She was everywhere… Buzzing like neon...
I couldn't escape her or brush her off. Denial was doing me no good either. Abandoning one venture and taking over the next to avoid a clash, a show down, a competition that was unannounced. A competition to which I had enrolled myself without entirely being sure why.
And it was as though all my paths led me to her. Indirectly but inevitably with her at the end.
I didn't know her.
I knew of her. I knew her through a subtle jealousy I hated myself for having.
I knew her through a conversation I did not hear but put together by watching her interact with the world from a distance… Perfectly poised smiling with nothing but pleasantry in her eyes. Arm movements that emphasized a conclusion based on a point she made more precise with her gestures.
Facial expressions….Facial expressions that spoke volumes. She laughed lots and contagiously so.
She spoke with a confidence that came with just enough self doubt to make her human.
Human…A person like all the rest…Filled with insecurities we try to over power, negativity we try to offset with whatever we can muster up and a love for life we try to fuel with all that surrounds us. But I can not see her in this light.
I WILL NOT see her in this light.
I will not empathize and put myself in her shoes. I will not be my own devil's advocate. Why? Because its safe being here... in the cozy of my unattached world… nestled in the warmth of my own thoughts.
It's a whole lot easier to create conspiracy theories when you have no proof otherwise. Delve into your theory with an attempt to provide yourself with concrete evidence for the your conclusion and chances are you'll see it crumble.
Especially when....
its based on nothing but emotion.
The one thing you deeply want to know will inevitably be the one thing you won't be able to prove. So...
you keep your distance… I KEEP my distance.
It is because of this distance that I am at ease...
but then the world and all those in it conspire against you.
The stars line up in just the right formation and before you know it you're sitting across the table from her in a quaint little coffee house sipping on a latte. Exchanging compliments...
Chatting….
Laughing….
Listening...
Empathizing...
Sympathizing....
Bonding
and
Confiding….
And some where between your internal battles and the initial awkwardness mingled among the chit chat something happens. Unmarked, unannounced and undefined but it happens.
she becomes human.
someone with all the characteristics that make people people...
like sincerity... a trait I find extremely endearing,
vulnerability.. a necessity for demoting her from the once glorified pedestal I’d placed her on.
and last but not least naiveté... a naiveté that touched my soul in ways I couldn’t fathom. It was this naiveté that made me feel ever soooo silly for having felt threatened by her ever at all.
And now its nothing but smiles... I welcome her with nothing but hugs and kisses..
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
On Good and Evil
The god of time, having created the universe, sees harmony all around him, but feels that there is still something very important missing—a companion with whom to share all this beauty.
For a thousand years, he prays for a son. Not entirely sure to whom he prays, given that he is omnipotent, the sole, supreme lord; nevertheless, he prays and, finally, he becomes pregnant.
When he realizes he has achieved his heart's desire, the god of time is filled with remorse, suddenly conscious of how fragile the balance of things may be shattered. But it is too late and the child is already on its way. All his lamentations cause the son he is carrying in his belly to divide into tow. And there u have it... just as good is born out of the god of time's prayers so too Evil is born out of his remorse—twin brothers.
{paraphrased from the devil and miss prym}
For a thousand years, he prays for a son. Not entirely sure to whom he prays, given that he is omnipotent, the sole, supreme lord; nevertheless, he prays and, finally, he becomes pregnant.
When he realizes he has achieved his heart's desire, the god of time is filled with remorse, suddenly conscious of how fragile the balance of things may be shattered. But it is too late and the child is already on its way. All his lamentations cause the son he is carrying in his belly to divide into tow. And there u have it... just as good is born out of the god of time's prayers so too Evil is born out of his remorse—twin brothers.
{paraphrased from the devil and miss prym}
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Esperanza
I Went to watch a movie over the weekend with a couple of friends. I must have been buzzing for some reason but for the first time in a while i laughed out loud. I'm not talking the little lol placed in msn conversations or emails to signify a smile at best.. I'm talking laugh out loud knee spanking laughter. The movies wasn't all that funny, in fact i've seen much much funnier but it must have been something in my freezy or in the air that just made me laugh like i haven't in ages. Shits and giggles aside. Th movie featured featured this breathtakingly beautiful resort.
Situated in Cabo san Lucas mexico their website reads...
At the end of a continent lies a tranquil retreat.Where the body is healed, the soul is revived, the senses are awakened and the spirit soars to new heights.A place where sun, sea, sky and earth join as one to form a tropical oasis like no other.A place called Esperanza.
It's absolutely gorgeous!
With pools in individual suits and a spa and a view.... Any vacationers dream come true....
A dream spot.
Except that you've got to come with a veryyyyyyy deep pocket .
Itsy bitsy bits of I love yous.
People are always looking for these grand proclamations of love. Like the big buzzing neon signs are the only true testament. Why must everything come in commercials and music and catchy tag lines? It’s a tad extreme I think... In the past couple of day’s I’ve had many itsy bitsy bits of I love yous. That, though no one is really counting, add up to a whole lot of love. Family love, friendly love, love love and spiritual love.
Itsy bitsy bit 1: My laundry was folded for me despite an extreme rush on the way out to a hockey game.
Itsy bitsy bit 2: Remote control ownership was given up to me despite the airing of a favorite closely followed soap opera.
Itsy bitsy bit 3: The receipt of candid msgs me at work telling me of recent bowel movements.
Itsy bitsy bit 4: Though, tear drenched, slobbery and sniffily, I received a whole hearted hug despite the shirt being brand new and possibly not machine washable.
Itsy bitsy bit 5: An email containing a job posting exactly fitting my skill set.
Itsy bitsy bit 6: Perfectly cut pieces of food on the end of a fork extended right before my lips just so that my palette can experience a new taste.
Itsy bitsy bit 7: The arrival at a movie theatre despite an invite 20 mins before the start of the movie.
Itsy bitsy bit 8: An offer to drive instead of me.
Itsy bitsy bit 9: A wake up call when I have an important meeting in the morning.
Itsy bitsy bit 10: A whisper notifying me of a reference call relating to a job I’d applied to earlier in the month.
Itsy bitsy bit 11: Crossing a red light, a speeding car misses the front of mine by a hair.
Itsy bitsy bit 12: Never having baked eid ca37k before, I’m invited to not one but two eid baking family tradition parties.
Itsy bitsy bit 13: A friend is redecorating and remembers that I’ve taken the perfect pictures for her brand spanking new picture frames.
Itsy bitsy bit 1: My laundry was folded for me despite an extreme rush on the way out to a hockey game.
Itsy bitsy bit 2: Remote control ownership was given up to me despite the airing of a favorite closely followed soap opera.
Itsy bitsy bit 3: The receipt of candid msgs me at work telling me of recent bowel movements.
Itsy bitsy bit 4: Though, tear drenched, slobbery and sniffily, I received a whole hearted hug despite the shirt being brand new and possibly not machine washable.
Itsy bitsy bit 5: An email containing a job posting exactly fitting my skill set.
Itsy bitsy bit 6: Perfectly cut pieces of food on the end of a fork extended right before my lips just so that my palette can experience a new taste.
Itsy bitsy bit 7: The arrival at a movie theatre despite an invite 20 mins before the start of the movie.
Itsy bitsy bit 8: An offer to drive instead of me.
Itsy bitsy bit 9: A wake up call when I have an important meeting in the morning.
Itsy bitsy bit 10: A whisper notifying me of a reference call relating to a job I’d applied to earlier in the month.
Itsy bitsy bit 11: Crossing a red light, a speeding car misses the front of mine by a hair.
Itsy bitsy bit 12: Never having baked eid ca37k before, I’m invited to not one but two eid baking family tradition parties.
Itsy bitsy bit 13: A friend is redecorating and remembers that I’ve taken the perfect pictures for her brand spanking new picture frames.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Mady's mad world
“Get me out of the house fast!” she’s stomping her feet as she struggles to take her breath. I hear a weezing I’m assuming is coming from the fact that she’s over exerting her self. Her hands are flailing in the air and she’s repeating her self over and over again. She’s lost it. The idea of a grip escapes her. I stumble for my keys and rush out the door. I’m in the car faster than my feet can take me and my mother chases us. “What’s wrong! Why are you doing this to yourself!?! Just breathe Mady! just breathe!”
She’s huffing and puffing and the weezing increases…
“just leave it mum… We’ll be back in a bit. I’ll take her for a walk by the lake and it should be fine”
We drive off and I’m a little scared to speak. The awkwardness fills the air and silence sets in. Mady isn’t my friend… she’s my mum’s. I’ve never really known her as an adult most of our interaction was way back when I couldn’t be at the pool without adult supervision. Way back when he alcoholic husband convinced her to conceive another child almost to spite the on lookers who said having another child would be a grave mistake.
She breaks down. Her sobbing is reserved at first and eventually replaces the awkward nothingness.
She gains her composure but only after she’s managed to wipe away all but 3 tears. She out the window.
“Look out jail cell here I come.”
I’m dumb founded... I was born and raised for the earlier portion of my childhood in that “prison”. But to me, it was an abundance of sunny pool sides and the perfect popsicle flavors. How could a Saudi woman with so much strength charisma and laughter be saying this to me?
I stop and think about what’s brought her here.
How broken she is.
How she won’t let herself fall apart. How I’ve seen her go through worse… a million times worse. she’s stronger than all this… Invincible almost. The hardships of having to raise a child with cerebral palsy in the Arab world. Consistently and continually being accused of being at fault for delivering a child with a disability. She did after all accept to marry her cousin in exchange for an education.
How is it possible that a woman with her own psychology practice who teaches women about emancipating themselves from the chains of antifeminism be this negative about her home, the place she lives and the people she was raised among?
