Le Sigh

I am teh evil person who has neglected to update their blog. Bite me.

As an interesting note, my local poetry group is doing this gig in February, in which you can read love, or anti-love poetry. I am slightly confused on this score---does this mean anti-LOVE poetry, or anti-love-POETRY? Same difference, I suppose, though I could probably complain more about love poetry, than love. Sadly, I have never fallen in love, despite the fact that I have diligently searched for someone I could fall in love with. What can I say, I'm picky!

And, what is love poetry about? Is love poetry really supposed to be about the person you are in love with, or is it about you, and how you can express your love in language? You know, the great exaltation of your love, you much you LOVELOVELOVE the person who are...in love with! As if love was a heroic exercise---like defeating a great enemy or something.

But, still...I enjoy love poetry that makes me fall in love, just a little, with the subject. I want to know that they're beautiful, even if they're not, I want to know their delicate charms, even if their charm lies in clumsiness, I want a little collections of facts that are totally irrelevant to love itself, but somehow seem to make it live.

The Tall and Short of It: Appearances

Anyone who has a visible disability. Anyone who is different---taller. Fatter. Missing a limb. Using a wheelchair. Has eyes that are two different colors. Wears clothing that differs from the norm. Anyone, in short, who attracts attention. We all know it.

I was perusing an interesting post on the blog, Feministing. http://feministing.com/archives/006185.html

It was written by a tall woman. Taller, in fact, than many men. And one paticular paragraph caught my eye

"I've come to realize that I can learn a lot about people I meet by how they react to my height. Lately, having just moved to a new place, this has been happening a lot. Most of them will wait until the second or third time we've hung out to casually insert into conversation, "So.... how tall are you exactly?" This is a question I realize probably occurred to this person within the first few minutes of our meeting, and the time elapsed until they ask it aloud is the time it took them to feel comfortable around me."

Anyone is slightly unusual or different recognizes this situation. You're causally chatting with a stranger, in line, or you both just happened to be surveying the grocery store's array of pickles, and they started to talk. Then, comes the moment. Their voice becomes just slightly apologetic or embaressed, and their eyes flick from your face to the pickles, and back again. And then they ask,

"So...why do...what happened...how did...I hope you don't mind but I wondered....is it hard to X when you're Y?"

Or:

"I knew someone like you once, and they..."

Sometimes I don't care. But more and more, I just get this tight clenching in my stomach, and I want to get my pickles and abandon them in mid-sentence. The realization that this whole time, they were just working up the courage to ask you a question, a question that you've probably answered dozens, or even hundreds of times before. You realize that, to this person, no matter how polite or kind, you are reduced to your missing hand or your wheelchair. Your clothing. They noticed that you were different, and that was all.

You glibly answer the question---the answer has been rehearsed and acted out so many times that you can get it under a minute by now. You try to be soothing. Underlying your words, a slight panic, and reassuring messages.

Don't be afraid of me.

I'm not that different.

Really, I'm just like you.

If you succeed, they relax, you chat for a minute or two more, you get your pickles, and you leave. But sounding in your mind again is that eternal message: you're different, you're different, and that scares me. You're different, and I'm unsure if you're really quite human like the rest of us.

Some people never manage to work up the courage, and they stare at you from around a corner, or from the corner of their eyes. Sometimes, your eyes meet, and they stare blankly for a moment, startled. Then they jerk away, quickly assuming a causal, I wasn't staring at you face.

Some people translate their fear into mockery, or rudeness. I was in the mall, and a boy, passing with his buddies, called out, "Hey Amish!" I was surprised enough that I didn't say anything; either about his jerkiness or his improper grammar. I am not Amish. The Amish don't deserve to have their name used as an insult.

Another time, a college age guy felt that it was appropriate to, as I was sitting, obviously reading in a Barnes and Noble, call out "Amish?" Next time, I might just yell back, "Stupid?"

You're torn. You don't want to be a jerk. You don't want to be rude. But a natural defensiveness developes. You remain cautious when you begin to speak, wondering if they just want to satisfy their curiosity. If the inevitable question will be asked once more.

This has made me very aware---and wary---of judging or asking anyone about their differences. I don't want to be one of the faceless people who feel it is their right to single you out for your difference---to ask, to interupt, to sidle up in a friendly manner until your question has been worked up to, and answered.

I have a face. I have a name.

And so does every different person in this universe.

Know it, and think before you speak.

