits. Wonderful.
I think that, if I were feeling particularly ambitious and didn't have another HUGE mother - but time-sensitive - thing to do, I would explain dissect this sonata right here. I'd do it in as little detail as I could get away with. There's so much foundation, though; I don't know if it's feasible this way. One day... It'll prolly be called "roll over pt. 2" because I'm original like that.
Friday, 28 September 2007
Laws I Have Broken
1) I have definitely photocopied music, many times - music that has written, "All rights reserved. International copyright secured," or something like it on the bottom. Some of my sheets even put a symbol in the top right corner: a little stack of papers with a HUGE eighth note printed on it, inside a circle with a line through it.
2) I have jaywalked (about 1300 thousand times).
3) I have driven illegally (maybe 20 or 25 times).
a. I have run a red light.
4) I have pirated music through downloading or copying from others (though all such recordings have since been trashed).
5) I think I may have violated a noise ordinance (just once).
6) I have bought and smoked weed.
7) I have bought and drank beer before I was 19.
8) I have bought alocohol for someone who was under 19 (that was a one-time deal).
9) I have lied to a court of law, though I wasn't actually IN the courtroom. I guess it's a false testimony or something.
10) I have used online pictures that were protected by copyright.
I can't think of any others...TO BE CONTINUED.
Editor's note: does it count as law-breaking if you turn your head from other people breaking the law? If so, I'm guilty of that for numbers 2, 3, 3.a, 4, 6 (including the growing and selling of weed), 7, 8 (let's add buying cigarettes underage), 9 and 10, well.. probably goes for most people. I've also witnessed some (petty) theft and the sneaking into theatres (in some kind of large-scale, "we have a system" way) but that may be where the list ends... with the exception of watching someone snort coke.
2) I have jaywalked (about 1300 thousand times).
3) I have driven illegally (maybe 20 or 25 times).
a. I have run a red light.
4) I have pirated music through downloading or copying from others (though all such recordings have since been trashed).
5) I think I may have violated a noise ordinance (just once).
6) I have bought and smoked weed.
7) I have bought and drank beer before I was 19.
8) I have bought alocohol for someone who was under 19 (that was a one-time deal).
9) I have lied to a court of law, though I wasn't actually IN the courtroom. I guess it's a false testimony or something.
10) I have used online pictures that were protected by copyright.
I can't think of any others...TO BE CONTINUED.
Editor's note: does it count as law-breaking if you turn your head from other people breaking the law? If so, I'm guilty of that for numbers 2, 3, 3.a, 4, 6 (including the growing and selling of weed), 7, 8 (let's add buying cigarettes underage), 9 and 10, well.. probably goes for most people. I've also witnessed some (petty) theft and the sneaking into theatres (in some kind of large-scale, "we have a system" way) but that may be where the list ends... with the exception of watching someone snort coke.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
because I'm like that
out of the 4317 emails I have in my Outbox (for an account I have had since fall 2002 but from which I have deleted at least 2 or 300 messages), it seems that only 88 of those messages are more than 4K in size. Now, I'm not going to count anything with an attachment, or any mother Reply-to-All chains or something cut&paste because that's not my writing and that actually drops the number to 60. I can't believe it... I thought I was more verbose than that. I guess it's good though, for the sake of my recipients.
Also, I think my server has recently (maybe last year) upgraded so that messages carry less weight than they did previously with this server AND less than they would if they were sent from, say a Yahoo! or Hotmail account. WhoooooOpa.
27 are 5K
14 are 6K
3 are 7K
9 are 8K
3 are 9K
1 is 10K
2 are 11K
1 is 14K
Serious. That's crazy. I gotta get crackin.
Also, I think my server has recently (maybe last year) upgraded so that messages carry less weight than they did previously with this server AND less than they would if they were sent from, say a Yahoo! or Hotmail account. WhoooooOpa.
27 are 5K
14 are 6K
3 are 7K
9 are 8K
3 are 9K
1 is 10K
2 are 11K
1 is 14K
Serious. That's crazy. I gotta get crackin.
Sunday, 23 September 2007
Serious.
