The 'Senior Portrait' from HELL!!

I hate having photos taken of me. I particularly hate the yearly misery that is school photos. Somehow, they're significantly worse than the norm; they inspire a sort of mindless, rebellious rage in me, which, as you may imagine, does not result in attractive pictures. This year, our senior year, we don't file into the room one by one-- instead, we must make our own appointments with the photographers. 'Senior portraits', I'm told, must be taken by a particular photographer (don't try to tell me there aren't any kick-backs in that deal), and I've dutifully made my appointment. This year though, is going to be different for another reason: I'm going to wear a mask! sort of...

I went through some old magazines and cut out the faces that were roughly the same size as my face, then trimmed sections to put on my face! I've photographed the preliminary results:



I'm leaning toward #1. Thoughts?

...merde...

Perhaps it was arrogant, but yes: I thought I was getting the hang of french. That illusion has been cruelly torn from my grasping fingers. Yes, I have been thoroughly disabused of the foolish notion. "But how?", you ask, and I fear not, for I shall tell you.

I've begun my summer reading for French. 'Pierre et Jean' by Guy de Maupassant didn't seem too difficult based on the description of it-- simple storyline etc. I've had a rude awakening. I've been blown out of the water, the preceding pun being entirely intentional, by the nautical terminology. In the first 3 pages alone I've encountered these terms:

Tribord-- starboard (Nobody can keep these two straight anyway... hmph)
Bâbord-- port
tolet-- oarlock (I'm not rightly sure what that is in English...)
aviron-- oar
matelot-- sailor/seaman
nageoires-- fins
d'écailles-- scales (O.K. this one's a cognate... but still!)
mordre-- to bite/gnaw
mordiller-- to nibble
une barque-- a boat (Isn't one word for boat enough?! Just use 'un bateau'!)

I HAVE 200 PAGES OF THIS TO LOOK FORWARD TO!!!!!!
...well... it probably won't all be nautical know-how... they're just on a fishing trip...but-- all the same, man!!


On the bright side I've learned two (count 'em two!) fantastic french words!

morbleu!-- zounds!

un gredin-- a scoundrel

How brilliant would it be if words like those were reintegrated into modern English?! I'm certainly going to do my part to bring them back!

Church for the UnChurched

On many occasions, I have thought to myself, "Wouldn't Churches be lovely if they let go of the whole 'G-d' obsession that they seem to have?"  This may seem silly on the face of it, considering that Churches are based on the idea of G-d.  I would argue that the most important aspects of churches and other houses of worship are not at all related to the almighty; people go to church for moral guidance, to socialize, to become active in their communities, and to participate in good works.  Church sunday schools have long been involved in promoting literacy and strong moral values (compassion, honesty etc).  These are all valuable things that are, in fact, independent of belief in G-d(s), as atheists including myself will assure anyone.  When you remove the superstition and scriptural confusion, houses of worship become pleasant community centers with pretty windows.  

I'm not the only one who has come to this conclusion.  Many atheists, particularly former believers, realize how valuable this weekly interaction is, and have sought to recreate it for rationalists!  The 'Church of Freethought' in Texas and California, along with other atheist churches are changing the landscape.  I discovered that I was not alone after reading this article: the 'Atheist Church'.  

 

The Houston Church of Freethought is an extention of the concept originally developed in Dallas by the North Texas Church of Freethought.  The Church of Freethought was conceived as an alternative to the conventional faith-based religious organizations.  The benefits of traditional church membership are offered to those who are uncomfortable with supernatural beliefs: community and fellowship with those of like mind, a vehicle for personal growth and fulfillment, affirmation of a naturalistic view of the world as a positive life choice for individuals and families, and a sense of belonging within the larger community.

Wouldn't it be fantastic if groups like this sprung up everywhere, and offered that cheery, not-so-very-repressive alternative to traditional religion?!  Maybe we could all get along!  Perhaps they could serve as a way of maintaining the cultures that are so tightly intertwined with the practice of religion-- Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists etc etc could all keep the art and the beauty of their religions, the sense of community, while letting go of the superstitions that come with theism.  

