Untamed wildness is dangerous, like a panther stalking the woods. To meet the wild unprepared...it is an adrenaline rush in the first nanaosecond. And then it becomes a mad dash to save life, limb or virtue.
I didn't understand that as a child. As a child who was left to her own musings for the better part of everyday I just wanted someone to steal me. It will come as no surprise to someone who has known me forever to know my first hope was that the aliens on the mothership realized they left me with the wrong people, on the wrong planet and would come back for me. The first time I saw Spock I thought "There's my people." But really, would a Vulcan make that kind of mistake? No. [finger snap] Rats! As we watched soaps and Roger Thorpe made off with Holly I hoped that someone would want me badly enough to take that kind of risk, make that kind of effort. Of course when Roger took of with Holly Ed Bauer and his brother Mike hunted them down and brought Holly back. It was a daring and drawn out rescue. But I didn't really think anyone would have bothered to bring me back. Keep in mind that I was 3 or 4 when that story arc ran on Guiding Light. Naive is an understatement. Roger wanted Holly. Roger loved Holly. It didn't register that Roger was a colossal ass and that his behaivor negated his professions of love. I just looked at it as "wouldn't it be nice if someone wanted me like that?" Naive.
Those ideas sat in my pyche for a while. Mix that with the adventures in the Black Stallion and my absorbtion of the colors and flavors of India and the Middle East and you have the foundations of a huge problem when puberty hits. Namely, that the bland little boys I went to school with were almost completely unappealing as the subject of a crush let alone full blown desire. Add to this my assessment that none of them possessed imagination enough to "run away" with me and you have geek buried in the encyclopedia so that she can make her fantasy as realistic as possible. Naive again.
What is worse is that it took being married and my first encounter for me to realize that what I was hoping for was frought with its own set of frustrations. As an adult I found out what happens to the heroine while someone is waxing rhapsodic over ancient chinese secrets. The part you don't see is the the terror, the frustration and reality: Roger might have loved Holly but what if he was a guy who wouldn't bathe before smothering her body with his? What if he was more of an ass than anyone thought and wouldn't let her pee or eat? What if he didn't care what Holly wanted? Oh right. He DIDN'T care what Holly wanted. She was engaged to Ed. Naive.
Yet even now, 16 years after reality steps all over the fantasy, the fantasy still is there. Of course I realize the whole thing has to be "fake". Personally I'd rip the throat out of a random stranger who would abduct me for the day or a weekend without my explicit consent if given the chance. But it's like I used to tell Matt: I am a work-a-holic, devoted to my employer and the team, to my artwork and thus would have to be tied up and thrown in the trunk to take a vacation cause I just don't think about time for myself. Given my distrust of the human race in general and specifically most of the people that I personally know.... I'm not likely to give anyone permission to do that.
Though I would love to spend a couple of hours sunk into a pile of smooth, cool, silky, satiny, embroidered and wildly colored sheets and pillows, wrapped in the purfume of and Indian spiced musky-hardwood inscense in a room lit with Morroccan lanterns that is as different in feel from this bland Up North kitschie scene as it gets... the pale one among swarthy but jovial natives. Yeah... like that would happen.
Still naive.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Social Experiment
Relationship Woes, as I said in a previous post, are fodder for the funny. I haven't catalogued the experiments that have taken place over the last two weeks as I am smack in the middle of testing hypothesis. And it will take a while to analyze the data since I have 8 test subjects to compare to the control set. All I can say at this point is: damn. I should have started this sooner.
I am not prepared to publish even the earliest observations, in or out of context, despite the funny that I have found in the process. This is the kind of thing that could, in theory, take a lifetime to observe, hypthesize, test, retest and analyze. It is possible that there is no answer to my question, no one outcome that will make my theory stand with the kind of absolute certainty that would allow me to make any kind of a concrete action plan. Now I know why these kinds of things happen in middle and highschool. I also understand how distracting this could be. And I think I am not nearly so frustrated with my sister and her best friend. Oh I still resent the earpiercing wails from the back seat that ruined my hearing before a band evr got the chance to do so. But I understand.
I have come to the inescapable conclusion that one's puruits are dictated by ones interest and the degree of passion behind one's interests. This would account for the lateness of my entry into this particular field of study. And no amount of anthropology study is going to give me a head start on developing my conclusion. This is most definately a case in which Heissenberg is laughing his ass off from the Great Beyond as the observer is as much the subject of the observation as the target subjects. Thus, I change both the process and the results. I just realized that this also means that I may never find the conclusion... [shakes fists] Damn you Heissenberg! And I hope Mozart knocks you down a flight of stairs if you keep smacking his should like that... it just isn't that funny.