Paradise Lost, Prada, Poetry

When you're debating over whether to blog your experience of Paradise Lost, lament your idiotic lust of handbags you will never own, or the poetry reading at your local Borders, you know that you need to stop right there. Just dropping a note to let people know that I am alive and intend to 'blog Paradise Lost' in my next post. I feel guilty, as though I were coping that guy who blogged the Bible, but since iyov asked...

http://www.blogger.com/profile/16900943829679088001

Paradise Lost and Personal Libraries

I always buy books thematically. About six months back, it was poetry. Ted Kooser expanded my shelves, Garrison Keillor's Good Poetry suddenly arrived, I memorized long passages from Beowulf. Then it swung to early American history, and Alexander Hamilton and debates about the constitution started arriving in the mail. Then, a fit of children's fantasy took over, and their shining covers still brighten my shelves. After that, Greece and Rome (I bought the Iliad, technically poetry, but it's the same idea) Bibles have now taken a large chunk out of my pocketbook, and I still can't resist them, especially if I find them used.

Now, it is come full circle to poetry. It started with the Norton Critical Edition of Paradise Lost. Brand new from Borders, and jammed with all those wonderful juicy extras that Norton always includes, it cost me $10. That's right. $10. Try your Borders, that's a steal.

I am currently trampling my way through, recording some observations in a separate notebook, refusing to defile those shining margins. At least, until I've read through it at least once. When Milton's sentences have thoroughly saturated my mind, I pick up Wordsworth, his Prelude, in another Norton Critical edition.

I resisted temptation mightily when trying to decide between Wordsworth and Tennyson at the bookstore; I love Tennyson, one of the few poets that I do love, and yet I knew that I needed to broaden my horizons. I hadn't read enough of Tennyson. I nearly hurled both of them back onto the shelf and grabbed Robert Browning, but I knew, deep inside, that it was a compromise. I don't dislike Wordsworth or Browning, I simply love Tennyson very much.

At least I have decided on one thing: I will purchase my poetry more systematically. Because those Norton Critical editions are well-designed, jammed with extras and extraordinarily cheap (usually from $12-14, with a few in the $20s) I intend to buy my poetry in that format, and lend at least a show of order to my disorganized, wild, and crazy library.

The author realizes that this post somewhat contradicts the previous, however, said author has decided to call it 'tension' instead of contradiction, and feels quite happy about hitting upon such a neat solution.

One Book At A Time--Not Me!

There's one book that I read every day, and that is the Bible. There. But maybe the Bible simply illustrates my reading habits.

I almost never, ever read one book at a time.

Occasionally, there's a book that I sit down and read straight through, front to back, because it's a really good book. But most of the time, I have five or six various reading 'projects' going on at the same time. I inhale the written word. Whether this is a good or bad habit, it goes on and on.

My reading is sometimes thematic. I'll bang out several poetry books in a few weeks. Suddenly, acting is fascinating. If I had the money to buy all the books that I thought I needed to study my current obsession, I would own a private library. And then again, I could be reading an old childhood favorite, such as "Journey from Peppermint Street" alongside "Trading Territories: Mapping the Early Modern World", which, while well-written and fascinating, is a bit higher on the reading scale than Peppermint St.

I would love to get reading suggestions from people on nonfiction books. Although I own various poetry volumes, half a dozen Cadfaels, the afore mentioned children's story, and some other fiction books, I actually read more nonfiction than anything else.

Current reading obsession: mathematics.

Modesty

OK, so I just copied the title of a post from teampyro.blogspot.com. But I admitted it! Here's the original post, and if you want to have some interesting reading, check it out

http://teampyro.blogspot.com/2007/05/modesty.html

I managed to throw in a few words. When I attempted to comment again, my scintillating and insightful...insights...were lost to the blogging world. I'm pretty sure that it's just my computer or me, messing it up again. I gotta figure out where those comments are going. Maybe you have never had the experience of a brilliant yet humble, gentle but unyielding, stern but gentle reflection upon the human condition get eaten by blogger. Well, it's tragic.

I've combed through many posts about modesty. Some, controversial (SEE ABOVE) and some on those pink and purple blogs that Christian women seem to feel obligated to use. I'm serious. What is with that hideous pink that Moms always seem to use? You're hurting my eyes. Oh, and those are never controversial.

