August 2007

mind blowing shadow show

This guy makes shadow puppets with his hands. Not just an eagle flying on the wall or a dog howling either. Watch this video and blow your mind!

GREAT Shadow Puppetry

Ask Dr. Sadie

Rudy Park is a comic carried in one of 3 papers I read each day. They have a website, www.rudypark.com on which they're hosting a goofy blog called "ask Dr. Sadie." Many of the questions are posted in the comic and they continually encourage folks to write it. I did and here is the question and answer as recieved:

Dressing For Successful Friendship

Q: Sadie, I have a problem with keeping friends around. See, I need them to admire me. The fodder for my wit. Sadly, they do not enjoy my company. How can I do a better job of pretending to like them and making them feel fascinating and wonderful so they'll stick around and be my audience?
-Lonely genius

A: LG, I get this question a lot. My answer always is, in a word: costumes. You've got to dress up more, like a clown, or an animal, or a blender. Use your imagination. This will both amuse your "friends" and distract them from the fact that you annoy them. See, life's simple if you just stop to think about it.
-DR. Sadie

> Very funny, and even more so when you realize I've been dressing in this sort of way all my life. From clown costumes to bright outfits of tie dye and rainbow patterns! I wonder if they'd find me even more annoying without it? Hee hee!

crime, BDSM and young women

I was watching a movie called Longford. it caused me to research this story: about a murdering couple. It brought to mind Canada's own story of a young couple murdering and raping innocents, Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo. The details don't matter that much, I'm writing about the relationship of a young woman to a sadistic psychopath.
Young women typically take on the beliefs and habits, even the verbal phrasing habits, of the man to which they attach themselves. Why? I dunno, but I did it, and I've seen it happen time and again. Anyone suggesting this usually gets shot down because it's so insulting to suggest a woman at any age might not have her own mind and intentions, but the thing I've seen and believe is true, is that women when they are young are ripe and ready to give away all their power in the name of love. They subsume their own personalites and natures completely it seems, although I doubt it's that complete. A woman with a strong sense of right and wrong won't date the psychopath in the first place. however, if she lacks a certain underpinning of moral fibre there may be no limit to how low she'll allow herself to go in service to a dominant lover.
This brings me to the issue of Dominance and submission. A poorly studied human condition seen time and again in relationships. Even those with a high degree of equality have some level of it. In healthy relationships the stronger of the two will be consistently concious of the needs and wants of the submissive partner and always taking these into account, often making selfless decisions for the good of the couple. They will consistently give back to their partner all the power needed to be an equal in the relationship while still naturally taking the leadership role. In such a case we'll see them making all the decisions, taking the assertive stance, directing the trips, yet the partner is wholly satisfied and gets plenty of what they want when they want it. Some even say the submissive one is in fact the one in charge. I don't agree, but that's a finer point anyway. I think rather they're equal partners with harmonious personalites.
In a less healthy relationship the dominant one uses a variety of techniques to keep his agenda in the forefront. He'll grant boons, threaten violence, and use passive aggressive guilt trips to always ensure his partner bends to his will. In the case of murdering couples we see it time and again that the submissive one appears to be a willing participant to the dominant one's evil desires. It's usually a young woman, the more often willing to give up her power and style herself as a "good submissive little girl." Certainly our culture still promotes submission in women as sexually attractive and desirable, so it shouldn't be that surprising.
Ultimately we do need to hold everyone responsible for her actions whatever reason there may be for it. However, society vilifies the women more than the men in these cases. Yet the woman is pretty much alwasy the lesser partner. She doesnt' orchestrate and she is inevitably controlled and beaten regularily. She was doing the submissive thing she'd been taught to do, serving her man, when it all went so horribly wrong and it may take years for her to realize how foolish she'd been. Yet we blame her for her choice of man, her submission to him, and her participation in his trip.
How long will we continue to judge a woman by the man to whom she attaches herself? How long will women do anything, however depraved, to keep a man by her side and please him? Why is it better in any woman's mind to practice sadism on innocent girls than to fail to keep a man happy?
We've failed our young women. We've created the circumstances in which Myra and Karla were willing to go against what appears to have been their better nature because their mad boyfriends said so. We need to learn to understand, to teach otherwise, and to offer some compassion to these women who fall into the pit we've dug for them.