It's a little funny. But not that funny.
I am not prepared to publish even the earliest observations, in or out of context, despite the funny that I have found in the process. This is the kind of thing that could, in theory, take a lifetime to observe, hypthesize, test, retest and analyze. It is possible that there is no answer to my question, no one outcome that will make my theory stand with the kind of absolute certainty that would allow me to make any kind of a concrete action plan. Now I know why these kinds of things happen in middle and highschool. I also understand how distracting this could be. And I think I am not nearly so frustrated with my sister and her best friend. Oh I still resent the earpiercing wails from the back seat that ruined my hearing before a band evr got the chance to do so. But I understand.
I have come to the inescapable conclusion that one's puruits are dictated by ones interest and the degree of passion behind one's interests. This would account for the lateness of my entry into this particular field of study. And no amount of anthropology study is going to give me a head start on developing my conclusion. This is most definately a case in which Heissenberg is laughing his ass off from the Great Beyond as the observer is as much the subject of the observation as the target subjects. Thus, I change both the process and the results. I just realized that this also means that I may never find the conclusion... [shakes fists] Damn you Heissenberg! And I hope Mozart knocks you down a flight of stairs if you keep smacking his should like that... it just isn't that funny.
It's a little funny. But not that funny.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Hello Again
Yeah, I'm waving wildly at you Sir Knight.
Well... its more a "Na na na na na" You told me today that you know you have featured in my blog because someone told on me. You haven't said if you've read any of them. Now normally, knowing you have any concept that you have been featured would have made me a basket case. But I've read over all of the entries that mention you. There is nothing for me to be embarrassed about. Everything I have written has had witnesses to, or you've told others about what we said/did and then your page was quite adept in his other role as town crier. So nothing that is hear is detrimental to you beyond the harm you may or may not have done yourself. So the only thing that is left to say is this:
I write about geeky things (last post about ancient gates being prime example). I also write about the things that help me be a better writer,artist and healer. The point in writing the Knightly posts is to work out a conundrum which you have been the cause. As a reader I need to trust my perceptions and intuition. This is even more important as an artist because I translate the world through my perceptions in the effort to generate art that speaks to the viewer's heart with honesty. This intangible and unquantifiable quality in artwork is what draws people to artwork and just as importantly makes them want to put money on it. I have never questioned my perceptions... until now.
I used to never notice a guy was interested until he was long gone and the new girlfriend/wife would gush how lucky she was that I never noticed how much so and so was into me. Uh, yeah... I had other things on my mind at the time. And when I was in a place to see and understand but most importantly accept the kind of attention I learned quickly what all those signs were. And you display them. Then you deny them. And them I am quickly befuddled. I lose the confidence in my ability to perceive the world around me. In any other case your behavior... well you know what your behavior is. And what it means. But in any other instance I would not be wrong.
It upsets my confidence. It makes it harder to read for people. it makes it harder to be certain of where the metaphoric quicksand is. And the other thing it does, over time, is erode ones confidence. Really, think about it from my perspective if you're always "Just joking" why would I take anyone else seriously? In the long term this translates as yet another case where I am just not good enough. yes, you've tried very hard to put that particular description on yourself. That is adorable by the way... running away from the table because I said quantum physics. Quantum physics!
The thing is that this kind of thing effects my ability to write and generate meaningful art. You can't write a scene that will resonate with your reader if you don't write it the way people behave. How do I know what that is any more? You can't create a piece of art that rings true with human experience if you can't see how humans interact with their world and the people in it. How do I know what is true? Your behavior says something very straight-forward while you deny it with a bunch of take backs. That is how you got here.
I was trying to figure out if it was you, me or an incomplete data set that had me confused. Turns out it is a combo deal (isn't it always?). I was also hoping that the 3 readers that I have could tell me if my hypothesis or the analysis was wrong. Turns out none of them knew and I have a sleeper among my readership.
I have to say that I am disappointed that you felt it necessary to ambush me with a witness present. This is the kind of thing we should have talked about in private. It's one thing for you to tease me in front of others. It's another thing entirely to lead me into a discussion which could degenerate into an awkward battle of hurt feelings. Yes, I wrote about you. I wrote about you in code, with a name, Sir Knight, to protect your anonymity. Only someone who had my personal confidence could have told you about these blogs; could have told you that Sir Knight was you. Of all the mutual friends we have in common I didn't think any of them read this blog. It was not a back door to your attention. And to find that one does and would reveal the fact to you when he or she did not reveal him or herself as a reader... it changes my perceptions of trust and prudence.
