Thursday, December 31, 2015

ho arrrrrh ho!

The polar express took me to the frozen north! They have no internet, so i couldn't alert you.
(translation - vacation laziness)
Q: What is the only activity that makes you feel like both santa and a pirate?
A: Going home for the holidays. You start with a satchel of presents, and end up with a bag of booty.
As an infant crammed her happy finger into my right nostril on the train ride home today, i realized that of the three major forms of cross-country public travel, train is the only one in which the "normal" rules of society are suspended, and people treat each other more like we're supposed to all the time. For only on a train, do tiny children run around and interact with any stranger they might wish. It doesn't happen on planes, because of paranoia and elitist pretension. It doesn't happen on busses, perhaps partly because bus trips are often shorter than train trips, but mostly because of one seemingly insignificant detail - trains are carpeted. Busses are not.
Whatever the reason, tiny children on train trips often are, for one brief moment in their lives, exempted from the fear of strangers we vomit into their sweet heads on every other day of their maimed, crippled lives.
A message of holiday cheer, you ask? I can actually do one better.
Any intelligent person would look at this world and conclude that humans are flawed, and that our time on this planet will very, very soon be done. It's all over but the fiddling, and the universe will soon be well rid of us.
That's a perfectly reasonable conclusion, and to hope otherwise is laughable, pie-in-the-sky naivete.
And yet...
I want to tell you a story.
During the trench fighting in World War I, the opposing sides could hear and speak to each other like no war before or since. These were professional killers, mind you. Well brainwashed into the zero-sum mentality that pervades humanity - kill or be killed. Most people have little or no awareness of how brainwashing is a natural part of becoming a regular member of society...but many have at least a glimmer of the fact that a profound and merciless process is required to turn the average many, moe, or mabel into a regimented murderer.
And yet...
Time and again, it turns out, in locations too numerous and far-flung to be statistical aberration, these systematically dehumanized humans with their fingers literally on the triggers, defied the rules of the game. They said NO to duty. They said NO to patriotism. They found ways to NOT kill or be killed. In their long standoffs, each side was required to shoot a certain amount of ordinance every day. So they eventually took to firing their loads like clockwork, never changing their aim or the time of day...until both sides knew, down to the second, exactly what was coming, and where.
And then, whenever some officer made an inspection, these soldiers would conjure up feats of death-defying bravery, perhaps zig-zagging across a field being shelled and coming out the other side unscathed. It is a certainty that many medals, and probably no small number of promotions, were awarded on both sides for nothing more than brazen wool-pullery.
Can you know that these things happened, and still abandon ALL hope for our species?
Neither can i.
merry maxmas,
wrob

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

"Divided Labours"

(an evolutionary view of women at work)
-by kingsley browne
1998
Know any unyielding feminists who insist that gender roles are social constructs, and won't brook any protest to the contrary? Perhaps you even ARE one such?
This is the book you need to give them...or this is the book we need to read.
Yes, i said "we". If i'm not a classic example of the aforementioned type, i'm close enough. I think militancy can be forgiven - the history of gender relations took a turn for the apocalyptic around 20,000 years ago, and any attempt to disavow or rationalize that is shameful. But...as mr. browne explains, women be women and men be men. They have different biological personalities, and imposed workplace equality won't change that. The anthropological literature displays remarkable cross-cultural consistency in personality differences, and the burgeoning biological literature is finding no contradiction. In general, men are more competitive, driven by status and resources, and willing to take risks. Women are more nurturing, risk-averse, and less greedy and single-minded. Can it be any wonder that women's careers overwhelmingly tend to stall around middle management? Our entire commerce paradigm (indeed, our entire "success" paradigm) is based upon the male personality! Evolutionary theory traces these differences to asymmetrical parental investment - women carry the babies, then feed them. Males? Much less. Add to that the fact that male reproductive success has long been linked to status and resources. Hmm...with male personalities inherently more stressful, the lifespan gap may finally make sense too.
Does browne go too far? Oh yes, with phrases like "our patriarchal social structure - to the extent we have one" (italics mine). No, mr. kingsley, patriarchy is so deeply embedded that, in all our languages and institutions, the very notion of humanness is male. "Male" is default. Normative. Females? Systematically brutalized and dehumanized since the agricultural revolution (and the FANTASY ISLAND episode in which florence henderson turns down a high-powered job in order to be with her kids, is still abhorrent sexism of the worst kind). Browne also holds up the model of "natural" human behavior as that of a hunter/gatherer - but social hunting is a profoundly recent activity, in terms of the millions of years of human development. And he doesn't make the point (though perhaps he ought) that humanity's current barbarism is easily understood through the light of evolutionary theory - if you systematically remove women from the decision-making process for thousands of years, the result will be avaricious, unbalanced aggressiveness - in a word, brutality. Sound familiar? He does, however, agree that changes should be made to reduce economic disparity (and holds up Australia as a successful example). He also makes the curious (but suspect) observation that women actually have MORE socially-acceptable life choices - wealth and status-seeking being essentially the only path open to men (thankfully, growing numbers of stay-at-home dads are challenging this paradigm). Here again, he neglects the fact that every facet of our current social structure has been shaped by males - he seems to want us to accept our differences at face value, but i rather think that the true personality of our species will never be reclaimed until all our institutions reflect a merging of the female and male.
Browne also reminds us that you can't measure individuals by statistical generalities - there are plenty of aggressive women and non-competitive men walking around. He speculates about the reports that our military readiness has been in decline, and lays it at the feet of women's inclusion in all aspects of service. Speaking for myself, anything that diminishes our military capacity is okay by me.
DIVIDED LABOURS is part of a series called "Darwinism Today", each one readable in a single sitting, and designed to make advanced science accessible to all. Especially brilliant is "The Truth About Cinderella" by martin daly and margo wilson.

Friday, December 11, 2015

journey

Teach me, teach me
Reach into this heart
I’ll journey to your spirit
if you provide the chart

I’ll learn to catch your giggles
I’ll learn to kiss your tears
Tell me i’m alive
to chase away your fears

Saturday, November 21, 2015

masturbation montage 7

The women i dream of, when dreams are all there is...
What does not having sex for two years do to a person? My fantasies have been expanding to include women i don't even know...
And my impregnation fantasies show no sign of abating...

GARAGE SALE WOMAN
A vendor at a garage sale, from whom i bought a gloria steinem book and joe jackson cds. I'd never met her and was a little sleepyheaded, but the chatting we shared (initiated by her) was more than obligatory. Her daughter had just moved to NY, and i told her how i had lived there cheaply. The rest of the day, i kicked myself for not giving her my number. It wasn't a strong animal attraction on my part, but her energy was gentle and bright. That night, i fantasized about being her lover, and eventually meeting the daughter, who becomes smitten with me. One night, the lonely, antsy daughter can no longer stand hearing (through an adjoining wall) her mother and i making love. She knocks on our door, and slips into our bed. The three of us cuddle languorously, with my back to the mother, and the daughter's back to me. The mother's hand brings me to erection, then directs me toward her daughter. A grandchild is born...
The following day, i biked by her house. She wasn't home, but i left a note saying to call me if her daughter had any questions about her new home.
C
A clerk at my favorite health food store, we always talk. Thinking about the first time i felt her spirit actually open up, makes my heart feel funny. I feel a bit tongue-tied with her - i'm used to thinking of a clever or funny response to something she says, two minutes too late. I feel so profoundly capable of loving her the way she should be...a kind that virtually never happens in this lost, alienated, negotiated world. Making her spirit fly by offering her my entire being, even if that's not the best choice for my life (or if it caters to a self-destructive, monogamous paradigm in which she might be trapped). I dream of making her feel a purity of love that renders her incapable of hiding...of impregnating her, ten hours or ten years from now...
MASSEUSE
Living a non-materialistic life, choosing to have only what i need, makes me sad only infrequently. If i had unlimited money, i'd get several massages a week (at least). Not having had sex in over two years, i haven't really been touched since 2013. Mild backache is a constant companion. With my savings for my next move piling up, i have plenty of extra cash. Remembering fondly my investigative essays about the sex trade in NY, i've recently been thinking of returning to an asian massage parlor. One particular memory (and accompanying fantasy) spurs me on. I remember a massage i received in Yonkers. As the woman finished, she gently took my penis in her hand and asked whether i wanted more. I took her hand, and said "Only if you want me to be your boyfriend" (i normally don't use a word so stupid as "boyfriend", but english was her second language, so i tried to keep it simple). She said yes. I asked whether she wanted to come home with me. She nodded. Was she sincere? Of course not, screams any sensible person...men are money to her. And yet it seemed that there was a sadness and hope in her eyes...
I let the moment slip away though, because...who can say? Suspicion? Fear? We're all so broken.
And now i dream of that moment being recreated, a thousand miles away...but this time, the masseuse comes home with me. Maybe she's a slave in the asian-american sex trade, and coming with me means she has to go into hiding, and live with me. I happily allow it.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