Well this definitely made my day. Colbert got a cameo on The Simpsons! Dude.. ha I had no idea he was that big. Lionel Richie was on this episode, too.. a season's premiere of sorts. Rock the heck on. O man I enjoyed .. enjoyed it.
OK.
So I never realized this (and I'm glad cuz I was pretty young at the time) but Bob Saget, namely when he was hosting America's Funniest Home Videos was pretty hot (.. in some weird way).
He actually does a good job hosting and I'm SURE that's thanks to his stand-up skills. The ability to read and play to an audience is KEY when you're a TV host, especially with a show like this (as opposed to say, Jeopardy! or The Price is Right).
Something else I never would have picked up back in the day was that Saget is actually kinda funny in a weird and NOT pandering kind of way. I think what helped him get through an episode (since it's possible one would hate a job like that) was laughing at himself and the ridiculousness of the show. You can actually see the difference between him laughing at the stupid script, smiling like a host and laughing at something he actually thinks is funny. He looks like such a dork when he laughs in spite of himself. ahaa.
He actually does a good job hosting and I'm SURE that's thanks to his stand-up skills. The ability to read and play to an audience is KEY when you're a TV host, especially with a show like this (as opposed to say, Jeopardy! or The Price is Right).
Something else I never would have picked up back in the day was that Saget is actually kinda funny in a weird and NOT pandering kind of way. I think what helped him get through an episode (since it's possible one would hate a job like that) was laughing at himself and the ridiculousness of the show. You can actually see the difference between him laughing at the stupid script, smiling like a host and laughing at something he actually thinks is funny. He looks like such a dork when he laughs in spite of himself. ahaa.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
things I am tired of explaining
1) Why I am a vegan
2) Why I am not a vegan
3) Why I am a vegetarian
4) Why I am not white
5) How my "home" is not in Toronto, Mississauga or Etobicoke
6) Why I hate black jokes (namely from my white friends)
2) Why I am not a vegan
3) Why I am a vegetarian
4) Why I am not white
5) How my "home" is not in Toronto, Mississauga or Etobicoke
6) Why I hate black jokes (namely from my white friends)
Friday, 21 September 2007
hammer-head shark
a few weeks ago I saw some guy downtown who, honestly, could have stunt-doubled for the older brother, Russ, in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989). SERIOUS. I'm so impressed. I want to say, "Where do you find clothes like that today," but I know that sometimes it's a matter of pairing the right pieces. Fashion is a crazy, fickle thing. I mean, there are no solid lines at all but we totally love to compartmentalize and define all the everythings.
Acid-washed jean jacket, collar up, 3/4 length sleeves (rolled or cut, I forget)
Red ghetto baseball cap (like canvas, boxy and cheap), cocked to the side, visor (?) flipped up
Dirty, loose tank top underneath (possibly with some neon weirdness printed on) - I forget the color
Same acid-washy jeans, rolled up 6" above the shoe
floppy back-pack
..he may have had the oversized uber-plastic sunglasses...
HI-TOP sneakers (NOW I must ask where he got those)
and the crowning glory.. the huge mother headphones round the neck, CD player in hand
sure, it should have been a cassette player (a "Walkman"!.. yes I had one and it was yellow) but he balanced that by having headphones that were actually ghetto-big by necessity not the style, that people actually buy new in the stores, oh no. these were like one and a half steps above the Listening Centre apparati.
o I love it.
and, if I could emulate it, sneakily, I sure would. (I probably will, once I start that wardrobe overhaul I expect to embark on before 2008 arrives.)
Acid-washed jean jacket, collar up, 3/4 length sleeves (rolled or cut, I forget)
Red ghetto baseball cap (like canvas, boxy and cheap), cocked to the side, visor (?) flipped up
Dirty, loose tank top underneath (possibly with some neon weirdness printed on) - I forget the color
Same acid-washy jeans, rolled up 6" above the shoe
floppy back-pack
..he may have had the oversized uber-plastic sunglasses...