I would encourage you to read the blog entries for yourself. Read beyond the scope of your personal interest. And don't judge me harshly for what I wrote about Michael Jackson, but see something more about me so that you will know there was nothing malicious in my intent. And I leave you all with this:
I didn't erase those entries for several reasons. First, I wrote nothing malicious or destructive. No one will know who you are if you keep your trap shut. Harass me about it, brag about it and then everyone will know who Sir Knight is. You reveal yourself to non readers, not I. Secondly, I didn't redact these posts because, as I said, they help me to understand where I am with the part of me responsible for generating art. The readers who interact with me do so in another forum, leaving me with their advice and insights. The blog helps me sort out my head. Thirdly, I leave these posts intact because, as writing exercises, they are good. Oh, by no means are they going to win any blogging awards. But I think they show my whimsical humor, grace in defeat and are just plain old entertaining. And let's face it, next to a trauma to the groin, nothing is funnier than relationship woes. Fourthly, I can not cater to the audience I don't know about. Had I known that she was reading and there were the chance to use the fact to influence your opinion of me then perhaps I would never have written the posts in the first place. But they are written. As I writer I have to stand by them. It would be hubris indeed to claim any kind of journalistic integrity as this is not journalism in a Pulitzer prize winning sense.
This is my place to be a geek. And if anything can be universally said of geeks across the spectrum of geeky endeavors, it is that we are socially awkward and constantly uncertain of ourselves. There is nothing geekier than the uncertainty principle. There is a Sheldon worthy joke in there somewhere but I'm reaaaally tired.
I hope you aren't mad. I hope you can take this for what it is. But mostly I hope that my questions deflected your attention thereby rendering this post as superfluous while allowing me to remain concealed by virtue your continued disinterest as I have other fish to fry, so to speak. In the event that I did not divert you I say this in my defense: I did not outright lie about the blog posts. I simply asked you questions which were designed to make you think about what you were told and the motive behind it. I may have only bought a day or two at the most. But I definitely bought time enough to write this blog. Of course, with people walking into the room the confrontation had to end anyway.
Well... its more a "Na na na na na" You told me today that you know you have featured in my blog because someone told on me. You haven't said if you've read any of them. Now normally, knowing you have any concept that you have been featured would have made me a basket case. But I've read over all of the entries that mention you. There is nothing for me to be embarrassed about. Everything I have written has had witnesses to, or you've told others about what we said/did and then your page was quite adept in his other role as town crier. So nothing that is hear is detrimental to you beyond the harm you may or may not have done yourself. So the only thing that is left to say is this:
I write about geeky things (last post about ancient gates being prime example). I also write about the things that help me be a better writer,artist and healer. The point in writing the Knightly posts is to work out a conundrum which you have been the cause. As a reader I need to trust my perceptions and intuition. This is even more important as an artist because I translate the world through my perceptions in the effort to generate art that speaks to the viewer's heart with honesty. This intangible and unquantifiable quality in artwork is what draws people to artwork and just as importantly makes them want to put money on it. I have never questioned my perceptions... until now.
I used to never notice a guy was interested until he was long gone and the new girlfriend/wife would gush how lucky she was that I never noticed how much so and so was into me. Uh, yeah... I had other things on my mind at the time. And when I was in a place to see and understand but most importantly accept the kind of attention I learned quickly what all those signs were. And you display them. Then you deny them. And them I am quickly befuddled. I lose the confidence in my ability to perceive the world around me. In any other case your behavior... well you know what your behavior is. And what it means. But in any other instance I would not be wrong.
It upsets my confidence. It makes it harder to read for people. it makes it harder to be certain of where the metaphoric quicksand is. And the other thing it does, over time, is erode ones confidence. Really, think about it from my perspective if you're always "Just joking" why would I take anyone else seriously? In the long term this translates as yet another case where I am just not good enough. yes, you've tried very hard to put that particular description on yourself. That is adorable by the way... running away from the table because I said quantum physics. Quantum physics!
The thing is that this kind of thing effects my ability to write and generate meaningful art. You can't write a scene that will resonate with your reader if you don't write it the way people behave. How do I know what that is any more? You can't create a piece of art that rings true with human experience if you can't see how humans interact with their world and the people in it. How do I know what is true? Your behavior says something very straight-forward while you deny it with a bunch of take backs. That is how you got here.