She after all the one with an abundance of energy. The one people leach onto for that emotional boost that guidance and self understanding. She is her job.
I put my hand on her leg and say “ohh come on auntie madie lighten up… it is what give u your kick!”
“Heck I drive every day and no one kicks up a fuss! You get into beamer one morning after convincing a bunch of girlfriends to do the same and all of a sudden you’re a revolutionary”
She looks at me… her spirits lifted for a mili second only to follow with “yes but they arrested my husband for that… I am so “subhuman” I didn’t even manage to proper jail time!”
“Ahh so you want to have your cake and eat it too? That to me was sweet justice! Its about time you had the water bed all to your self.”
She smirks a little.
“Right then! seee! Saudi is what gives you your edge”
“its’s a lot worse this time sand-e… so much worse.. the disease is beyond the cancer my sister died from. Beyond her husband leaving her because she no longer hand breasts. Beyond having to study when everyone was asleep during the night because the house work was more important than my studying…Beyond having to carry all the responsibility an alcoholic husband couldn’t carry and still appear submissive. THIS is beyond all of that!”
I have nothing to say, I’m curious as to what it is that’s happened but frightened to have it fill the air that surrounds me.
I rub her leg and do the best I can to produce a smile that says I’m listening.
She takes a deep breath and looks out the window again. She speaks into the window and the glass gets foggy.
“He’s raping the children.”
My heart stops beating and I can’t hear her breath anymore. She hangs her head and covers her face.
And then…
Like the rolling thunder approaching with the storm… her breath gets faster and louder… faster and louder…she’s sobbing… and….
She explodes!
Stomping her feet and shaking her head convulsively, slapping the side of her head she screams “MY OWN FATHER! MY FATHER! HE’S FUCKING RAPING MY DEAD SISTER’S CHILDREN, MY DISABILED DAUGHTER!”
She pauses…
Sits still for a moment gaining composure.
She looks out the window again.
She raises her arms with what’s left in her.
She wipes the tears and exhales “my dead sisters children and my disabled daughter”
The silence is defining.
The seconds like hours.
The surroundings in slow motion.
What could I possibly do to make this better?
What could a naïve silly girl like me.. have to offer this unsung hero short of having a statue erected in her honor for all she’s had to endure?
Absolutely nothing. I, like her, have no power to turn back time.
I lean over, wrap my arms around her and hug her with all my might.
She’s huffing and puffing and the weezing increases…
“just leave it mum… We’ll be back in a bit. I’ll take her for a walk by the lake and it should be fine”
We drive off and I’m a little scared to speak. The awkwardness fills the air and silence sets in. Mady isn’t my friend… she’s my mum’s. I’ve never really known her as an adult most of our interaction was way back when I couldn’t be at the pool without adult supervision. Way back when he alcoholic husband convinced her to conceive another child almost to spite the on lookers who said having another child would be a grave mistake.
She breaks down. Her sobbing is reserved at first and eventually replaces the awkward nothingness.
She gains her composure but only after she’s managed to wipe away all but 3 tears. She out the window.
“Look out jail cell here I come.”
I’m dumb founded... I was born and raised for the earlier portion of my childhood in that “prison”. But to me, it was an abundance of sunny pool sides and the perfect popsicle flavors. How could a Saudi woman with so much strength charisma and laughter be saying this to me?
I stop and think about what’s brought her here.
How broken she is.
How she won’t let herself fall apart. How I’ve seen her go through worse… a million times worse. she’s stronger than all this… Invincible almost. The hardships of having to raise a child with cerebral palsy in the Arab world. Consistently and continually being accused of being at fault for delivering a child with a disability. She did after all accept to marry her cousin in exchange for an education.
How is it possible that a woman with her own psychology practice who teaches women about emancipating themselves from the chains of antifeminism be this negative about her home, the place she lives and the people she was raised among?
She after all the one with an abundance of energy. The one people leach onto for that emotional boost that guidance and self understanding. She is her job.
I put my hand on her leg and say “ohh come on auntie madie lighten up… it is what give u your kick!”
“Heck I drive every day and no one kicks up a fuss! You get into beamer one morning after convincing a bunch of girlfriends to do the same and all of a sudden you’re a revolutionary”
She looks at me… her spirits lifted for a mili second only to follow with “yes but they arrested my husband for that… I am so “subhuman” I didn’t even manage to proper jail time!”
“Ahh so you want to have your cake and eat it too? That to me was sweet justice! Its about time you had the water bed all to your self.”
She smirks a little.
“Right then! seee! Saudi is what gives you your edge”
“its’s a lot worse this time sand-e… so much worse.. the disease is beyond the cancer my sister died from. Beyond her husband leaving her because she no longer hand breasts. Beyond having to study when everyone was asleep during the night because the house work was more important than my studying…Beyond having to carry all the responsibility an alcoholic husband couldn’t carry and still appear submissive. THIS is beyond all of that!”
I have nothing to say, I’m curious as to what it is that’s happened but frightened to have it fill the air that surrounds me.
I rub her leg and do the best I can to produce a smile that says I’m listening.
She takes a deep breath and looks out the window again. She speaks into the window and the glass gets foggy.
“He’s raping the children.”
My heart stops beating and I can’t hear her breath anymore. She hangs her head and covers her face.
And then…
Like the rolling thunder approaching with the storm… her breath gets faster and louder… faster and louder…she’s sobbing… and….
She explodes!
Stomping her feet and shaking her head convulsively, slapping the side of her head she screams “MY OWN FATHER! MY FATHER! HE’S FUCKING RAPING MY DEAD SISTER’S CHILDREN, MY DISABILED DAUGHTER!”
She pauses…
Sits still for a moment gaining composure.
She looks out the window again.
She raises her arms with what’s left in her.
She wipes the tears and exhales “my dead sisters children and my disabled daughter”
The silence is defining.
The seconds like hours.
The surroundings in slow motion.
What could I possibly do to make this better?
What could a naïve silly girl like me.. have to offer this unsung hero short of having a statue erected in her honor for all she’s had to endure?
Absolutely nothing. I, like her, have no power to turn back time.
I lean over, wrap my arms around her and hug her with all my might.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
And what of this?
He speaks but remains silent still.
I want yet caution and harbour a safe distance.
I expose all yet have confidence in my invisible shields.
There is no stronghold but a tightening grip.
Neither here nor there, he is my inspiration and my writer’s block.
My enigma and my un-riddled truth.
I ache but will not permit agony’s flute to sing my song.
I want to be anger but can not muster fury.
I have no right.
I am sure yet a million miles away form certainty.
He is the concept falling short of actualization. My insides decree with no accord to my mind. Shaking the tree he sits under hoping for a eureka that will not come while gravity’s lateral effects have brought me to my senses and have left my senses to me.
I want but cannot have and have but can not want.
I want yet caution and harbour a safe distance.
I expose all yet have confidence in my invisible shields.
There is no stronghold but a tightening grip.
Neither here nor there, he is my inspiration and my writer’s block.
My enigma and my un-riddled truth.
I ache but will not permit agony’s flute to sing my song.
I want to be anger but can not muster fury.
I have no right.
I am sure yet a million miles away form certainty.
He is the concept falling short of actualization. My insides decree with no accord to my mind. Shaking the tree he sits under hoping for a eureka that will not come while gravity’s lateral effects have brought me to my senses and have left my senses to me.
I want but cannot have and have but can not want.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Hey piggy piggy
So it’s just about Iftar time and I’m laying on a couch/bed in the kiddy’s room, they’re a lot more tolerable than the “Iraq has gone to shit ever since the Americans” banter I hear among the adults outside. Susu Cute (Sarah, age 10) and Med school (Ahmed, age 9) are watching some show dubbed cool by god knows who.
I can’t stand the lameness and tuning it out proves to be difficult considering the rumbly in my tumbly. I’m twitching to violently take over the remote control and find something more complex but my conscience gets the better of me.
Where or when did the fountain of my youth dry up?
Though the crackling and tickling in my throat induced by mass consumption of pop rocks could possibly render me a tad on the hayfa side, it upsets me to think I haven’t squealed in delight at the site of a fruit rollup in the longest while.
Regardless…
Refusing to submit to the urge to use my age and “visitor status” as a means to coheres the youngins into changing the channel, I rummage through their stack of books instead.
I haven’t read a story with pretty pictures in ages and this is my ingenious idea to help pass the time. Isn’t it odd how “time goes by so slowly” , insert melody hits commercial here, when you’re aware of it.
And So I stumble on ….
This story was a delight to read. I absolutely loved it! It’s quirky and cheeky as ever.
I was left sympathizing with the poor wolf who apparently wanted nothing more in the world than to make a cake for his grandmother. He whole heartedly manages to convince me that the media once again are to blame for all that is evil in the world.
His story makes me question the whole “big bad” persona we’ve attached to the poor fellow’s name without even thinking twice. It’s unfortunate that wolves are bigger than piggies and that bigger animals tend to eat smaller ones, which often more than not tend to be cute and further down the food chain. With all that said it’s hardly a reason to make him into the villain.
Consumed by his cold and out of sugar the poor wolf sets out to find some sugar to finish baking the cake he’d started for his granny. As he arrives at the first piggy’s house he gets the sudden urge to sneeze and when he does he’s surprised to find that the straw house has collapsed and in the middle of it all lay a dead pig. Now ask yourself this question. How many times have you eaten something just because it’s unfair to the starving children of the world to let it go to waste? Wouldn’t you eat a perfectly plump pig if you were a carnivorous wolf?
With the wolf’s lunch covered and one pig dead he’s still in the predicament he started in. No sugar for the cake. So the story continues till he arrives at the brick house.