topless sandals

I'm going to try and talk a local retailer into carrying these, they're neat. Click this link  to go to the website for these. These are basically flipflop sandals without the painful thong part that straps over your foot, between your toes, and leaves tan lines. I hate those thing. I hate them for falling off too easily, and I hate them for giving me blisters all over where the straps are. These don't have straps. They're strapless sandals. Just the sole of the sandal, nothing else. Well, one other thing, the magic ingredient, a weird new substance I'm seeing turn up more and more. First time I ever saw it, it was on a lint roller. Clear gel-like plastic that gets softer and stickier when hydrated with warm water. It also releases it's capture when wet, becoming really slippery. So the water soaks in, while wet on top the stuff is slippery. Then it dries off but retains the hydration and becomes extremely sticky.
These sandals are coated over the colorful printed neoprene tops with this clear adhesive, a very thin film. You can't wear them to the beach, whatever the website implies, because all that sand will get in and screw up the sandals and the minute you get in the wet, they'll fall off. However, for wandering around on a hot summer day at the fair, the park, the mall, the bar, going biking, walking with friends, street fairs and festivals, etc., these can't be beat! Flip flops that don't flip or flop and stay put. You can dance a jig or run down the block on these. I had one problem which was that as my feet sweat the sandals would lose stick. I would take them off, wipe the sole of my foot on my pants or skirt or a napkin or paper towel or whatever clean dry thing I could use, to remove the sweat and dry them off, then pop them back on the sandal and I'm good for another hour. I spent two days at the Ex with these on and loved them. On the second day I bought 2 extra pairs.
It's odd though. First you have to get used to the feeling that you've stepped on a pair of stickers or some duct tape. Hehe. Booby trap a cat's room with these... I wonder if they can make them in pet sizes? Hmmmmmm Now that has possibilities. Anyway, after that, you have to get over having naked feet. In a crowd this feels really vulnerable. You know in your head that they're no less vulnerable than wearing thongs or most open sandals, but they seem more so because, well, they're *naked*. I guess that's where people wind up buying decorative bead stuff that you wear from ankle to toe. But... Then why not just get regular sandals? LOL. I wore toe rings though. I'm going to paint my toenails too. Just makes ya wanna decorate 'em! Well and I have tattoos on my feet so this lets me show 'em off.
I really gotta take pics of my new tattoos to put up for everyone.

3 funerals

I've been to two funerals this summer. It's very strange to me to see people passing. As a young woman it seemed as though I were a charm against death, as nobody in my life ever died. I knew that couldn't possibly last though. Eventually we really must all die, no matter who is in our lives or what magic they hold. It's timely that it happens when I'm in my forties. Dying isn't such a terrible thing, it's having someone else die that grieves. When you're dead, it's either all over and you're beyond cares, or it's the start of a fantastic new adventure well worth the pain of dying. Either way, the deceased isn't the reason we cry. We cry because we lose that person from our own world. We can prate on about their spirit being with us, having them in our hearts, and so forth, but we all know they're still gone. Feeling a sense of their presence may comfort but we know we'll never again hear their voice, see their smile, or hear a new idea from them.

The first funeral was billed as a celebration of a life. We were instructed, even as the coffin shone in theatrical spotlight, not to cry. If we must, we could shed a tear or two, but not cry. It was the cruellest thing they could have done, to refuse me permission for the tears that must come. I cried anyway, but felt ashamed of my tears. Imagine that, ashamed of crying at a funeral! What a cruel and thoughtless thing. It was a massive funeral. There must have been a thousand attendees and it lasted hours. We laughed, we wept (some of us) and we watched a worthy theatrical presentation to a pillar of the community. A man who'd touched thousands of lives. He was memorialized on local media outlets and will likely have some edifice named after him, fittingly.