I was trying to figure out if it was you, me or an incomplete data set that had me confused. Turns out it is a combo deal (isn't it always?). I was also hoping that the 3 readers that I have could tell me if my hypothesis or the analysis was wrong. Turns out none of them knew and I have a sleeper among my readership.
I have to say that I am disappointed that you felt it necessary to ambush me with a witness present. This is the kind of thing we should have talked about in private. It's one thing for you to tease me in front of others. It's another thing entirely to lead me into a discussion which could degenerate into an awkward battle of hurt feelings. Yes, I wrote about you. I wrote about you in code, with a name, Sir Knight, to protect your anonymity. Only someone who had my personal confidence could have told you about these blogs; could have told you that Sir Knight was you. Of all the mutual friends we have in common I didn't think any of them read this blog. It was not a back door to your attention. And to find that one does and would reveal the fact to you when he or she did not reveal him or herself as a reader... it changes my perceptions of trust and prudence.
I would encourage you to read the blog entries for yourself. Read beyond the scope of your personal interest. And don't judge me harshly for what I wrote about Michael Jackson, but see something more about me so that you will know there was nothing malicious in my intent. And I leave you all with this:
I didn't erase those entries for several reasons. First, I wrote nothing malicious or destructive. No one will know who you are if you keep your trap shut. Harass me about it, brag about it and then everyone will know who Sir Knight is. You reveal yourself to non readers, not I. Secondly, I didn't redact these posts because, as I said, they help me to understand where I am with the part of me responsible for generating art. The readers who interact with me do so in another forum, leaving me with their advice and insights. The blog helps me sort out my head. Thirdly, I leave these posts intact because, as writing exercises, they are good. Oh, by no means are they going to win any blogging awards. But I think they show my whimsical humor, grace in defeat and are just plain old entertaining. And let's face it, next to a trauma to the groin, nothing is funnier than relationship woes. Fourthly, I can not cater to the audience I don't know about. Had I known that she was reading and there were the chance to use the fact to influence your opinion of me then perhaps I would never have written the posts in the first place. But they are written. As I writer I have to stand by them. It would be hubris indeed to claim any kind of journalistic integrity as this is not journalism in a Pulitzer prize winning sense.
This is my place to be a geek. And if anything can be universally said of geeks across the spectrum of geeky endeavors, it is that we are socially awkward and constantly uncertain of ourselves. There is nothing geekier than the uncertainty principle. There is a Sheldon worthy joke in there somewhere but I'm reaaaally tired.
I hope you aren't mad. I hope you can take this for what it is. But mostly I hope that my questions deflected your attention thereby rendering this post as superfluous while allowing me to remain concealed by virtue your continued disinterest as I have other fish to fry, so to speak. In the event that I did not divert you I say this in my defense: I did not outright lie about the blog posts. I simply asked you questions which were designed to make you think about what you were told and the motive behind it. I may have only bought a day or two at the most. But I definitely bought time enough to write this blog. Of course, with people walking into the room the confrontation had to end anyway.
Isisgate
I have been asked a billion times now what Isisgate means. So here we go...
I am a huge stargate fan. When I got into cyber space and needed a codename for the places that I go and didn't want sherola I thought about the things that reflected my interest at the time. So invoking the great chappa ai was a given. But what else goes with the gate? Something Egyptian obviously. And it was obvious that I'd have to chose Isis. She didn't get any real air time in Stargate. And as a child, Isis was my hero. Joanna Cameron played Isis/Andrea Thomas in the Secrets of Isis. It was a formative influence on me.
So here I am thinking I have made a name truly unique to me and my interests until I google the name and find a band in the LA area with the same name. Then as I kept going through my life with this moniker I found references to real life places. For instance, high in the hills above Galilee there is a pass into the mountains heading toward Qumran (dead sea scrolls local). The pass is reinforced with a gate that once had majestic lioness heads above it. It is the Isis gate. Sure, I was surprised that there was such a reference in the real world. But then again... my entire geek life is full of sychronistic things like this.
Tonight, since so many people have asked and i looked at google again, I have found a scientific computer analyst system called ISIS Gate, a video game that features a labyrinthine Isis gate puzzle and something infinitely more interesting to me than anything else: Pompeii.
Published in 1835 by the British print house of Saunders and Otley in London and Smith and Son in Glasgow, the Metropolitan Magazine makes mention of an Isis gate on page 58.
