"I know we've come so far, but we've got so far to go ..." -- Hairspray
Radio, TV, internet sites and almost every news source have gone ga-ga over the Pontiff's arrival in America - quite like a mob of jittery Japanese teenage girls trailing after Justin Timberlake. It is inescapable- the only competition for some limelight on CNN is the presidential election, and probably only because the primaries are beginning to resemble a WWF match ("you BITTER frigid bitch!" followed by Obama-bitch-slap).
WE GET IT ... the Pope is here. He's old, he's introverted, and he has never had sex. Talk about a crowd-pleaser!
And what a busy schedule for an aging direct link to god ... birthday at the White House, visits to Catholic University, mass at the National's Stadium ("Play ball !!! Just not with his !!!) ... and all the while he is rebuking the American priest sex scandals and hoping to reunify the Church and abate declining revenue.
In his pre-Pope days, Ratzinger ... which incidentally sounds like the name of a villain in some Disney film (and prompting me to coin the phrase "I don't give a Ratzinger's ass about the Pope coming to town") ... had a notorious anti-gay record of denouncements and blatantly discriminatory acts of Vatican law. And so his arrival in DC could not be met with less scorn on my part.
Ratzinger's paw prints have plagued numerous documents issued by the Vatican declaring its stance on homosexuality- not only in homosexual practice but also in terms of support, i.e. non-discriminatory behaviors. Ratzinger's influence in several Vatican organizations has resulted in statements such as- "the Church may not admit to the seminary and Holy Orders those who practice homosexuality, show profoundly deep-rooted homosexual tendencies, or support the so-called gay culture".
How about some more Vatican statements: "There are areas in which it is not unjust discrimination to take sexual orientation into account" - namely: adoption, education, medical (contagious diseases), and mentally ill persons.
The Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith (led by Ratzy) stated in 1992 that homosexuality itself "must be seen as an objective disorder". Well ... as an aspiring clinician, the only real disorders I can see are a lack of compassion, an inability to tolerate/appreciate differences, and the audacity to use religious doctrine in masking personal agendas which consistently fuel discrimination on all levels of society.
It's just plain gross.
I remember when the new Pontiff was elected- I was living in Rome at that time, not even 2 miles from the Vatican where all the whoop-de-do was occurring. Thousands of people had come to pay their tributes to the recently deceased Pope, and thousands more gathered in St. Peter's Square to welcome Benedict as the new head of the Catholic Church.
During the service, I was jogging on a treadmill in an empty gym that was normally bustling with Italian life. Everyone had gone to St. Peter's to get a glimpse of the new Pope ... quite like the masses that will descend upon DC in the next few days, trailing him like group-ies, following in his footsteps...
I just pray that most of us are truly wise enough not to follow in those footsteps ...
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
Life & Death
Nothing brings people together quite like a death in the family. Funerals do not discriminate- young and old, relative or otherwise, interested or required--- a funeral is like a social black hole. You can either swim against the rip-tide, and wear yourself out, or roll with it and enjoy the plunge out to sea (so much for being led beside still waters).
And so my family survived a 3-day weekend without much drama or shocking family secrets revealed (Jerry Springer audience sighs and dejectedly sits down); nevertheless, there was enough activity to keep me on my toes and attentive despite my sleep-deprived state:
-Cousins: I have 5 cousins on my mom's side. Three are about my age, and the other two are youngins (aged six and nine). This was our first chance to meet (well ... meet as speaking and conversation-holding people, not while changing diapers and smelling poo). We played, ran, laughed, and sang songs from Enchanted (I challenge any of you to find another 27-year-old cousin who is cool enough to know all the words).
-Mischief managed: I forget that the ideas I come up with are not always appropriate for children, including: trying to fly a kite inside the house using wind generated from a standing fan, catching bubbles on your tongue (which are carcinogenic, I was later informed), sneaking cookies 10 minutes before dinner, doing line dances in the middle of the grocery store aisle, and claiming that Lufthansa airlines is the best because they serve free alcohol.
-The art of Haiku: In honor of our late grandfather, an avid haiku poet, the following were constructed:
Drinking with cousins
And watching Lord of the Rings
What is malt made of?