ritch-22

Perhaps the greatest catch-22 in human history is that poor people don't have the wherewithal to change the world...and rich people don't have the desire. What is being rich? It's the easiest life on this planet. In a million ways. And yet ultimately being rich is...stressful. Could there possibly be any more damning testimony against our current social order? Those with the easiest lives are unhappy. Poor people understand how wrong things are. I mean fundamentally, back-to-the-drawing-board wrong. Yet should a poor person ever become rich, a very singular mental paralysis kicks in - a combination of fear and selective memory makes them feel that this world CAN be saved...as long as we don't do anything radical. But radical change is all that stands between us and the end of mammalian life on this rock.
Ask a rich person whether their life is hard. At first, they'll demur. Yet most of them, with little prompting, will soon be happy to offer you a litany of woes. But suggest any sort of reality that removes them from their wealth, and the most seamless rationalization machine you've ever seen will kick into high gear before your eyes. Even if they were once poor, and saw with perfect clarity the absolute inhumanity of this world, they will now argue that the suffering of the many for the sake of the few is...right. Don't hate them, don't try to save them. If you were in their shoes, you too would suddenly believe that what you once understood with perfect clarity, is now wrong.
Perhaps you're one of those who believe that the world is okay? Disturbing yes, horrific sure, incalculably unjust...yet we're, uh, getting by? Yes, getting by, it's not so bad. We've got chocolate, beer, and blow jobs! Maybe we should try all three at once! And maybe for a few weeks when you were twenty-five, you felt like you were truly loved and understood. Never mind every other day before or since...just a dry patch, right?
Well, no.
An illustration - most people would agree that being single is hard. An ass-kicking, degrading, hollow-stomach freak show. But then things fall in line, and you get...married! Leaving all that misery behind, yes? It must be true, you saw it in a movie. But there comes a time in the life of every married person when they suddenly understand that BEING MARRIED IS HARDER THAN BEING SINGLE. What?? How can that be? But you push those thoughts away, because of the heady cocktail of social stigma and a lifetime of pro-marriage propaganda. And then...you become a parent. Finally, something pure and good. The most rewarding thing you'll ever do, so they all say. But then, a month or a year later, you wake up in the night with the paralyzing realization...PARENTING IS HARDER THAN BEING MARRIED. Not even close, really. Suddenly, all the things you were taught are the exact opposite...and it's a progression that's always one step ahead of YOU.
Having a family is hard. Not having a family is hard. Having a job is hard. Not having a job is hard. Getting drunk is hard. Not getting drunk is hard.
What does ANY of this have to do with rich people and that catch-22, you scream???
Only everything.
Being rich is about selling...an idea, a cookie, a widget. Ultimately, selling yourself. And it turns out that everything in this world we've created is a reflection of that paradigm. Sell it. Sell it again. Sell it every moment of every day. Sell sell sell...YOURSELF, until you die. Then, when you can no longer breathe...take a breath(?)
This paradigm has pushed us into a reality in which everything has a price. Dreams, integrity, your children's future...sold.
Gone.
Poor people can't change the world. Rich people don't want to.
Kiss a mammal today. They don't have many todays left.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

gingerturd leftovers

As a writer keenly concerned with feminist issues, righting the wrongs of patriarchy is never far from my mind. When i take on a project like revising (or reimagining) classic fairy tales, the awareness of how steeped in chauvinism all our myths are, can be daunting. I don't want to overreach for the sake of polemics...sacrifice entertainment for the sake of enlightenment...but at what point should you just throw the baby out with the bathwater? Is it stupid to even try to improve inherently flawed product? Do you compromise too much by retaining the skeleton of the old structures, in the hopes reaching more people? It's a tricky line to walk.
What do you do with a canon of literature in which old or ugly women are virtually invisible, except when used to personify evil? How do you make women a vital force, without making them copies of brutal, amoral males? How do you turn a man's world into a human world, without coming off as a man-hater?
One method is gender-swapping - take some iconic or heroic character, and make him a her. I considered doing so with both "the gingerbread man" and "the man who laid the golden turd". Enough male protagonists! But...the rhyme scheme of the well-known "run run, as fast as you can" refrain just doesn't work with "gingerbread woman". Plus, the traditional ginger demise at the hands of a fox was easily translatable into a "foxy lady" - and would have felt forced the other way around. Still, did i pass up on a chance to make a strong point about how our society abandons single mothers? In "gingerbread woman", that would have been the straw that leads to her suicide. Would it have been more off-puttingly depressing for a gingerbread woman to kill herself?
Similarly, i considered "the woman who laid the golden turd"...but even though some of us may admire (or just envy) the male lead character i went with, there is an inescapably sleazy quality in the way he hoodwinks the town. It felt more appropriate to give that sleaze to a male. I originally made the metallurgist a male too, but realized that that might make the women seem like nothing more than a subservient harem to a male power structure. With a female metallurgist, i tried to imply that all these women might be quite content with their lives, and were nobody's slaves. In doing so, i chanced having a woman of authority too closely associated with male sleaze, but it seemed worth the risk.
I've come up against these choices in the past. On one occasion, it was such a close call that i wrote two versions - "goldilocks" and "goldilad". I thought goldilad was worth a try, because of all those female bonobos acting so sensibly sexy...and in any kind of traditional telling of goldilocks, the female lead (yay!) is rather passive and mealy (aww).
But "goldilad" didn't work quite as well as its big sister, right? Just not as entertaining.
Ah well. Such fine lines we satirists walk. Perhaps my best work in this field happens the further away i wander from the original tales' skeletons.
And i think the same fate would have befallen "the woman who laid the golden turd". Some male objectification would have been a lovely "shoe on the other foot" touch, but the overall picture would lack sharpness. Don't agree? Okay, you asked for it...

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

animals

The clever monkey
hides in the trees
The clever dolphin
hides in the seas
The clever bear
hides in caves
The clever stingray
hides in the waves
The clever dung beetle
hides in turds
The cleverest of all
hides in words

Sunday, November 1, 2015

naked nurse 12

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
The fist bump. Yay or nay?
-colorblind in Canarsie

Dear colorblind,
On the surface, it's easy to jump right in. An innovation from the black culture replacing a dusty white tradition? Sounds great! But if you're white and you try it, you perhaps can't escape the nagging feeling that someone's playing a joke on you? Black men are just waiting for you to make a fool of yourself? Then...a brother shares one with you, and everything feels okay. You're progressive! Inclusive (and patronizing)! Give yourself a pat (er, bump) on the back.
Settle down. Take a look at not just the bump, but what it's replacing - the handshake. Figure out the non-verbal shorthand (so to speak). A handshake is what's known as a mimic gesture - a copy of some larger behavior. In this case, the handshake is a mimic of a hug. Two people wrapping themselves around each other (or coming as close as they can, given social restraints). In this world of brother killing brother, color killing color, and everyone killing another, a mini-hug is a whole lot better than no hug at all. It's often the first step toward peace (uneasy or not).
What is a fist bump, body language-wise? As best i can figure, it's either a mimic of 70s cartoon superheroes the wonder twins (unlikely), or...antlered animals head-butting. You can dress it up with hipness and camaraderie, but that's the non-verbal core.
In a world in which civility is strained and universal siblinghood DOA, how can ANY version of a hug not be preferable?
Plus, have you noticed that you never notice women (of ANY color) fist-bumping? Good for you, feminine intuition. As for myself, i've always preferred the roman/Beastmaster forearm squeeze...but that's just me.
So if someone offers you a fist bump, try wrapping your fingers around that outstretched fist. And hug!

multiplicitous mergings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

naked maple

My brain don't know the difference
'tween false and true
If i just THINK i've done it
my brain thinks so too!

My brain don't know the difference
'tween fact and fiction!
My wildest fantasies
feel no contradiction

I imagine a world of peace
My brain thinks it's here!
I imagine never dying
and i'm free of our deepest fear

My brain thinks i've hugged aliens
and simone de beauvoir
My brain thinks i have a cottage
in Freenakedonia

My brain thinks i can fly!
And breathe under the sea
My brain thinks a bald asian athlete
is my soul mate (#3)

My brain thinks i'm surrounded by love
and laughing babies every day
My brain thinks the world leans in
to hear what i have to say

Of course it's not all
maple syrup and naked twins
My brain also thinks my sad thoughts
have happened again and again

My brain thinks i've been despised
Crucified and dragged in slime
My brain thinks i've killed myself
any number of times

There's no way around that
when lonely fear is the human norm
All we can do is dream
and shield our candles from the storm

Sunday, October 11, 2015

once...

A kitten once fell through my ceiling
That don't happen every day!
I once ran down a booming volcano
(no, not in fear, but play)

I was once sniffed in the sea by a shark
That don't happen every day!
I once held a two-hundred pound snake
(crocodile kate said it was okay)

I was once hit on the head by a coconut
That don't happen every day!
I once found a friend who'd been lost in the woods
Hunger had been eating him away

I was on a girls' team that trounced the boys
That don't happen every day!
I once held four women in five nights
(my sanest week, the scientists say)

I once loved a woman who'd been raped
No, more, maybe...four? No way!
Perhaps i'll just count the ones
who hadn't been raped, if i may?

I once pooped in the pool
I was just a kid, i wouldn't do it today!
I've looked in the barren hearts of men
and breathed relief not to be gay

Once i opened my soul to god
and found no reason to pray
Once i was told to be normal
and found no reason to obey

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

oblivi R us

Don't touch that woman
Don't touch that man
Don't even touch
your happy little hand
Constipated
Alienated
Sprinting into oblivion

Don't look at dirty pictures
Don't look at what we chew
Don't look out
for number 2
Constipated
Alienated
Sprinting into oblivion

Don't listen to the screams
or daddy's drunken snores
Don't listen to what happens
behind closed doors

Don't look for trouble
Don't look at the whores
Don't look for the truth
behind the wars

Don't listen to the cries
Don't listen to the dead
Don't listen to the whispers
inside your head
Constipated
Alienated
Sprinting into oblivion

Sunday, October 4, 2015

inhuman bondage

Each girl and boy
dreams dreams of joy
pure as baby's breath

This insanity
Inhumanity
Only relieved by death

Sunday, September 27, 2015

"Secrets of a Married Man"

-directed by william a. graham
1984
For a slightly silly and potentially provocative evening with friends, you might not do better than this delightful television movie starring william shatner, michelle phillips, and cybill shepherd. The subject is adultery, and the treatment surprisingly even-handed (if there is any monogamous difference of opinion among your companions, the discussion may get heated). Shatner and phillips play a married couple whose sex life has been eradicated by stressful jobs, parenthood, and twelve years of monogamy. Poignancy abounds, as we see them fumblingly reach out to one another for that which once came easily. Determined to not stray emotionally, he begins patronizing prostitutes (it's okay, go ahead and get it out of your system - t.j. and the hookers!). After a series of one-night stands which are unfailingly frank about the risks and rewards of his behavior, he finds a woman (shepherd) to whom he returns again and again. He develops an emotional bond...but eventually finds his comfortable existence threatened by the realization that she is neither an art student nor "independent". Yet he still tries to help her, as his world closes in. You may cringe and cry as you see phillips react horribly and hurtfully to human nature. All of the possessiveness and jealousy which lie in the heart of our poisoned society, are personified in her. Not that he's a saint; were the shoe on the other foot, one cannot doubt that he would act just as hatefully. A fine turn is also offered by glynn turman (GREMLINS, A DIFFERENT WORLD) as a startlingly non-stereotypical pimp. All three leads are sympathetic, which is surprising, given the sexually repressive era. With "straying" being mostly as hot-button now as it was then, your laughter may be leavened by the occasional hiss from a closed-minded companion.
Laughter, you ask? What could possibly be funny about this film? Is it intentional humor? Well...no. But it's shatner! I say that with nothing but respect and love, for there is indeed nothing shatnerian about his performance here - he is understatement personified. But if you have a certain bent of humor, there is just something giggle-friendly about shatner. The pitfalls of a "go for broke" personality being loved and known so well (this film falls just after STAR TREK III and smack dab in the middle of T.J. HOOKER). So even though he resembles a caricature of himself in no way, you just might not be able to resist the occasional howl or hoot as he steers his catwalk course. Phillips* and shepherd also rise to the occasion with deftness and aplomb. The ending doesn't disappoint, as moralizing is again avoided. Will our beleaguered couple survive or split? It could go either way. So if you want to cry for self-loathing twentieth century humanity, or just laugh and think a bit, this film too goes...either way.

