“I spent my life folded between the pages of books. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.” ― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me
Showing posts with label angels and demons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angels and demons. Show all posts
One of the most important books out there for readers who actually want to understand how and why the US was founded on the principles of separation between church and state. America was never meant to be a “Christian” nation - a fact that has been obscured with outright lies with increasing fervor over the past forty years.
Magnificently researched and well-written, I consider this required reading for any person who purports to be a student of US history, or who simply wants to know the truth. It’s interesting and engaging, with relevant personal stories of the writers and arbiters of our nation's foundational documents and those who inspired them, which make it easier to understand their motivations and the times in which they lived. Stewart shows clearly how Epicurus, Spinoza, Bruno, and other much earlier philosophers led the way into the radical new beliefs that guided these men, with all their faults and foibles, to work together to found a nation built on principles that even they could not live up to - but they hoped that in the future the path they lay, by reason and not superstition, would be walked by those who could.
A couple of pages, to illustrate how important and relevant it is, especially now. Especially today.
Interesting emotional romp thru the centuries. The ending was a bit of a let down, but otherwise the story is very good.
The reason I say the ending was a bit disappointing is because it feels as if the author expended all of her energy writing the book until the last 50 pages or so, and then rushed through to get it finished. Where for most of the book we get exquisite detail about situations that range from fox hunting to traveling through time, with well-developed characters a reader can truly want to get to know, and deliciously detailed descriptions of places and events, toward the end after a major, life-changing turn of events is starting to be reconciled, the story becomes little more than a quick by-rote narration of events, including some that are chaotic and emotionally damaging. Gone is the depth of feeling coupled with careful thought and analysis, in favor of a hair-raising churning through a family and friendship-wrecking series of experiences, galloping to an ultimately unsatisfying ending - all at once too brief and almost painful. It would have been better if the author perhaps took a break, thoroughly re-read the book to the point of the return from the multi-century foxhunt, and then carefully continued toward bringing the book to a satisfying close. If the point is, as it seems to be, for the main character to apply lessons learned from history, the same care and attention should have been paid to this portion of the book as was clearly taken in the first two-thirds.
The main character, a middle-aged woman named Pryor (which is a historical name in her family), but for some unknown reason goes by the nickname "Cig," is believable and interesting. She's widowed, self-contained, strong, and raising two teenagers with more than a little aplomb. But she's not perfect - far from it - but her flaws are not unmanageable, nor do they detract from her likability. The ensemble cast of characters is varied and authentic, and the plot for the most part flows smoothly and is easy to follow. Even when the story becomes a bit implausible, it is still very well written and therefore believable, which is the point, I believe.
The conflict that becomes the heart of the story between two sisters is very real, and Cig has long believed there is a truth that her sister Grace is hiding about what happened. In the end, the truth surprises everyone, and I'm not sure it's fully realized or acknowledged. There's a lot of crying and screaming and fit-throwing, which may or may not be cathartic. There are promises made, but whether they are fulfilled is anyone's guess. Some of that truth remains elusive, I think. There could have been more to this story, in that way, as well as others.
The historical characters were endearing and not stereotypical. The scenes during this time were very well done - you can feel the snow on your cheeks, the cold, the sunny breeze on a warm day. There are no laments about the clothing, thank goodness (a personal pet peeve). Cig sees a lot in this time to appreciate and is respectful of the differences, so she learns and adapts very well. I really love this part of the book. You can really see her starting to grow, especially as she feels herself being drawn to the people she meets, some perhaps a bit more than others. She is really good at giving people their due, and is able to develop true friendships, bonding with not only her family members but with several others.
Unfortunately the author attempts to bind the historical story with the modern one in an ultimately dissatisfying way.
Having Fritz - or his historical double - show up at the very, very end of the last two pages was about as piquant and frustrating as a mouthful of cold coffee. That touch, imho, was pure effrontery on the part of the author. A better writer would have either omitted that bit completely - I mean, we do find out what had happened to that character so there was no mystery there - or brought the character in gradually, just like the historical friendship that had blossomed originally, and quite naturally, into something more. But teasing the reader with a sudden appearance right at the very end? Gross.
Violence is depicted realistically in the book, especially in historical context, where the author shines with not only making it believable, but applicable to the plot and characters. Sadly, the depictions of violence seem either dated, gratuitous, or just wrong in the modern-day (1999) portion.
The title of the book, "Riding Shotgun," is quite dated, trite, and really doesn't apply to anything that happens in the book other than one or two references to "riding shotgun through history" - and what does that even mean? Especially in the context of this book. The main character travels back in time on horseback, where there is no "riding shotgun." It's an inept analogy at best. Books have been re-titled and this one needs to be.
I honestly wonder if the author might revisit the story and write the ending differently, too. If so, the entire book would make a fabulous movie. As a writer, I'm tempted to pen a bit of transformative fiction myself here. As it is, the last quarter of the book brought it down from an otherwise five stars to four. Still a very good read, as I said, but the story that could have been written - like the truth that Cig seeks - is still out there.
Content Warnings:
Moderate: Domestic abuse, Emotional abuse, and Physical abuse
Minor: Emotional abuse
There is minor emotional abuse that I attribute mainly to plot devices that are extremely dated now. However, toward the end, there is a violent physical altercation between two members of the Hunt Club, a married couple that is extremely disruptive, dangerous, and ends up involving others.
>The aggressor is punched in the face by a teenager, which halts the fight, and the teenager is then lauded for his "quick thinking."
No one remarks on the fact that this altercation is essentially an attempted murder right in front of everyone. No assistance or health care is even offered to the injured person, who bears heavy marks and is clearly injured; they all just get on their horses and begin the event after the fight is stopped. As I said, this part is very dated and unsatisfactory all around.