Misinformed by the media and what he’d heard about his brothers, the last pig insults the wolf’s grandmother.
So he flips out…. And in the middle of his temper tantrum the police arrive. He ends up behind bars, The last pig lives to tell the story embellishing here and there with the "huffing and puffing”and the”not by the hair on my chiny chin chin”. All the while the TV broadcasters are eating it all up and the truth is lost in the shuffle.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Baz tells it like it is...
"Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth."
Friday, August 31, 2007
The tummies, birthday balloon and cupcake sum it up nice
It’s been a year in October now, they’ve all moved on and though I haven’t literally moved… my seemingly static life has changed in a gazillion ways. The tight knight comfort pillow they once provided for me is now gone and all that is left is nostalgia. I miss them dearly… and think of them probably a lot more often than I imagine they do of me. The thought that I’m doing this alone, creates a knot in my throat and fills my eyes with tears. I hold back as best as I can but decide to let go when my radio station conveniently yet ever so dramatically plays a song that brings back yet another memory. She sings “I tried to tell myself you’re gone.. but though you’re still with me I’ve been alone” and visuals of distant far off lands and how things slowly but surely went sour consume me. I can not call them up and tell them all of this, I’ll fall apart…cry it all out and sob about how much I miss them and my greatest fear is that it won’t resonate with them the way it does in my heart...
I miss you guys.
I miss the random photos of feet….
The hysterical laughing and talking for hours on end about nothing and everything all a once….
I miss the sunflower fields…..
I miss laughing at the three hour speech to sponsor a mosque all in Turkish…
I miss body jamming…
I miss commenting about pretty earrings complemented by beautiful colored peshminas.
I miss the word “doooode” randomly placed in sentences
I miss the sarcasm
I miss the great big cups of tea
I miss the pleading to take photos and the joking around about fear of tabloids.
I miss rainbow colored beads that remind me of Sudan when I’ve never been to Sudan….
I miss insisting that the van needs steering wheel fluid to make the noise stop.
I miss making bets to see if she’ll run or not…. I miss her looking back and knowing we’re laughing at the way she runs.
I miss learning the phrase “are u taking the piss?”
I miss loitering at random coffee houses.
I miss baby pictures and screeching expressions of “mimi”.
I miss knowing that should the need arise, I have a go to person for movie trivia.
I miss arguing about entourage dude not being the jack and Jill dude.
I miss “a ooo eeee uuuu” ing in Montréal.
I miss pretending to be on a tv show outside moxie’s and the elbandarado commercial…
I miss shebshib sized shawermas..
I miss poooouuuutines
I miss the book of horoscopes
I miss screaming not to open the sink cabinet in fear of infestation.
I miss singing drumming and dancing to a song whose lyrics leave nothing in my memory but the way the word “shobraaaaa” is pronounced
I miss $5 dollar garbage bags to protect us from the rain.
I miss Canada day in Ottawa.
I miss dawlat getting all hissy when we didn’t turn on her command.
I miss laughing by the sphinx after Bedouin soundclash…
I miss knowing that the order at jacks would involve some sort of spring rolls, fries, burgers and chicken fingers.
I miss being taunted about picking the wrong movie.
I miss sharing beauty secrets about silky smooth black hair
I miss the way we were in the black and white photo of our tummies, the birthday balloon and the cupcake.
I miss you guys.
I miss the random photos of feet….
The hysterical laughing and talking for hours on end about nothing and everything all a once….
I miss the sunflower fields…..
I miss laughing at the three hour speech to sponsor a mosque all in Turkish…
I miss body jamming…
I miss commenting about pretty earrings complemented by beautiful colored peshminas.
I miss the word “doooode” randomly placed in sentences
I miss the sarcasm
I miss the great big cups of tea
I miss the pleading to take photos and the joking around about fear of tabloids.
I miss rainbow colored beads that remind me of Sudan when I’ve never been to Sudan….
I miss insisting that the van needs steering wheel fluid to make the noise stop.
I miss making bets to see if she’ll run or not…. I miss her looking back and knowing we’re laughing at the way she runs.
I miss learning the phrase “are u taking the piss?”
I miss loitering at random coffee houses.
I miss baby pictures and screeching expressions of “mimi”.
I miss knowing that should the need arise, I have a go to person for movie trivia.
I miss arguing about entourage dude not being the jack and Jill dude.
I miss “a ooo eeee uuuu” ing in Montréal.
I miss pretending to be on a tv show outside moxie’s and the elbandarado commercial…
I miss shebshib sized shawermas..
I miss poooouuuutines
I miss the book of horoscopes
I miss screaming not to open the sink cabinet in fear of infestation.
I miss singing drumming and dancing to a song whose lyrics leave nothing in my memory but the way the word “shobraaaaa” is pronounced
I miss $5 dollar garbage bags to protect us from the rain.
I miss Canada day in Ottawa.
I miss dawlat getting all hissy when we didn’t turn on her command.
I miss laughing by the sphinx after Bedouin soundclash…
I miss knowing that the order at jacks would involve some sort of spring rolls, fries, burgers and chicken fingers.
I miss being taunted about picking the wrong movie.
I miss sharing beauty secrets about silky smooth black hair
I miss the way we were in the black and white photo of our tummies, the birthday balloon and the cupcake.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
In the pursuit of Happiness I strive....
Me: So this is what it means to be happy?
My response to me: I suppose…
Me: You suppose? Shouldn’t you know if you’re happy?
My response to me: I’ve never really stopped to think about it. Mind you I haven’t stopped to think I’m
unhappy either.
Me: so you’re suggesting that being happy is the lack of unhappy?
My response to me: That makes sense no? We all need a point of reference. Happiness is the lack of unhappiness.
Me: yeah but where does neutral fit into all that?
My response to me: hmm… you’re right… I suppose neutral would be what I just described.
Me: so you’re not happy then? You’re neutral?
My response to me: well no… not really I’d say I’m happy.
Me: how’s that? You don’t have a point of reference like you mentioned to draw a comparison against… well… unless you have a definition for happiness.
My response to me: It changes really. What I construe as happiness today isn’t really what it was yesterday.
Me: So with no static reference and a changing definition of happiness from one day to the next… essentially you could be happy today based on today’s definition but negate that statement about today tomorrow when you change your definition of happiness?
My response to me: yeah I suppose…
Me: Doesn’t that just mean you’re claiming to be happy when you’re not?
My response to me: well not really… why can’t I be happy on a day to day basis?
Me: I’ll accept you saying: based on today’s definition of happiness I am happy.
But when someone asks you if you’re happy don’t they mean in a generic overall sense?
My response to me: Yeah I suppose but being able to claim you’re generically happy would mean you’d have to keep something in the mix constant… seeing as how the circumstances of your life and mood change on a day to day basis, wouldn’t your definition of happiness by default have to assume a static role?
Me: Hmmm… not unless it’s a dynamic definition to which you add criteria as you grow.
something along the lines of :
You’re born: Happieness = Air available to breathe and cry
A few hours after being born Happiness = Air available to breathe and cry + warmth
A few hours later still Happiness = Air available to breath and cry + warmth + food available.
And it goes on and on and on… so as you grow your list of things that must be available for the condition of happiness to exist increase. The fulfillment of all the criteria then allows you to claim “I’m happy”
My response to me: Does this explain why it’s a lot harder to bring joy to an adult than it is a child?
Me: perhaps yeah… that’s a good point…
My response to me: Fair enough but then what happens if one of those criteria isn’t present?
Does that then make you unhappy? Is it an all or non situation? True or false with no middle ground?
My response to me: I suppose…
Me: You suppose? Shouldn’t you know if you’re happy?
My response to me: I’ve never really stopped to think about it. Mind you I haven’t stopped to think I’m
unhappy either.
Me: so you’re suggesting that being happy is the lack of unhappy?
My response to me: That makes sense no? We all need a point of reference. Happiness is the lack of unhappiness.
Me: yeah but where does neutral fit into all that?
My response to me: hmm… you’re right… I suppose neutral would be what I just described.
Me: so you’re not happy then? You’re neutral?
My response to me: well no… not really I’d say I’m happy.
Me: how’s that? You don’t have a point of reference like you mentioned to draw a comparison against… well… unless you have a definition for happiness.
My response to me: It changes really. What I construe as happiness today isn’t really what it was yesterday.
Me: So with no static reference and a changing definition of happiness from one day to the next… essentially you could be happy today based on today’s definition but negate that statement about today tomorrow when you change your definition of happiness?
My response to me: yeah I suppose…
Me: Doesn’t that just mean you’re claiming to be happy when you’re not?
My response to me: well not really… why can’t I be happy on a day to day basis?
Me: I’ll accept you saying: based on today’s definition of happiness I am happy.
But when someone asks you if you’re happy don’t they mean in a generic overall sense?
My response to me: Yeah I suppose but being able to claim you’re generically happy would mean you’d have to keep something in the mix constant… seeing as how the circumstances of your life and mood change on a day to day basis, wouldn’t your definition of happiness by default have to assume a static role?
Me: Hmmm… not unless it’s a dynamic definition to which you add criteria as you grow.
something along the lines of :
You’re born: Happieness = Air available to breathe and cry
A few hours after being born Happiness = Air available to breathe and cry + warmth
A few hours later still Happiness = Air available to breath and cry + warmth + food available.
And it goes on and on and on… so as you grow your list of things that must be available for the condition of happiness to exist increase. The fulfillment of all the criteria then allows you to claim “I’m happy”
My response to me: Does this explain why it’s a lot harder to bring joy to an adult than it is a child?
Me: perhaps yeah… that’s a good point…
My response to me: Fair enough but then what happens if one of those criteria isn’t present?