Granddaddy is dead
We come here now to mourn him
His neighbor's a queer
-Gay gay gay: In reference to the previous haiku, my gaydar spiked to unprecedented levels after the memorial service while munching on "Thanksgiving-stuffed-between-two-buns" type sandwiches provided by a local church. My grandfather's neighbor, who pinged on my boy-barometer way before the stereotypes began to kick in (lover of music, noticed I had lost weight compared to my photo 6 years prior, and a 1st grade teacher), indicated that his wife had gone with him to some flower show a few weekends before-- which promptly caused me to choke on my food and cough hysterically (gag reflex, you'd think I'd have had that fixed by now).
-Gay gay gay (part deux): My six-year-old cousin turns and asks politely, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Used to this question from kids, I didn't bat an eyelash and honestly replied, "No, I do not have a girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?" ... "No, I'm a girl!" ... "Well girls can have girlfriends, too." ... "Yeah ... when I asked you that question something weird happened. I don't know what, but something weird happened". Damn perceptive six-year-olds!!!
-Somberness: Funerals are not always such a sad affair. My sister and I were jamming to the Lion King's "Circle of Life" on the way to the service (appropriate), as well as Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" (somewhat less appropriate). The Starbucks barista, amused by our glimmer and giggle as we eagerly dived into our morning mochas, suggested we try on our somber hats before we arrive at the grave site.
-Albums and photos: The time-honored tradition of pouring over the pictures and moving pictures of years past. It's embarrassing, like that feeling you get when someone walks in on you in the bathroom-- you haven't done anything wrong, but you feel awkward nonetheless. Moreover, in the home-made movies, you re-experience the idiotic and extremely flamboyant things you said as a child that should have clued your parents in to your sexuality about 15 years prior.
We sat around and swapped stories, as families tend to do: the one with granddaddy fighting with the bakery delivery woman for bringing stale cinnamon buns, the one where a 3-year-old David puked all over granddaddy's table after tasting bad Chinese (and thus instilling a fear of Chinese food until the age of 19), or the one where granddaddy tolerated the fancy of his adolescent grandchildren and wore a bicycle helmet while assuming his role as the Good Wizard in an amateur production of insanity.
The entire weekend reminded me that the memories we leave behind continue long past our brief mortality. So ... what will my legacy be???
And so my family survived a 3-day weekend without much drama or shocking family secrets revealed (Jerry Springer audience sighs and dejectedly sits down); nevertheless, there was enough activity to keep me on my toes and attentive despite my sleep-deprived state:
-Cousins: I have 5 cousins on my mom's side. Three are about my age, and the other two are youngins (aged six and nine). This was our first chance to meet (well ... meet as speaking and conversation-holding people, not while changing diapers and smelling poo). We played, ran, laughed, and sang songs from Enchanted (I challenge any of you to find another 27-year-old cousin who is cool enough to know all the words).
-Mischief managed: I forget that the ideas I come up with are not always appropriate for children, including: trying to fly a kite inside the house using wind generated from a standing fan, catching bubbles on your tongue (which are carcinogenic, I was later informed), sneaking cookies 10 minutes before dinner, doing line dances in the middle of the grocery store aisle, and claiming that Lufthansa airlines is the best because they serve free alcohol.
-The art of Haiku: In honor of our late grandfather, an avid haiku poet, the following were constructed:
Drinking with cousins
And watching Lord of the Rings
What is malt made of?
Granddaddy is dead
We come here now to mourn him
His neighbor's a queer
-Gay gay gay: In reference to the previous haiku, my gaydar spiked to unprecedented levels after the memorial service while munching on "Thanksgiving-stuffed-between-two-buns" type sandwiches provided by a local church. My grandfather's neighbor, who pinged on my boy-barometer way before the stereotypes began to kick in (lover of music, noticed I had lost weight compared to my photo 6 years prior, and a 1st grade teacher), indicated that his wife had gone with him to some flower show a few weekends before-- which promptly caused me to choke on my food and cough hysterically (gag reflex, you'd think I'd have had that fixed by now).
-Gay gay gay (part deux): My six-year-old cousin turns and asks politely, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Used to this question from kids, I didn't bat an eyelash and honestly replied, "No, I do not have a girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?" ... "No, I'm a girl!" ... "Well girls can have girlfriends, too." ... "Yeah ... when I asked you that question something weird happened. I don't know what, but something weird happened". Damn perceptive six-year-olds!!!
-Somberness: Funerals are not always such a sad affair. My sister and I were jamming to the Lion King's "Circle of Life" on the way to the service (appropriate), as well as Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" (somewhat less appropriate). The Starbucks barista, amused by our glimmer and giggle as we eagerly dived into our morning mochas, suggested we try on our somber hats before we arrive at the grave site.