* She also becomes the answer to a tantalizing trivia question - who is the only actor to ever be leading lady to both shatner and patrick stewart?

Sunday, September 20, 2015

"Jili"

-by kat chamberlain
2015
(Disclosure: i once lived in the author's closet for nine months. Which means i was either a political refugee, or a sex slave. Either way, it's pretty unlikely i'm unbiased.)

Post-apocalyptic/utopian-dystopian/young adult romance sci fi. A mouthful, but sometimes labels are our friends. To which i'll add one more - wonderful. A book i'd be happy to put in the hands of any young adult...and one that will be enjoyed by the not-so-young as well. Set after a global cataclysm called "the clouding", an event left intentionally vague. Nuclear mushrooms? The incineration of our atmosphere by pollution? Whatever the cause, it's dimmed our sun's presence, and reduced humanity to a fraction of its former fulsomeness. The survivors have split into two groups - the caerus live in automated cities with artificial suns, believing that technology is our salvation, and the ping shun technology and agriculture, embracing non-violence and communal reliance (i'm not sure whether the author realizes how insightful her agricultural angle is, as scientific evidence points to the agricultural revolution as a far greater disaster for our species than the industrial revolution). Ping life is far from perfect - they seem to be at least as touch-deprived as our own culture, perhaps with a generous helping of our sexual repression as well. The artificially-created border between caerus and ping is so deceptive, deadly, and daunting, there's been no intermingling for many generations.
And then comes jili - a teenage ping foundling who has only one friend, the clan sage who adopted her. He falls into a coma, and she is suddenly told she must infiltrate the caerus, to bring back a gene they have developed, which is the only thing that can save old tan. He left jili a message telling her to not go...and if she does, to not come back (a warning which will be left for the sequel to resolve). But faced with his death, she agrees to this suicidal mission. One crash course in mental and physical violence later, she is off...and finds the caerus caught up in hidden revolts. Their society is the ultimate in orwellian inhumanity, a state based entirely on consumerism, in which every product (down to the carpets and silverware) is wired to relay every bit of information about each person's behavior and preferences to the government's computers. Non-sanctioned creativity or construction are not allowed. Jili falls in with a band of revolutionaries, and tries to help them while keeping her own mission a secret. Why is she, a callow, untrained teen, sent on a mission that had already killed highly-qualified agents? Because of her identity (which is kept secret from her) as a fusor, a genetic mutant with elements of both ping and caerus.
The book is fascinatingly infused with a swirl of asian and western influences. I also love how chamberlain skillfully and simmeringly shows latent sexual tension between a teenager and an adult, without a trace of self-consciousness or stigma. Is there anything i didn't love? The thoughtfulness of the first half somewhat disappears in a swirl of mindless action. The book also dips into the worst cliches of Hallmark romance, with phrases like "he/she was soooooo beautiful my capillaries hurt" (i paraphrase). There's also a fair amount of power idolatry in jili's romantic attractions, along with our obsession with physical beauty. Indeed, if i were one of the producers of the film adaptation, i would urge chamberlain to change one of her two suitors from heartbreakingly handsome to average, or even ugly.
But the point hidden within that point, is that i would love to see JILI brought to the silver screen. Its thoughtful, multi-cultural elements are something the world could well use.

(JILI is available on Amazon kindle)

Thursday, September 17, 2015

naked nurse 11

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
Thank you for your advice (http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2014/12/naked-nurse.html). I've tried it a couple times, and one of them was probably the best sex i've ever had. All's the more shame that the relationship went boom (and not in the good way). We had so much in common! But self-destruction seems to be the romantic rule, not the exception. Am i just doomed to pick lovers who are wrong for me? Will one person always want more than the other?
-horny in Harrisburg

Dear horny,
By and large...yes. Sorry 'bout that. As long as our society bases romance on the fulfillment of selfish needs, the vast majority of entanglements will sooner or later go, as you say, boom.
But here's a little something that can help. And like the sexual advice i gave you, it's a bit counter-intuitive (in fact, it's almost the same advice, applied to the emotional realm).
Pick a lover whom you really like...but aren't consumed by. Someone you dig...but who has one or two obviously annoying or silly qualities. If we approached relationships thusly, it would be easier to find some measure of equanimity in this all-or-nothing world. We wouldn't get so bent out of shape when little things go wrong. When little imbalances arise. It would be easier to get through those imbalances, perhaps to a time when a different imbalance will run the other way. It would be easier to avoid falling into the trap of letting our lover become our entire world. If she or he has a taste you find tedious, or a hobby you find half-assed...great! It may keep you from "losing your head" in love - which feels great, of course, but in a dog-eat-dog world, isn't the most sensible roman(tac)tic.
salutary snoggings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Sunday, September 6, 2015

another

I was ready for her to want another man
Ready to encourage her thence
To make her hormones happy
I would knock down any fence
To expand her loving knowledge
To perpetuate receiving and giving
A new friend for her (and maybe me too)
Of such, is a life worth living
I watch this greedy, possessive world
I watch, and watch, and pity it
I was ready for her to want another man
but wasn't ready for him to be...an idiot

Thursday, August 27, 2015

splat!

battered
shattered
you reach again
splattered

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

naked nurse 10

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
What do you think about the argument that humans are inherently selfish (or "evil", as the taterheads say), based upon the behavior of babies?
-gnonplussed in Gnome

Dear gnonplussed,
Are human beings self-oriented by nature? It's hard to imagine that we're not. Yet we're also profoundly social, more so than much of the wild kingdom. Our personalities are determined by the culture in which we happen to be born. Daily social interaction defines humans, and without it an individual will gradually (or not so gradually) go insane.
The thing that sticks in my craw about the argument that babies are evidence of inherent human selfishness, is this - any observation you make of a human under eighteen months, is essentially observation of a fetus. Unlike other mammals (with the exception of kangaroos and a couple others) human newborns aren't fully "baked". Other mammal newborns are pretty much up and around right away, but not us. Evidence suggests that human gestation used to be closer to two and a half years...but our growing brains forced our mommies to push us out earlier and earlier.
So...are you really comfortable judging a species by the behavior of their fetuses?? Cultural anthropologists are amassing evidence that the natural human state is one of radical sharing. If you use "the terrible twos" as evidence that my counterpoint is self-defeating, i'll reply that by the time a child is two, they've already received HUGE amounts of socialization...and living in a greed/competition-based, fearful, violent, touch-deprived society, most of that socialization is (like our society itself, obviously) pretty dysfunctional. For that matter, are you sure the "terrible twos" aren't just a reaction to no longer being held almost constantly, by nearly every adult they meet? I'd get cranky too, if everyone i met hugged the hell out of me for two years, then one day just stopped.
perspicacious ponderings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Friday, August 14, 2015

naked nurse 9

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
Whenever i get into a debate with someone about war, i usually reason them into a corner until...out comes the hitler card! What about hitler, they say! What about hitler??? Can you help a pacifist out?
-exasperated in Evanston

Dear exasperated,
The hitler card can be beaten.
The Holocaust was so awful? You bet. Yet there's no small amount of self-righteous tunnel vision in even allowing that capital H. Every day of our lives, some ethnic group somewhere has been culled by genocide's bloody scythe. But 6 MILLION, your friend says? They want a numbers game - fine (and this will be particularly pertinent if your debate partner is european-american, though other examples abound).
In 1492, there were over a hundred million natives in the "Americas".
Seen many lately?
The eradication of various cultures on this continent dwarfs any similar undertaking in human history. Genocide is just business as usual for the human race, and the nazis? Just U.S. wannabes with a blonde fetish. But more to the point, we didn't go to war with hitler because of genocide. We did so because we didn't cotton to the thought of a country the size of New Mexico conquering the world.
If your friend calls the american genocides ancient history, here are some others the U.S. has dabbled in lately - Bangladesh, Guatemala, Iraq, Rwanda...and those are just the biggies.
At this point, your friend may be chastened. But most non-pacifists are of the "never say die" persuasion (as long as someone else is doing the dying). They might finally have nothing to throw out but the "kill or be killed" dilemma. And there's an easy answer - you kill. But that's a dilemma so specious as to be worthless. In any non-military reality (with humble apologies to domestic abuse victims), the odds of being in a bona fide "kill or be killed" situation are statistically almost nil. Fight or die? Sure. Incapacitate or die? Yeah. Maim or die? It could happen. But don't give me "kill or die" - it's a child's argument. And more to the point, it's got nothing to do with war. War is impersonal. Tribal.
And hitler? He's in the house next door...or in your pants.
War is self-perpetuating.
Greed and exploitation will keep donning religion's cloak, and the killing will go on...
Until we decide to do the obvious.
Make everyone well-fed and well-sexed.
Well-fed, well-sexed folk don't hurt, steal, or kill.
I mean...why would they?

sublime slumbers,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Thursday, August 13, 2015

"Star Trek: Into Darkness"

-directed by j.j. abrams
2013
How often is a filmmaker polite enough to provide the perfect metaphor for his work with a franchise, right in the title of a film?
At the risk of trashing the effect of a seamless one-sentence summation, i suppose STAR TREK: INTO THE CRAPPER would have been too on the nose?
Since i've already abanoned the brilliance of perfect brevity, i'll just add that this film is not STAR TREK. As in non-canonical, like its predecessor. Is the film horrible? Nope, just pathetic. You can call a hippo a primo ballerina, but the power of suggestion will never result in "Swan Lake".
Next?