HI-TOP sneakers (NOW I must ask where he got those)
and the crowning glory.. the huge mother headphones round the neck, CD player in hand
sure, it should have been a cassette player (a "Walkman"!.. yes I had one and it was yellow) but he balanced that by having headphones that were actually ghetto-big by necessity not the style, that people actually buy new in the stores, oh no. these were like one and a half steps above the Listening Centre apparati.
o I love it.
and, if I could emulate it, sneakily, I sure would. (I probably will, once I start that wardrobe overhaul I expect to embark on before 2008 arrives.)
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
trail of tears
without the doltish, silly grin
I confessed that I loved Him.
and with not a beat skipped o'er,
to me this did He implore:
"Let, like your mouth, your eyes speak
And show me that you still are meek.
I died for thee so
Cry for me
And no more for your words I'll seek."
such a task is fair to ask
of a servant by a king
and is the means by which the fiends
of ego endure suffering.
He wants my tears as I've His blood -
humble drops, not verbal floods.
but pain through pride does not well show,
one prevailed for I spake, No.
I wrote this in September of 2002, my first semester at university, during the first week, inspired by a moment in the University Bookstore. "~ of my life" was the original title. At this point in my life I would have called myself a Christian if I were pressured -- and I wouldn't quite have been able to tell you what that meant. God captured me September 27th 2003 (ha.. I'm almost four years old) so at this point, a year prior, I was pretty senseless in the most important ways.
I'm browsing in that nature-esque kind of weird section (weird cuz it seems out of place) on the ground floor closer to the registers and in my head it was like a direct, forceful voice quickly asked, "Do you love me?" (I assumed it was God) And so I answered just as quickly, "Yes." "Prove it," He responded and I knew He was asking if I would cry so I said NO because I'm not into being weak.
Despite what I "know" is true, despite what I know about pride - its true definition, its sneaky ways, its full plague on all men and what it cost us in the past - I do still think that crying is a sign of weakness. While I'm on the path of being illogical, I'll add that of course I don't think others are weak for crying, just me. Generally if someone else is crying I either take it in as part of the whole situation (it's expected/not out of the ordinary) or I may indeed respect them for being able to be...honest about their emotions. Are we sensing some kind of double-standard? Yep.
A while ago, maybe early 2004, I told God that if I was ever going to cry, I wanted it to be for Him and Him alone. I thought, if this is going to be a "sign of weakness" I may as well be weak before the King. He's the only one who I'm really willing to look like a fool for.
It's weird that I could "write" that "poem" without really knowing what I was talking about when it would come true for me not long after. I mean... I cry because sometimes it says so much more than words. "Humble drops, not verbal floods," is key.
Generally, like after being a small child, I could say that I would cry once every year (or 10 months) and it wasn't like I planned it: EVERY APRIL 19TH I WILL BAWL. Not quite... There was usually a pretty substantial incident that would be the trigger (I generally conceptualize it as the straw that broke the camel's back) but, it's not substantial enough on its own. It's all the small moments of intense anger, of sadness, of frustration, of disappointment, etc. etc. that I experience during the regular course of LIFE that build up and compound with my reacion to this one release incident. And so, after that, I'll feel pretty cleansed, for lack of a better word. It's just like something that needed to be done. It's cleansing.. I have no better word.
So in the past three-odd years I have cried for God, either just because HE IS SO GOOD, because I'm being confronted with the truth that my sister and brother aren't going to Heaven (not as of today anyways), once because a friend of mine was in such a dark place that it was too unfair and too scary and made me feel too helpless to deal. That was a cool time because I was moved to pray and I prayed until I had no more words. The siblings one, that happened twice - once at a prayer meeting with three close friends who liked to pray about serious and sensitive things (it was RAW and I loved it) and once ... I actually don't remember the exact incident but I remember the song it's attached to. It makes me feel "good" in a twisted way that I can cry for them because it means I understand the gravity of the gospel. (Don't let the concept be restricted by that word, "gospel". It's a big deal.) I also cried under what most would call extreme "stress" in a moment that wrote the book on Are you kidding me?! ... that was January of 2005.
