philosophy

How to start a war, part 2

Moriah

A tintype of 5 children, at least one of whom is dead.
“Taken from life: The unsettling art of death photography” —BBC June 5, 2016

Part 1.

Can we stipulate that people die?

In any negotiation, one must define one’s terms. The day after Bros #1 & #2, Paul and Nick, went to visit Aunts Susie and Millie, which reception was hostile to begin with, to ask about liquidating Mom’s portion of the house, and got a very hostile response, then left in a state of gasted flabbers, we tried again.

This time it involved a phone, Nick, me, and Mom in a hospital room. We called. Nick was doing the talking, and he asked the profound question and current familial meme that should be the first go-to in any situation where one is tempted to prolong the suffering of a loved one (including animals) because you can’t let go and you’re just that fucking selfish. Yes. Yes, you are.

Can we stipulate that people die?

It took them way too long to answer that question, which, for a 79-year-old and an 83-year-old, is pretty damned weird. It also creates a philosophical/theological quandary:

If you believe in a loving God and a pretty awesome afterlife even before Judgment Day, why are you afraid of dying?

Do you not believe what you profess to believe?

Where is your faith?

When blue ink is your therapist

Moriah

Look, figuring out how to get what you want is the easy part. Figuring out what you want is the hard part.

I thunk up this bit of wisdom for Magdalene (The Great Mormon Novel™) when I was rasslin’ with this concept way back in 2011. A perusal of my hard drive tells me I’ve been cogitating on this since at least 1998.

Here’s the backstory:1 Read more →

How to start a war, part 1

Moriah

The cover of William Faulkner's book AS I LAY DYING.

I’m going to air my family’s dirty laundry because the whispers, half-truths, and manipulation that have been levied against my family—particularly my mother, who is innocent in all this—with people who’ve known us 25+ years who’ve believed it and never asked for our side of the story, has pushed me past my limit. So far, I’ve only been setting the record straight privately, and even then I’m not quite believed. Protesting too much is gauche even if you’re right, so I had decided to let it go, but my second-oldest cousin’s snubbing of my mother is the last straw.
You want to slap us in the stocks on the town square, Aunt Susie? Fine. But I have a platform you don’t.

Read more →

No man is an island

Moriah

TV title sequence: GILLIGAN'S ISLAND overlying a harbor with boats moored.No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

Read more →

David Bowie’s cod and what women really want

Moriah

Wherein a women’s studies professor missed the most obvious thing about Jareth the Goblin King—and it isn’t his cod.

The movie Labyrinth (1986) is a tale of an adolescent girl’s quest/hero’s journey/sexual awakening. It’s a fantasy that features muppets good and slightly evil and everything in between. It also features David Bowie in very tight tights with his cod on obvious display. You can’t miss it—and that’s the point.
But why is it the point? Read more →

Premeditatio malorum (or, borrowing trouble)

Moriah

A Musing:

A lot of things really bad and really good have happened around Chez Moriah the last couple of years. One of the good things is that XX tax deduction has learned how to drive and is getting out and about on her own. She works only a few minutes away, so we got used to her driving to work and back. But she has an internship 20 minutes away from home, all freeway, heavily trafficked, and sometimes very windy. Today was her first day driving it by herself, and I am nervous and scared.

Read more →

Musings on the “placeholder” heroine

Moriah
A still shot of actress Patricia Heaton of the TV show THE MIDDLE buckled in the driver's seat of a car looking distressed and about to blow.
Everywoman.

I.

Except for those little moments relieved by the occasional huge moment, everyday life can be a drudgery. Whatever you are engaged in, be it work (no matter how glamorous or lucrative it is) or raising a family or fulfilling your calling at church or attaining some long-held goal (usually all of them at once), at some point, you’ll find yourself slogging through it and wondering where the magic is. Read more →

Paint the corners

Moriah

A poster for TV series PITCH, featuring a female major league baseball pitcher. It shows a young Black woman with a baseball and baseball mitt in her hands.My 10-year-old XY TD can’t wait to see Pitch. He wants to watch it because it’s something that’s never been done before, a woman pitching in MLB.1 He doesn’t see a girl. He sees himself. In her. The underdog2  3 misunderstood, not wanted or liked, basically alone with too few allies, too different to have as smooth a ride through malehood as his peers.

______________________________

1.  Or, as Dude pointed out to me last night because we’re both kind of fascinated with XY’s reaction to the series (whereas 13-year-old XX is so not) (she already knows she’s a badass), a 17-year-old girl struck out both Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig in an exhibition game and a woman hasn’t been in the MLB since.

2.  “A girl will never be able to throw hard enough to compete with boys. It’s biology and we can’t change that.” My dad told me a girl would never be able to throw a curve ball because their elbows are constructed differently from a boy’s. I don’t know if that’s true. I’m not interested enough to find out. But I was kind of shocked to hear it from someone else.

3.  I introduced him to Rocky last year. He’s now a devoted disciple of underdog movies. He gets it from his mom.

What is it about this game

Moriah

Kansas City Royals logo… that compels people to reflect and grants epiphanies like a fairy godmother?

Thirty years ago, I was at the KC Royals parade after they won the World Series. You know, George Brett. Bret Saberhagen. Those guys.

I didn’t care about baseball much before or after that, not that I was ever anything but a fan-in-name-only because I didn’t understand the game. A childhood watching Little League and trying to figure out radio announcers’ jargon tends to blunt one’s enthusiasm.

And then there was college and life and the strikes and the juicing and the Congressional hearings and who wants to get into baseball when they threw a big temper tantrum for a game that’s all fake anyway? You want more money for your steroid injections? Fuck you.

Read more →

Bas relief

Moriah

An image of karate belts tidily rolled up: white, yellow, orange, purple, blue, and green.Yesterday I threw out karate belts I earned between the ages of 18 and 20. They were musty. Hidden away, like all the stuff I haven’t found places to display yet. I like space. I value space. Open, empty space and shelves that say, “We don’t need to be filled to feel important.” What they need to be filled with is essentials for survival, but that’s another story.

A friend on Facebook asked me how I could bear to throw them away because I earned them. I see her point; they are a trophy and I did earn them. All these years I have not wanted to throw them out (if I thought about it), but something’s been changing in me for a while now, about carrying baggage and grudges.

Read more →