Does that then make you unhappy? Is it an all or non situation? True or false with no middle ground?
Me: I don’t know… sounds like a flaw in the theory….it doesn’t sit well does it? cuz there are instances where you’ve been happy under one set of circumstances and not happy at a later date… hmmm
My response to me:
So we’re back to where we started then… no point of reference no static definition and the presence of a dynamic one is of no value without having a rule that says how many criteria have to be fulfilled in order for you to be happy…. So How does one claim they’re happy?
Me: NO clue… I think therefore I am!?
My response to me: Classic… that’s code for “Managed to fuck myself up and now I’m shit out of ideas”?
Me: haha…. Pretty much…
Thursday, July 05, 2007
My wonderfully geeky world
Would it be incredibly geeky to admit I have a love hate relationship with the ones and zeros of the programming world?
I'm back in the swing of things with assignments, readings and my ever familiar state of procrastination. I began my first graduate course mere Mondays ago and now as the course is near its end I thought I’d take a minute to reflect on the fact that, I've never enjoyed school more. The idea of being able to do it whenever I want and without stringent deadlines or the guilt of missing tutorials or lectures reminds me of how I fell in and out of love with computer science over the years. I reminisce, grimace and smile a little at it all now in retrospect. I remember now why I took that oath to stick to it even though my bastard bitch of a counselor insisted that perhaps I "should stick to the arts instead" with a tone of belittling ridicule disguised as concern. I remember how I hugged the department secretary when she informed me I'd been accepted into the program as she looked at me with wide eyed shock and horror. I remember my mini hyperventilation and sweaty palm syndrome attacks at the thought of an assignment. I remember my many sleepless nights perhaps attributable to my SEVERE procrastination inevitably exponentially increasing my stress levels. I remember tossing and turning in bed not being able to sleep but forcing myself to do so just so I could escape having to face the music. I remember the staple oriental dude sitting in front of me with shiny reflective greasy hair sprinkled with dandruff the size of walnuts in all of my computability and algorithms classes. I remember the gazillion 8 o'clock lectures I missed because I just couldn't keep my eyes open after an all nighter in the computer lab. But set the strict deadlines aside and the need to take 4 other courses at the same time and ohhh ahhh its magic again. And just like that “the Matrix” is cool again. I'm loving it. And why? Why or how could someone supposedly semi creative and living not outside the box but at least with the same exposure as a jack in the box find awe and wonder in programming? Well this is the thing… programming is insanely complex but at the same time ridiculously basic and simple. There's a certain thrill involved in being able to make a machine do things the human brain takes for granted. It's almost spiritual. You realize that even the dumbest person out there is born with a gift incredibly difficult to mimic or duplicate. All the issues with AI are a testament to this. Knowing you have the nuts, bolts and ply wood in your hands and all you need is the imagination and creativity to build wonders is intoxicatingly pleasurable. I imagine this is what painters feel when they are presented with a shit load of acrylics, a red sable weasel bristle brush and a stretched canvas.
Stretching and tweaking my approach to a problem I’ve fully understood gives me this high that's difficult to find elsewhere. Though extremely frustrating, I love the resolution that is reached after I’ve over come the bleakness that arises from realizing I've exhausted all my options in the route I’ve chosen to take in order solve the problem. It’s when the light bulb goes of in my head and I see something I hadn't in the beginning that I’m thrilled. It ignites a fury of possibilities.
It is perhaps because my first recollection of an epiphany was associated with computer science that I have grown so attached to it. Sounds like a mile high of bullshit but it’s my truth.
It was absolutely perfect. I'd racked my brains trying to come to a solution and had what I thought was the perfect idea except for a single glitch, a glitch that could cost me having to redesign the entire program. I thought and thought and thought and in the midst of it all I fell asleep. I had a dream and though the logistics of the solution weren’t presented to me, I saw something that gave me an idea. I woke up and scratched down some pseudo code. I slept like a baby. I’d convinced myself that I’d solved the problem and could sleep. The next morning I see the note pad but dismiss it.
“How silly are you? What? You actually think the solution came to you in your sleep?”
After I’d spent endless more hours trying to get my solution to work I thought what the heck look at it. Read it. Try it out. Lo and behold it worked! It was as though the clouds in the heavens parted and the rays of golden sun filtered through the air upon me and the sound “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh” could be heard all round! Absolutely magnificent! A prophetic experience. So there u have it. My moment of epiphany and extreme clarity. My want to recreate and relive that split second where it all made sense despite the chaos in my head and on paper. And that I suppose on it’s own is justification enough to love my wonderfully geeky self and world with java in it!
Monday, June 25, 2007
The big wheels turn
You ever pick at yourself and wonder what or why a person you held dear decided to up and leave, plainly and simply gave you up? The reasons are inexplicable and the arguments non existent. You, naturally wanting to understand, retrace your steps, wonder what you possibly could have done or could have said to cause such a reaction. Unable to get at anything worthwhile you simply conclude that you were too YOU. Not necessarily imperfect faulty or intolerable but just you. And you twist and turn and agonize at not being able to have that person in your life and after you've had your share of mourning you do the only thing that is in your power to do, you let go and you move on. There is no sense in crying over spilt milk longer than is necessary. But ages upon ages later the Karma police kick in and then it's like sweet satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that’s not of any use to anyone but your own. And no I don’t mean the kind that begets huge calamities on said fleeing party’s life but the kind that lets you know you did no wrong. They remember you for the good and its like the blind has been lifted and all of a sudden you can breath a little easier because you both realize that though they’re out of your life and at a distance they still value you and you them.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
People are cunts
People are cunts he says. He is poison to you. You’re just too naïve to see it but will bitch and moan about it to me later. You’ll expect me to put up with your self indulgent whining bullshit except of course I won’t because I’m warning you now. We’ll fight. You’ll wonder why I couldn’t have just listened without being such a “looser” and I’ll wonder why the fuck you can’t get it through your thick head that loser is spelt with one ‘o’. We’ve been over this time and time again. I want nothing to do with it. Run your stupid escapades and go out with the fucker but know that I will be right. And know that if you get hurt I won’t hear of it.”
A walk by the lake and a very decently priced weeping yogi statue are what started up this mess. I couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t want a statue to carry their burdens for them? Damn it wouldn’t you want him to weep so you could rejoice? Wtf? Why is that such a bad thing to want for someone? I most definitely would want someone to want it for me. The mere thought of them wanting that for me is gift enough. And though I don’t by into the mystic healing crystal crap people try to sell I couldn’t help but want this statue. Not for me but for someone else.
This is what I do. I buy stuff for everyone other than myself. This time, much like the travel care package I’d once sent to a person I hadn’t met yet, I knew at the back of my head this was above and beyond.
It’s the above and beyond I’ve come to notice that people don’t trust. Like it’s not humanly possible to nice to someone without wanting something in return. People look at me in that way. With questioning eyes, with these thoughts that kill the joy in giving. Looks that make me feel like I have to defend myself. “no I really don’t want anything from you I just thought you’d like it… I saw it and remembered you so I paid for it and brought it here”
You think four weeks after the initial “I’ve got something to give you when are you free” sms I’d have picked up that I wasn’t a top priority?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: Of course not! Shame on you. People are busy. They have things to do and lives to lead. It’s not a big deal.
Sandy’s muzzled sound of reason: Yeah but you live in the same city about a 5 min drive. Wtf are u thinking. Why does dude even deserve a gift?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: It’s not about deserving, its about my want to give. Since when do people give gifts cuz the recipient deserves it?!
So patient and excuse after excuse giving I was. And about 5 weeks later after I’d flipped out and told dude I no longer wanted to give him the gift that it is now devoid of meaning and utterly anticlimactic, many failed attempts to meet up, and an out of character mean spirited social embarrassment initiated by none other than moi, I gave dude the gift.
And as I was sitting there watching him talk to some other chickie on the phone as I waited to dig into my calamari hoping it wouldn’t get cold, trying to keep myself busy by drawing on the paper cloth, thanking the creativity gods for Crayola and the ingenious person who came up with this idea, desperately humming a tune to a song that didn’t exist just so I wouldn’t have to hear what he was saying, not letting any of it get to me. And then something clicked. And just like that… the noise around me drowned out and all I could see were his lips moving devoid of meaning devoid of words. “I deserve better than this.” Not because he’s not a smart enough or witty enough or polite enough or charming enough or charismatic enough but because cell phones need to be turned off at the dinner table! And should they happen to ring whilst still seated they either need to be ignored or answered and hung up quickly. Such a stupid insignificant thing but indicative of many things none the less. I made a face. This was the last straw. His last benefit of the doubt.
Sandy’s emancipated sound of reason: He has consumed all his chances. Chances he should not have been given. The signs were there. Signs you chose to ignore hoping he’d prove you wrong. You were right. Your friend was right and now you’ve gone and forfeited your right to bitch and moan. And this fucker smugly sitting in front of you, arrogant with confidence, blind to who you are, won’t give you a second thought.
He hangs up the phone, an inquisitive look comes over my face and I ask rhetorically “would you agree that people are cunts?” I look away….
and let the words sit in the uncomfortable silence I’ve unintentionally created for him as I ponder the question.
…
….
…..
…..
I smile whole heartedly as I come out of my deep thought. “I’m sorry my thoughts escape me sometimes. That was entirely out of context… try my calamari its fantastic.”
A walk by the lake and a very decently priced weeping yogi statue are what started up this mess. I couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t want a statue to carry their burdens for them? Damn it wouldn’t you want him to weep so you could rejoice? Wtf? Why is that such a bad thing to want for someone? I most definitely would want someone to want it for me. The mere thought of them wanting that for me is gift enough. And though I don’t by into the mystic healing crystal crap people try to sell I couldn’t help but want this statue. Not for me but for someone else.