A German journal states the following as recent discoveries at Pompeii. In the street lately opened from the Temple of fortune to the Gate of Isis and passing nearly through the middle of town, (says our informant), on reaching a central point, where streets diverge from the theaters to the city walls, there has been found an altar, placed before the protecting genius of the place, in the form of a serpent.
I guess I am not the only one that was enamored of the lady. I know why I chose Isis for myself. Besides Joanna Cameron's portrayal of honesty, integrity and stewardship there is all that she stood for to the ancient Egyptians. She was the goddess of magic, sensuality, fertile loins and in some ways seduction. But she is also the epitome of loyalty. No matter how horrendous her life was because of her siblings treatment of her husband, the fatiguing task of retrieving her husband's body parts from across the globe... she never gave up on Osiris. She remained faithful to him forever, always believing that she would be reunited with him in one life or another.
In the modern New Age interpretations of Isis the deity, woman embrace her as the symbol and example of the wild passionate woman within that begged to be let out and explored. The magic that we hold inside out of fear; the strength that we curtail in the name of peacekeeping and maintaining the status quo; the ability to embrace our sexual appetites and express them with confidence and compassion is embodied in this woman/goddess.
She is the key to unlocking the things that I have repressed. At least I hope she is.
I am a huge stargate fan. When I got into cyber space and needed a codename for the places that I go and didn't want sherola I thought about the things that reflected my interest at the time. So invoking the great chappa ai was a given. But what else goes with the gate? Something Egyptian obviously. And it was obvious that I'd have to chose Isis. She didn't get any real air time in Stargate. And as a child, Isis was my hero. Joanna Cameron played Isis/Andrea Thomas in the Secrets of Isis. It was a formative influence on me.
So here I am thinking I have made a name truly unique to me and my interests until I google the name and find a band in the LA area with the same name. Then as I kept going through my life with this moniker I found references to real life places. For instance, high in the hills above Galilee there is a pass into the mountains heading toward Qumran (dead sea scrolls local). The pass is reinforced with a gate that once had majestic lioness heads above it. It is the Isis gate. Sure, I was surprised that there was such a reference in the real world. But then again... my entire geek life is full of sychronistic things like this.
Tonight, since so many people have asked and i looked at google again, I have found a scientific computer analyst system called ISIS Gate, a video game that features a labyrinthine Isis gate puzzle and something infinitely more interesting to me than anything else: Pompeii.
Published in 1835 by the British print house of Saunders and Otley in London and Smith and Son in Glasgow, the Metropolitan Magazine makes mention of an Isis gate on page 58.
A German journal states the following as recent discoveries at Pompeii. In the street lately opened from the Temple of fortune to the Gate of Isis and passing nearly through the middle of town, (says our informant), on reaching a central point, where streets diverge from the theaters to the city walls, there has been found an altar, placed before the protecting genius of the place, in the form of a serpent.
I guess I am not the only one that was enamored of the lady. I know why I chose Isis for myself. Besides Joanna Cameron's portrayal of honesty, integrity and stewardship there is all that she stood for to the ancient Egyptians. She was the goddess of magic, sensuality, fertile loins and in some ways seduction. But she is also the epitome of loyalty. No matter how horrendous her life was because of her siblings treatment of her husband, the fatiguing task of retrieving her husband's body parts from across the globe... she never gave up on Osiris. She remained faithful to him forever, always believing that she would be reunited with him in one life or another.
In the modern New Age interpretations of Isis the deity, woman embrace her as the symbol and example of the wild passionate woman within that begged to be let out and explored. The magic that we hold inside out of fear; the strength that we curtail in the name of peacekeeping and maintaining the status quo; the ability to embrace our sexual appetites and express them with confidence and compassion is embodied in this woman/goddess.
She is the key to unlocking the things that I have repressed. At least I hope she is.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Kids are naive
Back when there were only three networks to choose from and your parents decided what movies were okay to watch you had to depend on National Geographic to give you the lowdown on how the world looked, feeled, smelled and tasted. Our tv ws a black and white model of unknown origins so Nat Geo colored my world. And as such, it was where I shopped for the flavors of my earliest writing.
