Not a long post tonight. I'm not feeling very well and I need to go lay down. It's been one of those days when my allergies are really nasty. My eyelashes were completely caked this morning. It was nasty.
American Horror Story started back up tonight. Jessica Lange sang "Live on Mars" and it was glorious. It feels like the first official start of Halloween. Yay!
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Culture Political Communication
Putin's birthday has rolled around and in his honor, there has been a series of art pieces done that depict him as Hercules, completing his own modern day Labors. The pictures can be seen here. This runs along the usual lines of propaganda sent out about Putin. He is masculine, strong, able to defeat things, able to protect his country.
I think these pictures are a good example of how artistic propaganda can fail as a form of communication when one moves from culture to culture. The idea behind the Putin pictures was to honor him, to show how strong he is, how manly. It is also, on a grander scale, supposed to show other countries that the leader of Russia is someone to fear and respect (because he is manly and strong, etc).
The problem is, when it comes to countries like America, such images fail completely. In any country where irreverence, critical thinking, and a basic understanding of pop psychology exist, images of a man dressed in a toga as he fights a terrorist are not respected, they are laughed at. We do not see a strong man, rather, we see a man who is egocentric, delusional, and full of narcissism . . none of these are really good qualities in a leader. Instead of making us fear Russia, it just makes us roll our eyes. This is also what we do when people in our own political commercials wear camo or hold guns. That kind of pandering would actually make me want to vote for you LESS.
You know, honestly, if there is one trait I love the most in Americans, it IS our irreverence. I like the fact that many of us see nothing as sacred. In fact, I believe that a lot of us see everything as equally sacred (which still basically makes nothing sacred). I like the fact that we can blow off just about anything and laugh at our own tragedies. It's how we get through them. It's how we move forward. I think when people start taking things to seriously is when we usually screw up as a nation.
I think these pictures are a good example of how artistic propaganda can fail as a form of communication when one moves from culture to culture. The idea behind the Putin pictures was to honor him, to show how strong he is, how manly. It is also, on a grander scale, supposed to show other countries that the leader of Russia is someone to fear and respect (because he is manly and strong, etc).
The problem is, when it comes to countries like America, such images fail completely. In any country where irreverence, critical thinking, and a basic understanding of pop psychology exist, images of a man dressed in a toga as he fights a terrorist are not respected, they are laughed at. We do not see a strong man, rather, we see a man who is egocentric, delusional, and full of narcissism . . none of these are really good qualities in a leader. Instead of making us fear Russia, it just makes us roll our eyes. This is also what we do when people in our own political commercials wear camo or hold guns. That kind of pandering would actually make me want to vote for you LESS.
You know, honestly, if there is one trait I love the most in Americans, it IS our irreverence. I like the fact that many of us see nothing as sacred. In fact, I believe that a lot of us see everything as equally sacred (which still basically makes nothing sacred). I like the fact that we can blow off just about anything and laugh at our own tragedies. It's how we get through them. It's how we move forward. I think when people start taking things to seriously is when we usually screw up as a nation.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Toe Milestone
My roommate and I were discussing exercise increases and what would be beneficial for me to try next. Not that I want to turn into someone who does this all day long, but at the same time, I think it's a good idea to push my body to do new things. Even if I can't do much of the new things at first, I believe challenging my body is helping me a lot.
We were going over various possible things I could do. My roommate suggested lifting my hands straight above my head and going for a toe touch. I snorted a little. Yeah, that was a nice thought. Then again, even if I couldn't go all the way through with it, I could at least do the arms above my head and bend over part. Even I can bend forward somewhat. I stood up to try it.
You know what? Somecrazyhow, I actually managed to touch my toes! I had enough limber going on to achieve this. The months of walking must have helped my sense of balance enough to keep me from falling over. I touched them and then repeated a few more times. After that, I was kind of getting dizzy, but still! Toe touching! Wow.
This is a big thing for me. This is a moment of celebration. I can now do something with my body that I haven't been able to do in a long, long time. I feel like I'm reclaiming territory that was lost to me, like I'm some kind of exiled queen who is finally able to retake her lands. This is victory for me. It feels very good.
We were going over various possible things I could do. My roommate suggested lifting my hands straight above my head and going for a toe touch. I snorted a little. Yeah, that was a nice thought. Then again, even if I couldn't go all the way through with it, I could at least do the arms above my head and bend over part. Even I can bend forward somewhat. I stood up to try it.