Sunday, August 9, 2015

dear amanda 4 & 5

From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither; here am i.
Now - for a breath i tarry
Nor yet disperse apart -
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and i will answer;
How shall i help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.

-a.e. houseman

Hello amanda,
I thought of you when i came across these words. Such poetry stunned me, to know that a long-dead writer could capture so perfectly that which i feel.
Oh the humiliation, said the would-be great writer and visionary!
So much we all take for granted...that we'll be a better person, or whatever, on some future day. But the future is a shadow without substance.
A million lives we never live, taking their possibility for granted, until suddenly we awaken to find possibility gone.
Fear has been such a companion for you. Fear of life, fear of yourself...
I'm going to say something which may feel big. It's not. NOT. At the end of this note, nothing essential will have changed. If you need me, my answer will be the same as it's always been.
But my ancient willingness to endure hardship for your sake, is a habit we never got around to balancing...and damage usually catches up to imbalance. This was just one of the things that was going to equalize between us when you ran away.
Did you know that i was traumatized by what happened? Clinically, i mean? I can see it in how i haven't been able to stop reliving it over and over. Perhaps not the events per se, but in imaginary conversations.
Classic post-traumatic behavior.
And please remember, part of this damage has nothing to do with YOU! When i arrived here, i had never been more wounded or emotionally open. Horrible timing.
So i want to do something now i perhaps should have done a year or two ago. I was holding onto the notion that if i allowed myself to be erased completely, the only winner would be your demons. I don't know whether there's anything to that...but another compelling argument says that our current "relationship" damages us both. In this limbo you've created, you've encouraged the idea that we might one day be friends again. But that expectation doesn't sound entirely healthy, as it pulls a part of you away from living in the moment. From manifesting EXACTLY who you are, right this second. Anything that makes us less centered, is one more spiritual obstacle.
This limbo also might make it easier for you to dwell in truth-avoidance, should anyone ask you what happened to me. As things stand, you might give some "ebb and flow" explanation, instead of taking responsibility for yourself. You don't have to use the word "erased"...but i'd be proud of you if you did.
I also thought it was important to let you do whatever you needed to do, as i believe so strongly in people making their own mistakes. In your case, i also thought it was vital to give you every opportunity to fix those mistakes.
Is this limbo healthy for you, in some way i don't understand? If so, tell me! I don't want to make the mistake of determining a course for us, without asking what you think.
On the other side, this limbo seems patently unhealthy for me. Maybe you thought that with enough time, my wounds would heal on their own, and you could have a blank slate when and if we re-engaged.
I don't think it works like that.
So my thought is, let's not limbo anymore. Let's cha-cha! I suspect the quickest course to healing for me would be if you showed up and tried to help me. But let's not kid ourselves - you're not ready for that. And for either of us to hope that you might one day be, is a cruelty we should try to spare ourselves. So let's stop pretending we have a relationship.
OMIGOSH. I went to bed at this point last night, and for the first time i can ever recall, i dreamt about eric and i being your co-husbands! You and he had two young children you were looking after when i arrived in FL, and eric didn't like me kissing him on the lips, even playfully. There was cake, too.
You do know that if we ever did become friends again, it could never be like before? Your old games, the hiding and controlling...you couldn't be that person any more?
And please please please, understand that we can't have real communication in letters like this, so we ABSOLUTELY should not try. If you answer this note with anything more than monosyllables, you're disrespecting both of our humanities. Your last note, when you tried to explain your behavior, made me cry a bit. Not that your words were spiritually untrue...but such words can only prompt a million questions, and you control this situation by denying me any real chance to ask them. The enormous subtleties in unweaving what happened between us cannot be addressed in a letter.
Forgive the hypocrisy in my saying all this...in a letter. But your aforementioned situational-control backs me into this corner.
As for your explanation, it was good mid-range spirituality. Some of the deeper stuff you're at least partly aware of (like what fears are at the core of your hiding). And i think your point about your behavior being impersonal is mostly true. It's the question of psychopathic behavior, as compared to sociopathic. The former dysfunction is intensely personal, the latter not personal at all. Which makes you a bit of a sociopath (And in case i need to say this, don't be put off by these words - what most people never understand, is that we're ALL psychopaths or sociopaths, in one degree or another. Some are more fucked up than others, but in the big picture, it's only about who's better at hiding it.).
So yes, your treatment of me was sociopathic...but probably not exclusively. I strongly suspect that there is a minor element of your lashing out at others (and yourself), which is VERY personal. Keep trying to figure it all out, but do not PUNISH yourself. In a fucked-up society, anti-social behavior is a form of sanity.
And to go deeper...
I just now realized that there was another reason for why i didn't react to your callousness, with confrontation. So often, when people make big, relationship-altering gestures, it's about vanity or pride. What these actions do is freeze a relationship at some horrible point. It's a form of punishing each other, so that the thing they always remember (about someone they once loved) is that frozen moment of pain.
I understand this all too well, as your actions unintentionally froze me at a point when i was treated horribly. By NOT reacting to your cruelty with some ultimatum, i subconsciously avoided "freezing" me forever in your mind as someone upset or disappointed.
Of course, maybe some part of you WANTED me to give you a "get your shit together" kick in the ass. As i've said, there is no graceful way to respond to dysfunction.
So why am i risking a "big" gesture by de-limboing us now? Because i need to heal - it's too hard, being this emotionally open while carrying around a bleeding wound.
But this is NOT a big gesture. I can't end something that doesn't exist - and if you need me, my response is just what it's always been.
Okay.
Now scroll back up, and read that poem one more time. If a relationship must be frozen, how could it be done more gracefully than that?
And with the (non-empty) words "i love you".
-your wrob

February 2016
Dear amanda,
Do you remember when i knew how to make you smile? Would it be greedy of me to hope?
"Denseness" is the word you use to describe your inability to understand my confusion and hurt. Are you stupid? No. Do i have poor linguistic skills? No. So something is going on in your head to keep information from getting through. Perhaps this is the question we should be asking - is there something that keeps you from responding to, or even perceiving, human suffering? Is it across the board, or selective?
Are these the kind of questions you're asking yourself? Do you have someone in your life who can?
In trying to gracefully, gently pull myself away from you, there are about seven obstacles. When i first took on the sacred duty of being your friend, there were two rules that stood out. I never consciously put them into words, but if i had they would have been:
Do NOT take it personally.
DO NOT abandon her.
I'm trying to break one if not both of those commandments. I'm fighting eighteen years of muscle memory. So hard.
I won't try any more to explain the pain that's brought me to this point. I'll just say that receiving a note from you makes me sick for about three days. Intellectually, my love is as strong as ever. But physiologically, i now have a stunningly profound fear response to you. After sending you a note, it takes many days to not have my chest tighten any time i open my computer.
I can be your friend, or not be your friend. But i can't do both - there are too many other horrible things i'm fighting now, to deny my own humanity in dealing with you. Once i could do that with ease, but no more.
Could you fix all this relatively easily? Probably. If you were to try to save me, how far could you go in saving yourself? I get why i'm toxic - face me and you'll face yourself. Most people spend a lifetime avoiding that.
Aren't you impressed with how i resisted saying "amandments"? Wheeee.
(that was the one smile i was going for)
So please, if you can't respond to this in the real world, then just write one word so that i know you got the note. "Pancakes" or "sparkle-toes" perhaps. Or bushbaby. I like bushbaby.
love,
wrob

P.S. She wrote bushbaby! Yay.

Friday, August 7, 2015

"TEKWAR"

1994-1996
Bold, brilliant, inventive...these are just some of the words which do NOT describe this show. Hailed as william shatner's masterpiece (by people who obviously never saw INVASION IOWA), and based on his best-selling novels, the show makes the most of its small budget, creating a dystopic vision of 2045, a time when the cyberdrug tek ravages the land. They were shooting for TRON meets RUSH, but soft writing left them far short. One tunes in hoping for grit and edge, but the dynamic is closer to a standard 70s cop show...and this is in the freakin' 90s! As with much sci fi of the late 20th century, you're left wondering how the gap between these folk and the STAR TREK talent pool can be so glaring - shouldn't the second or third best actors/writers in the biz still be pretty amazing? TEKWAR follows the exploits of ex-cop and ex-addict jake cardigan (greg evigan - BJ AND THE BEAR, MY TWO DADS), released from cryofreeze prison and trying to rebuild his life. His wife and son have moved on, and he lands a security job working for crusading anti-tek mogul walter bascom (shatner). They take on tek lords and assorted baddies. Cardigan has the requisite roguish charm, but his faint boorishness and violent temper eventually wear thin. Evigan's mildly wooden shortcomings get harder and harder to ignore, too. Shatner's bascom? Surprisingly vanilla. Maybe he felt he was overdue for something understated, but with the show stuck in meh, you keep waiting for something to come alive...and given his track record, you hope and expect that it will be him. But no...for the middle shank of the run, he doesn't even log an appearance (elvis has left the building, indeed). The show starts as a buddy drama, with eugene clark (KNIGHT RIDER 2000, ROBOCOP: PRIME DIRECTIVES) as jake's steadfast partner, but a mid-season shakeup cruelly sends him to the rubbish tip. Natalie radford (SPENSER: THE JUDAS GOAT, SUPERSTAR), as bascom's top computer jock, survives the purge...but contributes no more talent or chemistry than those who don't. Maurice dean wint (HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH, ROBOCOP: PRIME DIRECTIVES), is an underused bright spot as an unyielding android police lieutenant. Torri higginson (THE ENGLISH PATIENT, STARGATE: ATLANTIS) shines as jake's initial love interest, but her scientist character is abandoned by the writers long before they have the decency to officially purge her. She's replaced by maria del mar (ROBOCOP: PRIME DIRECTIVES, 24), as jake's new partner sam houston, who seamlessly mixes femininity and toughness. And perhaps the brightest light of all (depending on your pulchritudinous preferences) is sci fi uberbabe lexa doig (ANDROMEDA, STARGATE: SGI) as cowgirl, a fearless cyberpunk. Her costuming (or lack thereof) is a tad obvious - if you're going to play that card so blatantly, producers, you should just have the integrity to make her a full-time nudist. The breast example (best - i mean best!) is in "Cyberhunt", and a glance at how her costume evolved from first appearance to last is probably worth a chuckle. But after a quickly-discarded disaster of an accent, she plays her character with intelligence and skill, and has to be in the running for sexiest nerd ever. Does TEKWAR have any juicy TREK guest appearances? A lil' nimoy or nichelle, perhaps? Nay, though there's one nicole ("Chill Factor"), as in de boer, four years before her DS9 debut. Overall, do i recommend you watch any of this halting effort? Nah. That said...
BEST OF THE LOT
-TEKLAB
One of the four telemovies that came to be known as as the first season, and memorable for no other reason than a ripping guest turn by michael york (LOGAN'S RUN, AUSTIN POWERS: INTERNATIONAL MAN OF MYSTERY), as the heir to the british throne. He schemes, fences, wears medieval armor...and raises the level of everything around him.
-Deadline
Lieutenant winger is attacked, and his cortical relay unit stolen. Without it, he'll die. The only episode that "humanizes" him, and shines a fine sci fi light on prejudice.
-Skin Deep
Jake's first love is murdered. Framed for the crime, he falls in with her security double, who has undergone both cosmetic surgery and memory implants to be a perfect match. They fall for each other, which sounds obvious...but this is the only episode to score as legitimate sci fi, that feels like nothing you've ever quite seen before. As if that isn't enough, the writing and chemistry are a notch above the show's norm.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

