Can't Buy Me Love pt. 1

D'y'know what's funny? There are books being sold on the topic of decommodification. I don't know if that makes me happy for its sheer ridiculousness or sad like when I see stagnant, established "Anarchist symbols". Oxymorons and contradictions have a beautiful unity, perfect irony, and somehow a structural integrity. There is a tension that cannot be resolved, and it always on the brink of collapse, yet is too lusciously balanced to fall. That's not what I want to talk about, though. Decommodifying. The tragedy of the commons. I find it terrifying that in modern society, if things aren't assigned some sort of economic value and purchased by someone, we either are or think we are incapable of taking care of them or valuing them. Non-monetary value can be expressed in economic terms, which is a step forward of sorts (looking beyond GDP), but it still feels horribly wrong. It's mercenary and cynical. Yes, that's why I don't like it. It's like characterizing a throbbing, emotional, human relationship in terms of gains and losses--costs and benefits. It makes it easier to imagine it ethical to exchange goods and services for intangibles like love, trust, and respect. We already make some of these trades, but unwittingly, and in a sense: innocently.

Decommodify: to take the trade and barter out of basic human essentials and return common resources and intangible human assets to their natural--noncommercial--state. In other words: stop selling things like environmental quality, health, happiness, education etc. In a technical and cold, calculating sense, one most certainly may put a price on these things, but it is deeply unethical and should be stopped.


More on this later.

Letter to the Editor

Yesterday I was reading the newspaper and getting angry as usual, but for some reason, a letter to the editor motivated me into action: I'm writing a response.

Here is the ridiculous letter:

Minority Rule

Here we go again. The UNC-CH library is not putting up a Christmas tree for fear of someone being "offended." Are we offended when someone wears a yarmulke? Are we offended when someone wears a turban? Are we offended when someone wears an abaya? Are we offended when we hear someone say, "Happy Hanukkah"? Do we insist that Muslims not fast during Ramadan? Of course, we don't. These are all public displays of religious beliefs. Christians wear no special clothing or badges to identify themselves, and the only public display of their religion is twice a year: Easter and Christmas.
Over 80 percent of Americans "profess" to be Christians. ARe we going to allow the minority to rule the majority? Emblazoned on office buildings in Washington and in courthouses throughout the nation are the words "In God We Trust." How can we continue to be a strong nation if we don't stand up for our beliefs? When we allow this to happen, we become weak and trampled upon.
What's next? Thank God, Congress still opens its session with a prayer.
God bless America and Merry Christmas.
-Richard Pinkard
Apex

My first response, unfortunately, was a blind "Whathakljhiosjhti;hioh o e", but I've recovered. Here's my draft in response:

Richard Pinkard's Dec. 13^th Letter, “Minority rule”, complaining of the lack of representation of Christianity at UNC-CH, namely a Christmas tree, is absolutely ludicrous. Mr. Pinkard sets up several remarkably misleading parallels regarding the expression of faith in public—making the specious claim that personal/individual expressions like yarmulkes, turbans, and hijabs are essentially the same as that of a public university displaying a Christmas tree. It is astounding that Mr. Pinkard cannot see the difference between a state school specifically endorsing a particular religion and an individual expressing his/her faith. Further, he portrays Christians as a persecuted class by failing to mention that there are no regulations preventing Christians from wearing crucifixes, affixing the Ichthys to their cars, and putting up their own Christmas trees. There is a strange argument implicit in his insistence that Christians are being prevented from showing their beliefs publicly: one's faith is somehow being disrespected if it is not at center stage in the public square.

On top of his strange logic regarding the expression of faith, Mr. Pinkard entirely disregards the separation of church and state by using the percentage of the population who are Christian to justify his outrage. Not only is it irrelevant, but his apocryphal statistics are incorrect: according to the CIA World Factbook, only 68.5%, not the 80% he claims, of Americans are Christian (Protestant, Roman Catholic, Mormon, and “Other Christian”).

-Jessie

Apex

There are so many things wrong with his thinking that I couldn't possibly fit them into one letter, but I certainly tried to hit the worst offenses. I didn't even try to touch the congressional prayer issue...

Thoughts?

AAAAAHHHH!!!

Okay guys.... ahem...

I'VE BEEN ACCEPTED UNCONDITIONALLY AT THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH!!!!!


*grin*

Physics Faeries

Webassign makes me feel magical: there--I said it. I know it sounds odd, but it's true. Most of the time, it is a torturous task untaken around midnight and no matter how logical and careful you try to be, you end up with a page full of those infuriating red crosses glaring at you, yet the days when it works, it really works. Today doing the Work & Energy assignment I felt like a wizard. I don't mean wizard as in clever. I mean wizard as in magical powers and things contrary to reason occuring. Despite having carefully worked through each problem and understood it, it still appeared to be magic when the happy little green checks appeared.