I lived in a dark house with poor lighting until the remodel when I was 7 or 8. Then it was a dark house with harsh flourescent lighting. Don't even get me going on the horrors of DIY redos sans input from pros. I lived in a bland world where the most color I'd see in any given week was an ornamented Catholic mass at Saint Francis. Then in '78 when we built the new church it was watered down too. The only color came from the two stained glass windows that you couldn't see unless you sat in back by the support struts. Even Christmas wasn't all that colorful since the tree was subdued to suit Father Nice (who wasn't much). Holidays were the only time we really painted our lives with brightness. And back then holidays didn't last all that long. As an artist, I need color. As an artist I need flavor. In our foods there was no spice or seasoning other than salt and pepper and some cinnamon in the baked goods. It was all so vanilla. Except in Nat Geo. Nat Geo was a bright sari in a foggy London market.
Grampa got a subcription when I was 5 or 6. The whole Kig Tut things started a wonderous decent into the colors and textures, sound and dancing in our global community that lasts to this day. Nat Geo was Kool Aid to my vitamin D milk world. Egypt was far more colorful a place than we imagine now. Time has worn the monuments to a bland sunbaked ecru. Every white surface you see in current photos was drenched in vivid color from paint to tile and molten glass fillings to the gilding, literally, of Nile lillies in frescoes and friezes. Inner chambers, protected from Ra's glare, retain their colors. Here you see that there was more than intellectualism and warfare in the leadership. There was vanity and artistry.
The Nile's most resplendant culture held my fascination for a long time, even now I get lost in a good photojournal or archeaology report. It was also the gateway to other cultures; a tunnel through the Arabian peninsula to the colorful shores of the Arabian sea where India peeks out above the water. The photo journalist filled his lens with dancing line and color, portraits of the animals and people. The writer described the landscape and culture with words that made me drool with anticipation. To live so colorful a life... to taste the desserts in the photos, to smell the sweet, tangy, musk smells the author smelled. Of course I forget the description of camel sweat and streets strewn with dung and trash... I'm a kid with the a grand capacity for idealism and ultruism. To some extent I still am. I wanted to visit Turkish bazaars in Istanbul/Constantinople/whatever. I wanted to shop for sari's in Indian markets and taste the weir looking fruits and treats in those photos. Mostly though, I wanted to know the poeple who's eyes showed curiosity and alarm at meeting a lens face to face. The people were colorful even with the dark eyes and the uniformly black hair with the bluish sheen. In the women I saw a wariness that felt kindred. I was always in wonderment of the things that were different, always afraid of the things I did not know. In the old men I saw the wisdom of experience that sat atop the wariness. I didn't know what colonization was at the time so it never registered that the american journalist's camera was a Pandora's box of uncertainty. In the younger men there was a kind of infectious joviality that I would always associate with the colors of Indian textiles. And did so as we watched old movies like "Hadji Babba", the "Lion in Winter" and the various incarnations of Aladdin. Which brings me to the myths.
I must have been bored by dragon tales and glossed over the evils in djin powers being absorbed in the strangeness of the magical creatures. Of course I dream of Jeannie didn't really help me either. I couldn't have stood for cheerful servitude to a douche like Major Tony Nelson or resisted the urge to poof that insipid idiot Major Roger Heally into another existence. But she had a great custume, awesome cosmic powers and a gorgeous albeit itty bitty living space that she did not have to share with a snobby sister alsmot completely devoid of imagination. Oops, I digressed. Digression stands.
The other thing that I noticed in these movies, photo shoots and stories was the inescapable fact that the women in these cultures were desirable. Captain Kirk fell all over himself when that Orion woman (obvious middle east influence in the costume) danced, some "arabic" villan was always running off with some other "arabic" guy's chick, bellydancers commanded undivided attention and in some cases were valuable enough to garner a great price. Of course I didn't understand the concept of slavery and how dare you bring that into this discussion while I am waxing nostalgicly naive. I am after all talking about past impressions. So little me who is frequently left to her own devices and imagination as being little better than ignored, geeking out by deault, dreams a vivid dream of colors, flavors, textures, high adventure and above all being wanted. If only I could be wanted as much as those girls in harem pants were.
With my imagination I could ride atop an elephant in a howdah, buy dates, figs, pomegranates, persimmons and all sorts of tantalizing treats at market, wear coloeful saris, jackets and curly toed slippers (the closest to bare feet if one MUST wear shoes), race camels, sleep in colorful tents under starry desert skies or on a rooftop and not in a bed but a pile of voluminous pillows with a soundtrack made by non-western looking instruments. And of course I blended all of the middle eastern elements from Turkey to India, which is actually the beginnings of the Far East, into a wild kaleidescopic backdrop for my rather uneducated plots.