Now, if you haven't watched this movie recently, or heaven forbid you never heard of this movie, run, don't walk, and WATCH IT RIGHT NOW.
This movie has aged incredibly well. In the day, I don't think certain people took it seriously. But if you were a traumatized young woman, and there were a lot more of us than perhaps people realize - Billie Jean was like a bolt of lightning. She shone like a gilded arrow soaring straight into the heart of the patriarchy. And we loved her for it.
The first five minutes of the movie are like a cold water bath in lost memory: the skinny clothes, the easy acceptance of poverty, the sweat, the feel of the wind in your hair on the back of a speeding open two-wheeled vehicle. I'd forgotten none of us wore bras. I'd forgotten we used to run around half-naked because there was no such thing as central air-conditioning. I'd forgotten how much of life we spent outside. (Would you have stayed inside those brown-paneled, dimly-lit, cigarette-smoke-filled, claustrophobic rooms? Me neither.) I also forgot just how inundated we were with sexual harassment that crossed physical boundaries, and how little equipped we were as young women and girls to deal with it. But it's there, right there, in all its obtuse ugliness.
This movie was one of the most realistic depictions of what life was like for people like me who grew up in the South in the 1970s in cinema - right up there with Virgin Suicides. Some people missed that. I read somewhere that "girls wouldn't have cut their hair like that just to be like her. That's unrealistic and made the movie seem [more trite etc etc]." Of course this was written by a male. And tell that to the thousands of people who watched the movie and then went straight into their bathrooms and cut off their own locks. Like I did. I hadn't had short hair for nearly a decade at that point, but something about BJ's shorn head called out to my recently bereaved soul: I had given a baby up for adoption, and almost no one knew how much I still grieved, nearly two years after the fact. Cutting my hair defiantly in the mirror did lead me to a beautician's chair to clean up the mess I'd made but the gesture meant something. Not for nothing did people in past centuries shave their heads when something awful happened. There's something purifying about this act, a ritual casting out of inner demons, a denial to the world that "everything's all right."
Sometimes everything is absolutely not all right, and this is one way to get people to pay attention and look a bit closer. Sometimes it's the only way to signal things are not all right. Sometimes we don't have words. Sometimes we just feel compelled to do something physically to ourselves, and we may not even know why, but it's a call we absolutely must answer. It's more than a "new look;" we're ready to step into a new identity, and take on the world.
Brava, lady. You go.
A reviewer took issue with Billie Jean's response to the 14-year old Putter's beginning of her period. The writer clearly completely misunderstood Billie Jean's advice to "lie down and take it easy" as "fear"?! Nothing of the kind. Unlike many depictions of this event in cinema both before and since that reflects the negativity about it more common in the real world, Billie Jean celebrated Putter's getting her period. "That's wonderful!" she crowed, and promptly took Putter to the dock for a ceremonial (and practical) bath, wrapping her tenderly in a big towel. When she said, "Lie down and take it easy," it was a way of saying, "Job well done! You've earned some well-deserved rest after that crazy thing we all just went through that you handled amazingly well." There was not a trace of fear in any of their responses. To think otherwise shows how little that reviewer was paying attention.
Paying attention is exactly what Billie Jean was doing. The things that happened to her and to her brother caused her to stop, pause, and consider carefully a most human and reasonable response. She shrugged off the violence that had been done to her own person (and god did that feel familiar); she just wanted the people who were responsible for wrecking her brother's scooter to pay for the repairs. It was that simple. She didn't ask them for respect, or admission of guilt. She just wanted her brother to have his scooter back in working order. But in so doing, she forced people to look at themselves and consider their actions. To recognize they had done wrong. And unfortunately, when some people do that, they lash out at the messenger: in this case, Billie Jean and her friends who supported her.
Sound familiar?
Some people have learned nothing in the nearly 40 (!) years since this movie was released. That damn film was ahead of its time; its themes of social justice, anarchic movements, and anti-capitalism seemed pragmatic and real at the time. After all, "Fair is fair!" And the fuckers eventually got what was coming to them. It's almost eerie how the youth as depicted in this movie instantly got the message that Billie Jean was sending. Surely these were lessons the world was learning. Right? Right?! ... Then again the whole damn 80s were a tease that things would be better and life was going to make more sense in the coming years. But not all of us were evolving. Not everyone wanted fairness and freedom and happiness. We underestimated the sheer tenacity and meanness of the patriarchy, unfortunately.
At the end of the movie, Billie Jean and her brother are taking off for long-talked-of Vermont. Christian Slater's character notices a red snowmobile that quite obviously reminds him of his lost Honda Elite, and he stops to admire it, proving that in spite of their troubles, his interest in fast and shiny things hasn't been destroyed. Billie Jean has her eyes on the road. She seems to hope things are going to be all right, but there's a wariness, a hard-won wisdom that she wears like a veil. She's beautiful and strong and represents all things good. But she's alone, except for a younger person she'll have to watch over and keep out of trouble. She's every single-mother and older-sister out there. One wonders where Lloyd is, what their parting was like. One hopes Putter and Ophelia are okay. But we don't know. All we can do is hope.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. (attributed to Jean-Baptiste Alphonse 1808–1890 French novelist and editor)
A sweet coming-of-age story about a young girl who experiences some of the things we all do growing up, and some very unusual things indeed. Greta and her best friend Lotti share a deep bond of friendship, and are joined by their creative friend Astrid in navigating some of the trials and tribulations of middle school - social events, homework, and boys. They feel the thrills of being noticed by someone they like, and then the disappointment and stress when things may not go the way they hoped. One of them is even sexually assaulted by the person she thought was a nice admirer, which coincides with changes that start inside her body but are soon noticeable to everyone.