-Albums and photos: The time-honored tradition of pouring over the pictures and moving pictures of years past. It's embarrassing, like that feeling you get when someone walks in on you in the bathroom-- you haven't done anything wrong, but you feel awkward nonetheless. Moreover, in the home-made movies, you re-experience the idiotic and extremely flamboyant things you said as a child that should have clued your parents in to your sexuality about 15 years prior.
We sat around and swapped stories, as families tend to do: the one with granddaddy fighting with the bakery delivery woman for bringing stale cinnamon buns, the one where a 3-year-old David puked all over granddaddy's table after tasting bad Chinese (and thus instilling a fear of Chinese food until the age of 19), or the one where granddaddy tolerated the fancy of his adolescent grandchildren and wore a bicycle helmet while assuming his role as the Good Wizard in an amateur production of insanity.
The entire weekend reminded me that the memories we leave behind continue long past our brief mortality. So ... what will my legacy be???
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Tooth Fairy
What is the appropriate compensation an imaginative hoax should leave a child in exchange for an ejected piece of the human body? According to a recent CNN report, parents across the country are worried about the proper amount the faux-fairy should repay something that requires no effort at all and is a normal biological function. Am I paid every time I pee? Do I get a lump of gold for a lump of poo?
Inflation aside, children are demanding more of their fanciful fairy than in years past. The gold standard has generally been a quarter, but in an age where Christmas gifts have gone from Parcheesi to Playstation the financial fairy is suffering from a drastic increase in customer demand. Customer satisfaction, too, is threatened by the petty playground banter in which children compare their dental achievements (which can go as high as $20 a tooth, although the average is around $2.50).
What is a parent to do amidst a recession and the woes of fessing up to their fraudulent fairy practices? Should children know the truth? Should we continue giving them unearned money that reinforces a declining work ethic? Should they be taught to invest their earnings in stocks and mutual funds? Should children be taught the critical thinking skills necessary to discern that the idea of a winged tooth-collecting creature with a non-depleting source of capital is only an elaborate prank?!?
Some people argue that lying to children is actually good for them- the Tooth Fairy encourages imagination and later helps children make a distinction between reality and make-believe. Well, I don't think that children are at all suffering from a lack of imagination. And who the hell knows fact from fiction, anyways? Teenagers lie 98% of the time to their parents- perhaps this is in retaliation for the 98% of parents who tell their children about the Tooth Fairy.
But what would the world be like if we grew up and still held on to our childhood fantasies? Imagine a world where Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy were a part of every day discussion ("Oh my god then there was this Fairy in my bed ... oh wait, that was me"), and the mystically intangible splendor of magic keeps us locked in a circling spell of wonder-- and hope?-- and provides an escape from the harsh realities of the grown-up world.
Inflation aside, children are demanding more of their fanciful fairy than in years past. The gold standard has generally been a quarter, but in an age where Christmas gifts have gone from Parcheesi to Playstation the financial fairy is suffering from a drastic increase in customer demand. Customer satisfaction, too, is threatened by the petty playground banter in which children compare their dental achievements (which can go as high as $20 a tooth, although the average is around $2.50).
What is a parent to do amidst a recession and the woes of fessing up to their fraudulent fairy practices? Should children know the truth? Should we continue giving them unearned money that reinforces a declining work ethic? Should they be taught to invest their earnings in stocks and mutual funds? Should children be taught the critical thinking skills necessary to discern that the idea of a winged tooth-collecting creature with a non-depleting source of capital is only an elaborate prank?!?
Some people argue that lying to children is actually good for them- the Tooth Fairy encourages imagination and later helps children make a distinction between reality and make-believe. Well, I don't think that children are at all suffering from a lack of imagination. And who the hell knows fact from fiction, anyways? Teenagers lie 98% of the time to their parents- perhaps this is in retaliation for the 98% of parents who tell their children about the Tooth Fairy.
But what would the world be like if we grew up and still held on to our childhood fantasies? Imagine a world where Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy were a part of every day discussion ("Oh my god then there was this Fairy in my bed ... oh wait, that was me"), and the mystically intangible splendor of magic keeps us locked in a circling spell of wonder-- and hope?-- and provides an escape from the harsh realities of the grown-up world.
I suppose that believing in the Tooth Fairy isn't all so terrible- children continue to stare patiently into the fog of the impossible, and earn a little cash on the side while they're at it.