There are many assumptions made in people who want to see modesty. For the sake of clarity, let me define what modesty actually means in most posts. (And I'm not simply talking about teampyro's post, which has certainly received a busy pummeling)

"Modesty/Modest: Clothing that meets fuzzy cultural or subjective standards of conservative, good girlness. Modesty is a virtue most needed by women, who arouse lust in men by their inappropriate clothing, or lack thereof. Men just need a side note about modesty, and certainly not an entire blog post. Men, however, do get lectures (and sometimes very good ones) about lust. Modesty is a lost virtue that, if regained, would help to restore this sex-crazed society or at least help curb whole sale lusting. I'm talking to you, young lady!"

It is my contention, however, that most arguments or pink and purple blog posts about modesty are busily hacking the weed off---at ground level. Modesty is EASY to make rules about. It's EASY to make fun of the 'dumb girl' who doesn't realize that her hot bod is doing to the guy across the aisle, it's EASY to make fun of the parents who froth at the mouth when anyone gently suggests that it might be a good idea if Lil Honey didn't wear jeans with JUICY across her bottom.

It is NOT EASY to face the root of it. It's not hard to challenge a society that glorifies porn, that turns women into separate body parts, that tells you that you have failed, as a women, if you are not sexy and desirable. That's why you can see unattractive heroes, but never (almost) unattractive heroines in the movies. Because no one can love an ugly women---a woman is defined by her looks.

So when Helen in her JUICY pants walks down the aisle to sit next to her friends, your first thought is not "Who told her that she needed to be juicy?" your first thought is "Wow---she IS!" Or the girl in the short shorts and the flimsy top is now just long legs and breasts. Women aren't people. They are simply a collection of gratifying lust objects.

This root causes lust in places like Saudi Arabia. If guys mentally undress immodest women, than the guys there just have to take a little bit longer. I'm serious. No amount of clothing stops lust. Maybe it stops some of the fleeting thoughts that cause some people so much guilt---they get obsessive over it, when they should recognize biological realities and simply say "I'm a human, and they are humans, too, not just there to please me"---but it sure doesn't stop lust.

Lust is not stopped by clothing. Lust does not come from someone other than yourself. Immodesty (according to your culture) can help feed your lust, but it does not create it. Immodesty does not create lust. LUST, and a fallen society, create immodesty. Lust flourishes the world over, it does not matter what the women or the men wear.

Then why is everyone so worried about modesty, if lust can and does flourish no matter what?

Because it is easy. Our human minds don't like to let other people choose so freely, we want to be able to set up rules, it's fun and self gratifying to make fun of people who don't meet those rules or standards. It's easy to blame someone else who forced you to sin, because all pity is immediately transferred to you. Adam started it, and it's been a long and 'glorious' tradition ever since.

It is not easy to confront a corrupt culture. It is not easy to realize that we must

"Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Eph 6:11-12 TNIV)

Immodesty, culturally bound as it is, is not the enemy. Satan probably enjoys the in-fighting, the bickering, the skirt measuring, the mental standards that we measure other people with. Meanwhile, he is busy telling us that he is not the enemy... the women are. Lust is not the enemy...immodest (women/men) are...lust doesn't create immodesty or porn...immodesty and porn create lust...if you just got modesty right, all your problems would go away. Once you find the perfect standard, once you find the perfect, fulfilling wife/husband, once you put on the right clothing--you will win.

But lust is the enemy. Lust does create porn. People do have wonderful spouses, and they still struggle with lust. People have created 'perfect' standards, and they've found that the enemy isn't without...it's within.

I can and am irritated by the various other problems with many modesty arguments and mistakes (Women aren't really tempted visually, and if they are, it's just weirder and a recent phenomena produced by a wicked society, all immodest women are flaunting their bodies to seek affirmation, not sex, all immodest women want you to notice their awesome body, women should be more concerned with modesty than men should, women need to be more modest and careful, women create sin with their bodies, blah, blah)

But I didn't devote my blog post to that. Because once we recognize the real enemy, we can fight it.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. (Eph 6:10)

TNIV Spotting!

On reflex, when reading a book that quotes the Bible, I check the copy right page, just to see what translation they're using (no need when the KJV is used, the Kings English can be spotted a mile away) and almost invariably, it is the NIV. The few exceptions are usually the NASB.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I turned to the copy right page of the book above....and saw that the TNIV was used!

The book itself was interesting and frustrating. Jarrett Stevens wrestles with our various misconceptions of God, and provides some tantalizing insight...but it feels like the book stopped short of an all out smack down, a real wrestling match with our doubts and fears and questions. I wanted Stevens to take names, and really Chuck Norris 'em. Still, it was a humorous, interesting Borders read---the type of book that's short enough for me to read in one Borders visit.

(The Message is also used in spots in the book)

Still, it was nice to make my very first TNIV spotting!