The theme of the story is growth and change, sometimes painful, and in a small way, loss of innocence and becoming more aware of the dangers that can beset young girls. Greta feels herself growing stronger and more able to deal with teasing and ostracizing, and even defends - loudly - her friend Lotti when she is called names by some cruel peers. While in some ways Greta is finding change hard to deal with, especially the prospect and preparations for the upcoming family move to a larger house, the ways that she adapts and even embraces the visible and invisible changes happening to her body and personality are admirable and engaging.
The language of the book is simple and relatable, and I think middle grade readers will really enjoy the story. Thanks to NetGalley and publisher MacMillan for the advance copy in exchange for an honest review.
LATE, LATE IN THE EVENING, by the British philosopher Stephen Grant, is a beautiful book, a fast-moving but thoughtful and thought-provoking read. Imprisoned for his writings, the poet Gabriel Dorfman is allowed out on a sort of work-release program, and becomes the chauffeur to an influential party boss on his wealthy estate. The Britain of this story has become a fascist totalitarian state, with all of the hard-line and predictable but nuanced issues you'd expect, presented in lyrical but simple prose. Robot armies and microchipped prisoners. Thugs who "keep the peace". Desperate members of the resistance. And the secret lives of those in power. Gabe is swept up in a whirlwind of competing interests, but finds himself torn between loyalty to the past and his principles, and a new love that satisfies not only his body, but his mind. Through it all, the goal is to just to stay alive - or is it?
I don't want to give anything away, but the skill with which the author handles the knife's edge upon which his characters walk is quite breathtaking. A deeply satisfying read that has continued in my mind since I read it. Highly recommended.
Innocent children accused of rape who would serve years in prison for a crime they did not commit. Image from New York Daily News Archive/NY Daily News via Getty Images via The Guardian.
We can do better than this.
In a thoughtful, engaging piece in The Guardian, Oliver Laughland reminds us of the charade some folks are currently watching in a dangerous flirtation with "what if"?
The ridiculously and perhaps initially humorous fact of his claiming to be presidential material and actually throwing his hat in the ring is not funny anymore, if it ever was. It's a narcissistic whomping of our collective social consciousness in a self-centered, hateful attempt at grabbing control of the overwhelming and abusive level of power that odious old white men used to have in this country.
And it just has to stop. We were doing so well in spite of their carping, insidious obstruction to one of the finest Presidents in the modern age. Trump's bid for the presidency must be called out for what it is. It is no longer just okay to ignore the clown car and hope it will fall of the cliff through its own refusal to look where it's going.
See, they think they see where they're going. They have a fixed vision of the world they hope to re-create, and it's very, very ugly.
It's not a world we want to live in again.
And in case this isn't obvious: they don't want us to live there either. They want the future all for themselves. They have no intention of sharing. So if that's what anyone believes, we need to disabuse them of that irresponsible and childlike notion.
See, it's pretty clear that anyone who thinks Trump has an answer that will make their own life better who is not a member of the .01% who own most of the wealth in the entire world is not thinking rationally. It's a misguided belief that if the rich are richer, they will share some with us. That doesn't happen in real life, and most of us know that.
There's no such thing as the proverbial Santa Claus. remember? Santa Claus is the people who love you. He's not some fat white guy with bad hair and an eye-popping wardrobe who works his ass off to bring you and all the good boys and girls treats and toys one night a year. That guy is an elf, and There are No Such Thing as Elves.
Except the people who love you, of course. Does Donald Trump love you?
Unless you're covered in gold and are ready and willing for him to take it, then no, Donald Trump doesn't love you. And he's not bringing you any presents.
Donald Trump is the guy who's going to take all your presents and keep them for himself. He's the Christmas Thief. Unfortunately, he doesn't just steal things from people who don't deserve them. He steals from anyone who is stupid or desperate enough to do business with him and a lot of other people who never met him and have nothing to do with him.
We must denounce every single person who thinks what Trump and his ilk are doing are okay. It's so not okay. It's wrong, and it's dangerous to overlook that wrong in an attempt to play nice. He's not going to play nice, he's going to lie and cheat and steal his way forward for the rest of his life. He doesn't know how to do it any other way, poor guy.
And we can't let him have our country. Too many people have died to keep us free. As Yusef Salaam, one of the Central Park Five, says: "What would this country look like with Donald Trump as being a president? That’s a scary thing." How many more will die if people like The Donald keep committing statutory rape against our economy, our civil rights, and our common good?
What would that world look like, in all reality?
We've been there, guys. We know exactly what it would look like. Please tell me we are too smart to go there ever again.
Compliance is all they ask. It's all they need. All that evil needs to succeed is that good people sit by, and do nothing.
So we gotta aim to misbehave, you know? Every time that golden hair flap appears in public, somebody send some chewed-up bubblegum its way, okay? We need to be relieved of that thing. He's got a thing about baldness. He hides behind the fear and loathing we all have of our true selves. He doesn't have the right to do that, you know - not unless we give it to him.
We need to show that this would-be Emperor is as naked as the day he was born. As naked as we all are.
He's not the leader we need. He's not a leader at all. He's a masthead, a figurehead for perceived wealth and class and privilege. He's a charlatan, a con man, and he's counting on you buying the tinsel-covered pack of lies that he's selling.
He's telling you to help him steal the freedom right out from under you. He wants us to exchange places with those who went before us, and died for that freedom. He wants you to give up, and let him take the reins, so he can drive that golden chariot across the sky while you shiver and dry up below him choking on your mass-produced Turkish Delight.