You know what? Somecrazyhow, I actually managed to touch my toes! I had enough limber going on to achieve this. The months of walking must have helped my sense of balance enough to keep me from falling over. I touched them and then repeated a few more times. After that, I was kind of getting dizzy, but still! Toe touching! Wow.
This is a big thing for me. This is a moment of celebration. I can now do something with my body that I haven't been able to do in a long, long time. I feel like I'm reclaiming territory that was lost to me, like I'm some kind of exiled queen who is finally able to retake her lands. This is victory for me. It feels very good.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Mourning my Morning Ritual
Yesterday, the CW showed its last ever round of Saturday morning cartoons. All of the other network stations have stopped showing them already, making the outlier CW as the last one continuing this tradition. Now it is gone and no more children will have Saturday morning cartoons are part of their weekend ritual. This makes me very sad.
As far back as I can remember, I had Saturday morning cartoons. It wasn't something that was questioned. It was just a fact of life. Children spent their Saturday mornings in the living room, watching the continuation of various animation programs. Some of them were very adventurous. Some were silly. Some were just really bad ideas. Some were disappointing. Some were so intelligent and wonderful that they became a part of you for the rest of your life.
I would do my best to wake up as early as possible so I could catch as many cartoons as were shown. There was always an internal conflict about this, because on one hand, I wanted to sleep. On the other, the cartoons were important. Cartoons were the reward for making it through a school week. They were the time when children got to rule the television. They were compensation for the endless hours of boring sportsball that would follow them.
Now that is gone. It's so strange to think that it's gone. It feels wrong. I feel outraged by it, really. It makes me angry at the networks for betraying kids like this and angry at Cartoon Network and Nick for dropping the ball on being really good children's entertainment, for stifling the network cartoons. It's just one more peace of my childhood that is gone.
Rituals are important to humans. They keep us calm and they help us to be part of the culture around us. If we keep removing the rituals of childhood, what will that mean for these kids when they grow up? How will they relate to each other, to us? Animation on Saturday morning seems like such a small thing, but to me, and to many of those former children who experienced that, it isn't a small thing. I feel a great loss about this. I am mourning the passing of this ritual. A lot of people are. So clearly, it meant a lot to us. Now what will the children have?
As far back as I can remember, I had Saturday morning cartoons. It wasn't something that was questioned. It was just a fact of life. Children spent their Saturday mornings in the living room, watching the continuation of various animation programs. Some of them were very adventurous. Some were silly. Some were just really bad ideas. Some were disappointing. Some were so intelligent and wonderful that they became a part of you for the rest of your life.
I would do my best to wake up as early as possible so I could catch as many cartoons as were shown. There was always an internal conflict about this, because on one hand, I wanted to sleep. On the other, the cartoons were important. Cartoons were the reward for making it through a school week. They were the time when children got to rule the television. They were compensation for the endless hours of boring sportsball that would follow them.
Now that is gone. It's so strange to think that it's gone. It feels wrong. I feel outraged by it, really. It makes me angry at the networks for betraying kids like this and angry at Cartoon Network and Nick for dropping the ball on being really good children's entertainment, for stifling the network cartoons. It's just one more peace of my childhood that is gone.
Rituals are important to humans. They keep us calm and they help us to be part of the culture around us. If we keep removing the rituals of childhood, what will that mean for these kids when they grow up? How will they relate to each other, to us? Animation on Saturday morning seems like such a small thing, but to me, and to many of those former children who experienced that, it isn't a small thing. I feel a great loss about this. I am mourning the passing of this ritual. A lot of people are. So clearly, it meant a lot to us. Now what will the children have?
Friday, October 3, 2014
Kinshasa
My roommate linked to and discussed an article about the origins of HIV/AIDS. The article talks about how a version of HIV can be traced back to the 1920s in the area then known as Kinshasa, which is now part of the Democratic Republic of Congo. The area was a hub of railways and, as usually follows, the sex trade. It was also an area where colonization was in full force.
This is interesting to me for several reasons. First of all, this pushes the origins of HIV back farther than we thought. Before this, we were thinking the 1950s. This gives it 30 years more to circulate. When we believed HIV was something that just suddenly showed up in the 1980s, it seemed so fast and overwhelming. The fact that it has a slower spiral into epidemic levels gives the spread of the virus a whole new perspective. It also lends itself to more questions. Why did it suddenly go from something that spread at a slow rate to something that was killing vast numbers of people off quite quickly? Was this just a further advancement in the mutation of the virus or something else?