The time I cried because "HE IS SO GOOD" was just this summer. It was the 24th of June and I was in a vibrant church in Bermuda. I started crying because a girl I don't even know - I don't remember her name and will very likely never see her again - was crying. She and her mother were leaving the church that Sunday and the pastor asked the mum to say a few words. The mum did; she told of her journey, she thanked the church for its support, for people's generous ways and for what it got her through, etc. etc. And then the pastor asked the daughter to speak and she said she didn't want to. It was funny/cute because the kid's only 13 or 14 and she was painfully shy. But the pastor wasn't havin none of it. He held the mic out til she took it. She said nothing for a long time and we all waited. Then finally she uttered, "I don't want to leave," and then she stopped. She stared at the floor and waited for something to happen, either for words to come or for someone to relieve her but she only cried. She cried, her mum put her arm round her, she said a few more words I don't remember and then many peeps in the church (elders, I think) gathered round the two to pray for them and send them off. I don't know what it was but she got me.
Honestly, I've had the roughest summer to date so I can understand why I'd already be "emotionally vulnerable" but it was weird that a total stranger triggered me. If it was someone I knew leaving me, then I could understand but not this. What did me in was the song the kids did afterward, something that repeated the phrase, "Jesus has forgiven me". (I'm sure that's the title.)
It was ridiculous .
So why then, a few months later, do I cry again when I see the YouTube video called "Lifehouse's Everything Skit"? How providential that my dear friend randomly sent me the link in an email. She saw and she thought, "Oh, I wanna share this with ev'rybuddy," but ended up sending it only to me.
I thought it was cheesy to start but of course I was going to see it through, all five minutes and thirty-two seconds of it. Once the actors started depicting Christ being attacked by the things that we are about to die from, us kneeling in reverence in the foreground, out of harm's way (for good) I just couldn't handle it. I saw myself in that, I really did. I watched the skit again a few minutes after the first time, and it was worse still. I found myself asking, "Why, why, why must I go through this? Why am I still there?" I can't understand why Jesus doesn't "rescue" me. It doesn't make sense. I'm even more confused because I know, in a more absolute way, I've already been "rescued". Oh ridiculous.
That skit really helped me see how good He is. I mean He's good. We walked away and He trampled what enticed us.
I watched that video again, just the other day. On Saturday night I watched it again (two times in a row, I believe) because I knew I was still slipping away. [And presently, what's different?] It got me again. It seriously got me again. He's so good and I'm so worthless. I can't wrap my head around it.
I haven't been cleansed, either and it's frustrating in a way. It means that something very light could trigger me very soon/at any moment. The last... three times I cried (all within the last three months) have not been exhaustive so I'm not done yet. I hope this is not the start of a new pattern.
I confessed that I loved Him.
and with not a beat skipped o'er,
to me this did He implore:
"Let, like your mouth, your eyes speak
And show me that you still are meek.
I died for thee so
Cry for me
And no more for your words I'll seek."
such a task is fair to ask
of a servant by a king
and is the means by which the fiends
of ego endure suffering.
He wants my tears as I've His blood -
humble drops, not verbal floods.
but pain through pride does not well show,
one prevailed for I spake, No.
I wrote this in September of 2002, my first semester at university, during the first week, inspired by a moment in the University Bookstore. "~ of my life" was the original title. At this point in my life I would have called myself a Christian if I were pressured -- and I wouldn't quite have been able to tell you what that meant. God captured me September 27th 2003 (ha.. I'm almost four years old) so at this point, a year prior, I was pretty senseless in the most important ways.
I'm browsing in that nature-esque kind of weird section (weird cuz it seems out of place) on the ground floor closer to the registers and in my head it was like a direct, forceful voice quickly asked, "Do you love me?" (I assumed it was God) And so I answered just as quickly, "Yes." "Prove it," He responded and I knew He was asking if I would cry so I said NO because I'm not into being weak.
Despite what I "know" is true, despite what I know about pride - its true definition, its sneaky ways, its full plague on all men and what it cost us in the past - I do still think that crying is a sign of weakness. While I'm on the path of being illogical, I'll add that of course I don't think others are weak for crying, just me. Generally if someone else is crying I either take it in as part of the whole situation (it's expected/not out of the ordinary) or I may indeed respect them for being able to be...honest about their emotions. Are we sensing some kind of double-standard? Yep.