This is what I do. I buy stuff for everyone other than myself. This time, much like the travel care package I’d once sent to a person I hadn’t met yet, I knew at the back of my head this was above and beyond.
It’s the above and beyond I’ve come to notice that people don’t trust. Like it’s not humanly possible to nice to someone without wanting something in return. People look at me in that way. With questioning eyes, with these thoughts that kill the joy in giving. Looks that make me feel like I have to defend myself. “no I really don’t want anything from you I just thought you’d like it… I saw it and remembered you so I paid for it and brought it here”
You think four weeks after the initial “I’ve got something to give you when are you free” sms I’d have picked up that I wasn’t a top priority?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: Of course not! Shame on you. People are busy. They have things to do and lives to lead. It’s not a big deal.
Sandy’s muzzled sound of reason: Yeah but you live in the same city about a 5 min drive. Wtf are u thinking. Why does dude even deserve a gift?
Sandy’s drunken Jiminy cricket: It’s not about deserving, its about my want to give. Since when do people give gifts cuz the recipient deserves it?!
So patient and excuse after excuse giving I was. And about 5 weeks later after I’d flipped out and told dude I no longer wanted to give him the gift that it is now devoid of meaning and utterly anticlimactic, many failed attempts to meet up, and an out of character mean spirited social embarrassment initiated by none other than moi, I gave dude the gift.
And as I was sitting there watching him talk to some other chickie on the phone as I waited to dig into my calamari hoping it wouldn’t get cold, trying to keep myself busy by drawing on the paper cloth, thanking the creativity gods for Crayola and the ingenious person who came up with this idea, desperately humming a tune to a song that didn’t exist just so I wouldn’t have to hear what he was saying, not letting any of it get to me. And then something clicked. And just like that… the noise around me drowned out and all I could see were his lips moving devoid of meaning devoid of words. “I deserve better than this.” Not because he’s not a smart enough or witty enough or polite enough or charming enough or charismatic enough but because cell phones need to be turned off at the dinner table! And should they happen to ring whilst still seated they either need to be ignored or answered and hung up quickly. Such a stupid insignificant thing but indicative of many things none the less. I made a face. This was the last straw. His last benefit of the doubt.
Sandy’s emancipated sound of reason: He has consumed all his chances. Chances he should not have been given. The signs were there. Signs you chose to ignore hoping he’d prove you wrong. You were right. Your friend was right and now you’ve gone and forfeited your right to bitch and moan. And this fucker smugly sitting in front of you, arrogant with confidence, blind to who you are, won’t give you a second thought.
He hangs up the phone, an inquisitive look comes over my face and I ask rhetorically “would you agree that people are cunts?” I look away….
and let the words sit in the uncomfortable silence I’ve unintentionally created for him as I ponder the question.
…
….
…..
…..
I smile whole heartedly as I come out of my deep thought. “I’m sorry my thoughts escape me sometimes. That was entirely out of context… try my calamari its fantastic.”
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
My shrapnel clad pavement
My pulse beats still.
I’m here though not all there.
Fragments of the person I once was at some point in a dimension of time I now question ever existed.
Carefree no more yet resilient to the contradicting state of translucency vs. opaqueness that characterize this very familiar hue of jade.
I’ve decided the remedy to my idleness is ill reason.
Callus and cold to logic and rationale, I’ve cast them aside.
Today I take off,
I soar and I pray to the Gods I catch the wind in my sails.
I forgo the encounter of the twists and turns of fate whose acoustics will inevitably echo a thud, spit, crackle and pop as I not so gracefully meet my shrapnel clad rock bottom.
Embracing all I am and who I’ve become…. Wiser but perhaps not so wise… older and perhaps still not so old… A forced student of realism but still perhaps a resident of never never land… I take a leap towards all that is “emotionally irrational” so hold my breath and you the door for me.
I’m here though not all there.
Fragments of the person I once was at some point in a dimension of time I now question ever existed.
Carefree no more yet resilient to the contradicting state of translucency vs. opaqueness that characterize this very familiar hue of jade.
I’ve decided the remedy to my idleness is ill reason.
Callus and cold to logic and rationale, I’ve cast them aside.
Today I take off,
I soar and I pray to the Gods I catch the wind in my sails.
I forgo the encounter of the twists and turns of fate whose acoustics will inevitably echo a thud, spit, crackle and pop as I not so gracefully meet my shrapnel clad rock bottom.
Embracing all I am and who I’ve become…. Wiser but perhaps not so wise… older and perhaps still not so old… A forced student of realism but still perhaps a resident of never never land… I take a leap towards all that is “emotionally irrational” so hold my breath and you the door for me.
Monday, May 07, 2007
How sweet it is!
You know it’s going to be a good day when the perfect song plays on your car stereo, the sun bathes everything in its glorious warmth and the colors in the red breasted robin’s feathers contrast the dull grey of the highest single point on a lamp post after you’ve found the closest parking spot to your destination.
Friday, April 13, 2007
sacred prostitution
Can you get closer to God through selling your body? Is there such a thing as sacred prostitution? The sacrifice of one’s self and body for a divinity. Maria’s Ralf brought up an interesting point this morning. “The great historian, Herodotus wrote of Babylonia: ‘They have a strange custom here, by which every woman born in Sumeria is obliged, at least once in her lifetime, to go to the temple of the goddess Ishtar and give her body to a stranger, as a symbol of hospitality and for a symbolic price.’" Ralf goes on... "later on though during the Roman Empire, another goddess, Vesta demanded total virginity or total surrender” It follows suit then that eventually total surrender was dropped and total virginity was the way it went. It's strange that a concept that lasted not for centuries but millennia was replaced by a mentality that labels sexuality and religion as mutually exclusive. It's also interesting to me that various religions handle sexuality in different ways. The dominant world religions treat sexuality as (at best) a distraction from the spiritual path. On the other hand, some spiritual traditions integrate sexuality into their spiritual practice. Some regard sexuality as an integral part of life, a gift to be honored and enjoyed while other view it as an evil that must be avoided at all costs. And somewhere between the total enjoyment of sexuality and that of abstinence lies the middle ground of rules that govern sexual activity. I drew upon all I’ve encountered in the past and how they relate to this concept and realized that it is very much viewed in a different light depending on where you’re coming from. Whether it be Christianity and Islam’s vow of celibacy outside the context of a marriage, Socrates’ persistence that the body hinders the arrival at truth because of sexual desire, or a Jehovah’s witness I met on a bus once who proudly proclaimed he was dating 7 girls at the same time to fulfill his religion it slowly started to dawn on me that this definitely wasn’t a black and white issue.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Ma bookstore lacking on bullshit
The bookstore is out of “on bullshit” again and I’m starting to get the sense that acquiring and reading this little essay is going to prove to be extremely anti-climactic after all this “waitin…. and wishin… and hopin… and prayin” (sung to a tune of a musical or movie or something whose name eludes me now). I bought “Fear and Trembling” by Soren Kierkegaard instead who asks: “If there were no eternal consciousness in a (wo)man, if at the bottom of everything, there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair?”. I’ve been toying with all sorts of basic philosophical ideas but am finding within them extreme complexity. On my last visit to the bookstore before today I picked up a little golden book that read “Truth”. I will admit that though any philosophy lover knows the topic has been done to death and the chances of reading anything “new” on the subject are slim to none, I couldn’t resist the urge to own the little cute thing. I wanted to own the golden “Truth”. Strange on its own everyone knows you can’t really own truth and if for arguments sake you could there wouldn’t be A golden truth, they’re subjective. Regardless, though pretty, as anticipated, the book delivered absolutely nothing new. Examining the reasons why we value truth and how the lack of it in our lives creates a disorder, a realm where nothing is verifiable, where outcome can not be predicted and trust is lacking. Giving credit where it’s due, I should say that the author did touch on ONE interesting point however. Is truth out there and waiting to be discovered or is it internalized relative to our reality? This made me question if anyone can really arrive at the truth or are we all constrained and controlled by our innate nature and belief system. Can anyone really find a truth they are unwilling to see when they do not have the belief system already in place for them to arrive at a conclusion extremely different from the one they were previously at? Or was Socrates completely right when he said that in order for us to attain the truth we must rid ourselves of the hindrance that is our body? …..
Purgitory
Call it extreme enlightenment or boredom, whichever suites your fancy depending on your personality's inclination towards the hole or the doughnut, it occurred to me that the Eagles' hotel California and U2's Stuck in a moment are both strokes of genius. Not because they've been played out to death and the melodies are resonate in your mind long after the song is done but because of their ability to capture the "in between". Its easy to write a song about your masochistic love affair and how u drilled a wire through your cheek (blue October), or about how you decided to teach your cheating boyfriend a lesson by digging your key into the side of his supped up 4 wheel drive, carving your name into his leather seats, taking a Louisville slugger to both headlights and slashing a hole in all 4 tires (Carrie Underwood), or how with every word, every smile, every glance, every caress you come closer to the water drinking your lovers kisses (Lhasa De Sela), or how when she kisses you everyone sighs and though u close your eyes you see la vie en rose (Louis Armstrong). BUT how many times do you hear a song, or read a book, or watch a movie about the calm between the storms, the dullness between the winter and spring, the uneventful mundane between amazing success and subzero failure? If you think about it you’ll be able to relate this idea of purgatory to different aspects of everything . You’ll soon see that we spend most of our lives neither here nor there. Toying with shades of grey. Not 100% happy nor a 100% dissatisfied. We linger between the photos we take capturing one memorable moment and the next. We reminisce about relationships that have long since left our lives. We hang out watching the tide roll away and in the midst of it all babies continue to cry over spilt milk. In the comfort of realizing that all things stall, idle, pause and linger I have discovered a new found affinity for the "in between".