naked nurse 8

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
Tiger woods - scumbag who is reaping his karmic comeuppance on the course?
-disillusioned in Dekatur

Dear disillusioned,
Tiger is at worst a bit of an idiot, and at best a simple victim of humanity's sexual self-loathing. Perhaps a bit of a liar too, but there's no evidence of maliciousness (if lying were a crime, all of humanity would be incarcerated...and tiger might be one of the first parolees).
Besides, your karmic calculation doesn't hold water. Since his domestic brouhaha, he's returned to the golf course, where he reestablished himself (for a while) as the number one golfer in the world - a measure of success denied to, well, every other golfer in the world. If that's bad karma, i'll take two. But if you measure success by anything so myopic as winning or losing a child's game, you've demonstrated the depth of a puddle. To measure success by box score, bank ledger, ballot count, title, or trophy wife, is to out yourself as a spiritual child. Nay, infant.
Tiger had sex with lots of women? Anyone bothered by that is an envious puritan with all the scientific understanding of a stump. Humans, male and female alike, are designed to have multiple, concurrent partners. It's our normal, healthy state - that's not opinion, it's science. Anyone who walks away from the opportunity to live thusly, is in about seventeen kinds of denial.
The only way i can fault tiger is for getting married in the first place, especially if the ultra-private affair contained the words "forsaking all others". Then he's a fool who's more interested in appearance than integrity. Maybe he just wanted a "normal" family structure in which to raise children (as though the nuclear family is even a healthy child-rearing paradigm). But don't shed one tear for elin. She signed a prenuptial contract. If she truly believed in "true love" or the sanctity of marriage, she would have thrown that document back in his face.
perky putterings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Sunday, July 12, 2015

alack

Alack, the gays!
We poison their ways
The gift of marriage
A loathsome carriage

Monday, July 6, 2015

serial victims

Serial monogamy be serial train wrecks
Woman nor man, there ain't no fair sex

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

marxman

I don't believe in bacchus, midas, jesus, or cinderella
(women think me a most queer fella)
I believe in casanova and mae west
(i fail those magazine mating tests)
I'm devoted to karl as much as harpo
(my love life is no way, no how, no go)

Monday, June 29, 2015

letters from lovejoy

(A poetry rub cafe on the planet Lovejoy, 2073. Amanda and wrob talk while receiving massages.)
WROB: I know, i know! Don't agonize, it was a million years ago.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: Where is this coming from? Do you need penance, or absolution? If it's the latter, you know you've had that...always.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: Okay...it was dehumanizing. Have you ever had your humanity assaulted? Or negated? Well, of course, everyone has. But it was like this demon child was out there screaming "You're not a human being! You thought you were a human being, but you're NOT!! I rip the tongue out of your fucking head! You don't exist!!!" It was like you wanted me to do something stupid, so you could rationalize rejecting me. And when i didn't take the bait, you acted like a mudslinging politician and accused me of doing it anyway. It was a tough year. Eric erased me, shane did the same...which is the way everybody acted back in those days, so big deal. But it was such a mindfuck, because you kept dropping these horrible bombs. We'd meet accidentally for twenty-nine seconds, you would say something disconnected from reality...and even though i knew intellectually that you were making shit up because you felt you had to say something, there was a tiniest nugget of uncertainty over whether you might actually believe what you were saying. If that were so, then a simple, short talk at any point would have fixed everything. And maybe "fixing everything" meant you needing to end our friendship...which was fine, of course.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: There's only one that sticks in my mind...when you told me you thought i'd had expectations. To spend fifteen years offering one message above all - "i have NO expectations". Everyone you'd ever known, every lover or friend or family member, had crapped their expectations onto you. But not me, i wasn't going to do that. Ever (except the ones you asked me to hold). I knew that if a hundred bloodhounds went back over every word i'd said, every deed i'd done, they would never find the tiniest whiff of expectation. So, yeah, boom - the most hurtful thing anyone had ever said to me. Ain't life funny.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: Exactly. You were a surgeon. You were syd barrett. And you couldn't stand the thought that someone saw you. You needed that illusion of control you'd always so carefully maintained. But it's not like it was so bad that i lost perspective, or the ability to laugh. There were one or two hysterical moments. I laughed for an entire day once, when i listened to an alanis morrisette song and realized you had behaved exactly like the man she was trashing. I mean...that's funny.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: No, dumbass, i don't remember the song.
AMANDA: (dialogue to be inserted)
WROB: I was always proud of my yearly ritual - once a year, on your birthday, i would climb in my biplane and skywrite over your house "IT'S NOT HOW WELL YOU LOVE OTHERS, BUT HOW WELL YOU LOVE YOURSELF".
AMANDA: You did no such fucking thing.
WROB: I didn't? Could've sworn i did...
AMANDA: You can't even remember when my birthday is, dipshit!
WROB: Not true. Starting the first year you ignored me on van's birthday, every year after, exactly nine months before your birthday, i fucked nine fertile women. Don quixote got nothin' on me...
AMANDA: You did that for me?
WROB: Damn straight.
THERAPIST: (to amanda) Would you like the happy ending?
WROB: Been wondering that since 1998...

Saturday, June 27, 2015

pinheadio leftovers

One of my favorite lines from Pinheadio, is one that nobody got to read. Oh, i tried leaving it in, along with a humorous parenthetical about it being brilliant but also brilliantly racist...but i finally went with my dictum that less is more, and cut it.
The question is, was it brilliantly (or even just middlingly) racist? Before answering my question, here's the line:
"...but pinocchio was swept ashore as geppetto was swallowed by the colossal catfish, who was immediately swallowed by the dastardly dogfish, who was immediately swallowed by the lumbering lucasfish, who was immediately swallowed by the draconian disneyfish, who was immediately swallowed by the giant jewfish, who was immediately swallowed by the awful antitrustfish."
It was the jewfish bit that got cut. A surface reading of the line admittedly sets off racist alarms. So why do i find it funny? Because walt disney was allegedly an anti-semite! Add to that the fact that Disney's most famous CEO since walt died, was jewish (along with at least two others CEOs), and it becomes very funny. Add to that the fact that, unlike the lucasfish or disneyfish, there actually IS such a thing as a jewfish, and it becomes hysterical! Call my sense of humor perverse, but the fact that there's an actual animal called a jewfish, is entertaining to me. I might also giggle if you told me there was a wopfish. I'm basing all that on the assumption that the original intent of the naming was in no way a slur.
Intelligent people have long known that one way to separate the stupid from the smart, is in how they react to "bad" words. Intelligent people know there is no such thing as a bad word...only bad intentions. Any word can be good or bad depending on the context, but if you automatically make a word dirty or demeaning, you give that word automatic power over your emotions. Instead of controlling your words, you're letting them control you.
The belief in "bad words" exists in inverse proportion to intelligence.
And the original sequence would have been even funnier if i'd ended it on "jewfish"...but doing that would have actually felt a touch anti-semitic! Having the line end on "antitrustfish" send the proper message...that michael eisner has no monopoly on slimy business ethics, and that he and all his predatory ilk are an endangered species.
Just as is, coincidentally, the jewfish itself.
So by any correct reading of authorly intent, the line wasn't racist...yet sadly, a lot of people might have thought it was. And it's not even being misunderstood by well-intended folk that bothers me, as much as the thought of actual racists thinking i was one of them.
There are, of course, any number of emotionally-charged, hot-button words which draw immediate censure regardless of intention or context. "Jew" is mild, compared to some. Some words are so hot, you can't even say a word that sounds similar. I'm appalled that some public figure recently was censured (perhaps even fired?), simply for using "niggardly" in its proper context. Call it my perverse sense of humor again, but niggardly has always been one of my absolute favorite words. My brother and i even invented "the niggardly game". It's quite simple, and can stretch out over years. At some sort of annual social gathering, a contestant must conspicuously (but properly) inject "niggardly" into the conversation. The following year, it's the next contestant's turn. This goes on until the group at large finally reacts in some decisive way.
Hysterical, i call it.
If you find that in bad taste, you're perhaps in some kind of denial over how screwed up this world is. But this world needs in-your-face humor, nowhere moreso than where emotions run highest.
Often when i'm out in the world doing some sort of solitary activity, i'll sing the theme song to "The Niggar Family" from CHAPELLE'S SHOW. One of the most brilliant satires ever - i'll be laughing at it for the rest of my life.
I know, of course, that should someone overhear me singing that song and not know the source, they might think me a crass racist. Or if a black person overheard me, even were they to recognize the song, they might find my behavior inappropriate or insulting. That's a risk i'm happy to take. Humor is the sanest reaction to an insane world...and if everyone embraced the sensibility behind the song, we would all be well on our way to healing.
And poor authors would never need pull their funniest lines again.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

safe

You can be loved
You can be safe
But not both
Never both

Sunday, June 14, 2015

naked nurse 7

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
If i had a nickel for every time i scared a woman off by telling her i loved her the first time we had sex...i'd have some nickels! What's wrong with people?? Are we really that neurotic?
-lovelorn in little rock