A while ago, maybe early 2004, I told God that if I was ever going to cry, I wanted it to be for Him and Him alone. I thought, if this is going to be a "sign of weakness" I may as well be weak before the King. He's the only one who I'm really willing to look like a fool for.
It's weird that I could "write" that "poem" without really knowing what I was talking about when it would come true for me not long after. I mean... I cry because sometimes it says so much more than words. "Humble drops, not verbal floods," is key.
Generally, like after being a small child, I could say that I would cry once every year (or 10 months) and it wasn't like I planned it: EVERY APRIL 19TH I WILL BAWL. Not quite... There was usually a pretty substantial incident that would be the trigger (I generally conceptualize it as the straw that broke the camel's back) but, it's not substantial enough on its own. It's all the small moments of intense anger, of sadness, of frustration, of disappointment, etc. etc. that I experience during the regular course of LIFE that build up and compound with my reacion to this one release incident. And so, after that, I'll feel pretty cleansed, for lack of a better word. It's just like something that needed to be done. It's cleansing.. I have no better word.
So in the past three-odd years I have cried for God, either just because HE IS SO GOOD, because I'm being confronted with the truth that my sister and brother aren't going to Heaven (not as of today anyways), once because a friend of mine was in such a dark place that it was too unfair and too scary and made me feel too helpless to deal. That was a cool time because I was moved to pray and I prayed until I had no more words. The siblings one, that happened twice - once at a prayer meeting with three close friends who liked to pray about serious and sensitive things (it was RAW and I loved it) and once ... I actually don't remember the exact incident but I remember the song it's attached to. It makes me feel "good" in a twisted way that I can cry for them because it means I understand the gravity of the gospel. (Don't let the concept be restricted by that word, "gospel". It's a big deal.) I also cried under what most would call extreme "stress" in a moment that wrote the book on Are you kidding me?! ... that was January of 2005.
The time I cried because "HE IS SO GOOD" was just this summer. It was the 24th of June and I was in a vibrant church in Bermuda. I started crying because a girl I don't even know - I don't remember her name and will very likely never see her again - was crying. She and her mother were leaving the church that Sunday and the pastor asked the mum to say a few words. The mum did; she told of her journey, she thanked the church for its support, for people's generous ways and for what it got her through, etc. etc. And then the pastor asked the daughter to speak and she said she didn't want to. It was funny/cute because the kid's only 13 or 14 and she was painfully shy. But the pastor wasn't havin none of it. He held the mic out til she took it. She said nothing for a long time and we all waited. Then finally she uttered, "I don't want to leave," and then she stopped. She stared at the floor and waited for something to happen, either for words to come or for someone to relieve her but she only cried. She cried, her mum put her arm round her, she said a few more words I don't remember and then many peeps in the church (elders, I think) gathered round the two to pray for them and send them off. I don't know what it was but she got me.
Honestly, I've had the roughest summer to date so I can understand why I'd already be "emotionally vulnerable" but it was weird that a total stranger triggered me. If it was someone I knew leaving me, then I could understand but not this. What did me in was the song the kids did afterward, something that repeated the phrase, "Jesus has forgiven me". (I'm sure that's the title.)
It was ridiculous .
So why then, a few months later, do I cry again when I see the YouTube video called "Lifehouse's Everything Skit"? How providential that my dear friend randomly sent me the link in an email. She saw and she thought, "Oh, I wanna share this with ev'rybuddy," but ended up sending it only to me.
I thought it was cheesy to start but of course I was going to see it through, all five minutes and thirty-two seconds of it. Once the actors started depicting Christ being attacked by the things that we are about to die from, us kneeling in reverence in the foreground, out of harm's way (for good) I just couldn't handle it. I saw myself in that, I really did. I watched the skit again a few minutes after the first time, and it was worse still. I found myself asking, "Why, why, why must I go through this? Why am I still there?" I can't understand why Jesus doesn't "rescue" me. It doesn't make sense. I'm even more confused because I know, in a more absolute way, I've already been "rescued". Oh ridiculous.