Friday, March 16, 2007
"Bechara" Ned (Poor Ned)
Conversations of pets and animal habits over coffee last weekend reminded me of a story from my childhood I’d totally forgotten about. I’d engaged in many ridiculously WRONG actions and I figure it’s time to confess.
So… voila:
I went to boarding school from grades 7- 9 here in Canada while my parents lived across the Atlantic somewhere. My brother and I would make this journey across the seas twice a year, once at Christmas time and once during the summer. My little sister, way too young to be at boarding school, remained with my parents and would miss us immensely. So the first summer back my brother and I convened at the shopping centre to buy a gift for our younger sister. I must have been 14 at the most and he was 11. We scoured the mall for hours upon hours in an attempt to find something within the budget we’d set out for this endeavor. One can only imagine this amount was peanuts. So after coming to the conclusion that we couldn’t afford anything of value we decided to step into the pet store to check out the puppies. To our pleasant surprise they had hamsters on sale for exactly $6 dollars. Mind you these were vermin who had over fluffed fur but we didn’t care at the time. AWWW how cute its soft and cuddly and its alive. Our excitement reached its peak when we realized with our change not only did we get food for the furry fellow but could manage to get a shiny red cage for him/ her as well! We got back home just in time to catch our shuttle ride to the airport. Bags packed and cage wrapped, my brother and I faced an unplanned obstacle. How would we carry this hamster into the airplane across the Atlantic and into our parents home? Being the “genius” that I am, I figured I’d give it a sleeping pill.. put it in a make up bag or something of the likes in my carry on luggage and life would be good! Course a full sleeping pill might kill the poor thing so I only gave it half… it worked like a charm… we got past airport security don’t ask me how this was obviously pre insanity associated with air travel… buts still I absolutely have noooooooo clue how I managed to get past the sensors without being told that this was a crime of sorts. So there we are on our cross Atlantic flight enjoying the food that comes in those wonderful tin containers when all of a sudden I notice the pouch moving… I immediately start panicking… shiting my pants actually. But I figure the bag is heavy duty enough and it should keep him or her in place till we landed… Having put my “genius” self at ease with this faulty logic, so I decide to take a nap. All of a sudden I wake up to this commotion in the air cabin and my brother is literally in mid air as he pounces on something that is running on the ground. He lands on top of the poor thing and manages not to hurt it.. But the cabin crew has noticed that something is fishy is going on and so come over to see what the commotion was about. I still don’t understand how no one saw the thing run across the floor. Or how no one screamed. Either way, he gets up and goes… “ I was afraid my teddy would fly away” at which point the stewardess smiles with this “he’s so cute with his big eyes” look on her face and brings him back to the seat. He exclaims “you should have given it the whole Pill!” he’s left holding the hamster the rest of the way which, luckily, was approximately half an hour. We land… get out of the airport without a single person questioning the fuzzy ball in his hand… we get home and give the hamster to our sister who is ecstatic. And so we feel this sense of joy come over us as we we’d survived a difficult mission. She named her Ned. She wouldn’t have it any other way even though we repeatedly mentioned the fact that she was a she not a he. A couple of days later we started to notice noises in the middle of the night. It was “Ned”. She was gnawing at the inside of her cage attempting her next escape and in the process keeping us up with the squeaking and scratching her teeth would make on the metal. That summer I d remember distinctly making evil du3a2s every night before bed about that poor thing. When it finally died 2 summers later I couldn’t help but feel responsible. My sister mourned the death with great emotion. She planned a funeral and a ceremony and everything. For two years to come she’d remember the day she died and say she missed her. I have never had the heart to tell my sister about all the horrible things I’d wished upon Ned.
So… voila:
I went to boarding school from grades 7- 9 here in Canada while my parents lived across the Atlantic somewhere. My brother and I would make this journey across the seas twice a year, once at Christmas time and once during the summer. My little sister, way too young to be at boarding school, remained with my parents and would miss us immensely. So the first summer back my brother and I convened at the shopping centre to buy a gift for our younger sister. I must have been 14 at the most and he was 11. We scoured the mall for hours upon hours in an attempt to find something within the budget we’d set out for this endeavor. One can only imagine this amount was peanuts. So after coming to the conclusion that we couldn’t afford anything of value we decided to step into the pet store to check out the puppies. To our pleasant surprise they had hamsters on sale for exactly $6 dollars. Mind you these were vermin who had over fluffed fur but we didn’t care at the time. AWWW how cute its soft and cuddly and its alive. Our excitement reached its peak when we realized with our change not only did we get food for the furry fellow but could manage to get a shiny red cage for him/ her as well! We got back home just in time to catch our shuttle ride to the airport. Bags packed and cage wrapped, my brother and I faced an unplanned obstacle. How would we carry this hamster into the airplane across the Atlantic and into our parents home? Being the “genius” that I am, I figured I’d give it a sleeping pill.. put it in a make up bag or something of the likes in my carry on luggage and life would be good! Course a full sleeping pill might kill the poor thing so I only gave it half… it worked like a charm… we got past airport security don’t ask me how this was obviously pre insanity associated with air travel… buts still I absolutely have noooooooo clue how I managed to get past the sensors without being told that this was a crime of sorts. So there we are on our cross Atlantic flight enjoying the food that comes in those wonderful tin containers when all of a sudden I notice the pouch moving… I immediately start panicking… shiting my pants actually. But I figure the bag is heavy duty enough and it should keep him or her in place till we landed… Having put my “genius” self at ease with this faulty logic, so I decide to take a nap. All of a sudden I wake up to this commotion in the air cabin and my brother is literally in mid air as he pounces on something that is running on the ground. He lands on top of the poor thing and manages not to hurt it.. But the cabin crew has noticed that something is fishy is going on and so come over to see what the commotion was about. I still don’t understand how no one saw the thing run across the floor. Or how no one screamed. Either way, he gets up and goes… “ I was afraid my teddy would fly away” at which point the stewardess smiles with this “he’s so cute with his big eyes” look on her face and brings him back to the seat. He exclaims “you should have given it the whole Pill!” he’s left holding the hamster the rest of the way which, luckily, was approximately half an hour. We land… get out of the airport without a single person questioning the fuzzy ball in his hand… we get home and give the hamster to our sister who is ecstatic. And so we feel this sense of joy come over us as we we’d survived a difficult mission. She named her Ned. She wouldn’t have it any other way even though we repeatedly mentioned the fact that she was a she not a he. A couple of days later we started to notice noises in the middle of the night. It was “Ned”. She was gnawing at the inside of her cage attempting her next escape and in the process keeping us up with the squeaking and scratching her teeth would make on the metal. That summer I d remember distinctly making evil du3a2s every night before bed about that poor thing. When it finally died 2 summers later I couldn’t help but feel responsible. My sister mourned the death with great emotion. She planned a funeral and a ceremony and everything. For two years to come she’d remember the day she died and say she missed her. I have never had the heart to tell my sister about all the horrible things I’d wished upon Ned.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
cause for concern?
I’m not certain if I should be a little concerned for how I oogle, ohh and aww every time I walk into a camera store.
I often catch myself salivating at the sight of a beautifully endowed 8 mega pixel Kodak or Nikon. Mental comparisons of size versus zoom capabilities leave me flustered and a little embarrassed when my thought process is interrupted. I get caught up in this whirlwind of imagination and possibility. The glimmering silver and sexy black casing has me inebriated with glee. I can’t help but feel like the LCD screens look at me with yearning as if to scream out “Use and abuse me! I’ll satisfy you”. I'll often ask to see or hold a camera I like in my hand. I play with it like I'm taking a photo sideways, diagonally and vertically. It's precisely at the moment when my heart skips a beat and I decide "I MUST OWN" this camera that i feel bad for the camera I have back home. It's treated me so well. So what if it's a little out of date and clunky. I haven't fully learnt to appreciate it. There is a wonderful comfort that comes with familiarity.... Why then do I take that for granted? And as my heart fills with empathy and fondness for my camera I give back the sales woman the newer shinier, prettier, quicker, more technology savvy one and walk away. I instead smile at the prospect of perhaps filling a picture frame with the fruits of my trustworthy baby.
I often catch myself salivating at the sight of a beautifully endowed 8 mega pixel Kodak or Nikon. Mental comparisons of size versus zoom capabilities leave me flustered and a little embarrassed when my thought process is interrupted. I get caught up in this whirlwind of imagination and possibility. The glimmering silver and sexy black casing has me inebriated with glee. I can’t help but feel like the LCD screens look at me with yearning as if to scream out “Use and abuse me! I’ll satisfy you”. I'll often ask to see or hold a camera I like in my hand. I play with it like I'm taking a photo sideways, diagonally and vertically. It's precisely at the moment when my heart skips a beat and I decide "I MUST OWN" this camera that i feel bad for the camera I have back home. It's treated me so well. So what if it's a little out of date and clunky. I haven't fully learnt to appreciate it. There is a wonderful comfort that comes with familiarity.... Why then do I take that for granted? And as my heart fills with empathy and fondness for my camera I give back the sales woman the newer shinier, prettier, quicker, more technology savvy one and walk away. I instead smile at the prospect of perhaps filling a picture frame with the fruits of my trustworthy baby.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tagged
I was tagged by N ages upon ages ago:
list 5 things we dont know about u.
1) Nothing grosses me out more than a fallen strand of hair on my wet skin after a shower. I involuntarily make an Ekhhh face and convulse as I get 2ash3areera/ shivers down my spine.