FYI- if you search the Internet, you can always find people who will pay for your urine.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Roller coaster weekend
Drama: it is a word that has truly come to embody my entire existence over the past few years. Drama is synonymous with several key aspects of my life-- Gallaudet, relationships, housemate situations, employment -- everything coming with a significant second-helping of heaping portion-proportions, all wedged and packed tightly into an emotional architecture that is buckling under the strain.
So on this, a most dizzying weekend of ups and downs, we can see just how high that roller coaster climbs- only to watch it move steeply down from time to time while I cling to the bar and squeal.
Friday:
My grandfather died. And, as with any death, the immediate family ties are put to the test in a delicate tug-of-war battle (How hard should I pull? When do I finally let go? How can I see the line to cross in all of this damned mud!). He and I weren't very close, so the situation is a bit awkward for me. I haven't talked about it much with others because most people expect a grandfather's death to be horrifically devastating- I think the fact that it isn't traumatic makes me even sadder.
Friday night:
Deaf Professional Happy Hour. As with any DPHH event, there is a swirling social cacophony(wink) of spinning hands and fantastic fingers. Old friends, catching up, sharing news, quick hellos and hugs, spilling drinks, feeling connected- the more times you say hello, the more you feel a sense of community and warmth. Ahhhh ....
Saturday:
EggSpectations is a cute restaurant in downtown Silver Spring which plays on words that begin with an "egg" sound, and thus is perfect for a dork like me who thinks he's clever every time he tells his waitress his omelet is "egg-cellent" ... *cough*. The door handles for the main entrance and the bathroom are egg beaters (for the bathroom??? Hmm, my right hand IS tired from all this repetitive whipping action). There was consumption of delicious eats and comforting times with friends.
Saturday afternoon:
BAKING !!! 5 hours in the kitchen, singing along to showtunes with a dear friend. Nothing is better! But wait, there's more!!! I got the call that I'd been accepted to do peer counseling for the Whitman Walker Clinic- OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday evening:
Gay prom. Yes, you heard me right- GAY PROM. Dolled up with my lady date (yes, a lady- there are still some things I can't get straight ... oh wait ...) and ready to shake it uninhibited with the boys ... life was rocketing skyward past Cloud 7, Cloud 8, Cloud 8-and-a-half ...
BOOM ... shards of rocket shatter and give in to gravity, falling uncontrollably to the ground. I had reached my 3-drink limit, and had progressed on to my fourth. After 3 drinks, any emotion is magnified 100-fold, and that filter which controls, suppresses, and obscures the external masquerade of emotions suddenly becomes void, and there are no flood gates to hold back the unforgiving surge that follows.
Sunday morning:
Hosting a nasty hangover (with all that water, you'd think I wouldn't be dehydrated the following morning!), and cursing daylight savings time with a mad passion (4 hours sleep is NOT enough), I dragged myself to church at 9:00 to prepare for the 11:00 service. By the time 12:30 had rolled around, I had interpreted an inspirational sermon about affordable housing in the District, and I had shaken hands with Mayor Fenty and interpreted his 10-minute speech about the government's current efforts to improve the lives of DC citizens.
Sunday afternoon:
In a somewhat drowsy daze, I proceeded to Mt. Pleasant with 2 friends to eat at a charming and cheap El Salvadorian restaurant and chat the afternoon away. After a Sticky Fingers Bakery run, I returned home to the inviting cushioning of 2 pillows and a mattress that seemed to envelope me like a spoon being pushed into a bowl of thick pudding. 4 hours of disconnected bliss ...
Sunday night:
Swing dancing at a straight bar. wha Wha WHAT? The gays took to the floor and showed the breeders how to really swing their hips and sweep the floor at McGinty's in Silver Spring. Laughter, pictures galore, some tasty french fries, and testing the societal rules of a straight locale- lovely :-)
Monday morning:
Sleeping through the alarm, late for work, mad and panicked dash to get to my desk before 9:00a.m., with only seconds to spare and with somewhat frazzled hair. And so, the work week begins all over again.
*steps off roller coaster, slightly giddy, slightly nauseous*
Drama, indeed. Perhaps I shouldn't wait in line for the ride.
So on this, a most dizzying weekend of ups and downs, we can see just how high that roller coaster climbs- only to watch it move steeply down from time to time while I cling to the bar and squeal.