It's the oldest trick in the book.
Don't fall for that. Be the beacon. Point to the earth, and the sky, and the people around you - the ones who love you - and stand up for the truth and help others do likewise.
You,
It's you and me,
It's you and me won't be unhappy.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,
Let me steal this moment from you now.
C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,
Let's exchange the experience, oh"
And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.
--Kate Bush, Running Up That Hill
We all got problems. They won't be solved unless and until we stop looking to rich people in power to do it. We've got to do it ourselves, we've got to hold hands, work together, help each other, and elect people who do likewise -- who really do love us, who have demonstrated by their actions that they love us, and they'll do right by us, and will do their damnedest help us get out of whatever mess we are in. Who won't be one of those people who take what we have and keep it for themselves, even though they already have so much they don't know what to do with it all.
Don't be so blind that you cannot see good when it's right in front of you.
In America, we think differently, we act differently, we live and work and play differently from each other, and that's supposed to be okay. We believe different things and our homes and families reflect that. We've come a long way to get here. Today it's okay to love whom you love, and marry that person so you can be happy together for the rest of your lives.
These things irritate some people. They make it complicated. In order to live in this country effectively you've got to have an open heart, open eyes, and open hands. You've got to be willing to accept the fact that your experiences are not universal, that your life is very different from your neighbor's and sometimes an entire world away from someone on the other side of the street. Yet we are all Americans. We belong here. We're part of the system and society.
This is how it should be.
But for those for whom these ideas are complicated, this is perhaps a threat. They feel threatened because part of their way of life is at risk. If everyone really has an equal chance, the outcome they want might not happen - because that outcome benefits them. They see life as a struggle to make sure their outcome happens and their neighbor's does not. They use fear as a tool to try to get you to buy into the outcome where they have all the power and they might give you some autonomy to do what you want - as long as it doesn't threaten what they have and want.
They are very good at using fear. We've got to stop seeing the fear as an adversary, and start using it for what it is: a tool. Turn it around, point it right back at them. Make them see that what they fear is actually you. It's us. It's our freedom to do and give and love whom we want and live as we choose; it's our autonomy.
Strip that fear naked and look at it for exactly what it is.
We all know the horrific things nations accomplish because of fear - you know them, you can name dozens. We are better than that.
We are Americans.
The terrible thing about fear is that it is so easily inflamed and becomes hatred. For whatever reason, hatred tends to get things accomplished. It builds walls. It makes rules to control people's differences. It makes wars.
We are better than that. We are Americans.
"Freedom has many difficulties and democracy is not perfect, but we have never had to put a wall up to keep our people in, to prevent them from leaving us." --John F. Kennedy
Berliners didn't build that wall. Fear and hatred did. That same fear and hatred that you and I feel when we think about what we might lose. We need to shun that fear. We need to laugh at the hatred so it will wither in shame and die, writhing. "Freedom is indivisible, and when one man is enslaved, all are not free." --John F. Kennedy, Ich bin ein Berliner speech Who benefits when people are not free to live and love and work and play and be who they are? Who, indeed? The only people who would benefit are those who hate who we are, how we live, the way we love, because it means we think for ourselves, and cannot be controlled. Who benefits when people are controlled, when choices are limited? The people who are doing the controlling, so they can limit our choices to the things they, and they alone, offer. These people are not, and should never be in, government. Government speaks for the people and does the wishes of the people, not the other way around. Commerce can be a lively thing, when it's a healthy exchange and is equitable between the parties. It can be manipulated so it draws from one to give to another. When one party is clearly drawing more and more from everyone else it is anything but a healthy exchange; it's a disease. It's a sick system that needs our attention to fix the inequities and the only thing that's going to do this is to elect responsible representatives and keep watch over them. Government for the people, by the people, and of the people is not something to be squandered because of fear and hate. But it needs a lot of love to counteract the fear and hate, to balance the squandering manipulative parties and to re-distribute things equitably according to need and actual contributions. It's easy to see a successful businessperson as a good and intelligent person because that's who they want you to see, and if they're controlling the outcome by limiting your choices you have no opportunity to vote your conscience. But they cannot limit your voice. They can limit your opportunities but they cannot touch who we are. We are Americans. Do not hate us because we are different. We can be divided by our differences, but then we will fall, and always have. Hopefully we learn from our failures.
Hopefully we have not learned to hate ourselves because of them.
Love us, love America, believe in our goodness and celebrate our differences, or we will simply cease to be Americans.
Recently I became involved with someone born between 1946 and 1957; aka, a Baby Boomer.
I know, I know. All the good times have probably already happened, and reality is setting in.
This person didn't seem to be opinionated and stilted in his thinking. He claims to vote on the left side of liberal. He cooks. Has animals. A sense of humor. Appears to get along well with others.
I'm thinking this is as far as it goes, though. Barely two months in, and he's telling me the way I should do things. Criticizes my plans. Belittles the marriage for which I'm just over eighteen months widowed, says he "doesn't think it was a real marriage."
There. I think I have my answer.
Here's a clue for anyone who might not understand what is wrong with this picture: if you want to have a future with someone, don't do battle with a dead husband. You will lose. Be the bigger person, and allow that your love life was not the first, or it most decidedly will not be the last. Understand that your past experiences have shaped your opinions and vision, just as mine have.
We are not the same. And in most cases, that is a very, very good thing.
