Everyone writes memoirs, it seems, nowadays. Even the owners of brothels. Everyone thinks they have some story to share. My ten year old nephew is already writing about how awesome it is to be him. Assigned by Ms. Mathews. He only barely scraped a B.
Wouldn't it be amusing if I could go on from there and say, "Well, everyone, you thought your memoirs were great--look at mine! Ms. Mathews and I, oh man! Ours was a love which surpassed all sticks of chalk and dry eraseboards! (And it was kinky, too.)"?
No, the only reason I even know about Ms. Mathews is because my sister complains about or praises her every time I'm visiting.
"Oh, Robert! Look at what Ms. Mathews gave Bobby! Did you see? He got a gold star for his homework. I tell ya, that woman is a genius. Bobby is getting smarter and smarter."
Or, if you prefer.
"Robert! I don't know what the hell she thinks she's doing to these kids, but she's not going to give Bobby a silent lunch just because he was talking to his friend for one second! I don't know why that school board hires people like that. They were probably all on those illegal drugs they get as incentive."
You see, if I attempt to immerse you in my life, I will only diverge into that of another. It will never be a story about me.
You know, they say that Lord Byron had a club foot. He was supposed to have said, "Well, even I must have an imperfection, and this is it, alas!" Surely he thought himself an adonis, and a veritable Don Juan when it came to the ladies. The club foot didn't matter, though everyone would have noticed it.
Again, what does this have to do with me?
I remember walking with my toe inward when I was told this story in high school. I was a rational young man at the time, but I was so afraid of my poetry, of these poems I had within me and which I could never share, that I thought that maybe if I pretended to have a club foot like Byron, I'd have the guts to show it to somebody--anybody. It wouldn't have made sense without talking about Lord Byron.
"Robert, you have the most lovely poetry." A girl from college. We were kind of almost sleeping together.
"Well, I've never seen such drivel." A professor from the same college. Until then, I had seen him as a genius.
The fact of the matter is, their perceptions become my reality. My poetry isn't mine. Instead, it's the good poetry of the women who want to sleep with me, and the crap poetry of the arrogant professors who can't see past their egos. It certainly isn't what I say it is. It's incidental.
The thing to know about Robert is that he is merely a coincidental figure. I'm some guy who just happened to be there at the beheading of Charles I. I'm some guy who happened to be in the plane when they first dropped the atomic bomb. I'm some guy who happened to be standing in the general vicinity when they were taking a picture of Hilary Clinton. I'm just here, and a witness to the struggles and triumphs of others.
I'm an afterthought. No use writing a memoir about an afterthought.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The "B" Word
This is it. It's coming your way, my fellow women. I'm convinced nearly every woman has been called one at least once in her lifetime. Yes, my friends, it's one of the gros mots, bitch.
Why do we abhor it? Why do we think little of its meaning and the true vulgarity? Naturally, I can imagine at least one person saying, "What the hell? It's just another choice word I like to use. No different from bastard, shit, etc. What makes this any worse?"
Indeed, what makes such a word as bitch worse than some of our other pretty expletives? Let us take a look to its etymological roots.
I am sure it doesn't take a philologist to know that the word harbors its beginnings in canine breeding terminology. In order to obtain the good traits for the work that humans want the dog to do (i.e., hunting, rat catching) it is of course necessary to make sure that there are good breeding dogs, male and female. The female, a dog whose purpose is expressly to breed, is (and was) called a bitch.
Let's think on this for a minute. A bitch is a female dog meant for breeding purposes. (I will grant that not all female dogs were bred, but the reproductive was seen as their major purpose as a whole.) This of course leads the average observer to recollect the estrus of a female dog, of a bitch. Dogs in heat are not fun. They howl and become easily agitated. They are looking for one thing: the mating, the intercourse. It is an overwhelming urge, a drive, a force so intimately connected to the female dog's psyche.
And of course, if you've ever seen dogs mate, you can see how the bitch reacts. She is still, passive, as the male eagerly humps her. I am no expert on dog psychology, but this passivity, the way the dog turns her head, it is as though she is looking for something else to do, but by her nature forced to submit.
A bitch, in human terms, is interestingly enough a woman who will not submit, a woman who is angry, moody, or otherwise disagreeable. A woman who is irate when it comes to sexual matters. I do believe that in very contemporary terminology, it is how one refers to someone under one's power, sexually or otherwise (e.g., Sally is my bitch).
Are women bitches? The short answer is no. In biological terms connected with dogs, women are not merely reproductive creatures. A woman's life does not merely consist of birthing children on a yearly basis. As Simone de Beauvoir has said, women have their own plans and ideas: they are not wombs. Breeding bitches are just that.
Furthermore, to imply that a woman who may have spells of anger of irritation is likened to a vicious dog is less than apt. Most people have changes of mood and become angry. Also, certain ways of approaching things in the professional world call for being aggressive. Being aggressive is not only a male trait. Aggressiveness and assertiveness are seen across the board.