Friday:
My grandfather died. And, as with any death, the immediate family ties are put to the test in a delicate tug-of-war battle (How hard should I pull? When do I finally let go? How can I see the line to cross in all of this damned mud!). He and I weren't very close, so the situation is a bit awkward for me. I haven't talked about it much with others because most people expect a grandfather's death to be horrifically devastating- I think the fact that it isn't traumatic makes me even sadder.
Friday night:
Deaf Professional Happy Hour. As with any DPHH event, there is a swirling social cacophony(wink) of spinning hands and fantastic fingers. Old friends, catching up, sharing news, quick hellos and hugs, spilling drinks, feeling connected- the more times you say hello, the more you feel a sense of community and warmth. Ahhhh ....
Saturday:
EggSpectations is a cute restaurant in downtown Silver Spring which plays on words that begin with an "egg" sound, and thus is perfect for a dork like me who thinks he's clever every time he tells his waitress his omelet is "egg-cellent" ... *cough*. The door handles for the main entrance and the bathroom are egg beaters (for the bathroom??? Hmm, my right hand IS tired from all this repetitive whipping action). There was consumption of delicious eats and comforting times with friends.
Saturday afternoon:
BAKING !!! 5 hours in the kitchen, singing along to showtunes with a dear friend. Nothing is better! But wait, there's more!!! I got the call that I'd been accepted to do peer counseling for the Whitman Walker Clinic- OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday evening:
Gay prom. Yes, you heard me right- GAY PROM. Dolled up with my lady date (yes, a lady- there are still some things I can't get straight ... oh wait ...) and ready to shake it uninhibited with the boys ... life was rocketing skyward past Cloud 7, Cloud 8, Cloud 8-and-a-half ...
BOOM ... shards of rocket shatter and give in to gravity, falling uncontrollably to the ground. I had reached my 3-drink limit, and had progressed on to my fourth. After 3 drinks, any emotion is magnified 100-fold, and that filter which controls, suppresses, and obscures the external masquerade of emotions suddenly becomes void, and there are no flood gates to hold back the unforgiving surge that follows.
Sunday morning:
Hosting a nasty hangover (with all that water, you'd think I wouldn't be dehydrated the following morning!), and cursing daylight savings time with a mad passion (4 hours sleep is NOT enough), I dragged myself to church at 9:00 to prepare for the 11:00 service. By the time 12:30 had rolled around, I had interpreted an inspirational sermon about affordable housing in the District, and I had shaken hands with Mayor Fenty and interpreted his 10-minute speech about the government's current efforts to improve the lives of DC citizens.
Sunday afternoon:
In a somewhat drowsy daze, I proceeded to Mt. Pleasant with 2 friends to eat at a charming and cheap El Salvadorian restaurant and chat the afternoon away. After a Sticky Fingers Bakery run, I returned home to the inviting cushioning of 2 pillows and a mattress that seemed to envelope me like a spoon being pushed into a bowl of thick pudding. 4 hours of disconnected bliss ...
Sunday night:
Swing dancing at a straight bar. wha Wha WHAT? The gays took to the floor and showed the breeders how to really swing their hips and sweep the floor at McGinty's in Silver Spring. Laughter, pictures galore, some tasty french fries, and testing the societal rules of a straight locale- lovely :-)
Monday morning:
Sleeping through the alarm, late for work, mad and panicked dash to get to my desk before 9:00a.m., with only seconds to spare and with somewhat frazzled hair. And so, the work week begins all over again.
*steps off roller coaster, slightly giddy, slightly nauseous*
Drama, indeed. Perhaps I shouldn't wait in line for the ride.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
No Cussing??? What the #&%#?!?!?
The pursuit for an adequate definition of "cuss":
cuss: to curse or curse at
curse: to swear
swear: to use profane oaths
profane: to treat with irreverence
irreverence: lack of reverence or due respect
respect: willingness to show consideration or appreciation
OK -- putting this all together, I would propose that "cussing" could be tediously defined as "a lack of due consideration and appreciation in the form of an oath".
Jimminy-Christmas, it is so difficult to get a friggin' handle on what in the tarnation they are talking about! Golly gee!
Well Christmas on a cracker, leave it to the nation's friggin' youth to try and save this gosh darn planet from the viles of freaking cuss words. It means these kids actually give a poopoo about how others are treated! Holy shishkebab!