The second funeral was for a quiet man who lived a small life. He was no less worthwhile for it. His funeral lasted less than one hour and entailed no flowers, no stage, no buffet, no amplification. Just a few friends, around a dozen perhaps, standing in a circle sharing a single memory, then a meditative walk in some woods. All the while battered by the noisy rush of a nearby highway. We didn't even drink a toast. He touched the lives he met, but mostly kept himself to a small group of people. I never would have met him but for having a skill he needed. He hired me to be his computer tech. I wasn't told not to cry, thankfully, although one person managed to imply that nasty current custom. These days everyone thinks you can tell people not to grieve and they'll magically feel fine about it. Do they do this to cover up their own lack of feeling and make it okay that they don't grieve, that the loss is not to them? Do they think we'll just turn off our sense of loss? Are they spouting pretty cliches? Do they think, somehow, that it's comforting to say "don't grieve for me, for I am with you in spirit?" They were always with us in spirit, it was them in body we miss.

The contrast between these two funerals was remarkably extreme. The first man caused a fuss that covered a city and lasted well over a week, the second was over in no time. One morning obituary, and as the chimney in the crematorium made transparent heat waves in the morning sun, we bade a terribly brief farewell.

Just to put the final footnote on my studies in grief, Betty canary died in my hand yesterday. I'd striven so hard to heal her. She'd been such a beautiful bird before she had her stroke. She was still a dear little thing as she lay in my hand and panted quietly down to the darkness. I wasn't even sure she was dead for a long time. She just quietly slowed the pace of her breathing, closed her eyes in slow increments, and, finally, was limp and still. I buried her under the same tree as the last canary hen, on the other side. I wept for awhile too. I really felt sad for this dear little bit of feather. Still do.

So we have the grand theatrical celebration attended by a thousand or more spectators with closed circuit broadcast to overflow and spotlight coffin. Then we have the quiet, brief, sharing of words in the morning sun outside the kindled crematorium. Lastly, a simple shovel lifting sod and a small bit of feathers with a flower in her beak, gently arranged for lost beauty, and the earth closes over one little peice of sunshine whose flame has gone out.

Here I am, alive, making plans for the future, striding forth into a bright new world full of magical new discoveries. This, my dear reader, is all that there is to life. You're here and you chase your rainbows and you bury those who don't last as long as you, and are one day buried (or cremated) by those who outlive you. All that matters is what you're doing for this moment to make it a lovelier moment than it is, by whatever small increment you can. The rest is smoke on the wind.

something worth reading

Ok, so you're bored and want something to read. I know this, because it's why you're here reading this tripe. So here, read this http://www.vhemt.org/anobreed.htm  this is very much worth your trouble to read and does a lovely job of explaining some important stuff. So go read that. I've got nothing today, been too busy. (but something's brewing I think, come back in a few days or a week.)