The setting was, as I reflect now, more heavily detailed with the arabic aesthetic while the hero was almost exclusively Indian. My pop culture influenced mind read the swarthy arab male as inherantly rough and somewhat ungentle-manly with his impatience and agitated defense of his property and people. Indian heroes seemed to possess more charm and charisma. I could probably credit Kipling with the concept of smiling Maharajas. Make no mistake, I understood then that their smiles often disguised the sword hiding behind their backs. Its just that there is a concealing mildness in the beguiling rounded face that is not present in the craggy features of say a Bedouin shaped by heat, wind and sand. The desert is a harsh teacher and cleaves pretense rather effciently from a man's marrow. I like wildness... just not untamed wildness.
To be continued...
I lived in a dark house with poor lighting until the remodel when I was 7 or 8. Then it was a dark house with harsh flourescent lighting. Don't even get me going on the horrors of DIY redos sans input from pros. I lived in a bland world where the most color I'd see in any given week was an ornamented Catholic mass at Saint Francis. Then in '78 when we built the new church it was watered down too. The only color came from the two stained glass windows that you couldn't see unless you sat in back by the support struts. Even Christmas wasn't all that colorful since the tree was subdued to suit Father Nice (who wasn't much). Holidays were the only time we really painted our lives with brightness. And back then holidays didn't last all that long. As an artist, I need color. As an artist I need flavor. In our foods there was no spice or seasoning other than salt and pepper and some cinnamon in the baked goods. It was all so vanilla. Except in Nat Geo. Nat Geo was a bright sari in a foggy London market.
Grampa got a subcription when I was 5 or 6. The whole Kig Tut things started a wonderous decent into the colors and textures, sound and dancing in our global community that lasts to this day. Nat Geo was Kool Aid to my vitamin D milk world. Egypt was far more colorful a place than we imagine now. Time has worn the monuments to a bland sunbaked ecru. Every white surface you see in current photos was drenched in vivid color from paint to tile and molten glass fillings to the gilding, literally, of Nile lillies in frescoes and friezes. Inner chambers, protected from Ra's glare, retain their colors. Here you see that there was more than intellectualism and warfare in the leadership. There was vanity and artistry.
The Nile's most resplendant culture held my fascination for a long time, even now I get lost in a good photojournal or archeaology report. It was also the gateway to other cultures; a tunnel through the Arabian peninsula to the colorful shores of the Arabian sea where India peeks out above the water. The photo journalist filled his lens with dancing line and color, portraits of the animals and people. The writer described the landscape and culture with words that made me drool with anticipation. To live so colorful a life... to taste the desserts in the photos, to smell the sweet, tangy, musk smells the author smelled. Of course I forget the description of camel sweat and streets strewn with dung and trash... I'm a kid with the a grand capacity for idealism and ultruism. To some extent I still am. I wanted to visit Turkish bazaars in Istanbul/Constantinople/whatever. I wanted to shop for sari's in Indian markets and taste the weir looking fruits and treats in those photos. Mostly though, I wanted to know the poeple who's eyes showed curiosity and alarm at meeting a lens face to face. The people were colorful even with the dark eyes and the uniformly black hair with the bluish sheen. In the women I saw a wariness that felt kindred. I was always in wonderment of the things that were different, always afraid of the things I did not know. In the old men I saw the wisdom of experience that sat atop the wariness. I didn't know what colonization was at the time so it never registered that the american journalist's camera was a Pandora's box of uncertainty. In the younger men there was a kind of infectious joviality that I would always associate with the colors of Indian textiles. And did so as we watched old movies like "Hadji Babba", the "Lion in Winter" and the various incarnations of Aladdin. Which brings me to the myths.
I must have been bored by dragon tales and glossed over the evils in djin powers being absorbed in the strangeness of the magical creatures. Of course I dream of Jeannie didn't really help me either. I couldn't have stood for cheerful servitude to a douche like Major Tony Nelson or resisted the urge to poof that insipid idiot Major Roger Heally into another existence. But she had a great custume, awesome cosmic powers and a gorgeous albeit itty bitty living space that she did not have to share with a snobby sister alsmot completely devoid of imagination. Oops, I digressed. Digression stands.
The other thing that I noticed in these movies, photo shoots and stories was the inescapable fact that the women in these cultures were desirable. Captain Kirk fell all over himself when that Orion woman (obvious middle east influence in the costume) danced, some "arabic" villan was always running off with some other "arabic" guy's chick, bellydancers commanded undivided attention and in some cases were valuable enough to garner a great price. Of course I didn't understand the concept of slavery and how dare you bring that into this discussion while I am waxing nostalgicly naive. I am after all talking about past impressions. So little me who is frequently left to her own devices and imagination as being little better than ignored, geeking out by deault, dreams a vivid dream of colors, flavors, textures, high adventure and above all being wanted. If only I could be wanted as much as those girls in harem pants were.