The No Cussing Club was founded by a 14-year-old son of a biscuit eater in California. The "No Cuss Challenge", necessary to obtain membership in this dang group, states::: "I won't cuss, swear, use bad language, or tell dirty jokes. Clean language is the sign of intelligence and always demands respect. I will use my language to uplift, encourage and motivate. I will Leave People Better Than I Found Them!"
The Internet is full of suggestions on how to clean up our foul potty mouths. My personal favorite: "Instead of ahhh, ****, use "ahhh shuggy duggy quack quack." -- Aside from being hilarious, this quote comes from an ex-military person, which made me think for a minute ... As conservative as the military is (don't ask, don't tell, and burn at the stake), isn't it interesting that expressions like "curse like a sailor" exist? And probably for a good reason?
Research indicates that swear words are "special" in the brain; they are not processed like other words in our vocabulary. Swear words are strongly associated with the limbic system and basal ganglia, which regulate emotions, impulse control, basic behavior, plus a whole lot of other shizzle. They are "lower" brain functions.
As a result, some people who suffer from aphasia (the inability to speak or pronounce words due to brain damage) are still fully able to cuss it up till the cows come home ("Yes, Priscilla, your son is such a handsome young man- such a shame that he is mute." -- "Fucking bitch!!!" -- "Oh dear...").
It's almost like cussing fulfills a basic and instinctual need in the brain. It arouses emotions, effects behavior- and it is almost always the first thing you want to learn about another language. Asking for cuss words in French or Italian isn't offensive to the language- we're trying to build our vocabulary from the bottom up!
Weird- I never speak Italian anymore on a regular basis, but if I'm driving in traffic and some A-hole pulls a crappy maneuver in front of me ... Italian cuss words fly out of my mouth like a bat out of Hades.
So cuss words pack quite an emotional punch! Because they are so powerful, should their use be encouraged because swearing can successfully articulate the depth of emotion in our language? Or should they be saved, used sparingly and held only for the times we really mean what we are saying?
Eh ... I don't really give a shit.
cuss: to curse or curse at
curse: to swear
swear: to use profane oaths
profane: to treat with irreverence
irreverence: lack of reverence or due respect
respect: willingness to show consideration or appreciation
OK -- putting this all together, I would propose that "cussing" could be tediously defined as "a lack of due consideration and appreciation in the form of an oath".
Jimminy-Christmas, it is so difficult to get a friggin' handle on what in the tarnation they are talking about! Golly gee!
Well Christmas on a cracker, leave it to the nation's friggin' youth to try and save this gosh darn planet from the viles of freaking cuss words. It means these kids actually give a poopoo about how others are treated! Holy shishkebab!
The No Cussing Club was founded by a 14-year-old son of a biscuit eater in California. The "No Cuss Challenge", necessary to obtain membership in this dang group, states::: "I won't cuss, swear, use bad language, or tell dirty jokes. Clean language is the sign of intelligence and always demands respect. I will use my language to uplift, encourage and motivate. I will Leave People Better Than I Found Them!"
The Internet is full of suggestions on how to clean up our foul potty mouths. My personal favorite: "Instead of ahhh, ****, use "ahhh shuggy duggy quack quack." -- Aside from being hilarious, this quote comes from an ex-military person, which made me think for a minute ... As conservative as the military is (don't ask, don't tell, and burn at the stake), isn't it interesting that expressions like "curse like a sailor" exist? And probably for a good reason?
Research indicates that swear words are "special" in the brain; they are not processed like other words in our vocabulary. Swear words are strongly associated with the limbic system and basal ganglia, which regulate emotions, impulse control, basic behavior, plus a whole lot of other shizzle. They are "lower" brain functions.
As a result, some people who suffer from aphasia (the inability to speak or pronounce words due to brain damage) are still fully able to cuss it up till the cows come home ("Yes, Priscilla, your son is such a handsome young man- such a shame that he is mute." -- "Fucking bitch!!!" -- "Oh dear...").
It's almost like cussing fulfills a basic and instinctual need in the brain. It arouses emotions, effects behavior- and it is almost always the first thing you want to learn about another language. Asking for cuss words in French or Italian isn't offensive to the language- we're trying to build our vocabulary from the bottom up!
Weird- I never speak Italian anymore on a regular basis, but if I'm driving in traffic and some A-hole pulls a crappy maneuver in front of me ... Italian cuss words fly out of my mouth like a bat out of Hades.
So cuss words pack quite an emotional punch! Because they are so powerful, should their use be encouraged because swearing can successfully articulate the depth of emotion in our language? Or should they be saved, used sparingly and held only for the times we really mean what we are saying?