I don't want this to devolve into another bashing of *that* generation. But it is hard not to: I have a really hard time relating to anyone born prior to 1964. (The actress Betty White is a notable exception. That lady is just joyful all the time, about everything, and how can you not love her? In contrast, how many other joyful Silent Generationers or Baby Boomers can you name?) These folk not only are situationally surly and obtuse; they just have no idea; another friend pointed out, quite astutely, that most of them are emotionally stunted; they didn't learn anything from their experiences and have no idea that their world was as blighted and stupid as it was. They think, above all, that they know better than you. They really have no basis for their untoward, unwelcome, and unenlightened opinions but they are damn well going to bless you with them and you should be grateful for their experience.
Um. No thanks, actually.
I think I'd rather watch the sunset, while I can still see it.
The League of Ordinary Gentlemen is the sort of blog where thinking folks go to discuss the issues. Sometimes the debate over there reminds me of my father's den, where his students, friends, and folks from our church would come to debate the issues of the day, which in that time were civil rights, politics, and the lessons of history. I was a small child then, too young to take part, but I often listened from the other room. Looking back, it is fascinating to realize how important it was that my family was free to invite people who wanted to discuss the things they felt were important to continuing the right of self-determination, and to understanding the things they may or may not have experienced in their own lives, and so to apply current events to their own search for truth and justice. It was, in short, good preparation for the decade of the 1980s, just to be sure we were aware of the potential of our species to destroy itself. Rational folk won't generally self-destruct, and yet individuals and civilizations do it all the time. How does that happen?
Recently, there was a post at the League that asked a question that brought quite a bit of discussion. (See The Incredible Shrinking Candidate, by Tod Kelly) It was posited that the Republican party behaves as if the "real Mitt" isn't there. By refusing to answer direct questions that are pertinent to his experience and belief, the writer posited that Mitt Romney is hiding his true self. And he wrote that he thinks it's the fault of the far-right wing ideologues of his party and their largely successful efforts to get him to fall into lockstep with their true-believers path, which (he writes) history clearly demonstrates is not the path that Mr. Romney has followed - and that the Tea Partiers should back off. Mitt should be allowed to be Mitt. Essentially the author asked, if the "true Mitt Romney" were allowed by his party ideologues to be truthful about what he really might offer - both his experience as a businessperson, his family values, and his political savvy - wouldn't we like that person? Might we vote for him?
To that I have to say - hogwash. We're seeing the real Mitt. Tod Kelly is missing the forest because he's looking for trees that aren't there, he's looking for substance where there really is only mist. What happens when the mist lifts? The light of day, folks, which shines on the garbage can in the backyard, the front walk that needs sweeping and the grass that needs mowing, just as it all did yesterday. The mist isn't really obscuring anything at all, but we like to pretend that it does, because it's soft and poetical and all and covers up what we'd really rather not deal with at the moment.
Here are the facts: It's clear that Mitt Romney has followed the course of action throughout his entire life that he's following now: that of choosing whatever option he thinks will get him what he wants. All narcissists can appear to be gentle, benevolent gods when they choose - it's part of their charm.
Mitt Romney would be the same paper president he was at Bain Capital, the same leader of the Salt Lake Olympic squadron, the same governor of Massachusetts - taking the road that at the time paved the way toward looking good on paper and in rare public appearances, but disappearing at the first puff of the wind of substance.
Meaning that, voting for Romney as POTUS would mean that his cronies would be the ones calling the shots, directing his paper-doll stance, pulling the strings of his puppet arms. Mitt is the perfect non-candidate. Don't think for a moment that he's actually responsible for anything except carrying out the wishes of the entities filling his pocketbook. He's meaningless and hard to pin down because that's the person he is.
Mitt Romney is the worst kind of person in the world: a classic narcissist who thinks he has a god-given mission to lead the United States (please research his religion, specifically the white horse prophesy if you doubt it), who will always act in his own best interests, and the world be damned. He has delusions of grandeur and believes that he is destined for greatness not only during his time here on earth, but in the afterlife. The shifting sands of his character are ingrained, and have served him well as far as prosperity goes. The thought of him at the helm of the biggest ship in the world means that if he believes hitting that iceberg will land him in heaven's realm, and in the meantime array his family and his own self in gilded heaven-on-earth glory, well then - it's all a part of his god's plan.
Put another way, imagine Mitt Romney at the controls of a 747 headed for the World Trade Center. He'd never hit that building, right? Look again. There's a guy who looks like Mr. Romney sitting in first class holding Ann's hand. They look around and smile, chat up their neighbors, full of charm and class. Then Mitt looks at his watch, and they bow their heads and start to pray. Paul Ryan's in the pilot seat, and he believes that building is full of liberal Democrats, lesbians, and abortion providers. Mitt is smiling and dreaming of the afterlife. No wait - that's actually not Mitt at all. The real Mitt is far away on an island in the Caymans.
Now what would happen? Yeah, I'm joking. Look closer.
Then there is the Tea Party. Fortunately there are other folks who've gone the extra mile to put the naked truth about them before the American public, so I'll share this clip from Aaron Sorkin's amazing new show, The Newsroom, where the truth is told as "fiction."
We can stop this insane bunch of crass, self-serving idiots. We must vote. Take the day off to do so if you must, but do not leave the polls until you have cast your rightful, individual VOTE. I understand that there are some places where it may be difficult to do so. How many have been disenfranchised in the past in this country, through trickery? More than one is too many - but there have been many, many people who were unable to vote because they stood by while this opportunity was literally stolen.
I have seen instances in my lifetime, in the past decade, where voting machines were moved - while voting was actually taking place - from high-minority, low-income, inner-city districts to predominantly white, wealthy, suburban ones so that there was a dearth of machines in the minority low-income districts and an unnecessary plethora of them in the wealthy, white districts; many of those machines were absolutely empty and unused during the remainder of the election. This forced many to have to leave to go back to work before they'd had a chance to cast their votes. I have stood in line to vote while poll workers went down the rows handing out cards and demonstrated how to vote a straight Republican ticket - and yes, there were unenlightened people who honestly thought they were simply being shown "how to vote." I have been there while people who were legally registered were turned away because they didn't have - or refused to show - a "proper ID."