open letter to the autistic list I just left

I knew better than to write it to the list, I just left. But I really want to express myself, to say why I left. So maybe if you're wondering what happened you'll find your way here and read it here.
I left because I was fed up with the pity parties and the sensitive egos and the constant corrections. No matter what the topic, someone, usually sparrow or amanda, would take offense, correct me, scold me. Then someone else would issue instructions about how I should have phrased myself. I was looking for community and support, not detailed instructions on how to be a better person. I got more flak on that list in one week than in ten years of trying to fit with NT society! I know very well had I treated any of you that way I'd have been soundly drummed for it. But because the ones doing it to me were so willing to scream their hurt at the whole list, their tyranny is excused and permitted. Perhaps I should have joined with that persona, always hurting, always the victim, always hard done by. I'm sure all you victims are going to do just fine there, but someone who stands up and finds strength and looks for the positive is villified. On a list like that there are only 2 ways to be, hurting and pitiful or sympathetic and nurturing. There is no room for inspirational strength, willful determination, an indominable spirit. Instead of inspiring people, I'm blamed for making them look weaker. I can't make someone look like something they aren't. I don't live to provide a shaming contrast. I'm here doing my level best with the best I have and striving to do better. I don't know who is or isn't doing the same and I'm not the least bit interested in trying to point it out. Nevertheless I'm blamed for the shadows I cast. You can't cast a shadow in bright sunlight unless you're in the sun, it's not the sun's fault that you cast a shadow. If you only look at how dark the shadow is, and not warm yourself on the sun, it's not the sunshine's fault that half of you is cold.
I'm not even all that bright. I could easily spend an equal amount of time crying about my failures, cataloguing the many thousand losses and failures of my life, comparing myself to average people and coming out a loser. I could easily go on miserably about the expectations in my life that were never met, both the things I expected, and what was expected of me. However, that would be enormously ingracious and ungrateful of me. I prefer instead to focus on and be thank ful for the things that did go right. In doing so, I give the impression that I've been so much luckier than this or that person, that I have no problems, no complaints, and no right to complain. I'll agree with the last point. But none of us really has some right to complain. God never gave us that right. We have the right to be thankful, to think of things we have and be glad of them.
I could detail a lot of things, not the least of which is running water, electricity, and internet access, all of which anyone on the internet clearly has. Along with that comes shelter. Also, if you haven't died of starvation yet, food.
Instead I read, again and again, of all the things you don't have. You don't have jobs, you don't have friends, you don't have wealth, you don't have health. You know why you focus so? Because you, like most north americans, take basic needs for granted. You assume they'll be given you and don't see them as gifts. So you focus on larger things, things that make life a bit nicer. Only, because the basics are given, and these other things are assumed as rights too, you seek to be given them too. You bitch and moan day after day that they're not, but you don't strive to seek them for yourself day after day, seeing instead your own lack and trying to find another way around it. Even when I gave out very good ideas I wasn't thanked for them, I was complained at that they weren't perfect solutions. I cannot wave a magic wand and turn you into Bill Gates. Not even he could do that for you.
It's one thing to get upset now and then in the struggle. It's quite another to focus on it and blame everyone else about it.
I'm sick of being to blame for the problems of strangers. It's not my fault, I didn't do it, and I don't need to care enough to please you. So I left. I don't want to come to your pity party. If I want one, I'll have my own.

zombies, drunks, and changing language

Ok, first off, don't go alone to midnight zombie movies. Just don't. Especially don't go by bicycle. Ok, even more especially, don't go by bike on a saturday night. Worst of all, not when the Fringe is on. Broadway district was filled wall to wall with shrieking drunks. Drunken cars careened down streets tossing crap at cyclists. Other than the howling drunks, the streets were deserted. Oh my fucking gawd. Then in the 'hood the drunks were even more zombie like, staggering, lurching, and reaching for me as I pedalled for dear life.
I think I broke the sound barrier....
On to the other part. This is about a word. It's a profanity these days. Once upon a time it was just a slang for another word which was a latin word for the color black, negro. Then negro was applied to africans with very dark skin. We still call them blacks a lot and it seems acceptable. Blacks and whites... It's a simple enough designation conveying a bit of descriptive information although these days the line is very blurred. Some blacks have lighter skin and hair than some whites and blacks even have blue eyes. These days it's about the side of the race war on which your family grew up. So saying someone is a black or a white now has a lot more to do with their culture than their race.
That brings me back to the word derived from negro. It got pronounced sloppier all the time going through nigra to nigger. These days nigger is about the worst thing you can call someone, unless you both think you're niggers, in which case it's a joke, or reclaiming your ancestral name, or... Well I don't really know. I don't understand that part very much. I do realize though that nigger no longer refers purely to race. It can still refer to a black, but in the common understanding it's got a lot less to do with race, culture, or skin color, and a lot more to do with attitude.
A nigger isn't someone of this or that race, he's someone who's racist and blames other races for problems he has instead of finding a solution to his problems, seeking handouts and even theiving rather than learning self discipline and working for his own future. I see the term being used on just about every race around when someone of that sort is common in that race. Of course, it usually goes hand in hand with poverty and a heritage of repression. It can still sometimes refer to someone who is overworked and oppressed too, mind you. However, it really doesn't mean African anymore. It doesn't mean negro anymore.
Isn't that interesting?
Oh, and these days it's not nigger, no, that word is unspeakable and unwriteable and unacceptable, instead, it's the N word. We can say fuck, shit, damn and ass, but not nigger, that one is too nasty. That too is interesting.