Eh ... I don't really give a shit.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Musicals
You know those times when you suddenly realize there's the most random song stuck in your head (like "It's a Small World"), and then someone tells you that 5 minutes ago they had been whistling that tune? Somehow we pick up a song, bypass our consciousness, and slowly re-introduce it into our current reality. So what's going on underneath our cerebral awareness? What tunes, thoughts, and feelings are circling around like a synchronized swimmer's legs, while maintaining a composed shape on the water's surface?
I think the grey matter in my noggin creates a subconscious imagery that could hardly be described as grey; there are vibrant colors, sounds, explosions of dancing and improvised (yet harmonized) singing, outbursts of song and shimmering costumes, emotional twists and turns that transcend to a reality that is not, but should be ... in essence, a musical.
My first musical, The Sound of Music, was brought to my attention when I was 8 years old (please note that at age 6 I had already noticed that boys were cuter than girls, and so my gayness cannot be blamed on Julie Andrews- which actually is quite a shame). Before that time, I was always puzzled at why my family was so obsessed with music- my mom plays the piano, my dad the clarinet, and they were both music ed majors in college. Blah blah blah yay music ok where's my Nintendo?
In a 2nd grader's mind there is absolutely nothing unusual about 7 children and a pseudo-nun frolicking in the hills of Austria while singing about "bright copper kettles" and "warm woollen mittens". So as a child when I sat and watched these spontaneous eruptions of song and yodeling, I believe my subconscious had finally connected with a satisfying realization of my most instinctual desires. The obsession had begun.
I received poorer marks in school that year. Apparently the teachers didn't like me humming "I am sixteen going on seventeen" on loop 3 hours a day, followed by an afternoon session of "yodel-lei-he-yodel-lei-he-yodel-lei-hee-whoo". Fortunately this behavior did not incur the ridicule of my naive classmates, but I'm sure the Lutheran teachers were constant in devout prayers that this big-gay-train would hopefully derail.
I was "inattentive" and "off-task"- two qualities that I am proud to uphold to this very day. Sure, all those people on DC's public transport see a blank face while I'm peaceably riding in the Metro car-- but in my mind's eye there are scenes from Moulin Rouge, Hairspray, Wicked, and others, all adapted to the scenery of a DC backdrop and in perfect sync with the tapping of my feet.
When you take to that mythical stage, dim the house lights of reality, and belt out a passionate note that resonates twice around the world-- that is emotion in its purest form. It is joy, sorrow, lust, contempt, pride- or even love.
And so as I am sauntering down the street to work, iPod in hand, "Climb Every Mountain" booming dramatically in my ears amidst the jackhammers and exhaust fumes of everyday life- figuratively and literally- I am mellowly reminded that these pure emotions and unending musical performances have one true thing in common:
They're all in my head.
I think the grey matter in my noggin creates a subconscious imagery that could hardly be described as grey; there are vibrant colors, sounds, explosions of dancing and improvised (yet harmonized) singing, outbursts of song and shimmering costumes, emotional twists and turns that transcend to a reality that is not, but should be ... in essence, a musical.
My first musical, The Sound of Music, was brought to my attention when I was 8 years old (please note that at age 6 I had already noticed that boys were cuter than girls, and so my gayness cannot be blamed on Julie Andrews- which actually is quite a shame). Before that time, I was always puzzled at why my family was so obsessed with music- my mom plays the piano, my dad the clarinet, and they were both music ed majors in college. Blah blah blah yay music ok where's my Nintendo?
In a 2nd grader's mind there is absolutely nothing unusual about 7 children and a pseudo-nun frolicking in the hills of Austria while singing about "bright copper kettles" and "warm woollen mittens". So as a child when I sat and watched these spontaneous eruptions of song and yodeling, I believe my subconscious had finally connected with a satisfying realization of my most instinctual desires. The obsession had begun.
I received poorer marks in school that year. Apparently the teachers didn't like me humming "I am sixteen going on seventeen" on loop 3 hours a day, followed by an afternoon session of "yodel-lei-he-yodel-lei-he-yodel-lei-hee-whoo". Fortunately this behavior did not incur the ridicule of my naive classmates, but I'm sure the Lutheran teachers were constant in devout prayers that this big-gay-train would hopefully derail.