This is America. No one has the right to do this to us. Stay, vote, and don't back down. Don't leave. Cast a provisional vote if you have no other choice. But Do. Not. Leave. Your future, your children's future, depends on your exercising the right to VOTE. Do not let them turn this country into the third world nation they can control, because that is what they want. That is what they believe God wants. They think we are stupid, and they do not respect us or the democracy they were born into. They are misguided, they are armed, and they are dangerous.
Fifty years ago a similarly high-minded group of politically-charged individuals led by a single charismatic mouthpiece spewing venomous hate went after innocent folk in the name of protecting our American shores from "communism." The McCarthy era was responsible for ruining hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives, and amounted to publicly-sanctioned ethnocentrism and racism. This time it's worse: there are dozens of charismatic mouthpieces spewing racism, misogyny, lies, and hate. They assert that our GOD is on their side, and because of that they ask us to doubt our conscience and look the other way while people who shout fear and hate take over our government. They are asking us to abdicate our democracy, and for those of us who refuse, they are doing their damnedest to take away our right to self-determination.
We should know better. Hate is hate, patriarchal control is control outright, and it preys on our fears of that which we do not understand and don't want to admit to our lack of understanding - and we should never allow it to cloud our vision. We must not give in to the claim that it doesn't matter who wins. It matters. We must not abdicate our rights as an informed electorate. To do so will result in the loss of everything our democracy stands for, and will effectively negate our Constitution and our way of life.
Don't let them take over our government again. We probably won't get it back if they do. But don't let this scare you. Let it strengthen your resolve. There is really absolutely nothing to fear except fear itself.
This election season, do not be confused by the vapor surrounding the truth, obscuring the things they really don't want you to see. Step through the mist, pick your way carefully over the rocky shoals hidden underneath the gloom of doubt and suspicion. VOTE.
The photo is of me about 16 years ago, with three of my children and one on
the way. As you can see, we enjoy studying and re-enacting the
lifeways of the 18th & 19th centuries in America. My children know more
about the experience of our forebears than most history teachers, because
they've lived it.
Today, as the mother of four beautiful daughters, one son, with a delightful
granddaughter and another grandchild on the way, I am extremely disappointed in
the actions of the Governor and the Virginia Legislature that limit women's access to reasonable
and prudent health care and place unreasonable restrictions that intrude into
the confidential trust and privacy concerning procedures that are only
appropriately made between a woman and her health care provider.
Modern
health care made it possible for me to have children spaced reasonably apart so
my body could recover. Prescription birth control helped my doctor treat
ovarian cysts, critical bleeding, and endometriosis. I am healthier because of it. Moreover,
I know had I really lived in the 18th century, I would not have survived my
condition. I have the option and luxury of studying the lessons of history from
the vantage point of modern understanding. I'm not certain many of our
legislators even know what that is.
The legislature - and certainly no MAN - has any right whatsoever to intrude into women’s private health care
matters. I chose to give birth naturally to all five of my children, and
even chose to give the first up for adoption at birth because I was still in
school and too young to be responsible enough for her. She was raised by
wonderful, loving parents, she found us when she became an adult, and we are
grateful for her and all of our children. However, I still defend to the
utmost any woman's right to choose not to give birth, through whatever means
she and her doctor deem reasonable and in her best interests, and I will not
stand by and have any access to health care denied because of intrusive,
invasive, and unreasonable legislation. My choice to give a child up for
adoption was the most searing, difficult decision of my life, and I would not
force that decision on anybody. Every woman must have the choices available
to her that make sense for her body and her situation.
No procedure should be dictated by an uninvolved non-medical entity, most
especially the Virginia Legislature and government. I am very, very
disappointed in our governor, senators and representatives and will voice my
dissatisfaction in the voting booth.
Thanks to Planned Parenthood of Virginia for keeping this issue before the
hearts and minds of the public. Hopefully a day of reason is not far off,
in spite of legislative efforts to the contrary.
I just emailed Governor Bob McDonnell of Virginia. He has the despicable mandatory ultrasound-waiting-period bill on his desk to veto or sign by Friday, March 9.
Feel free to copy/paste any of this as applicable to your situation and do likewise.
Representing myself as I am was wiser than anything else I think I could do. I decided to have my children, and gave one up for adoption (who found us as an adult) because it was the right decision for me (and for her) - but I will defend to the utmost anyone's right to have control over her body, and to make the correct decision for her own body and situation. No one - especially any male - has the right to decide what is best for us.
The text of my email is below.
Email Subject: A caring mother of five
As a caring mother who has five wonderful children, I am asking you to uphold the rights of women in the Commonwealth to reasonable access to necessary health care, without burdensome regulations designed to foster confusion and intrusion into the private realm of matters that are only between a woman and her doctor.
Veto HB 462. If this measure is passed, it will most certainly not withstand the first court challenge, and will waste unnecessary taxpayer dollars, as well as hours of valuable time, better spent protecting the rights of citizens to reasonable, consistent, and necessary health care.