Obviously I've chosen to take physics rather than psychology, but I think there should be some sort of research put into what I can only call the conditioning of webassign. There is some serious potential here for mind control. Webassign has caused me to think of things with clear rational explanations as supernatural! Computers in general, even, seem to be agents of regression towards superstition. We are much more credulous and we undertake the same action again and again expecting different results each time---it's clearly insane. Technology, the reflection of the future, is actually leading us backwards. How twisted is that?

Parsnips-a-Plenty

I know that one ought to only have righteous rage regarding the important issues in life: injustice, violence, and poverty should make us angry, but at the moment, I'm quite angry about veg. I hate parsnips, turnips, and celery with a fiery and all-consuming passion. I've always felt this way, but the soup I'm desperately trying to eat at the moment has brought it to the front of my consciousness.

Parsnips and turnips are similar in that they both have miserable flavors and textures--they're like horrible imitations of potatoes that simply haven't got it right. They are the rubbish covers of Beatles songs of the vegetable world. They're somewhat similar in appearance to the real thing, and if you're not paying attention, you might be fooled, but ultimately they're an unpleasant surprise. There is nothing worse at the dinner table than biting into what you thought was a lovely potato and discovering it to be none other than the dreaded parsnip.
There is no situation where someone could hand you a parsnip, and you could not say, "Hey-- lemme do ya one better: here's a potato!" Parsnips, however, have one redeeming trait: they are the subject of one of my favorite idioms:

"Fine words butter no parsnips."

World Wide Words has an interesting discussion of the origins of this expression here.

On the topic of celery, which is a vile form of veg if I ever unintentionally ate one, I can only say this: there are two kinds of people in the world--people who hate celery, and people who cannot taste celery. If you complain about celery, non-celery-detesting-people invariably claim that it has no taste. They are horribly wrong: I can genuinely smell it from the other side of a room, and it is instantaneously recognizable in any sort of a soup, stew, or salad. Apart from it's polluting flavor, it has a shockingly disgusting texture that ought to put any right-thinking person off their food for several days!

How do people consume these horrifying vegetables? I do not know.

Le Français!

I've been speaking french rather obsessively since I got home several hours ago, so to get it out of my system, I'm going to share my favorite french phrases!!
"C'est d'enfer!" -- lit. It's from hell! It actually can mean either "it's awesome" or "it's awful"

"Bédéphile" -- means someone who loves comics, but it sounds almost exactly like pédéphile, so be damned careful to stress that 'b'!

"Vachement" -- lit. cow-ly, but it means 'very', 'bloody', 'really', or 'damned'.

"Je suis chocolat!" -- I've been tricked, fooled.

"Tais-toi!" -- This is the rudest way you can possibly tell someone to be quiet.

"Le pinard, le picrate, le jaja, la bibine" -- all of these mean 'bad wine'. Getting a sense of french values?

One of the coolest things about modern french slang is Verlan. Verlan is a sort of slang where they invert syllables, basically saying everything backwards. In fact, Verlan IS verlan:

l'envers (reverse) ... l'en vers... vers l'en... versl'en... verslen... verlen... verlan

Par exemple:

Verlan: un keuf | zyva! | barjot | chelou | la siquemu | céfran
Français: un flic | vas-y! | jobard | louche | la musique | français
English: a cop | Go! | crazy | sketchy | music | french

FUNKY!

Brick House -- The Commodores

[Chorus:]
She's a brick... house
She's Mighty might just lettin' it all hang out
She's a brick... house
The lady's stacked and that's a fact,
ain't holding nothing back.

She's a brick... house
She's the one, the only one,
who's built like a amazon
We're together everybody knows,
and here's how the story goes.
She knows she got everything a woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she lose with what she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!

[Chorus]

The clothes she wears, the sexy ways,
make an old man wish for younger days
She knows she's built and knows how to please
Sure enough to knock a man to his knees

[Chorus]

Shake it down, shake it down now (repeat)

Ah.... Glorious.

DAMN YOU MCCLATCHY!