2) I’m terrified of becoming a has been that’s never actually been.
3) I once slept for 2 days and one night straight.
4) I used to have two orangutans as pets. Sam and Sheila.
5) Hands are my one vice. My one superficial condition. They say so much about a person’s past and present. I can forgo anything but a man with prettier, better kept hands than mine or conversely entirely unkept hands is a definite turn off.
list 5 things we dont know about u.
1) Nothing grosses me out more than a fallen strand of hair on my wet skin after a shower. I involuntarily make an Ekhhh face and convulse as I get 2ash3areera/ shivers down my spine.
2) I’m terrified of becoming a has been that’s never actually been.
3) I once slept for 2 days and one night straight.
4) I used to have two orangutans as pets. Sam and Sheila.
5) Hands are my one vice. My one superficial condition. They say so much about a person’s past and present. I can forgo anything but a man with prettier, better kept hands than mine or conversely entirely unkept hands is a definite turn off.
The universe
The universe has this wonderful way of setting you straight sometimes. Just when you stop expecting and come to terms with your reality it finds a way to make a mockery of your understanding of how things are or how they should be. It’s at moments like these that I love the universe most. I haven’t quite figured out if this its way of balancing the scales and giving everyone their fair share or if I’m just far too much of a dreamer, over reader and over analyzer. Do the events really fit into a grand picture or is it just random chaos? Better still is it chaos ruled by order? Comes off as an oxymoron of sorts but I think I like this description best.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I hate myself this morning
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for crying on the phone
I hate myself this morning for letting you know that I feel alone
I hate myself this morning for depriving myself of sleep
I hate myself this morning for conversations far from deep
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for ending up where I said I wouldn’t
I hate myself this morning for doing what I always thought I couldn’t
I hate myself this morning for selling myself short
I hate myself this morning for not sticking to mission abort
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for being caught off guard
I hate myself this morning for my blatant disregard
I hate myself this morning for being such a suck
I hate myself this morning for not wishing you good luck
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for thinking I’m Doctor Seuss
I hate myself this morning for being your ego’s devout masseuse
I hate myself this morning for words I twist and contort
I hate myself this morning for all the deceit that needs a sieve to sort
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for being angry at the world and it being cruel
I hate myself this morning for playing the role of the pandering fool
I hate myself this morning for feeling this crappy way
I hate myself this morning for letting the drama ruin the play
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for crying on the phone
I hate myself this morning for letting you know that I feel alone
I hate myself this morning for depriving myself of sleep
I hate myself this morning for conversations far from deep
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for ending up where I said I wouldn’t
I hate myself this morning for doing what I always thought I couldn’t
I hate myself this morning for selling myself short
I hate myself this morning for not sticking to mission abort
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for being caught off guard
I hate myself this morning for my blatant disregard
I hate myself this morning for being such a suck
I hate myself this morning for not wishing you good luck
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for thinking I’m Doctor Seuss
I hate myself this morning for being your ego’s devout masseuse
I hate myself this morning for words I twist and contort
I hate myself this morning for all the deceit that needs a sieve to sort
I hate myself this morning
I think I must confess
I hate myself this morning
I’m afraid I can’t digress
I hate myself this morning for being angry at the world and it being cruel
I hate myself this morning for playing the role of the pandering fool
I hate myself this morning for feeling this crappy way
I hate myself this morning for letting the drama ruin the play
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Forget
Forget Cadbury,
Hallmark,
De Sade,
Brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz.
The calories,
corny lines,
sleazy eroticism,
chiseled chins
and the kissable lips.
Forget commercialism,
Forced emotions
And the pressure to give
The Dutch roses,
Marquise diamonds
and lingerie you’ll surely outlive
Forget construction paper,
stickers and glue.
The dusty scrapbook,
pictures and
the nostalgia that fills you
Forget the search,
the road to elderado
and Aphrodite’s spell
Forget stories of love
you might not live long enough
to concoct and tell
Forget the tantalizing,
shiney crap that Hollywood trys to sell
They’re nothing but fantasies
that from the shelves of reality fell.
So forget Cadbury,
hallmark,
de Sade,
brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz
You and I both know
that if love chose a home,
The Abyss of ur heart and soul is where its bound to exist.
Hallmark,
De Sade,
Brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz.
The calories,
corny lines,
sleazy eroticism,
chiseled chins
and the kissable lips.
Forget commercialism,
Forced emotions
And the pressure to give
The Dutch roses,
Marquise diamonds
and lingerie you’ll surely outlive
Forget construction paper,
stickers and glue.
The dusty scrapbook,
pictures and
the nostalgia that fills you
Forget the search,
the road to elderado
and Aphrodite’s spell
Forget stories of love
you might not live long enough
to concoct and tell
Forget the tantalizing,
shiney crap that Hollywood trys to sell
They’re nothing but fantasies
that from the shelves of reality fell.
So forget Cadbury,
hallmark,
de Sade,
brad Pitt
and Ahmed Ezz
You and I both know
that if love chose a home,
The Abyss of ur heart and soul is where its bound to exist.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Fun as Fungus can be!
I get home last night to the sound of a typical documentary voice. You know the type, a bit of an accent from somewhere or the other (I’m assuming it’s fake or put on), usually a male’s voice who, in the back of his mind I’m sure knows that everyone listening to him wants to reach for a shotgun in order to create a master piece of blood and gore on the strategically placed wall facing the TV set. I momentarily block out his voice and am drawn to the scene captured by a camera that seems to be traveling up the trunk of an endlessly long tree. It was kind of like that cartoon based on jack and the bean stock, where jack climbs the gigantic bean stock past the clouds and all sorts of levels of heaven before getting to the giants house.
“Oh wow! How tall is THAT tree?! Ha! That S%*t is whack!” Mind you I’m alone in the room at this point and so random thoughts and questions thrown at inanimate objects make perfect sense. And in response I hear a voice that goes. “Isn’t that crazy? It grows up to 8 meters a year and they say it lives for ages too.” I don’t give a second’s thought as to how or why I got an answer when I spoke to the TV but instead ponder the possibilities of a fridge that comes in the same make and model.
“Where’s the mayo?”
“second row on the left.”
I laugh to myself as the thought “puts a whole new spin on the words full options...doesn’t it?” lit in neon lights dance around in my head. Snapping out of the oblivion that is my mind, I am fixated on the beauty of it all. More and more drawn to the images of the rainforest and the fact that these trees, these gorgeous endless miles of green, are what both consume gallons upon gallons of water but also create it as well. I allow the voice of the presenter to infiltrate my ears and he is no longer white noise.
“The rain forests receive up to 2 meters of rainfall a year, and the trees create half that amount”
It was after I’d developed this bond with fake accent presenter man and the incredibly well shot documentary that I learnt lots and lots. I find it’s not so much what I see or hear that shows me the world from a different perspective but it’s my taking it all in and reflecting on it in comparison to the world around me.
There was this one scene of a pack of chimpanzees that reminded me of human atrocities committed in times of war. Moving in perfect alignment through the foliage enroute to the scene of an ambush where another pack of unaware chimpanzees were going about their business eating their fruits. They stopped and listened all at the same time. One chimpanzee traveled up ahead to check out what was going on and with a nod of his/her head signaled to the rest of the pack that it they needed to move forward. Their strategy was to create as much noise and commotion as possible when they attacked. Screaming and banging on the trunks of trees they seemed like a cocky crazed enemy invading a country with way less men than could possibly over through the current rule. Rape and pillage were the only way to describe it. A female chimpanzee was lucky to have escaped with her life only after being rapped. Another young chimpanzee was killed and most disturbing of all eaten just to set an example I’m guessing. When you see these things in a rainforest you can’t help but think it justifiable because they are animals but the comparison and similarity of which they reminded me of people was most unsettling.
With a moment of silence and a musical interlude fake accent presenter dude’s attention shifts to the coolest fungus out there! Mr wilson’s cabinate of wonders describes it like this:
“Large ants survive by foraging for food among the fallen leaves and undergrowth
of the extraordinarily rich rain-forest floor.
On occasion, while foraging for food ants will become infected by inhaling the microscopic spore of a fungus from the genus Tomentella, millions of which rain down upon the forest floor from somewhere in the canopy above. Upon being inhaled, the spore lodges itself
inside the ant’s tiny brain and immediately begins to grow, quickly fomenting bizarre behavioral changes in its ant host. The creature appears troubled and confused, and presently, for the first time in its life, it leaves the forest floor and begins an arduous climb up the stalks of vines and ferns.
Driven on and on by the still-growing fungus, the ant finally achieves a seemingly prescribed height whereupon, utterly spent, it impales the plant with its mandibles and, thus affixed, waits to die. Ants that have met their doom in this fashion are quite a common sight in certain sections of the rain forest.
The fungus, for its part, lives on. It continues to consume the brain, moving on
through the rest of the nervous system and, eventually, through all the soft tissue that remains of the ant. After approximately two weeks, a spike like protrusion erupts from out of what had once been the ant’s head. Growing to a length of about an inch and a half, the spike features a bright orange tip, heavy-laden with spores, which now begin to rain down onto the forest floor for other unsuspecting ants to inhale.”
Its crazy… totally totally crazy. So out of a scifi movie check it out.
“Oh wow! How tall is THAT tree?! Ha! That S%*t is whack!” Mind you I’m alone in the room at this point and so random thoughts and questions thrown at inanimate objects make perfect sense. And in response I hear a voice that goes. “Isn’t that crazy? It grows up to 8 meters a year and they say it lives for ages too.” I don’t give a second’s thought as to how or why I got an answer when I spoke to the TV but instead ponder the possibilities of a fridge that comes in the same make and model.
“Where’s the mayo?”