It also has a link (perhaps relevant, perhaps not) with further advancement in travel. All conspiracies aside, we know for a fact that when people have no immunity to a disease, they are more susceptible to it. The HIV virus is very adaptable as well. It adapts faster than we do, finding the best mode for its own survival. Travel and therefore greater chances of exposure are always going to play into something like this.
And I do want to leave all conspiracy theories aside because one of the things I noticed from reading the comments to this article is that a lot of people indulge in a great deal of blame-assigning when it comes to HIV. Some people blame homosexuality. Some people blame bisexuals. Some people blame white people trying to kill off 'undesirables.' Some people blame Africa. Some people blame corporations. Sadly, past that, the blame just gets more and more strange.
There are a lot of problems with this kind of blaming, but I think the biggest one is that it becomes this just horrible mental noise that drowns out any scientific or rational discourse about HIV. It serves no purpose other than to anger one group or the other. It also usually makes the conspiracy theorist look like an idiot.
As to how knowing the origins of the virus may assist in curing it, I'm not sure. It may not actually affect HIV one way or the other. However, it may be able to help us chart and estimate the way other viruses spread, especially if they move from something slow and steady into something alarmingly fast.
This is interesting to me for several reasons. First of all, this pushes the origins of HIV back farther than we thought. Before this, we were thinking the 1950s. This gives it 30 years more to circulate. When we believed HIV was something that just suddenly showed up in the 1980s, it seemed so fast and overwhelming. The fact that it has a slower spiral into epidemic levels gives the spread of the virus a whole new perspective. It also lends itself to more questions. Why did it suddenly go from something that spread at a slow rate to something that was killing vast numbers of people off quite quickly? Was this just a further advancement in the mutation of the virus or something else?
It also has a link (perhaps relevant, perhaps not) with further advancement in travel. All conspiracies aside, we know for a fact that when people have no immunity to a disease, they are more susceptible to it. The HIV virus is very adaptable as well. It adapts faster than we do, finding the best mode for its own survival. Travel and therefore greater chances of exposure are always going to play into something like this.
And I do want to leave all conspiracy theories aside because one of the things I noticed from reading the comments to this article is that a lot of people indulge in a great deal of blame-assigning when it comes to HIV. Some people blame homosexuality. Some people blame bisexuals. Some people blame white people trying to kill off 'undesirables.' Some people blame Africa. Some people blame corporations. Sadly, past that, the blame just gets more and more strange.
There are a lot of problems with this kind of blaming, but I think the biggest one is that it becomes this just horrible mental noise that drowns out any scientific or rational discourse about HIV. It serves no purpose other than to anger one group or the other. It also usually makes the conspiracy theorist look like an idiot.
As to how knowing the origins of the virus may assist in curing it, I'm not sure. It may not actually affect HIV one way or the other. However, it may be able to help us chart and estimate the way other viruses spread, especially if they move from something slow and steady into something alarmingly fast.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Musical Kinship
I stumbled across this blog post from Sinead O'Connor. I don't always read her blog, but when I do, it's always quite interesting. She has a fluid, free form style that reminds me somewhat of Virginia Wolfe. In this post, she was talking about hearing a Kate Bush song for the first time and how akin that was to a religious experience. The song floored her and she couldn't stop listening to it.
There is something truly beautiful when an artist that you love writes about how much they love another artist you love. It's this strong feeling of kinship that binds you together (in a nonstalker kind of way) through the art. This person influences this other person. Both of them influence you. Ahh, glorious.
O'Connor talked about how she was having a really shitty weekend and how the Kate Bush sound could have made all the difference for her. I know the truth of this. I love how certain pieces of music can just really shut out the rest of the world and make everything better. There are songs that can reach inside you and heal you. You can be healed from hurts you didn't even know existed until they were no longer harming you.
It's also amazing how you can know an artist for years and not really pay attention to certain songs, then suddenly one day, you hear that song and it becomes a part of your DNA. There are songs that structure me. They are the foundation of who I am and tell the history of where I've walked. When you find out that certain songs touch other people in that way, the song takes on new layers, as their experience adds to what you consider when you think of the song.
I'm happy she found that Kate Bush song. She wants to cover it and I hope she does. I want to hear that and feel her passion as she sings it. I'm grateful she wrote that post.
There is something truly beautiful when an artist that you love writes about how much they love another artist you love. It's this strong feeling of kinship that binds you together (in a nonstalker kind of way) through the art. This person influences this other person. Both of them influence you. Ahh, glorious.