I'm more than a little peeved. I have been peeved for quite some time now. The Raleigh News & Observer is the source of my frustration. It was never a brilliant paper that had exciting journalism going on, but since the McClatchy-Bastards laid off about 70 people in June, it has been steadily going down hill. They've decided that if something must go it's going to be the news not the drivel, and thus the front page has been shrinking and the 'Life' section (with comics) has been getting fatter and fatter. Part of the bloating comes not from content, but from the addition of a prodigious classifieds section stuck to the back of the comics. Unacceptable. The comics are sacred. You do NOT attach ads to the funnies, man. *Ahem* Anyway, it's an unfortunate and unpredictable situation--you never know what they're going to cut or change in order to cut costs. The editorial section has suffered and is generally only one page on Mondays. What?!?!?!?

Not only am I ticked about their organizational choices etc, but their content has been quite lacking as of late. I've already complained about Jesse Helms, and their coverage of Edwards' affair over the conflict between Russia and Georgia was horrifying! On the day that Russia invaded, that story was a tiny bit in the corner while Edwards' baby-mama was taking up almost the entire front page. This ridiculous coverage lasted for a good 3-4 days! How can any respectable newspaper justify ignoring serious world news in favor of the sex life of a man who isn't even running for office anymore?! It was sickening. This is just one of their desperate and craven attempts to garner attention and sell papers. They've abandoned journalistic integrity to become a tabloid.


"So their organization and their story content has gone to pot, Jessie, but there can't be anything else wrong", you say. Au contraire mes amis--their recent choice to distribute the propaganda film "Obsession". With the support of publisher Orage Quarles, the N&O VP of display advertising said, "Obviously, we have distributed other product samples, whether it's cereal or toothpaste." The News and Observer has lost the ability to distinguish between basic consumer products and propaganda.

I don't know what the hell they're thinking, but they'd damned well better fix things.

American Legion

OK. Guess where I was on September 11th this year, (which also happens to be patriot day). No, I wasn't out burning flags---I spent the evening at a Raleigh post of the American Legion. Their strange little shack is about the scariest place you can imagine: the sign is shaped not unlike the blade of a circular saw, the the whole place looks like it was very... hill-billy-home-made, and the sagging roof had a couple of beer cans perched on top. After I drove up the winding gravel drive, I parked and meandered over to the entrance. I was greeted by Ms. Honeycutt, a nice little old lady, who was quite a contrast to the terrifying man standing behind her: he was about 6 feet tall, wearing a leather vest, and he had the most sunken, hollow eyes I've ever had the misfortune to stare into. I said, "Good evening sir", but he just looked at me blankly. He had the aura of a person whose life hasn't gone quite the way they hoped it would. After I darted past them to grab my name-tag, I hurried away to find a friendlier face. Who should I see but Jo! She had brought her sister along and they were both wearing the dreaded Girls' State polos.

I suppose I ought to back up: the entire reason for my presence at this terrifying hide-out was to (a.) tell the Legionnaires how much I loved Girls' State, and (b.) thank them ever s0 much for sending me. A member of the American Legion Auxiliary, or as I like to call it, "The Crazy Conservative Confederation", called me and asked me straight up, "What was you favorite part of Girls' State?" Initially I assumed that it was an idle question so I gave a saccharine statement about how much I loved the program and how wonderful it was to meet new people. Then she informed that I would be talking about it in a speech for the American Legion. Yeah. Ugh. I quickly had an about-face and told her I was fascinated by learning about lobbying.

I know I could have told her that I was going to be out of town, but I didn't, and my reasons were not entirely noble: I had visited the creepy Legion post once before, and I wanted to get a photo of it. Sadly, the photos were accidentally deleted... Also, this place is so far out in the boonies that GoogleMaps hasn't got a street view for it!

Anyway: Point is that I went, and it was unpleasant. They crowded about 25 of us over on the far side for the benefit of perhaps 3 old Legionnaires. Several blowhards stood at the front of the admittedly small room and used a microphone--it was uncalled for. They could have whispered and we would have heard them just fine. After they had rambled on for a bit, we recited some patriotic tripe and prayed several times. Yes--praying once was not enough for God to hear us. Maybe the call was dropped. If so, they should have their prayer-provider looked into. After sitting quietly for what seemed like an eternity, the march of falsely enthusiastic participants began. Each girl walked up the microphone and desperately tried to think of something to say. Some seemed to have genuinely enjoyed it; in fact, one girl went on for about 5 minutes about how much it had increased her patriotism and how much more she loves Murkuh now. Oy.

When I got up to the microphone, I was sorely tempted to use it as an opportunity to give them all a piece of my mind. I wanted to share with them my distaste for extreme patriotism. I wanted to make them see how ridiculous the whole idea is. I didn't. I said something about how I'd enjoyed every aspect of the program and thanked them for giving me the opportunity. They all smiled like self-satisfied toads and leaned back in their chairs basking in the glow of being appreciated by a whole bunch of young people. Perhaps that's a bit harsh... less like toads... more like fat cats. I can't really badmouth them because as I left, they gave me a doughnut.

mmm...tasty...