I can dream can't I?

FRESH ART! COME GET IT WHILE IT'S HOT!

O.K. -- Not all of it is exactly fresh, but it's still damn hot! I've got a lot of my work up on picasa. It isn't well photographed, but it's there. Some of it will probably end up in my portfolio, but I'm in the process of decided what shows off my skills to best advantage. Many of them are still works in progress, so any suggestions/advice = WELCOME.

Check it out:

Latest
Still Pretty Recent
Destined to Get the Family Farm

Here's a little enticing preview:

^--- 'Blue Dancer', a sculpture @ the NCMA in Raleigh

IT'S A SIGN!

I know one oughtn't take photos while behind the wheel of an automobile, but this one had to be done! I was driving home from Build-a-Bear--- more on that later--- when I saw a street sign that was more than a street sign. It was, in my opinion, a clear indication of my future.

Yes! University of Edinburgh here I come!!!

Admittedly, I also drove past Glasgow St. and I have no intention of going to the University of Glasgow...


So. Build-a-Bear. I went there for the first time, today, at the age of 17.58. I didn't actually build a bear, but I advised Kat on the naming and accessory selection of hers. She is a long-time Build-a-Bear patron, and seems to know everything there is to know about the fuzzy critters. If you've not been there before, this is how it works:

• Walk in.
• Coo at the little un-stuffed animal shapes (bears, elephants, koals, dogs)
• Pick up each one and compare fuzziness
• Once a particular animal has been chosen, look at its smile--- some have creepy ones
• Having selected a non-pedo animal (we'll say Koala), walk on to the next section
• Look at all the little voice boxes and decide that making it talk is kind of creepy
• Don't get a voice box no matter how sweetly it sings 'Happy Birthday'
• Take your Koala bag (for that is what it is) on to an employee at a stuffing machine
• Become mesmerized by the wildly cartwheeling fluff
• Pick up one of the little embroidered hearts and follow employee instructions
• Jump up & down
• Let out a primal roar
• Kiss the heart
  
• Put the heart in your freshly stuffed bear
• Decide on a name-- preferably something foreign
• Guillermo
• Francois
• Jacques
• Parminder
• Jean-Claude
• Alain
• Gerard
• Sebastiano
• Give your newly sewn bear a 'bath' with 'water' and a 'scrubber' (MAKE-BELIEVE!)
• Pick out your Koala's clothing from innumerable racks of PJs and motorcycle jackets
• Go to one of the computer stations and print out a nice little birth certificate
• Giggle at the cash register
• Walk out satisfied.
  

I'm Proud to be an American (MURKUN!!)

**This is an excerpt from a 'letter' home during my week at hyper-patriotic boot camp (Tar Heel Girls' State) taken from the evening of Flag Day**


Flag Day was horrible.

We had to march out in complete silence, and align in reverent rows facing the flag while girls wearing white dresses, who in a militaristic fashion, marched in actually barking "left... left... left, right, left". We stood at attention in the sweltering heat and had to listen to an awful poem dedicated to the flag.

Most patriotic poetry is unpleasant to say the least, but this particular one crossed too many lines for my liking. Perhaps it was too honest about us. Stepping back from that, in the first place, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of pledging my allegiance to a FLAG rather than to a COUNTRY. I'm supposed to be willing to die for a couple scraps of colored cloth? If I'm going to be loyal to anything it would have to be the the people of my country--living, breathing, humans. Why should I pledge myself to an abstract idea that has little to do with me or anything that I care about. It's too easy for a symbol to be co-opted and used to mean something that it shouldn't; it is too divorced from the reality of the United States which is multifaceted and simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