“second row on the left.”
I laugh to myself as the thought “puts a whole new spin on the words full options...doesn’t it?” lit in neon lights dance around in my head. Snapping out of the oblivion that is my mind, I am fixated on the beauty of it all. More and more drawn to the images of the rainforest and the fact that these trees, these gorgeous endless miles of green, are what both consume gallons upon gallons of water but also create it as well. I allow the voice of the presenter to infiltrate my ears and he is no longer white noise.
“The rain forests receive up to 2 meters of rainfall a year, and the trees create half that amount”
It was after I’d developed this bond with fake accent presenter man and the incredibly well shot documentary that I learnt lots and lots. I find it’s not so much what I see or hear that shows me the world from a different perspective but it’s my taking it all in and reflecting on it in comparison to the world around me.
There was this one scene of a pack of chimpanzees that reminded me of human atrocities committed in times of war. Moving in perfect alignment through the foliage enroute to the scene of an ambush where another pack of unaware chimpanzees were going about their business eating their fruits. They stopped and listened all at the same time. One chimpanzee traveled up ahead to check out what was going on and with a nod of his/her head signaled to the rest of the pack that it they needed to move forward. Their strategy was to create as much noise and commotion as possible when they attacked. Screaming and banging on the trunks of trees they seemed like a cocky crazed enemy invading a country with way less men than could possibly over through the current rule. Rape and pillage were the only way to describe it. A female chimpanzee was lucky to have escaped with her life only after being rapped. Another young chimpanzee was killed and most disturbing of all eaten just to set an example I’m guessing. When you see these things in a rainforest you can’t help but think it justifiable because they are animals but the comparison and similarity of which they reminded me of people was most unsettling.
With a moment of silence and a musical interlude fake accent presenter dude’s attention shifts to the coolest fungus out there! Mr wilson’s cabinate of wonders describes it like this:
“Large ants survive by foraging for food among the fallen leaves and undergrowth
of the extraordinarily rich rain-forest floor.
On occasion, while foraging for food ants will become infected by inhaling the microscopic spore of a fungus from the genus Tomentella, millions of which rain down upon the forest floor from somewhere in the canopy above. Upon being inhaled, the spore lodges itself
inside the ant’s tiny brain and immediately begins to grow, quickly fomenting bizarre behavioral changes in its ant host. The creature appears troubled and confused, and presently, for the first time in its life, it leaves the forest floor and begins an arduous climb up the stalks of vines and ferns.
Driven on and on by the still-growing fungus, the ant finally achieves a seemingly prescribed height whereupon, utterly spent, it impales the plant with its mandibles and, thus affixed, waits to die. Ants that have met their doom in this fashion are quite a common sight in certain sections of the rain forest.
The fungus, for its part, lives on. It continues to consume the brain, moving on
through the rest of the nervous system and, eventually, through all the soft tissue that remains of the ant. After approximately two weeks, a spike like protrusion erupts from out of what had once been the ant’s head. Growing to a length of about an inch and a half, the spike features a bright orange tip, heavy-laden with spores, which now begin to rain down onto the forest floor for other unsuspecting ants to inhale.”
Its crazy… totally totally crazy. So out of a scifi movie check it out.
Friday, January 19, 2007
On being girlie and such
Reason to rejoice for being female.
- The inexplicable joy found in a brilliantly shiny coat of fresh nail polish.
- The choice between shorts, pants, skirts, dresses, overalls, t-shirts, blouses, tank tops, tube tops, halter tops, flip flops, stilettos, boots, penny loafers, slip-ons and sneakers.
- The option to add color to ones cheeks or bring out the color of their eyes.
- The satisfaction of knowing you have an unsurpassed threshold for pain but are ok with sobbing shamelessly should you feel the need.
- The ability to multitask.
- The ability to function on minimal sleep.
- The ability to make things pretty.
- The natural mastery in the soothing powers of being tactile.
- Experiencing the miracle of having something grow inside you.
- Having a purse that contains something for any kind of emergency. Wet wipes for sticky situations, a tide pen for messes and spills, a book in case of severe boredom, candy in the case of low blood pressure and last but not least a pen to write the words “help me” should you find yourself in a taxi cab that refuses to stop.
Reason’s to curse the day you discovered you had no Willy.
1) Hair removal and the male’s inability to understand just how painful this damn process is.
2) Body parts that manage to get in the way each and every single time you hope, pray, desire whatever you spill misses you on its way to the floor.
3) Having to pee sitting down
4) Never knowing the feeling of having someone bounce off your chest, should u decide to take that approach, without having them smirk lamely when you step up to them and go “don’t mess with me”.
5) Knowing that the inevitable end to having something grow inside you is having to force it back out again but with the added perk of it being a gazzilion times bigger. Think Water melons and lemons.
Monday, January 15, 2007
A Hypothetical "what if"
Short but sweet.
100% out of a book I read somewhere but can’t remember where in order to properly give props. I should say I tweaked it a little for fun in order to inspire my creativity. Let’s see how you do with it. The scenario goes like this.
Imagine the effects of a deadly disease that is both incurable and smart. Much like different strains of the flu bug it warps in form and so makes the development of a vaccine impossible. This disease however varies from the regular variety because it is carried through sound. Fluctuating in pitch it can essentially be transmitted through anything humans can hear. What are the effects of such a disease on present and future society?
Here are some of the things the author came up with:
· Commercialization of sound. We’d have to buy our news and music from a secure source with labels that read : Do not listen if seal is broken.
· Every day things like the hum of a fridge or the popping of popcorn inevitably carry a threat.
What I came up with:
· We become more and more isolated as individuals and further play up the idea that we think we’re alone in being alone.
· Expressions of anger, happiness or flintiness no longer have a toll. We’ll have to find other ways to express ourselves.
· Verbally expressing yourself will be considered vulgar and low class.
· A mass subculture of unfiltered music junkies will emerge, people will meet at shady places to get their fix of unfiltered sounds
· Musicians will become equated with serial killers and I imagine they’ll soon supersede dentists and become the profession with the highest suicide rate.
· On the long run the extinction of music will inevitably have an effect on our history. Many a nation have carried on tradition in song and dance.
· People at nightclubs will be viewed like those tribes that gather round the fire to shake to the beat of a drum
· The entertainment/cinema industry will have to resort to alternate methods like vibrations in their chairs or quick flashes of light. People eventually pick up on a language that denotes “I love you” with a long buzz then two short ones and anger with a large bright sudden flash of light.
· Written music will become like Latin, audibly long gone but still present on paper.
· If you’re an evolution believer then we’d eventually evolve into humans without ears. A body part that serves no function will surely become useless. Except for balance purposes that is.
· We’d have to find a way to muzzle every sort of animal that makes noise in our lives. Not only would be implementing the rules on ourselves but now we’re interfering with other species’ forms of communications.
100% out of a book I read somewhere but can’t remember where in order to properly give props. I should say I tweaked it a little for fun in order to inspire my creativity. Let’s see how you do with it. The scenario goes like this.
Imagine the effects of a deadly disease that is both incurable and smart. Much like different strains of the flu bug it warps in form and so makes the development of a vaccine impossible. This disease however varies from the regular variety because it is carried through sound. Fluctuating in pitch it can essentially be transmitted through anything humans can hear. What are the effects of such a disease on present and future society?
Here are some of the things the author came up with:
· Commercialization of sound. We’d have to buy our news and music from a secure source with labels that read : Do not listen if seal is broken.
· Every day things like the hum of a fridge or the popping of popcorn inevitably carry a threat.
What I came up with:
· We become more and more isolated as individuals and further play up the idea that we think we’re alone in being alone.
· Expressions of anger, happiness or flintiness no longer have a toll. We’ll have to find other ways to express ourselves.
· Verbally expressing yourself will be considered vulgar and low class.
· A mass subculture of unfiltered music junkies will emerge, people will meet at shady places to get their fix of unfiltered sounds
· Musicians will become equated with serial killers and I imagine they’ll soon supersede dentists and become the profession with the highest suicide rate.
· On the long run the extinction of music will inevitably have an effect on our history. Many a nation have carried on tradition in song and dance.
· People at nightclubs will be viewed like those tribes that gather round the fire to shake to the beat of a drum
· The entertainment/cinema industry will have to resort to alternate methods like vibrations in their chairs or quick flashes of light. People eventually pick up on a language that denotes “I love you” with a long buzz then two short ones and anger with a large bright sudden flash of light.
· Written music will become like Latin, audibly long gone but still present on paper.
· If you’re an evolution believer then we’d eventually evolve into humans without ears. A body part that serves no function will surely become useless. Except for balance purposes that is.
· We’d have to find a way to muzzle every sort of animal that makes noise in our lives. Not only would be implementing the rules on ourselves but now we’re interfering with other species’ forms of communications.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Intangible for a reason
The next time someone asks you why they can’t find or have the perfect life, job, lover, car or outfit run this by them. Ideas of perfection are only perfect until they materialize. It’s almost as though perfection and existence in a TANGIBLE form are two characteristics that are never found in application to the same idea person or object.
Take the perfect circle as an example. It’s only perfect as an idea, a thought, or a definition. Attempt to put your pencil down on a piece of paper to make visually existent and it instantly becomes imperfect. There will never be a pencil sharp enough, a compass accurate enough, or a sheet of paper flat enough to create it. Seeking perfection is a lost cause.
Take the perfect circle as an example. It’s only perfect as an idea, a thought, or a definition. Attempt to put your pencil down on a piece of paper to make visually existent and it instantly becomes imperfect. There will never be a pencil sharp enough, a compass accurate enough, or a sheet of paper flat enough to create it. Seeking perfection is a lost cause.
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