Dear lovelorn,
If you're going to answer your own question, why am i even here?
Asking people to be relaxed and open and accepting (or giving or nurturing or agendaless) any time sex is involved, is like asking slugs to dance - even if they do their best, no one's likely to notice or care. But give us another century or two, and we'll get our caca conjoined.
Right now, there's just far too much at stake when sex is in play. Aside from money, nothing else defines our lives so thoroughly...and for most people, especially women, our sexual choices determine our financial well-being as well.
Nothing could be more natural than telling your lover you love them! It seems a no-brainer. But (again, especially for women), the sex game is all about long-term strategies, so a "premature i love you" throws us off. Ironically, it can sound...shallow. Insincere, instead of truthful and natural. Of course, part of the problem is hormones. Any time we're caught up in the swirls of falling in love, our brains are simply a perplexed passenger. Instead of sensibly kicking them to the curb and enjoying the ride, we try to CONTROL...ourselves, our partners, our precious self-images.
And to play devil's advocate for a moment, an "i love you" in the heat of hormonal passion, is arguably not as objectively truthful as it might feel. Is it truly the other person we love, or simply how we feel with them? To some extent, those realities overlap. Yet often as not, a brain awash in endorphins can wake up a year later and realize that their beloved annoys them no end. Never, ever, ever make life choices while in the first eighteen months of falling in love (of course, to the misery of all, this is precisely the time most of us DO make life choices).
Is there a more honest alternative to the "premature i love you"? How about "i love this". While that has the merit of likely being the most truthful option, it makes a far too shallow clang in our ears. Perhaps "i love us", then? It still has a high degree of honesty, while maintaining a semblance of healthy perspective.
I love us!
I promise, that's not just the hormones talking.
mirthful mountings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

naked nurse 6

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
How do fat-bottomed girls feel about the song "Fat-Bottomed Girls"?
-wondering in Westphalia

Dear wondering,
What, you can't just let them make the rocking world go round, and leave it at that? Sigh. Okay, this is the closest i'll probably ever come to dissembling, but...there are probably as many different answers to that question as there are fat-bottomed girls (er, women). Now, you got a smart-ass follow-up about babies and back?
rumpalicious reveries,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Sunday, June 7, 2015

not i, the jury

Yesterday, i reported for my first jury summons.
Contrary to the prevailing "howyagonnagetoutofit" attitude, i did so gladly. Eagerly would be overstating the case, as i can't say i relished the thought of a weeks-long commitment...so much writing time sacrificed, to say nothing of the ninety minutes it would take to get downtown by bike.
Yet it would be hard to overstate how moved i've always been by the movie TWELVE ANGRY MEN. In theory, there is nobility in our jury system. Of course the reality is far more corrupt, but...
Anyway, gladly i went.
The day started out in a gathering room where i and hundreds of others waited. Most trials are avoided at the eleventh hour, so there was a fair likelihood that few of us would be needed. The shepherd for our begrudging flock was a case lesson in how there are stand-up comedians who don't need a concert hall or cable special to shine. Quips flowed off him like water off a duck's back. All's the more credit, that he could be so enthusiastic and fresh with something he's done hundreds, if not thousands of times.
I sat and read my book for an hour.
Then another.
A group of thirty or so was taken from us.
I read on.
Another group was taken.
I read on.
During the third hour, another group was called...including number 350. Moi.
A bailiff shepherded us through a spinal tapian traverse of corridors and elevators.
Then another waiting area, outside a courtroom. Before long, we were ushered in.
One judge. Two bailiffs. A court reporter. An intern. Three lawyers across from one lawyer. Over the next five hours (including lunch break), forty-five jurists would be whittled down to seven. The only instant antipathy i felt was for the group of three - something a bit hard about them. The only person i felt instant sympathy for was the lone lawyer, who rather fit the cliche of public counsel to a T. A woman of color, underfunded and alone against the world's fat cats. The fact that the other lawyers were white men, only reinforced the image. Did the fact that i found her sexually desirable contribute to my feeling of sympathy? Of course.
The judge displayed a relaxed, almost playful demeanor that did our day's original comedian proud. He was always ready with inspirational quotes, when time needed to be filled. He didn't seem the least bit jaded or cynical.
Or perhaps he was on his best behavior once the room discovered we had a celebrity amongst us, a local TV news anchor doing his civic duty. Is that a cynical thought that is (for once) unjustified? The judge's demeanor seemed entirely unforced throughout. My only fleeting critique of him was that his sunny attitude felt almost inappropriate to the seriousness of  the occasion. A man's freedom was at stake. But i veto that critique - the regulars in that room have to deal with stressful, horrible realities day in and day out. Humor is probably the healthiest reaction possible.
And indeed a man's freedom was at stake. I was a little surprised when i learned that the group of three was actually two lawyers and one defendant. I had imagined that we wouldn't know any of the case's specifics until the trial formally began, but here we were being told that this man before us was accused of petty larceny and aggravated assault. A robbery gone bad, resulting in a knifing.
I pondered our current jury selection process. There is something more than a little unsettling about counsel being able to hand-pick a jury. If we go further down that road, we'd allow lawyers to dismiss a judge they don't like. Isn't the truly impartial system one where judge and jury are selected entirely at random? I understand the opposing argument, and agree it has merit...i just don't think we should lose sight of the fact that our current process is like affirmative action - a horrible solution only marginally better than the problem it's trying to fix.
From trial to trial, jury selection occurs with varying degrees of transparency. On this day it would all be out in the open, except for sidebars wherein jurists could share anonymously something they felt was too personal. They would meet with the lawyers at the bench, while a white noise machine went on. This happened at least ten times. We were all given a sheet with a battery of general questions, and stood up, one by one, to give our answers. Name, occupation, residence and duration thereof, family life, relation to any officers, and past involvement with crime (either as victim, perpetrator, or relative of same). The judge made a sympathetic reference to the average person's fear of public speaking, and i got to see that reality play out more directly than i ever had before. There was one potential jurist who responded to a question with a semi-coherent ramble that went on for minutes, completely straying from the original point. When it came my turn to stand and talk (i was first up after lunch break, as it happened), would i be exempt from such stage fright? I had spent much of my life on actual stages, with hardly a quiver. But surprise - the fright got me! I completely forgot to answer the final question - i was going to say that i had one cousin doing time for grand larceny.
Why did i lose my composure, even a little? Was it simply because the context was so very different from theater, or indeed any other public speaking situation i'd experienced? Perhaps. Was it something to do with the one or two almost-brushes i'd had with the legal system, combined with my belief that our system of crime and punishment is hopelessly barbaric (and irredeemably corrupted by money as well)? Perhaps.
The judge's humorous demeanor almost swayed me into injecting comedy into my own speech. I was going to say that i had "no children...as far as i know". When the moment came, i left out the punchline (truthful though it was).
Having plenty of time to think about how i would present myself, the only thing i waffled on was whether i should mention i'd had a police officer uncle killed in the line of duty. It happened when i was so young however, i barely remember him. When the moment came, i mentioned it.
After we'd all had our turn, and answered any questions prompted by our declarations, the defense and prosecution had a chance to pose general questions, asking whether we all understood or agreed with such and such, and inviting any to offer a personal response. I had warmed up to the defense team just a bit...but they never quite lost that mercenary whiff. The younger one could probably sell a lot of used cars if the law thing doesn't work out, and at one point during a sidebar, the older one casually rested his hand on the defendant's back. It somehow felt both sincere, yet entirely planned so as to be visible to all. As for the defendant himself, he didn't strike me one way other the other.
By this time, our group had already been whittled down to twenty or so, with jurists dismissed either for health or scheduling reasons (we'd been informed that the trial might last two or three days). On the lunch break, i was curious as to whether any fellow jurists might offer to dine with me, and if so, what demographic would i attract. I've still got plenty of youthful energy, but my days of being mistaken for a twenty-something are probably behind me. One tries to not think of such things, but in a society so horribly ageist as our own, true equanimity is ever the illusion. It was a couple of twenty-somethings who invited me to join them. A legal clerk who bore a libido-arousing resemblance to anna paquin, plus a male gay hairdresser (i only mention this because it was turning out to be quite the day for walking cliches). We had charming and even somewhat personal conversations as we ate, and made plans to dine together again the following day. As it happened however, none of us would be picked.
Did i even want to be picked? I was struggling with that. The relative brevity of the trial swayed me toward wanting to do it. But something about the nature of the responsibility gave me pause. I tried to put such thoughts out of my mind...
During the group question period, i spoke up in response to a question about how we might react to a case founded on witness testimony, as opposed to forensics or surveillance. I said that i'd be leery about rendering a guilty verdict in such a case, as i was fairly up-to-date on research into the science of memory, which has revealed that human recollection is almost infinitely more fallible than we'd ever thought. Indeed, one of the points i brought up is that some scientists have theorized that there may come a time when witness testimony will no longer even be admissible.
Looking back, those may have been the words that sealed my fate, as it was perhaps last thing the state's attorney wanted to hear. But i felt so strongly about it, that i barely held my tongue when another jurist was questioned on the point, and opined that she thought people might get details wrong, but not the big stuff. Would it have been petty of me to propose that my esteemed colleague was obviously not a devotee of the Discovery Channel?
As we waited in the lobby before final selection, i felt a wave of unease...very much wanting to do my duty, but overtaken by the awareness the i don't believe in our system of punishment. The very notion of imprisonment...putting someone we don't like into a locked cage, not for days, but years? That, dear friends, is the very definition of barbaric. There is no justification for it, other than vengeance and problem-avoidance. And beyond that, the more i come to understand just how horribly broken our society is, how irretrievably damaged we all are before we're old enough to even know what the word "damage" means, the less able i am to stand in judgment over anybody's life. Every sister or brother on this planet is just a fucked up version of my own fucked up self. There are tiny steps we can make toward healing...but cruel retribution has no place therein.
As i sat there, another jurist chatted me up. He was eager to talk about his life, and the trial, and the use of negative space in art...
We were called in.
I had no idea what would happen.
The judge humbly thanked us all again, and called out seven names.
Number 350 was done for the day, and indeed the year.
The judge then invited the dismissed jurors to stay, but no one took him up on it. As we filed out, i was the only one who turned to the final seven, already sworn in. I gave them a little salute, as if to say "Go, brothers and sisters...try to do some good." Wait, the news anchor got picked? Hmph. Obviously they're not choosing based on merit, but on celebrity suck-up. Angling for a flattering news story about the local justice system. Hmph.
As i left the building, i shook hands with my new friend on the courthouse steps. It felt very much like the farewell scene between henry fonda and joseph sweeney...