O'Connor talked about how she was having a really shitty weekend and how the Kate Bush sound could have made all the difference for her. I know the truth of this. I love how certain pieces of music can just really shut out the rest of the world and make everything better. There are songs that can reach inside you and heal you. You can be healed from hurts you didn't even know existed until they were no longer harming you.
It's also amazing how you can know an artist for years and not really pay attention to certain songs, then suddenly one day, you hear that song and it becomes a part of your DNA. There are songs that structure me. They are the foundation of who I am and tell the history of where I've walked. When you find out that certain songs touch other people in that way, the song takes on new layers, as their experience adds to what you consider when you think of the song.
I'm happy she found that Kate Bush song. She wants to cover it and I hope she does. I want to hear that and feel her passion as she sings it. I'm grateful she wrote that post.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Bathroom Dreams
The plumber came today and fixed the thing that was wrong with the toilet. This is a great thing. No one wants a messed up toilet, especially when it's the only one in the house. They didn't show up until almost 4:30, so we basically had to wait around all day, looking decent enough to receive guests. It was muggy as all hell, so this wasn't very much fun. I'd like my October with a little more chill, thanks.
Speaking of bathrooms, I had one of my weird dreams about bathrooms again. This happens quite often to me, and I blame my Senior Girls' Tea from back in the day. The event took place at the Kerr Mansion a few miles from town. While we were there, we weren't supposed to sneak off and tour the place, but of course I did.
Even after all these years, I can still remember how thrilling it was to wonder from room to room, looking at the strange bedrooms and their absolutely fascinating bathrooms. One of them had a snail shower. It was the first time I'd ever seen one of those. Everything was beautiful and so very much more ritzy than what I'd ever seen up close.
Sadly, I've been told recent renovations stripped out a lot of the character and charm from the place. That really makes me sad. Though, I'm somewhat suspect that knowing this is what has shaped my recent version of the bathroom dreams. It used to be that I would dream I was in someone's house and decided to explore. I would always find these really wonderful bathrooms.
Lately, however, when I'm in the dreams, I'll go look for the bathrooms, but they're always really disappointing. They'll be big, yes, and clearly in places where they SHOULD be grand, but they never are. They'll be covered in putty colored plastic, with leaky showers, tacky sinks, and questionable toilets. What the hell brain?
Last night was no different. The house was beautiful and all of the bedrooms I explored were equally amazing. However, when I got to the bathroom, it was tiny and disappointing. The ceiling was low. I could stand, but it was almost claustrophobic to do so. The walls were covered in tacky, beige plastic and the shower was nothing more than just a portion of the room, with a curtain and an ugly old showerhead jutting from the wall. Ick.
To console myself, I spent some time today looking at beautiful bathrooms. It made me feel somewhat better. I hope that perhaps these will enter my mind and return next time I have one of these dreams. I would very much enjoy that.
Speaking of bathrooms, I had one of my weird dreams about bathrooms again. This happens quite often to me, and I blame my Senior Girls' Tea from back in the day. The event took place at the Kerr Mansion a few miles from town. While we were there, we weren't supposed to sneak off and tour the place, but of course I did.
Even after all these years, I can still remember how thrilling it was to wonder from room to room, looking at the strange bedrooms and their absolutely fascinating bathrooms. One of them had a snail shower. It was the first time I'd ever seen one of those. Everything was beautiful and so very much more ritzy than what I'd ever seen up close.
Sadly, I've been told recent renovations stripped out a lot of the character and charm from the place. That really makes me sad. Though, I'm somewhat suspect that knowing this is what has shaped my recent version of the bathroom dreams. It used to be that I would dream I was in someone's house and decided to explore. I would always find these really wonderful bathrooms.
Lately, however, when I'm in the dreams, I'll go look for the bathrooms, but they're always really disappointing. They'll be big, yes, and clearly in places where they SHOULD be grand, but they never are. They'll be covered in putty colored plastic, with leaky showers, tacky sinks, and questionable toilets. What the hell brain?
Last night was no different. The house was beautiful and all of the bedrooms I explored were equally amazing. However, when I got to the bathroom, it was tiny and disappointing. The ceiling was low. I could stand, but it was almost claustrophobic to do so. The walls were covered in tacky, beige plastic and the shower was nothing more than just a portion of the room, with a curtain and an ugly old showerhead jutting from the wall. Ick.
To console myself, I spent some time today looking at beautiful bathrooms. It made me feel somewhat better. I hope that perhaps these will enter my mind and return next time I have one of these dreams. I would very much enjoy that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)