to sing goodnight to
I am absolutely adoring Marvin Pontiac’s No Kids. The layering is lovely in the second verse (or is it the chorus?). I think it’s difficult to say it in songwriting these days, like “Where is my mom?” and “I have some pain,” so this is very refreshing.
And because I must leave Rachel Ray’s scarf fiasco to my Dad, her biggest fan, I suppose I’ll turn to poetry instead and include some newish poem here. I don’t know why I’m having trouble breaking lines all of a sudden. It might be because I’m pushing toward the new year of non-fiction writing.
HIGH CULTURE: A PILCROW
In the lower worlds, where all things are slowed but not gone, they take the old diseases and give them new names. Suffering is a human cholera. It takes the nape of a child. Turns the skin in on itself. It’s easier to watch a skeleton become a skeleton after all. Who am I to question water’s holiness? Dip two fingers in. Take it to the forehead, chest, shoulder to shoulder. Take a rainforest by the mouth and see if it is a blessing then. In Yellowstone, half the bison herd died this winter. Herds once in ten millions that survived since prehistory on the grasses starved to death on the mountainsides. Or, animals of instinct, left the park for food and ended face to the slaughter cull. The bodies are sunken now. Thawing in the sulfur pits. Steam rising over their hides like claws.
HYSTERICAL WOMEN ON LOOSE—GET THE HOSES
In the Victorian era, nearly 25% of all women were diagnosed with “female hysteria,” for an array of symptoms, but especially the tendency to cause trouble. Though the diagnosis no longer exists in a medical sense, there is still a persistent, albeit unsaid social diagnosis with much of the same implications as in the 19th century. It really has permeated popular culture (and literary culture—as I have often seen discussed in Women’s Lit. theory books). And I haven’t thought about it for a while, until last night when I saw on CNN this graphic headline covering the Kentucky primary:
ANGRY WOMEN GATHER TO VOTE FOR CLINTON
Really CNN?
Did this graphic get bumped at the last minute?
or this photo?
This whole election coverage has become so distasteful. As someone who has a picture of my dad and Walter Cronkite hanging on my bedroom wall, I can barely even watch the evening news anymore. At this point I don’t care who wins the Democratic nomination. Obama is really inspiring and I think he would really make a great President, a Kennedy hope even. But I’m also really glad that, as James Carville pointed out last week, Hillary hasn’t just given up yet, which has become a kind of plague of the Democratic party of late. Hopefully, though, these kind of little disasters will be over soon, and the gender and race faux pas that have gotten pretty ugly can get cleaned up before November.
on knowing the secret behind a smile
So today Starbucks made the big switchover to the Pike Place roast, which is what they served 37 years ago in the first Starbucks in Pike Place Market in Seattle.
It represents the best of who we are, according to the press release this morning. If I saw that statement come through in a rough draft I would write “vague” or “maybe a little more detail here.”
The friendly fellow at the drive through, however, regaled me with how this brew will totally. be. the. best. coffee. ever.
I told him it was my birthday. He said, well then this coffee will be a birthday wish come true. I told him that my real wish would be for Starbucks to institute a two line policy: express line and frappuccino line. The first for the people ordering the skinny soy brownie mocha sprinkle honeysuckle cheery blossom iced hazelnut frappuccinos. And then the second line for the gal or fellow that just wants to get a cup of coffee. That truly would be a birthday miracle. Though I suppose with the sun blinking through the clouds, finally, and a pretty delicious Pike Place coffee, I won’t complain. Though at 28 I am officially getting old now, so I think I am in the beginning stages of legitimized grouchiness.
Sarah M. got me a ticket to go see Josh with her when he is in Athens on May 3rd. Even though big, burly bodyguards have to protect him with tasers and billy clubs from rabid fans when he plays in places up north or in Ireland, I don’t think he’s very well known down here. So, it could be a great opportunity for me to rush the stage and chop a lock of his hair. Or maybe just see him up close and take some good pictures. Yes, that would be more appropriate.
And in other music news, am loving the new Cut Copy:
torches of/for totalitarianism
Yesterday, Pro-Tibet demonstrators, Reporters Without Boarders, disrupted the lighting of the Olympic torch in Athens. They were there to protest the Chinese government’s actions in Tibet. While some people were carried away from the podium, one woman doused herself in red paint, and fell down in the middle of the road. It reminds me of Mary Oliver’s poem about Tecumseh:
I would like to paint my body red
go out into the glittering snow to die.
And in other, similar news, many of the world’s top Marathon runners are boycotting the games altogether (including Haile Gebrselassie, world record holder), out of protest for the grave environmental problems in Beijing, or simple fear for their respiratory health.
Does anyone see a Clusterfu#& to the Olympics John Stewart graphic in the near future?
In 1963, David Halberstam, reporting for the New York Times, wrote about Thich Quang Duc, the Buddhist monk from the Linh-Mu Pagoda in Hue, Vietnam, who set himself on fire and burned to death out of protest for the Vietnam War:
I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think…. As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound…
While I sincerely hope there are no scenes like this during the summer games, I think that these Olympics will draw some much-needed attention to some major issues. My Dad recently wrote about some of the Public Relations implications and the potential problems with advertising and sponsorships. For example, NBC has paid $2.3 billion to broadcast the Athens, Turin, and Beijing Olympics, but China has declared they will ban live broadcasts from Tiananmen Square. No one is commenting. My Dad ponders:
Wonder what happens if someone has to clear a body or two from the track
before the start of the 4×4 relay?
It’s a troubling question that I think will become more prominent in the next few weeks and months.
Also, I stole the title of my blog today, Torches of Totalitarianism, from Bill Sledzik, Public Relations Professor at Kent State University.
go girl
Still watching the pundit fall out from Hillary’s big win tonight. They’re scurrying around and trying to explain how it could have happened. Wolf Blitzer’s and Lou Dobbs’ faces are all flushed and I think that Anderson Cooper is hooked up to an IV.
Are we really still underestimating the women’s vote, and perhaps even more importantly the undecided voter? At the time of the poll opening, there were still 15% of voters saying they were undecided. Yet everyone, especially the media, bought into the pop polling that projected Hillary to lose by 8-13 points. I suppose it just goes to show that nothing is predictable in politics. Anyway I’m thrilled.
My dad pondered whether or not the clip–gone viral–of Hillary tearing up yesterday had an impact today. I can’t speak for the voters of New Hampshire, but it certainly affected me. I’ve always been a Hillary supporter, but it was really relieving to see her in this moment. I’ll post it in case you haven’t seen it yet. Looks like things will stay exciting for Super Tuesday.
around the next tree
A few days ago Kelly wrote about her reactions to Terri Jentz’s book, Strange Piece of Paradise, which I haven’t read but would like to. I’ve been talking to my classes about current event issues in preparation for their short diagnostic essay at the end of the week, and obviously the unavoidable topic is the discovery of Meredith Emerson’s body, quite near here.
I suppose I never really thought about how ingrained the fear is, in my mind at least, and in the minds of most of the women I’ve talked to about it. I can think of countless occasions of women, especially, going off into the woods, on bikes or on foot, and not ever coming back. In fact, in my last year at IU, a female student went missing in Bloomington. She was training for the Little 500. I don’t know if they ever found her body, though they did find her crumpled race bike in the woods.
And I wonder if this experience is different for men. I know that my brother goes out into the mountains to fly fish quite often. Sometimes he’s gone for days at time. Part of me is really jealous of that experience because even if I did it (and I wouldn’t), I don’t know if I would really be able to enjoy it (not alone at least), for the fear that around the next tree might be someone who will kill me.
I guess I’ll see what my students have to say in their essays.
