Yes. I got out of the shower with no one else around and didn't feel like getting dressed, so I sat down in front of the computer without clothes. I even cast aside the towel.
Nothing much going on in journal land, but as I wandered around reading old entries....possibly even one of yours....I was completely naked.
I touched myself when I read some of them.
[SPOILER][/expecting mass defections from the Friends list][/SPOILER]
I can't remember the details, but the ending was certainly memorable. It was a massive Christmas parade of some sort, taking place in the dead of night in some enormous city....New York, I believe. In any case, the parade was held up, and some people were asking why it stopped and screaming for it to keep going.
It turned out all the people at the head of the parade were going to Wendy's for the new spicy chicken sandwich! Once this was discovered, past the fake Santa Klaus at the head of the parade, LEGLESS Santa Klaus (who everyone apparently knew was the real thing) came hurtling past to get his own sandwich! He wasn't in a wheelchair, either; he was literally propelling himself down the street using nothing but his two muscular arms, shooting forward like a bullet with stumps. It was very impressive.
We all pushed into line, and then some guy tried to cut ahead of everyone else. So we pinned him back and told him, directly to his face, that legless Santa Klaus now knew he had been naughty and he wouldn't be getting any presents this year. He went insane with despair, and began shrieking and howling before we threw him out of the restaurant.
The morals I derived from this dream:
1) Treat the handicapped with respect. If legless Santa Klaus can deliver presents to children around the world who aren't godless pagans in one night, what potential lies within other people lacking key bodily appendages?
Though I've mulled over the idea that the moral I should derive is, "never accept 'I'm handicapped' as an excuse, and treat anyone without legs who has to rely on wheelchairs with utter contempt, because they're weak human beings who cannot measure up to legless Santa."
2) Don't cut in line at a restaurant when Santa is around, or you won't get any presents OR a chicken sandwich.
'Twas a good dream. I'm not sure why I had it in early October.
More later. Probably.
Haven't done one of these in awhile. This is from Cruddy, by Lynda Barry.
"On the anniversary of the fifth year I was thinking, What was the point? If it could all end with such a nothing feeling. If it could end with a nothing but the mother's squint, what was the point of getting away with it? The father would have called me an idiot for asking that question. He would have said, "Clyde, sometimes I'm not entirely certain you are my son."
Clyde is what he called me. He wanted a son to pass his wisdom to. Me being born a girl was just a technicality. The world spun a lot smoother once you understood what you were bound to live by and what you weren't. "Clyde", he said. "Your average man thinks he needs to grab the world by the balls. That's why your average man will never get ahead. He grabs at what only wants a tickle and a kiss. Hell. Try it on a bull sometime. See for yourself."
The father came from meat people. Generations of them that could be traced all the way back to the time of the monkey. "The monkey with the most meat wins," said the father.
I said, "I thought they just ate fruit."
He said, "Oh no, hell no. Look at their teeth. Fangs like that? If one bit you, you'd know it. Meat people run things, Clyde. Always have and always will."
It's in my blood. I know it is. Meat person. I am hell with a knife and there is nothing I can really do about it but try and keep my mouth shut and try not to let it show."
You know, that one that's showed up in a bunch of people's journals with questions like, "How many times have you been savagely beaten by an ethnic minority in the past two months?" and about a hundred variations of the same questions.
Sorry, I'm just too lazy. And that thing is too long. So I'll do a shorter one I found in Crescent Fresh's journal a long time ago, just for the sake of an entry.
1: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says: "....very loftiness of a man's nature sometimes increases a disposition to..."
2: Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?
A wall. How boring.
3: What is the last thing you watched on TV?:
Porco Rosso, that Miyazaki movie about an Italian flying pig.
4: WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is:
1:05 PM CST
5: Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?:
1:39 PM CST
6: With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?:
The sounds of silence interspersed with someone fiddling around with something upstairs.
7: What are you wearing?:
Dark grey shorts, a black shirt, and some extremely ragged walking shoes covered in dust.
8: Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?:
Unwanted Pregnancy #1.
9: Seen anything weird lately?
Nothing particularly. I saw my uncle from Seattle recently, who was in town for Mother's Day. He's a world travelling sort; takes frequent trips, particularly to the more backward areas of Asia like Burma or Nepal, and takes care to travel outside of tourist circles as he does so. He's a pseudo-hippie sort, as well, all for peace and love and harmony....somewhat ironic, since I believe he's a West Point graduate.
In any case, he looks a lot older than the last time I saw him.
Also, my cousin Rachel has gained a ton of weight, like up to 300 pounds or something. I wish I could say why, outside of the fact that both she and her mother are fantastic cooks.
I hereby bestow upon her a healthy share of the unending love which flows my way.
Take it. Take it and be free, dear Smorg!
*This is chat related. Don't try to understand if you weren't there. Just accept and love her as if she were a miniature version of me. Without the testicles.
"A faith is not acquired by reasoning. One does not fall in love with a woman, or enter the womb of a church, as a result of logical persuasion. Reason may defend an act of faith - but only after the act has been commited, and the man commited to the act. Persuasion may play a part in a man's conversion; but only the part of bringing to its full and conscious climax a process which has been maturing in regions where no persuasion can penetrate. A faith is not acquired; it grows like a tree. Its crowns point to the sky; its roots grow downward into the past and are nourished by the dark sap of the ancestral humus.