Mr. French seems to have a lot of rather misogynistic notions about women - but then it happens that a lot of men seem to as well. He attributes a lot of power and control to us that I'm not sure is actually valid - but then, I'm a woman and by definition I'm not going to understand why so often men do attribute so much power to us when we feel helpless and manipulated by just the type of actions and circumstances the men in this book describe. Still, I'm finding this book helpful because it gives a purely male view toward what causes relationships to fail, and that is what I was looking for in order to better understand my own circumstances. I do not have to agree with all of what he says in order to gain insight and value from it. French does an excellent job of presenting a list of very well-illustrated reasons why men may have difficulty in relationships, and this information will help me to be more effective in my dealings with people of the opposite sex, as well as have empathy toward them and perhaps not be so likely to feel hurt by them. Understanding, respect, and open dialogue about the inner landscape that leads us to act and feel the way we do about others is the canvas on which he makes a case for more effective and ultimately satisfying relationships between men and women. After all, it's the inability of the sexes to communicate effectively that is at the root of most of our failures, and this is a point he makes rather well.
About this time yesterday I was in the middle of making a pretty big mistake in full view of the whole world - which is easy to do on the internet. My counselor told me this morning that in the last 5 years she has noticed how often it happens that words that once would have been exchanged between two people in a relatively private setting - a bar, perhaps, or a hallway in passing, even in the privacy of one's own home - now end up posted on Facebook. "It's so quick, to write your reaction, and we do it without thinking. Then we have to live with the results."
Another way what appears to bring us closer, in an instant can zoom us far, far away.
Here's the obvious thing that I had to (re)learn publicly:
DON'T HIT 'ENTER' WHEN YOU'RE ANGRY.
Even in the rare case that you may actually be right (I wasn't) - it still is the wrong thing to do. Airing it publicly, even semi-publicly on friends-only posts, still includes people that really didn't want to see that. We don't go on the internet to be unwitting witness to ugly words about people we care about. If I had kept my thoughts to a few private emails, even, instead of a couple of very-succinctly-worded Zzzzzlams! - well, I wouldn't have had to eat crow for dinner last night. And had to get up and look at the leftovers again this morning. And cringe all over again at the memory of hurting someone I care deeply about, and try to believe that "I made a mistake, everyone makes mistakes, it's not worth beating yourself up over it..."
I am not an existentialist, but they did get one thing right. Even deleting the whole post and anything afterwards that stemmed from it isn't going to make it go away. Once it's on the internet, it's history. Literally. It's out there. Damage done. Now we live with it.
It's worse than just saying ugly words in the privacy of your own home. It's like buying billboard space and painting it across the highways. Everyone can see it, and be witness, judge, and jury to your idiotic moment.
So now I'm reading and re-reading a quote from a small framed picture that my mother gave to my father a long time ago, and trying to apply those wise words of Emerson to the absurdity of this particular situation. Because even though I've apologized profusely and received forgiveness for yesterday's blunders, it is difficult to believe that it won't contribute further to an already tenuous and difficult communication problem that I've been having with the individual who graciously forgave me. While I was writing words of fire, he was actually being a saint and helping people in need. He was applying the rule, "Do unto others..." He was being the better person, doing good in the world.
None of us is perfect, we all are human. And normally I believe and live by these words: Everyone is doing his best he can at the time. It is a reminder to have patience, and do not judge. Why I forgot and felt justified in slamming home some long-ago, worn-out, used-up resentment that should have been thrown out with the trash years ago, is not an excuse. I shouldn't have done it, and I am so, so sorry.
I don't yet forgive myself; I knew better and under normal circumstances would never have done it - except when I've been having a bad day, like I was yesterday. I was sick in bed, and the plumbing in the house had developed a problem overnight and I was having to wait for that to be taken care of. Being ill and unable to take care of what needed doing left me feeling vulnerable and on edge. So I did what other people do when they're sick: I got on the internet, hoping for something distracting to take my mind off of it.
You know where this is going. Without going into detail, the first few words I read on my news page jumped at me completely out of context. I mis-read, assumed I knew what was going on, and further mis-applied them, and felt totally justified in responding with what at the time seemed a high amount of calm and deliberate action. Inside I was seething over a jumble of things, partially to do with the situation at hand but mostly chafing at feeling helpless and unable to do anything but wait and see when the person in question would next communicate (he'd been rather too busy lately to talk much). I didn't want to wait; I wanted attention.
I hate the attention that resulted from that screw-up. I hate that even if I'd been right, that people saw what I wrote. That wasn't necessary. Most of all, I hate that the person to whom it was delivered was bewildered and probably hurt, although he was too much of a gentleman to show it. In the past this sort of thing would have happened behind closed doors and been completely ironed out between the two of us, but since he wasn't and hasn't been around and I was denied that opportunity, I let it out in front of co-workers, friends, and family. How inappropriate. How childish. How mean and rotten and gross.
“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in, forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day, you shall begin it well and serenely...” --Ralph Waldo Emerson
Deep breath. Read, and repeat.
Here's another thing: it doesn't hurt to read and see what advice the Universe sends out first thing in the morning. This is what it was for me today:
And immediately my mind responded, "Hier j'ai heurté la réalité. Aujourd'hui j'ai réalisé que la réalité était tous dans mon esprit." Yesterday I crashed head on into reality. Today I realized that reality was all in my head.
I had to share this with my counselor on the phone this morning (she's so awesome she called me when I was too sick to make the appointment!), and I tried to explain it using an analogy so she could understand how to help me, and why I was so upset.
See, there was this movie, starring George Peppard and Ursula Andress, with James Mason. Epic pilot movie - The Blue Max. In it Peppard plays a military pilot - say that three times fast without tripping over your tongue if you can! Andress plays his lover, Mason plays a superior officer. Andress's character reveals to Mason's that the pilot has cheated on something, I forget what, in order to win the country's highest honor and to be named The Blue Max, because she was piqued over his jilting her. She is spoiled, and manipulative, and she thinks he will just have to lose this award and she will have vengeance. But it's worse than that. As a result of this news the superior officer decides to let him die, rather than to let it come out that the Pilot must be stripped of this honor, and therefore embarrass the whole country. He sends Peppard's character out to test a new plane, that he knows is unsafe, and with tears pouring down her cheeks she has to listen to the engine stall, and the resulting whine and screams as the plane crashes into the earth. "And all because of your stupid little anger!" Mason yells at her.