That skit really helped me see how good He is. I mean He's good. We walked away and He trampled what enticed us.
I watched that video again, just the other day. On Saturday night I watched it again (two times in a row, I believe) because I knew I was still slipping away. [And presently, what's different?] It got me again. It seriously got me again. He's so good and I'm so worthless. I can't wrap my head around it.
I haven't been cleansed, either and it's frustrating in a way. It means that something very light could trigger me very soon/at any moment. The last... three times I cried (all within the last three months) have not been exhaustive so I'm not done yet. I hope this is not the start of a new pattern.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
It's amazing how...
...in every story (so far) in J.J. Steinfeld's Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown* I have found at least one moment with which I can identify. It's not that identifying with something you read is a new experience for me but that the general content of these stories are so outlandish and foreign to me that I would never expect to really "get" any of it on that deeper level. It's like when someone explains some concept to you - that you ordinarily would find difficult or lofty - with an analogy involving something that you are extremely familiar with. It's that moment where something clicks and you can only say, "Ahh..." What a great feeling to have a world of understanding opened to you like a welcoming door flung wide.
Anyways, from "Executions and the Memory of Executions," I found this:
"I will not open my eyes. I trust my senses more when my eyes are closed. Pretending to be asleep" (122). (The narrator goes on to say, "Or dead. Or numb. Sometimes I really am numb," but, knowing the context, I'll say it doesn't apply to me so much as the first part.)
This entire story, impressively different from each one that has preceded it, reminds me of the James Bond played by Daniel Craig in Casino Royale (2006) -- well I mean the narrator reminds me of him, anyways. If only I could post the entire story WITHOUT needing to type 6 or 7 pages out myself. I'd do it, but it speaks too loudly to my obsessive tendencies that I choose to refrain. This narrator is not quite as arrogant as Bond or seemingly as reckless but he does talk of how he "used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogated" which does sound something like being full of one's self. I am reminded, of course, of that climactic torture scene, esp when I read something like this:
"In my youthful exuberance, when I first started making my reputation, I could withstand any type of pain, what would be unbearable to others. What a prodigy I was then. I reached the highest classification in my unit earlier than any person had before me. The faultless sense of smell. The imitative skills. The endurance. The ability to concentrate undera ll conditions, pure concentration; the three fools around me would call it mystic or spiritual, but it was an intense, total effort of the mind over the body. I used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogate, even though I never admitted this to my superiors..." (125).
You know, Bond is certainly reckless but he does still live his life much in the same way I'd guess any man with peacock confidence, a license to kill, a flaming libido and no place to go would do. Bond, generally enjoys himself. This guy, however, he's more indifferent than reckless. The actions can look the same but the mental status of the person might be a little different. He says, "As I grew older and matured I passed from fearing death to imagining ways of dying, and eventually to an indifference to death, my death, the deaths of others - strangers, friends lovers, I ceased to make distinctions" (121).
I was reminded also, of how Bond was slipped some deadly something in a drink (the details are faint right now) and when he realized what was happening to him, rushed to his car and some how miraculously, magically saved his own life. It was like he stabbed an Epi-Pen in his chest or defibrillated himself. It was something intense and ridickle, I'm sure - I just don't have the memory. THe point is, he should have died but he was fortunately trained to deal with the situation, resilient enough to hang on until the last moment and LUCKY that someone else came to help him after he passed out. "I remember what my first supervisor showed me when I orginally came to work under his jurisdiction, something he had written as a young man and was still most proud of as he approached retirement: 'I have stood in front of countless firing squads; I have felt around my neck a hundred slip-nooses tied by a hundred hands; I have btiten into capsules containing the strongest poisons ...' It took me years to understand what he had meant, the feelings behind teh words, his complete lack of cynicism or unease with life. 'The ways to kill a personare innumerable; the ways to die are all the same.' I wrote that five years ago, during one of my imprisonments..." (122).