The pledge confuses me on another count: the frequency. Every day? Really? Is that necessary? Are we trying to say that our allegiance has to be renewed daily or it goes sour? Does loyalty have such an early expiration date as that? It isn't a particularly meaningful sort of allegiance/loyalty if it only lasts for a day. Ah well. Anyway, the poem made me feel like we were the evil empire (or the Alliance from Firefly & Serenity). There was one line about the flag feeling proud when mothers clutch it and weep for their lost sons, which made me feel physically sick. We're proud of causing death?! I often find patriotic rhetoric a bit silly, but that really disgusted me. By the end of the ceremony, when they were retiring the flag, I couldn't help but think to myself "Take it down. Get it out of my sight." I don't like feeling that way, but I really, really hated the sight of it.

Here's the horror itself:

I am the Flag
Howard Schnauber

---

I am the flag of the United States of America.
My name is Old Glory.
I fly atop the world's tallest buildings. <-- NOT ANYMORE WE DON'T
I stand watch in America's halls of justice. <-- AND OVERFLOWING PRISONS
I fly majestically over institutions of learning. <-- AND CHURCHES SEEKING TO RETURN TO THE DARK AGES
I stand guard with power in the world.
Look up ... and see me.


I stand for peace, honor, truth and justice. <-- DO WE? DO WE REALLY? AND HOW EXACTLY HAVE WE SHOWN THAT LATELY?
I stand for freedom. <-- WHEN I THINK OF AMERICA I THINK OF DETAINEE PRISONS AND THE DEFENSE OF MARRIAGE ACT
I am confident.
I am arrogant. <--- OH YEAH.. THAT'S JUST WHAT WE NEED.
I am proud. <-- OF WHAT EXACTLY?

When I am flown with my fellow banners,
my head is a little higher,
my colors a little truer. <-- OH LOVELY... SO WE THINK WE'RE BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE?

I bow to no one!
I am recognized all over the world. <-- YEAH... THAT'S NOT NECESSARILY GOOD...
I am worshipped -- I am saluted. <-- CREEPY!
I am loved -- I am revered.
I am respected -- and I am feared. <-- THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL TOO PROUD

I have fought in every battle of every war <--- UM. NO. WHAT?
for more then 200 years.
I was flown at Valley Forge,
Gettysburg, Shiloh and Appomattox.
I was there at San Juan Hill,
the trenches of France,
in the Argonne Forest,
Anzio, Rome, and the beaches of Normandy.
Guam, Okinawa, Korea and
KheSan, Saigon, Vietnam know me. <--- NOT IN A POSITIVE WAY THOUGH
I was there.

I led my troops.
I was dirty, battleworn and tired,
but my soldiers cheered me
And I was proud.
I have been burned, torn and trampled
on the streets of countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible. <-- MWAHAHAHA WE WILL MULTIPLY AND COVER THE EARTH!!!!

I have been soiled upon, burned, torn
and trampled on the streets of my country.
And when it's by those whom I've served in battle -- it hurts. <-- I THOUGHT YOU LIKED FREEDOM!? WHAT ABOUT FREEDOM OF SPEECH?
But I shall overcome -- for I am strong. <--- NO YOU WON'T. YOU'RE JUST A SYMBOL!! SHUT UP!

I have slipped the bonds of Earth
and stood watch over the uncharted frontiers of space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have borne silent witness
to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hours are yet to come.

When I am torn into strips and used as bandages
for my wounded comrades on the battlefield,
When I am flown at half-mast to honor my soldier,
Or when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent
at the grave of their fallen son or daughter,
I am proud. <-- AGAIN. SICKENING. I SEE NOTHING IN THIS STANZA TO BE PROUD OF.

My name is 'Old Glory'!
Long may I wave
o'er the land of the free
and the home of the brave.

Another odd thing is that during the sessions in the chapel where we link arms, sway, and sing 'God Bless the USA', devout atheist though I am, I involuntarily look towards the stained glass window at the pinnacle of the chapel and think "Please forgive me". I'm not sure who I'm talking to. Perhaps my parents. Perhaps my new country if I emigrate. Perhaps myself. At any rate, it makes me feel less horrible about participating in the cult-like behavior--It reminds me that I don't actually believe the bullshit that's coming out of my mouth.