What can you say?

'Man shot churchgoers over liberal views'

American society is very very sick.

• In 2006, about 68% of all murders, 42% of all robberies, and 22% of all aggravated assaults that were reported to the police were committed with a firearm.
• in 2001 about 39% of the deaths that resulted from firearm injuries were homicides, 57% were suicides, 3% were unintentional, and 1% were of undetermined intent.
• On the wikipedia List of School-Related Attacks, 102 occurred in the United States, and only 44 in the rest of the entire world. It even includes actions by the Viet Cong. The US is STILL more violent.
  

National Teapot Show VII

On an otherwise mundane Saturday, I found myself driving steadily into an ever thickening horizon of green-- Middle of Nowhere, N.C.  This was not a peaceful weekend drive reminiscent of the old days when people went for a drive solely for the joy of it; I was on a mission.  A strange mission perhaps, but it was my intention to see as many teapots as is humanly possible.

Yes, I was heading out to the 7th National Teapot Show, a triennial celebration of teapots held at Cedar Creek Gallery  in Creedmoor.  I went to the show in the hopes of seeing some teapots, but what I found were TEAPOTS!  which are entirely different animals.

Some were as small as my little finger, and others could have, with little difficultly, been mistaken for mid-sized mountains.  There were teapots made out of stone, wood, metal, glass, porcelain, and anything else these artists could get their hands on.  

Styles ranged from whimsical to disturbing to elegant and back to whimsical again.  As brilliant as it is to see them in person, you can still see this year's teapots here.  

So many gorgeous teapots...  I am filled with teapot lust.  

Oh!  On another note: I've started a class at Artspace in sculpting the human form in terracotta!  It is taught by Paris Alexander who also taught a fantastic figure drawing class.  He is absolutely fantastic, and lots of his work is on display in his studio area in artspace (on the first floor and to the right).  Soooo good!  

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!

Why aren't the munchkins dancing in the streets?  That's what I want to know.  

Jesse Helms died on July 4th, and his obituary in the Raleigh News & Observer (N&O) had this to say:

'he redefined politics in North Carolina, reinvigorated U.S. conservatism'

'Dole remembers Helms as genteel, generous'

'Defiant Helms drove South's GOP'

Allow me to say: WHAT!?  We're being flattering about a man who was an unrepentant bigot (racist, sexist, homophobic) to the last!?  We're pretending that this bastard was a good guy!?  

Reasons to be glad he's dead:

• He sang the pro-slavery song 'Dixie' at Carol Moseley-Braun (1st & only black woman in the U.S. Senate)
• Opposed AIDS funding because he believed that victims had contracted it because of their "deliberate, disgusting, revolting conduct" (because they were gay)
• He referred to homosexuals as "weak, morally sick wretches"
• He supported Augusto Pinochet
• He routinely aired racially divisive campaign ads
• He called the 1964 Civil Rights Act "the single most dangerous piece of legislation ever introduced in the congress"
• He took the 'fun' out of 'fundamentalist'
• He didn't even have the courtesy to pretend he wasn't a bigot''

Sen. Elizabeth Dole carefully skirted the issue of what he actually stood for by talking about how nice and polite he was.  Surprise, surprise: he was pleasant to a white, southern, christian woman.  

What was actually surprising was in Rob Christensen's article:

...Helms was one of the key figures in the modern conservative movement-- trying to roll back the Democratic New Deals and Great Societies, seeking to stiffen the country's spine against communism, and trying to return American life to the 1950s in terms of race, gender and sexual orientation. 

We all know that the right-wingers tend to be homophobic, but I think most of them would object to this characterization with regards to their ideas about race and gender...  hmmm...

Anyway, here's a real obituary.

P.S. Happy Birthday President Bush.  

Festival for the Eno!

I finally got out the Eno River Festival, and it was fantastic!  I haven't gone since about '99 or '00, and I can't believe I've stayed away for so long!  The first time I went was with my Uncle who is a hard-core environmentalist.  He had an impressive garden filled with all-native species, and he had a section of the Eno that he routinely maintained.  He'd go out there and fight kudzu and other invasive plants.  It was a magical experience wandering from booth to booth making things out of clay, observing amphibians, and watching the river.  