As cheap as this will sound, now, in the context of the above, I must say that this particular passage minded me of something my mum said about 200 years ago when I was 12 or 13. I asked her what some offensive smell was and she told me it was a dead mouse. (Dramatic pause) Then she continued, "You never forget the smell of death." It was just as weird and borderline ominous as it sounds. It also happens to be true.
"'Kill him now,' the high-pitched voice says, stabbing me in the chest with his finger.
"I'm not frightened. I know that th ehigh-pitched voice said what he did only to scare me. They won't kill me, not these three, not right now. They do not have the voices of executioners. Once you hear such a voice you never forget it. Corpses you can forget or grow hardened to, but not the voice of an executioner" (125).
Anyways, from "Executions and the Memory of Executions," I found this:
"I will not open my eyes. I trust my senses more when my eyes are closed. Pretending to be asleep" (122). (The narrator goes on to say, "Or dead. Or numb. Sometimes I really am numb," but, knowing the context, I'll say it doesn't apply to me so much as the first part.)
This entire story, impressively different from each one that has preceded it, reminds me of the James Bond played by Daniel Craig in Casino Royale (2006) -- well I mean the narrator reminds me of him, anyways. If only I could post the entire story WITHOUT needing to type 6 or 7 pages out myself. I'd do it, but it speaks too loudly to my obsessive tendencies that I choose to refrain. This narrator is not quite as arrogant as Bond or seemingly as reckless but he does talk of how he "used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogated" which does sound something like being full of one's self. I am reminded, of course, of that climactic torture scene, esp when I read something like this:
"In my youthful exuberance, when I first started making my reputation, I could withstand any type of pain, what would be unbearable to others. What a prodigy I was then. I reached the highest classification in my unit earlier than any person had before me. The faultless sense of smell. The imitative skills. The endurance. The ability to concentrate undera ll conditions, pure concentration; the three fools around me would call it mystic or spiritual, but it was an intense, total effort of the mind over the body. I used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogate, even though I never admitted this to my superiors..." (125).
You know, Bond is certainly reckless but he does still live his life much in the same way I'd guess any man with peacock confidence, a license to kill, a flaming libido and no place to go would do. Bond, generally enjoys himself. This guy, however, he's more indifferent than reckless. The actions can look the same but the mental status of the person might be a little different. He says, "As I grew older and matured I passed from fearing death to imagining ways of dying, and eventually to an indifference to death, my death, the deaths of others - strangers, friends lovers, I ceased to make distinctions" (121).
I was reminded also, of how Bond was slipped some deadly something in a drink (the details are faint right now) and when he realized what was happening to him, rushed to his car and some how miraculously, magically saved his own life. It was like he stabbed an Epi-Pen in his chest or defibrillated himself. It was something intense and ridickle, I'm sure - I just don't have the memory. THe point is, he should have died but he was fortunately trained to deal with the situation, resilient enough to hang on until the last moment and LUCKY that someone else came to help him after he passed out. "I remember what my first supervisor showed me when I orginally came to work under his jurisdiction, something he had written as a young man and was still most proud of as he approached retirement: 'I have stood in front of countless firing squads; I have felt around my neck a hundred slip-nooses tied by a hundred hands; I have btiten into capsules containing the strongest poisons ...' It took me years to understand what he had meant, the feelings behind teh words, his complete lack of cynicism or unease with life. 'The ways to kill a personare innumerable; the ways to die are all the same.' I wrote that five years ago, during one of my imprisonments..." (122).
As cheap as this will sound, now, in the context of the above, I must say that this particular passage minded me of something my mum said about 200 years ago when I was 12 or 13. I asked her what some offensive smell was and she told me it was a dead mouse. (Dramatic pause) Then she continued, "You never forget the smell of death." It was just as weird and borderline ominous as it sounds. It also happens to be true.
"'Kill him now,' the high-pitched voice says, stabbing me in the chest with his finger.
"I'm not frightened. I know that th ehigh-pitched voice said what he did only to scare me. They won't kill me, not these three, not right now. They do not have the voices of executioners. Once you hear such a voice you never forget it. Corpses you can forget or grow hardened to, but not the voice of an executioner" (125).
*Wolfeville, Nova Scotia: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 121-128.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