I end this discussion noting that in calling a woman a bitch, even in jest, you categorize her and package her into the straight jacket of sexism. Such restraints only increase resistance and a will to escape.
FdS
Why do we abhor it? Why do we think little of its meaning and the true vulgarity? Naturally, I can imagine at least one person saying, "What the hell? It's just another choice word I like to use. No different from bastard, shit, etc. What makes this any worse?"
Indeed, what makes such a word as bitch worse than some of our other pretty expletives? Let us take a look to its etymological roots.
I am sure it doesn't take a philologist to know that the word harbors its beginnings in canine breeding terminology. In order to obtain the good traits for the work that humans want the dog to do (i.e., hunting, rat catching) it is of course necessary to make sure that there are good breeding dogs, male and female. The female, a dog whose purpose is expressly to breed, is (and was) called a bitch.
Let's think on this for a minute. A bitch is a female dog meant for breeding purposes. (I will grant that not all female dogs were bred, but the reproductive was seen as their major purpose as a whole.) This of course leads the average observer to recollect the estrus of a female dog, of a bitch. Dogs in heat are not fun. They howl and become easily agitated. They are looking for one thing: the mating, the intercourse. It is an overwhelming urge, a drive, a force so intimately connected to the female dog's psyche.
And of course, if you've ever seen dogs mate, you can see how the bitch reacts. She is still, passive, as the male eagerly humps her. I am no expert on dog psychology, but this passivity, the way the dog turns her head, it is as though she is looking for something else to do, but by her nature forced to submit.
A bitch, in human terms, is interestingly enough a woman who will not submit, a woman who is angry, moody, or otherwise disagreeable. A woman who is irate when it comes to sexual matters. I do believe that in very contemporary terminology, it is how one refers to someone under one's power, sexually or otherwise (e.g., Sally is my bitch).
Are women bitches? The short answer is no. In biological terms connected with dogs, women are not merely reproductive creatures. A woman's life does not merely consist of birthing children on a yearly basis. As Simone de Beauvoir has said, women have their own plans and ideas: they are not wombs. Breeding bitches are just that.
Furthermore, to imply that a woman who may have spells of anger of irritation is likened to a vicious dog is less than apt. Most people have changes of mood and become angry. Also, certain ways of approaching things in the professional world call for being aggressive. Being aggressive is not only a male trait. Aggressiveness and assertiveness are seen across the board.
I end this discussion noting that in calling a woman a bitch, even in jest, you categorize her and package her into the straight jacket of sexism. Such restraints only increase resistance and a will to escape.
FdS
Thursday, June 5, 2008
A Beginning
This is it. This is the beginning. I am nearly shy as an inexperienced performer thrust naked onto the stage--against her wishes. It is not against my wishes that I begin. Such things are necessary.
What, then, am I here to do? Well, it is easier to explain what I am not here to do.
I am not here to promote myself in any sense of the manner. Perhaps I am not keeping with the times, but I could never quite play the harlot--in every sense of the word. I am not here to defame people just for the sake of looking wise. Satire is necessary, yes, and to be desired--but I find there is a difference between satire and impotent spite. Criticism is a far, far better way to go.
I am not here to provide news or delight about the media/entertainment industry. I can foresee different sorts of those media coming into future entries, but it will certainly not be found in abundance. If you are looking for Paris Hilton, you will not find her here.
I am not here to be a political commentator. There are too many of them and their voices are loud and grating. If I wanted to do such things, I would find a way to get myself on CNN or its ilk. As with the entertainment, this does not mean that politics will not at times be discussed, but I am not particularly an advocate for either party, so arguments in their favor would not be so painful to me as to the hot-blooded political commentator.
I hope to spread a bit of critique and a little philosophy when I can get it. It is my humble hope that one person might read this blog and think, if only for a second.
What, then, am I here to do? Well, it is easier to explain what I am not here to do.
I am not here to promote myself in any sense of the manner. Perhaps I am not keeping with the times, but I could never quite play the harlot--in every sense of the word. I am not here to defame people just for the sake of looking wise. Satire is necessary, yes, and to be desired--but I find there is a difference between satire and impotent spite. Criticism is a far, far better way to go.
I am not here to provide news or delight about the media/entertainment industry. I can foresee different sorts of those media coming into future entries, but it will certainly not be found in abundance. If you are looking for Paris Hilton, you will not find her here.
I am not here to be a political commentator. There are too many of them and their voices are loud and grating. If I wanted to do such things, I would find a way to get myself on CNN or its ilk. As with the entertainment, this does not mean that politics will not at times be discussed, but I am not particularly an advocate for either party, so arguments in their favor would not be so painful to me as to the hot-blooded political commentator.
I hope to spread a bit of critique and a little philosophy when I can get it. It is my humble hope that one person might read this blog and think, if only for a second.
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