With my imagination I could ride atop an elephant in a howdah, buy dates, figs, pomegranates, persimmons and all sorts of tantalizing treats at market, wear coloeful saris, jackets and curly toed slippers (the closest to bare feet if one MUST wear shoes), race camels, sleep in colorful tents under starry desert skies or on a rooftop and not in a bed but a pile of voluminous pillows with a soundtrack made by non-western looking instruments. And of course I blended all of the middle eastern elements from Turkey to India, which is actually the beginnings of the Far East, into a wild kaleidescopic backdrop for my rather uneducated plots.
The setting was, as I reflect now, more heavily detailed with the arabic aesthetic while the hero was almost exclusively Indian. My pop culture influenced mind read the swarthy arab male as inherantly rough and somewhat ungentle-manly with his impatience and agitated defense of his property and people. Indian heroes seemed to possess more charm and charisma. I could probably credit Kipling with the concept of smiling Maharajas. Make no mistake, I understood then that their smiles often disguised the sword hiding behind their backs. Its just that there is a concealing mildness in the beguiling rounded face that is not present in the craggy features of say a Bedouin shaped by heat, wind and sand. The desert is a harsh teacher and cleaves pretense rather effciently from a man's marrow. I like wildness... just not untamed wildness.
To be continued...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Bite my gizzard
and other geek idioms.
Bite my gizzard is the Wheaton's expression of kiss my ass/chewed my ass and in general is a great non specific, totally geek expression of frustration that can be spoken to the non-geek source of your frustration. Non geeks know it means something but are not sure what it is. And, as my sister and I found while playing Mad Libs, gizzard is a great funny word rarely used outside of poultry husbandry.
While cruising through my dashboard of blogs I follow I found another phrase:
to crunch a marmoset.
I have no idea for what it could be a stand in. It is vivid. It is the wrong species to rewrite "to kill a mockingbird". I don't think that there would be anything of a social commentary behind the marmoset like there was with TKAMockingbird.
When I think of marmosets with those big watery eyes I think of little kids in anticipation of forgiveness or presents. So maybe "to crunch a marmoset" will now mean "Way to kill my hopes and dreams you big stupid neanderthal of a human being". I think. I don't know. But I'll use it at work and see how it flies.
This new phrase has been brought to you via http://www.meinekleinefabrik.blogspot.com/ if you want to check out her stuff. And will someone tell me why the bookstore scene in her post looks so familiar?
Bite my gizzard is the Wheaton's expression of kiss my ass/chewed my ass and in general is a great non specific, totally geek expression of frustration that can be spoken to the non-geek source of your frustration. Non geeks know it means something but are not sure what it is. And, as my sister and I found while playing Mad Libs, gizzard is a great funny word rarely used outside of poultry husbandry.
While cruising through my dashboard of blogs I follow I found another phrase:
to crunch a marmoset.
I have no idea for what it could be a stand in. It is vivid. It is the wrong species to rewrite "to kill a mockingbird". I don't think that there would be anything of a social commentary behind the marmoset like there was with TKAMockingbird.
When I think of marmosets with those big watery eyes I think of little kids in anticipation of forgiveness or presents. So maybe "to crunch a marmoset" will now mean "Way to kill my hopes and dreams you big stupid neanderthal of a human being". I think. I don't know. But I'll use it at work and see how it flies.
This new phrase has been brought to you via http://www.meinekleinefabrik.blogspot.com/ if you want to check out her stuff. And will someone tell me why the bookstore scene in her post looks so familiar?
Geek lexicon expanded
I love the fact that a geek always knows another geek not by the mismatched clothes, the load of technogadgets and/or piles of books they tote around but by the geek speak. Geek speak also tells you what kind of geek you are speaking to. The lexicon is vast and ever expanding. The following entries are courtesy of Castle:
Bam! said the lady: like Eureka but less succinct
Feed the Birds: An invitation or encouragement to support someone's cause
Shut the Front Door: the safe for everything version of STFU
Bam! said the lady: like Eureka but less succinct
Feed the Birds: An invitation or encouragement to support someone's cause
Shut the Front Door: the safe for everything version of STFU
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