Although going back this year I was interested in different things, it had that same magical feel. It's a huge festival with a lot going on, but most can be classed in two broad categories: Environmental & Political and, Arts & Music.   There were several stages with a mixture of folk, rock, blues, bluegrass, and gospel music playing, and around these were little clumps of vendors with their wares: pottery, paintings, and knit/crochet/cloth goods.  So much pretty!!!  There were some gorgeous bags... **drool**  I started to feel like a bit of hippie when I started noticing the preponderance of tie dye and hacky-sacks.  Although there was a big emphasis on green technologies (composting, solar energy, rain barrels) the event was pretty politically broad-- the Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians were all well represented at their booths.  I stopped by the Libertarians to say hi.  They were very nice, and gave me a copy of 'Discover Liberty'.  They tried to convince me to register to vote as a libertarian...  

They were not the only ones who got my age wrong.  One fellow that I was talking to about solar heating asked what I do for a living now that I'm out of school.  At another booth I was a given a survey for people 18+.  Ah well.  I'm nearly there!  Only about 4 months left!  

Back to the music:  The rock was mediocre at best, but the bluegrass, gospel etc were fantastic!  There was a group of cloggers (above) who danced while a small country trio played fiddle  for them, and I LOVED THEM!  

On top of the myoozak and all the cool art in the individual booths, there were some incredible large sculptures floating around:

There were three guys hard at work on this sand sculpture.

This llama is made of recycled plastic bags!

Even more striking than the sculptures all over the place, in my opinion, were the trash facilities.  Yes.  You heard me: the trash.  Instead of just having trash bins, they had paper recycling, glass recycling, plastic recycling, and compost bins!  It was incredible!  They made sure that all the food vendors used packaging and utensils that were biodegradable-- no guilt!!

It's amazing how much technology for sustainable living is already available; maybe the world won't come crashing to end!

ROBOTIC BEINGS RULE THE WORLD!

I love robots.  I can't help it.  But really, who doesn't?  They permeate our culture-- we read books about robots, write songs about robots, draw robots, make movies about robots, and build real robots.  We're fascinated by these creations that are so like us, but so unlike us.  Although they tend to fall into a farcical troupe of pirates, ninja, samurai etc, I would contend that there's something more serious at work here.  Robots are an avenue for us to discuss what humanity means.  Stay with me-- all the drama that we write regarding robots centers on the distillation of what we think makes us different from other animals and from our beloved computers.  We exist at a strange intersection between the primal and the logical, and we seek out a third source that pulls it all together.  We're looking for the 'soul'-- that strange and ethereal concept that theologians and laymen alike are so fond of bringing up.  It is a magical essence that has no physical indication of presence, and we are adamant that it must exist, or else... how are we special?  We MUST be special! 

 

H'anyway...  although I'm certainly willing to believe that there's more to the universe than modern science can detect or quantify, I'm NOT willing to buy into this tripe about spirits and souls.  In other words: Awa' an' bile yer heid religion!

O.K.  I'll admit: that's really not where I thought this was going.  

Robots.  

I've made a video about the day when robots take the earth back from us.  I was looking at my robot playlist (yes.  I have a robot playlist), when I thought, "Y'know what would be fantastic?  Yes, self, I do know.  How about a robot video?!"  It's to the tune of Yoshimi Battles the PInk Robots (part 1).  I'll post it soon!

Robot Playlist:

• Fight Test -- The Flaming Lips
• One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21 -- The Flaming Lips
• Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (part 1) -- The Flaming Lips
• Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (part 2) -- The Flaming Lips
• Robots -- Flight of the Conchords
• The Robots -- Kraftwerk
• Mr. Roboto -- Styx

I thought I didn't care, but--

It's the Fourth of July.
It's raining.
Ambulance sirens are screaming through the deep rumblings of the thunder.

phwoarr---I need a cup of tea.

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-C-E, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEAN?

The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.

~John Adams

Ah, poor John Adams... so close to prescience... two days, in fact. I suppose that's closer than most of us will ever get.

On the wikipedia page, it says that Independence day in America is celebrated with 'Fireworks, Family Reunions, Concerts, Barbeques, Picnics, Parades, and Baseball Games'. I've done none of these things this year.

This is what our celebrations looked like:

• Sit out on the porch and drink wine [I was sadly excluded from the wine part]
  
• Have some blue cheese with a baguette
• Read magazines like 'The New Republic' and 'The Economist'
• Decide that North Carolina is too hot, and go indoors
• Refill wine glasses
  
• Watch old (1974) Doctor Who episodes as a family
• Go back to work on a new painting.
  

I think my family might fail at Fourth of July. Perhaps we can redeem ourselves with some candles... they're sort of like fireworks.... except that they're stationary. Oh well. At least we're free to celebrate it our own way!

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.