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...

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.

safe

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

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!

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!

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...