The Fall

When I was little, I watched movies differently. I was entirely removed from the characters and their emotions; the most soul-crushingly sad film had no effect on me, and I derided those who 'got weepy', but I have begun to slide down the slippery slope towards emotional connection with films. I was reminded of the demise of my sarcastic inner child the other day at the Galaxy Cinema where 'The Fall' was showing. It was fantastic. It blended the drug-addled grime of 'Trainspotting', the magical realism of 'Pan's Labyrinth', and the sheer fun of 'The Princess Bride'. It is less focused on the linear, action-driven plot, and more on the style, artistry, and emotion--leaving the theatre, I was less interesting in tearing at plot holes than trying to preserve the beautiful, haunting images and transitions. It had a slightly art-house feel, yet it had a sufficient sense of humor established in the story sequences to avoid taking itself too seriously.

All the reviews of 'The Fall' that I've seen complain about the emphasis on style over plot, which, quite frankly, ticks me off. Why can't a film tell emotional truth rather than factual truth? 'The Fall' absolutely enthralled everyone in the theatre, and we were not merely oohing and aahing over the costumes (which were, by the way, fantastic). We were deeply invested in the interpersonal relationships. We cared about what conclusions they would come to, and what those conclusions would mean for the rest of us. It takes a lot to gain the trust of an audience to the point a which they are willing to listen to what you have to say about life. Anyone can hit viewers over the head with the ultimate meaning of their story, but it requires much more effort to get them to listen and take it seriously.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: films are not all created for the same purposes, and cannot all be judged in the same way.

Anyway...I like it...

Man.... Man Man is awesome, Man...

Have you ever loved something so much that you thought it could not possibly be better (best of all possible worlds, yeah?) and then you realize that it's more brilliant than you had initially been capable of imagining? I finally saw the lyrics to the first two Man Man albums, and it would not be an overstatement to say that I've fallen head over heels heals in love again. The world is a shinier, happier place now that I know all the words to Van Helsing Boom Box:

only time will tell if I'll allow the scenery around to eat me alive i wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet even though i know it won't work out in the long run so i burn down the walls breathe like a shadow those arms i once knew hold me like ghosts i learn how to speak forgotten language i fall in the sea but forget how to swim and when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have and only time will tell if I'll allow the scenery around to eat me alive i wanna sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet even though i know it won't work out in the long run so i burn down Nepal breathe like a shadow those arms i once knew hold me like ghosts i learn how to speak defeated language fall in the street as i howl at the moon and when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have when anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have

Man Man songs are simultaneously cheerful, cheeky, tragic, frighteningly true, experimental, wacky, and even more strangely: normal. At the risk of sounding highly pretentious, listening to one of their albums feels like listening to a life or at least a week in somebody's very complex life. They span the range of human emotion and from seemingly nonsense lyrics, they tell stories that, whether we've experienced them or not, we all know.

BLACK MISSION GOGGLES
the sky is falling like a sock of cocaine in the ministry of information subway train's derailing heads decapitating i catch her reflection and it seems to sing to me la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la she's a warm bodega high on Noriega strung out in Brooklyn like it's 1983 she wears her legs around her neck like a piece of ice her smile's a neon marque hipsters eat for free la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la i am falling like a sock of cocaine in the ministry of information I'm a warm bodega high on Noriega strung out in Brooklyn cause i fell in love with her moon cut moon cuts tiny like eyelash lonely cat nap whisper lonely cat nap whisper moon cut moon cuts tiny like eyelash lonely cat nap whisper lonely cat nap whisper and i walk around i whisper in her scalp i whisper on the wind i whisper once again

Man Man combines brilliant lyrics with experimental yet powerful melodies, rhythms, harmonies and an insane energy that is hard to comprehend.



So Good.