Thursday, May 28, 2015

naked nurse 5

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SPIRITUAL/SEXUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
A friend and i are always arguing over who has the harder life. I'm married, and he's single. We need this issue resolved once and for all. Who has it worse???
-henpecked in hattiesburg
p.s. There's a $20 in it for you if you know which side your bread is buttered on.

Dear henpecked,
Fortunately, vegans are immune to butter. But there's a $20 in it for you, if you know on which side your modifier is dangled.
Sorry for being acerbic...but you've committed a classic bifurcation. One of you must be right? Piffle! Let's look at this objectively. Being single is a condition marked by loneliness and long stretches of sexlessness. The institution of marriage is fraught with frayed nerves, ever-diminishing testosterone, passion turned to apathy (or far worse)...and long stretches of sexlessness.
Which is worse, you ask? Really?
From what we know of your friend, he's not in that tiny minority of singles who have found some small measure of sanity (i.e. well-supported emotionally, with as much intimacy and sex as needed). And you're clearly not in the microscopic minority of married folk who are the better for it (i.e. haven't overdosed on each other, while maintaining a union that's jealousy-free).
Some people can dismiss the fact that over half of all marriages fail...as though all the remaining, "successful" marriages are some kind of romp in the daisies! But if half are outright failing, what percentage of the rest are barely making it?
Most intentionally single folk however, are only replacing marriage with serial monogamy (or "marriage-lite") - with the same pitfalls of possessiveness, and having one's life precariously defined by a single relationship.
Marriage only ever "worked" when it was based on double standards that favored the male, and socio-economic pressures that made it nigh-impossible for a woman to leave. Yet even then, it's a love-sucking house of lies and denial for the male too.
Until marriage fundamentally changes, it's a sucker's game.
Being single? A sucker's game too!
Whee.
As things stand, is one reality even a little better than the other? Yes. But it's such a pathetic difference that it's not worth mentioning.
And i don't say that just because i don't want you to take your poor friend's money.
selfless snuggles,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

lesbians looking for daddy

WWW4M
No, not euphemistically (no unresolved parental issues here...well, pretty much). We mean literally! Three lesbians looking for a man to add to our family...hopefully followed by a few more add-ons of the fetal variety. Don't be concerned that we only want you for your Y chromosome - we're all bisexual (but "bis looking for daddy" was just confusing). We are one asian, one black, and one latina who have hewn a harmonious, oft-hilarious home. For genetic diversity, we'd prefer you be white. We'd like you to be wildly intelligent, progressive (obviously), and in touch with your feminine side (extra-obviously). Opinionated but not overbearing. Passionate but peaceful. No bible boys. Love giving backrubs. Love music! Love other animals (but not with tobasco sauce). Be an adult who's never struck another in anger. We all have our escape mechanisms, and that's fine (as long as chemical dependence or gambling aren't in your repertoire). Sexual addiction is fine (no, really). Don't worry about money, we have plenty. With four parents, the child-rearing won't be overwhelming. Be comfy in your skin. Be a dreamer.

Friday, May 15, 2015

"Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked"

(Sex, Morality, and the Evolution of a Fairy Tale)
-by catherine orenstein
2002
A brilliant, wonderfully-written gem. Catherine studies the history of fairy tales in general (offering tidbits like how the moralizing brothers grimm lied about their work's authenticity), then focuses on red and granny and the wolf (and sometimes the huntsman). She deconstructs the moral underpinnings of the tale: its early sexual tones meant for an older audience, its transformation into a children's tale teaching girls the dangers of disobedience (and boys the allure of dominance), then finally multiple modern incarnations which have reclaimed the story's sexual roots in order to explore female empowerment, gender roles, and transvestism. Each chapter is led in by a different adaptation (anne sexton, tex avery, james thurber, angela carter...). The radical feminist backlash against all fairy tales is diffused (or de-fused), as catherine convincingly demonstrates that those protestations are only part of the picture, in that fairy tales are a fluid construct, ever-changing to reflect and anticipate changes in society. Peppered with delightful quotes, references, and photos, this book is an invigorating breath of literary air.

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

confluincidence

Would you believe that before today, i'd never been inside a V.A. hospital?
You would? Fair enough - i'm not surprised myself, considering that i'm not a veteran and haven't been hospitalized since i was a child.
But today...
Are you one of those people who believe that things happen for a reason, and that coincidences are just the universe talking to us?
You aren't? Good, me neither.
But today...
I'm pretty sure that never in my life have i been at the center of so many simultaneous coincidences, all aligning to create one singular effect. Were you inclined to NOT believe in coincidence, you'd have had a field day!
Why was i, a healthy non-vet, in a V.A. hospital? When i dressed and left the house today, i had no idea that's where i was heading. I have a client named woody, for whom i'd been doing handy work. When he called this morning asking me to work, he said he could pick me up, and wondered whether i'd mind making an extra stop, so he could keep a rehab appointment. I told him that was fine, and tossed a book in my pack. When we got there, i quickly realized it was a veteran's hospital. Approaching the entrance, i suddenly became self-conscious of my appearance. I wore heavy boots. Military issue shorts. An army green T-shirt, with military-style lettering. And just two weeks before, i'd buzzed all my hair off.
In other words, had you asked me ten years ago to "look like a soldier" when i left my house on this particular date, i could hardly have fulfilled that request any more toe-to-toply than what i happened to look like today.
Nor was the timing of my shearing the only coincidence. Given my pacifist leanings, on my own i'd never have been wearing camo shorts. But the leader of the NYC moving company i'd worked for had a military fetish. He instilled that into our company's language and appearance. I'm not one to throw away good clothing just because the reason i got it no longer pertains, so...
Before washing, i often get two wearings out of a work shirt. I had originally put on a grey automobile shirt this morning, but then i looked at my little pile of work shirts, and realized that it made more sense to wear a green one, as i have two of them, and if i didn't wear one today, i chanced later on looking like i'd been wearing the same shirt four days in a row.
And yet another shirt coincidence. When i was dressing, i completely forgot about the work shirt i'd already worn once, hanging on a hook - a white john lennon shirt.
So there i was, in army green.
But this shirt had lettering, remember? My self-consciousness suddenly jumped to another level of discomfort, as i remembered what my shirt said - "GO ROGUE: TRY PEACE".
My first wave of self-consciousness was over the fact that people were about to assume i'd been a soldier, and treat me accordingly. If addressed, i wasn't one to lie about such things, so i realized i might soon be facing the suspicious looks of people who wondered why i would impersonate a vet. My second wave of self-consciousness was over the message on my shirt. It was no longer a question of just being a dishonest weirdo - my hippiesque shirt might be insulting to some who had suffered in the service of this country.
Might this even get ugly?
It didn't occur to me to turn my shirt inside out. In a world where integrity gets kicked in the ass every day of our lives, i try to live by the words "be who you are". I try. So here are my chips, i thought. Let 'em fall. I didn't intend this, but won't run from it.
Would i feel comfortable, alone among military faces? Had my life's politics imbued in me an inescapably adversarial attitude toward anything military? I hoped not. Just don't ask me whether i "support the troops". I'm sure there was a good intent coming from whomever first coined that phrase, but like so many things, it quickly devolved into some bullshit litmus magnet for small minds, which carefully avoids the deeper issues. Do i love every sister, brother, grandparent, and child on this planet, regardless of where they've been and what they've done? Yes. Please don't ask whether i support the troops.
As my friend disappeared into the offices, i took a seat in the enormous lobby. I got my book out, but over the next forty minutes kept looking up into passing people's eyes. I was so curious, i almost put the book away entirely.
At first, i saw a lot of what i'd expected - harsh, severe faces reminiscent of my father's, a veteran with whom i'd had a contentious relationship since infancy. As i relaxed into the situation though, i found a few eyes less cold. Was it because my appearance marked me as one of them? How many had eyesight sharp enough to process the message on my shirt at a glance, given that some were ten feet away?
One of my conceits is that i fancy i could walk into any group of humans, and be completely at ease. It's easy to not draw attention to yourself, once you know the secret of looking like you're exactly where you're supposed to be (or even just actually feeling that). There's a big whiff of bullshit in that conceit, though. If i walked into a radical feminist office, a mosque, or an all-black bar, my centeredness might crumble nine times out of ten.
And then i finally got a look that i knew would stay with me, long after all others had been forgotten. A large, lean man walked past, looking like a bad-ass cliche. Big boots, military pants, a marine cap covering short hair...but this was no martinet or automaton. His bushy mustache made him look like he lived on a chopper. He'd probably had a distinguished service career, but if he'd been offered promotion to officer, he'd turned it down.
He and i would have gotten along great for a time, until my pacifist babble or his treatment of women (or whatever) drove us apart.
All of that may be utter crapola, of course. This person may have been none of those things. But whoever he was, he looked me in the eyes with a disarming directness not one stranger in a hundred can muster.
He nodded, and looked at me like he knew me.
Later, talking with my friend, i learned that my anti-war shirt might actually have endeared me to many of the vets. That was something i'd probably been aware of in the abstract...but when thrown into a situation like that, particularly when you're representing yourself in a way you didn't intend, your mind becomes a mix of assumptions you're trying to get rid of, and ones you know you can't.
If my friend had told me where we were going...
If i hadn't worked for that moving company...
If i hadn't had my once-a-year haircut...
If i hadn't replaced the first shirt i put on...
If i hadn't missed that once-worn shirt...
I'm not saying you should be impressed by these coincidences. I'm certainly not.
So was the friendliness of that unforgettable stranger a factor of seeing my shirt's message...or of not seeing it? Or neither?
I don't know.
Wouldn't it be nice if all writers ended their work with those three words?