I was "inattentive" and "off-task"- two qualities that I am proud to uphold to this very day. Sure, all those people on DC's public transport see a blank face while I'm peaceably riding in the Metro car-- but in my mind's eye there are scenes from Moulin Rouge, Hairspray, Wicked, and others, all adapted to the scenery of a DC backdrop and in perfect sync with the tapping of my feet.
When you take to that mythical stage, dim the house lights of reality, and belt out a passionate note that resonates twice around the world-- that is emotion in its purest form. It is joy, sorrow, lust, contempt, pride- or even love.
And so as I am sauntering down the street to work, iPod in hand, "Climb Every Mountain" booming dramatically in my ears amidst the jackhammers and exhaust fumes of everyday life- figuratively and literally- I am mellowly reminded that these pure emotions and unending musical performances have one true thing in common:
They're all in my head.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Return to Gallaudet, revisited
Debbie Downer is on hiatus, proceed without caution ...
My second trip to Gallaudet in 2 weeks proved to be just as entertaining and hectic as the first. I had an important appointment that lasted longer than any human being should have to endure, followed by a quick buzz around campus and finally a visit to my department.
The quick buzz was great - old friends, busy schedules, homework this and that, job this and that, relationships, romance, and scurrying off to the next segment of an exhausting to-do list. Our 5 minute vignettes of complicated lives and stories that are due more attention- all in a flurry of fingers and hands that are complete gibberish to the people living just outside the gates.
I had been apprehensive about returning to my department, but after such an intense day I could have seen T.J. Holmes and reacted without much hype (ok ... that is a boldfaced lie). I did not know how I would be received.
Weird. It was like a homecoming; except it was for a place that had never felt like home. It was oddly warm and welcoming. What had changed? Me? The faculty? Both? Or perhaps even neither- maybe all that had changed was our perceptions of each other.
Which is not to say that this negates everything that happened, or how it was handled (on both ends). After all, even if you bury the hatchet, the hatchet is still there. But around and through it can sprout fresh spring flowers, opening their faces sun-ward once more to the winds of change and chance. Awww flowers are the cute ....
And as life has its way of coincidentally placing certain events close to one another to really pack a punch, last weekend I had a run-in with an ex-- one that I had hurt a while ago. He had this amazingly mature attitude-- one that appreciated our time together, and didn't continuously resent it- and it really slapped me in the face. I'm always squinting to see the silver lining, but for him it was as radiant as a star despite the pain. Wow. Maybe I need new lenses.
*strokes chin in pondering pose*
Ok *gathering notes* so ... pain is crappy but normal, anger is there to protect our ego but can eventually damper our spirits, people make mistakes but they usually have good intentions ...
Why is it that these lessons are the hardest to remember? Damn ... I miss calculus.
My second trip to Gallaudet in 2 weeks proved to be just as entertaining and hectic as the first. I had an important appointment that lasted longer than any human being should have to endure, followed by a quick buzz around campus and finally a visit to my department.
The quick buzz was great - old friends, busy schedules, homework this and that, job this and that, relationships, romance, and scurrying off to the next segment of an exhausting to-do list. Our 5 minute vignettes of complicated lives and stories that are due more attention- all in a flurry of fingers and hands that are complete gibberish to the people living just outside the gates.
I had been apprehensive about returning to my department, but after such an intense day I could have seen T.J. Holmes and reacted without much hype (ok ... that is a boldfaced lie). I did not know how I would be received.
Weird. It was like a homecoming; except it was for a place that had never felt like home. It was oddly warm and welcoming. What had changed? Me? The faculty? Both? Or perhaps even neither- maybe all that had changed was our perceptions of each other.
Which is not to say that this negates everything that happened, or how it was handled (on both ends). After all, even if you bury the hatchet, the hatchet is still there. But around and through it can sprout fresh spring flowers, opening their faces sun-ward once more to the winds of change and chance. Awww flowers are the cute ....
And as life has its way of coincidentally placing certain events close to one another to really pack a punch, last weekend I had a run-in with an ex-- one that I had hurt a while ago. He had this amazingly mature attitude-- one that appreciated our time together, and didn't continuously resent it- and it really slapped me in the face. I'm always squinting to see the silver lining, but for him it was as radiant as a star despite the pain. Wow. Maybe I need new lenses.
*strokes chin in pondering pose*
Ok *gathering notes* so ... pain is crappy but normal, anger is there to protect our ego but can eventually damper our spirits, people make mistakes but they usually have good intentions ...
Why is it that these lessons are the hardest to remember? Damn ... I miss calculus.
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