I hear those words at times like these. Sometimes anger really is pretty stupid. Sometimes we see ourselves entirely too easily in the weaknesses of others. Sometimes we are our own worst enemy.
I have a constant struggle between knowing what is real and knowing what really isn't. This has bitten me in the past, and it's going to continue to bite me as long as I react out of past hurts, without waiting to be certain of having all of the facts. So this will be part of my homework, along with not beating myself up over things I can't change, even if they're my fault. As my counselor said, "No one died from it. You learned something, and it is getting better."
She reminded me about H.A.L.T. - We shouldn't give in to Action when we are Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. I was at least 2 of those yesterday, and possibly 3. No matter how it looks, it's just not a good idea.
Yeah, I know.
I also have to put this completely in God's hands, because until I learn these lessons, my own are not to be trusted.
An excellent treatise on the influence of narcissistic individuals in those for whom abuse and negativity feels more like normal behavior than dysfunction. The author is a well-educated clinical psychologist who herself is the child of two narcissistic parents.
Adeptly weaving her experiences with those of her friends, patients, and other individuals, she helps us to recognize the thought patterns and unintentional, automatic reactions to challenges that everyone faces, but with which adult children can struggle against depression, bulimia, fear, suicidal thoughts, and psychosis. The writer's style dips in and out of clinical assessment, stream-of-consciousness, and rational analysis, proving over and over again that there are many ways to deal confidently and successfully with people who try to control our thoughts and emotions, and because it presents this multi-faceted picture, is not only helpful, but interesting and engaging to read.
I recommend this highly for anyone dealing with unfortunate life patterns triggered by inability to recognize the influence of narcissistic individuals at work, at home, or in relationships.
Awhile back I found this article fascinating and thought-provoking. It doesn't actually even have a title, but it attends to the subject of out-or-not-out gay actors with sobering insight.
After you've read that, hop on over to the LA Weekly News and read this amazing interview and article with Hollywood publicist Howard Bragman, who assists gay performers who want to come out to do so in a sane and effective way.
Quote from the article: The publicist hasn’t brought out an A-list, gay male actor — yet. But Bragman says that day is coming, and after the first superstar decides to reveal himself, a fundamental shift in American acceptance of gay leading men may not be far behind. He’s currently working with a famous musician who’s still closeted from the public, but who will come out next year. And the manager of one major movie star approached Bragman a year ago and asked about his client’s possibly going public, but the actor still refuses to pull the trigger.
“I felt a little frustrated with that superstar,” Bragman says in reflection, “because it had to be ‘handled.’ ”
I have a lot to think about these days. Seriously, there has to be a way to engender support for honesty. There just has to.
I hope you all are well and happy out there. Think about this with me, won't you?
Not to clutter up the internet with more words when others have said it better, just want to say I agree with this post, and the subsequent comments are worthwhile reading.
Pic links to Awards Daily's list of signatories and mentions ONTD's impertinent discussion. Image ganked from here, also worthwhile reading. The Fox The fox went out on a chilly night and he prayed for the moon to give him light For he'd many a mile to go that night Before he reached the town-o Source: traditional
No one, in the song, really cared about the chickens, because the hungry pups were so cute. And everyone knows that predators survive on victims, it's the way of the world, the natural order of things. Circle of life, all that.
And everyone feels for the fox who got away, and goes to ground with his prize unpunished, even celebrated for this accomplishment. He lives to steal another day. I guess it's really no wonder some idiots out there confuse this with the basic value of art, or something.
There is, of course, a difference.
The fox steals food in order to survive. Roman Polanski steals innocence and dignity for his own self-gratification. Steals? Yes, steals. Present tense. He's stealing it as we speak, because everyone who reads and understands the root of this story and then looks at his smugly unapologetic face will come away from the experience a little smaller, a little less hopeful, maybe even a little more desperate. It makes us feel sick to know how the system failed here. To say nothing of the victims of his past, who every day have to pick up and go on without the innocence and dignity that he tore out of them to satisfy a manipulative desire for erotic power.
Ugh. Spare us from those artists who would seek to paint this with an equally manipulative and selfish brush, and who thus share equally in stripping humanity of its innocence and dignity. This leaves us all as the children of Dickens, Ignorance and Want, with the same certainty of ultimate emptiness... which, in effect, robs us of the Art, as well. As we watch this year's latest incarnation of A Christmas Carol, we might be thinking about that.
The last thing Sam said to his brother Dean at the end of last night's episode (5.04) was, "Because we don't have a choice." But the line that was silently transmitted through the look Dean returned to him was, "No, Sam. It's because we do."
Sam and Dean's journey is all about choice.
Free will sustains the human condition. To succomb to the temptation of blindly following rules imposed by others in order to feel safe, in the right, or morally superior is to give in to the power rush that enables people to do horrific things to one another.
To protect from those who have given in to that temptation is the free choice of those who would seek to also protect the right to choose for all mankind. And that is the sustainable lesson here.
This season is difficult to say the very least. It's the end of the journey, the downhill run. We know where they're going, what we aren't certain is all the twists and turns it will take to get there. But if where we've been with the Winchesters is anything to go on, they're not going without me. I'm so there, hanging on with all my might.
Amen, and even so come.
Check out my friend Marla's excellent Supernatural episode 5.04 recap post at Eclipse Magazine