Monday, May 4, 2015

rutles & fatso

Neil Innes & Fatso
FAREWELL POSTERITY TOUR
2013
The Rutles
LIVE & RAW
2014
A bi-bomb of barry wom! With songwriter and frontperson neil innes out front (as good frontpersons should be) the canon of the irredeemable Rutles gets a double dose of clap-worthy concert release.
Although strictly speaking, the 2-disc FAREWELL POSTERITY TOUR is not Rutles proper. No, that doesn't mean there's no o'hara or mcquickly (though there isn't)...it means that while the smorgasbord is well-seasoned with Rutle spice, the main course is the solo offerings of innes. Cheeky Bonzo-style fare, mostly. Not as resonant as the Rutle bits, but charming, plus some Python pieces ("Bold Sir Robin", "Philosophers Song") swirled into the mix. Plus some fats domino, and george harrison's "Beware of Darkness". Fatso are the "original" Rutles, from Rutland Television days, pre-dating eric idle, ricky fataar, andy brown, or ollie halsall. Neil, billy bremner, brian hodgson, roger rettig, and john (barry) halsey are a tight, relaxed unit, obviously having a dandy ol' time (i can say it like that, because they do a country song). The liner notes have commentary by neil for each song (yay!), but are quite vague on where/when the tour/concert actually took place (awww). The photos imply that they played at Liverpool's Cavern Club. Neil tips his hat to the infantile nature of the litigious troubles that have run rampant in Rutland, as he's legally prohibited from claiming writing credit for the songs. But never mind all that, the album is thoroughly charming, including two Rutle tunes not found on...
LIVE & RAW, a more streamlined, 1-disc rutlefest! This one's even more vague on where/when the whole affair took place. The thirteen tracks charmingly cover both studio albums. Any particular fan might be miffed by the absence of a personal favorite (no "Major Happy", no "Ouch?"...no "Rendezvous"??), but it's a nicely-representative meshing of eras, that you perhaps thought you'd never hear. Neil and john's backing lineup (mickey simmonds, mark griffiths, and ken thornton) are firecracker-sharp. While the arrangements lack any especial inventiveness, the patter is precious, and there are some delightful touches, such as a semi-obscure hat-tip to Spinal Tap. What makes this disc an absolute must-have is track 14 - "Imitation Song", an original studio offering. It's brilliant in a way that only one or two other Rutle songs have achieved ("Eine Kleine Middle Klasse Musik" comes to mind...which should be covered acoustically by marilyn manson). The lyrics are more socially-biting than Rutle music (or neil's solo work, for that matter) generally is - leavened with just enough comedy to make them non-preachy, they're indelible for anyone who cares about such things. "Imitation Song" should be covered too, and not ironically - by eddie vedder ("Poppy-cockeyed world" is one of the funniest, most unforgettable lyrics ever penned - i upchuckled for days).
All in all, you'll listen and listen again and again.

Friday, May 1, 2015

bush-whacked!

An hour a day
sitting at a mirror
Is that your definition of free?

You can't do squat
wearing high heels
Isn't babe short for baby?

Bald pits, bald cunt
To call a woman "girl"?
Sounds like pedophilia to me

Saturday, April 25, 2015

homo SS!

Covering Earth with feces and fumes
Covering our sex in shame
Turning bloody, dispassionate death
into a glamorous video game
Bequeathing our babies isolation and fear
We toss them into the flame
Then we invent god
to absolve ourselves of blame

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

"The Watchman's Rattle"

(Thinking Our Way Out of Extinction)
-by rebecca d. costa
2010
This clarion call from sociobiologist costa investigates why every advanced civilization in recorded history has collapsed, and discovers that whenever humans experience exponential growth, there comes a point called the cognitive threshold, when the complexity of problems becomes too great for our minds to handle. After that, the balance between knowledge and belief tips in favor of belief, and the end is near. By that metric, our tipping point has already passed. Am i happy she goes along with the assumptions underpinning the word "civilization"? No - the implication that ANY human society of the past twenty thousand years ought be called "civilized", is a thought that could stand greater scrutiny. But her point is that the mayans didn't get into humyn sacrifice until problems (in their case, water shortage) had grown beyond their ability to cope. How equipped are we to manage pandemic viruses, depleted resources, climate change, pollution, dying oceans, terrorism, or nuclear proliferation? But unlike the doomsayers, rebecca firmly believes that humans are, for the first time ever, knowledgeable enough to overcome our cognitive threshold.
And she tells us how we're going to do it.
She examines how evolution has left us trying to cope with 21st century problems, with a brain suited for the low-stress life of a pre-agricultural gatherer. Our brains are constructed to deal with problems of immediacy, not things a day or month (or generation) down the road.
So it turns out my procrastination proclivities are not, as it turns out, laziness. I knew it, i just knew it!
She outlines the stages of collapse: gridlock, the substitution of belief for fact, and the embrace of short-term mitigations over long-term solutions. She shows how the biggest obstacle facing humynity is our own attitudes. She discusses memes, ways of thinking or being, and how they can grow into supermemes (like the flat Earth, an eye for an eye, monogamy, or blondes have more fun), which can contaminate or suppress all other beliefs. Memes (like not swimming after you eat, which it turns out is fine) tap into our need for belief. Even if it's only believing that the door will open when you turn the handle, we need the comfort of belief to function. The greater the variety of memes, the more likely a culture will survive sudden or dramatic changes. Another meme? We only use 10% of our brains. Nonsense! Can we still enjoy the wonderful movie based on that lie, "Defending Your Life"? Of course.
Supermemes are culture-killers. The five supermemes pushing us toward extinction? Irrational opposition (the tendency to be AGAINST something rather than for), the personalization of blame (seeking scapegoats instead of addressing systemic causes), counterfeit correlation (complexity causing us to lower our standard of proof), silo thinking (compartmentalization which inhibits cooperation...think of the lack of communication between the CIA, FBI, and Homeland Security), and extreme economics (basing every decision on profit/loss projections).
Costa shows how the technology to fix our problems is already available. There are abundant solutions, like the "cool roof" strategy - if we paint every roof and road on the planet white, it would be the equivalent of taking eleven billion cars off the road for eleven years. The reflection/absorption ratio of the sun's rays would change immediately, resulting in global temperature reduction. You want more long-term? Fine. NASA has known for decades that the only sensible way to get solar energy is to put the collectors in space. The world's energy needs would be met, with plenty to spare. What's keeping us from doing it? Capitalism gridlock. Or you want global warming fixed? Science knows how previous ice ages were triggered - the introduction of huge amounts of volcanic sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere. We could "shade the Earth" as little or much as we need. The price? $250 million the first year, $100 million each year after. That's "million", not billion. And water? Iconoclast inventor dean kamen has followed up the Segway with the Slingshot, a low-energy purifying system that could solve the world's water problems within two years. The challenge? Getting it into everyone's hands. The obstacle? Capitalism! Perhaps we should rethink capitalism's most basic tenets. No wait, it's already being done...see muhammed yunus' 2006 Nobel Peace Prize for showing that collateral-free loans to the poor are stunningly successful, as long as you make the loans to groups of 5-8, not individuals. It turns out that our culture of individualism flies in the face of humyn nature.
Costa excoriates the idiocy of the self-help era, which encourages everyone to think that our happiness is in our own hands. There are a million shows and books and gurus making fortunes off this idea, happily ignoring the truth...that current human misery is systemic. Black incarceration is a societal problem, not personal. Epidemic obesity is societal, not personal. Drug addiction is societal, not personal. A weak (but irresistible) example is oprah's weight. As a black womyn who created a billion dollar empire in a white man's world, is there anyone who thinks she lacks willpower? In addition, she has a full-time staff of chefs, trainers, nutritionists, and life coaches. She makes staying thin her very public personal agenda. Yet she keeps getting fat! If oprah can't do it, how can anyone?? The "personal empowerment" meme is also fool's gold in terms of global problems. For example, less than 3% of the garbage generated by America is municipal waste. Ergo, domestic recycling is nothing but a cosmetic gesture. I'll add my own example of our misguided obsession with personal accountability - the michael jackson song "Man in the Mirror". It's wonderful and moving...how many millions (including myself) have sung it in uncounted showers around the globe? Yet the message of the song is pure nonsense, in terms of effecting any real change in this world.
Costa tosses out salient examples of how extreme economics affects us on every level - for example, everyone knows what a prenuptial contract is...but what does it say about our priorities that there is no such thing as a precustody contract? And she may make you re-think the notion of the West having ANY association with fundamentalist nations - leaders like bush and blair and obama may invoke god, but the driving supermeme of the West is finance...and that's a pill which will never be swallowed by a fundamentalist state. But fundamentalist states, with their paltry variety of memes, are not built to survive.
Humyns are also genetically disposed to the notion of putting all our eggs into one ovary...but research shows that a barrage of concurrent solutions (many of which won't work) is the soundest way to address even civilization-imperiling complexity.
Is costa a brilliant writer? Well, no. She's competent, and peppers her prose with enough humynity and personal experience to instill belief (ha!) in her as a person. But her writing is only as interesting as her subject matter. In this case? Fascinating. The fact that she doesn't mention any possible solutions to global pollution is neither here nor there (well okay, it's undeniably both here and there).
She ends the book with an investigation of insight...the ability of the humyn brain to synthesize a solution (often counter-intuitive) that transcends our knowledge. Insight is a relatively new feature of our physiology, but if humanity is to avoid extinction, this is where the evolutionary path leads. Costa offers the newest research on brain fitness, which i'll encapsulate by saying that i intend to make quick travel over uneven, irregular ground a regular part of my life.
I've got a planet to save, after all.
And so does rebecca.
You too?

("The Watchman's Rattle" is now on this writer's list of thirteen books every human should read: http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2015/04/13-books-aware.html)