From the psychologist's point of view, there is little difference between a revolutionary and a traditionalist faith. All true faith is uncompromising, radical, purist; hence the true traditionalist is always a revolutionary zealot in conflict with pharisaian society, with the lukewarm corrupters of the creed. And vice versa: the revolutionary's Utopia, which in appearance represents a complete break with the past, is always modelled on some image of the lost paradise, of a legendary Golden Age. The classless Communist society, according to Marx cult icon and Engels, was to be a revival, at the end of the dialetical spiral, of the primitive Communist society which stood at its beginning. Thus all true faith involves a revolt against the believer's social environment, and the projection into the future of an ideal derived from the remote past. All Utopias are fed from the sources of mythology; the social engineer's blueprints are merely revised editions of the ancient text.
Devotion to pure Utopia, and revolt against a polluted society, are thus the two poles which provide the tension of all militant creeds. To ask which of the two makes the current flow - attraction by the ideal or repulsion by the social environment - is to ask the old question about the hen and the egg. To the psychiatrist, both the craving for Utopia and the rebellion against the status quo are symptoms of social maladjustment. To the social reformer, both are symptoms of a healthy rational attitude. The psychiatrist is apt to forget that smooth adjustment to a deformed society creates deformed individuals. The reformer is equally apt to forget that hatred, even of the objectively hateful, does not produce that charity and justice on which a utopian society must be based.
Thus each of the two attitudes, the sociologist's and the psychologist's, reflects a half-truth. It is true that the case-history of most revolutionaries and reformers reveals a neurotic conflict with family or society. But this only proves, to paraphrase Marx, that a moribund society creates its own morbid gravediggers."
- Arthur Koestler, The God that Failed
(Yes, I'm fully aware most of you bastards don't care. I am allowed some periodic intellectual masturbation.)
I was reflecting recently on an episode of Superfriends (I think?) I saw a long time ago. In the episode, Batman and Robin fought against Catwoman for some reason or another; I think she wanted to do something illegal and so they beat her up to stop her. That's the typical episode dynamic, anyway.
In any case, at the end, Catwoman is arrested by the Gotham police for whatever she did. As she's being dragged away, she says in a really cat-like voice, "Raawwwrrr! I'll get you for this, Batman!" or something to that effect.
Batman then gets this really stupid grin on his face and says, "Puuurrr-haps! Purrrr-haps!"
Then Robin, the policemen....everyone there except for Catwoman laughs. I mean, just laughs. Really long and loud, like it's the funniest damn thing they'd ever heard.
But you can hear it in their voices; there's no soul there, no genuine mirth. The laughter is hollow, like the laughter of an employee at a boss's bad joke, or the laughter of a talk show host who has to pretend that everything Robin Williams says is comedy gold. It's the laughter of someone who doesn't want to offend.
Now, looking back, this episode upsets me greatly. Bruce Wayne presumably has pretty solid self-esteem; he's a billionaire industrialist and repeated savior of the city/world, after all. Is it really necessary to humor him? Do the cops think that if they don't laugh, he'll take offense and stop showing up when the Bat signal is shown? Is it really a good idea to encourage his bad jokes until he finally runs into someone who tells him the harsh truth, like the legless school girl who no one has the heart to tell will never be a ballerina?
I respect Batman. That is why I do not laugh at his bad jokes; I don't think he needs to be pandered to. The fact that even so close a 'friend' as his sidekick Robin could not show that same respect is fantastically depressing to me.
So I went to Angelo Mike's journal today, and there's an entry somewhere in there saying 'I don't deserve to live' or some such.
I was going to post a reply and remind him that he's a freaking psychopath when I suddenly noticed out of the corner of my eye that he had horrormoviestar in his friends list, a poster I haven't seen in probably well over a year.
So I clicked the link to her journal and noticed the general theme was 'why women Hollywood says are beautiful are actually ugly' with a none-too-subtle undercurrent of jealousy, reminding me of her whole creepy ultra-rightist feminist schtick and how she, too, was a freaking psychopath.
Conclusion: horrormoviestar and Angelo Mike are both freaking psychopaths in their own unique ways. They should have gotten together and had psychopathic children.
This is the train of thought that went through my head roughly fifteen minutes ago.
If you are one of the folks who was just removed and have come here to angrily denounce my betrayal of our cherished friendship, I can only say that you had a month and more updates than this journal has seen in years, you bastard!
Eh. If you're interested in getting back on, send another invite and the committee shall carefully reconsider your case, factoring in your newly discovered disloyalty. If not, at least take comfort that the majority of this journal's 'features' (?) will still be available to non-Friends. :)
Dr. Frances Sternberg.
Fantastic. Utterly exquisite example of a human being. The shining jewel of Zion, so far as I'm concerned, who I consider myself blessed to have ever met.
She's the professor of my Modern Jewish History and Historiography classes. As I've mentioned at some points around here, a very, very Jewish individual; a child of Holocaust survivors, native speaker of Yiddish, born in a displaced person's camp in Germany, raised in an Orthodox Jewish community in New York, teaches Modern Jewish History, American Jewish History, and Holocaust history when not at her day job at the Midwest Holocaust Center. This is an individual in touch with her heritage.
She's a great lecturer; always interesting, never at a loss, usually with something witty to say and never rude to the students no matter how fantastically stupid and annoying they are. Despite her obvious affiliations, she's delightfully cynical towards everybody and everything, Jewish or no. You hardly have to jot down a single note for her classes since she has everything on powerpoint; if you want to review for a test, just go to her blackboard site and her lecture is right there.
And above all, when I pitifully asked for a one day extension on my essay about Eastern European Jewry during the early modern period, pleading sickness and a mountain of other shit I've got stacked up.....she gave me an extra week.
Admittedly, it's a very small class of only about eight people...but....A WEEK.
GOD, I love you, you magnificent slab of Judeorific goodness!
Today has been a much better day, indeed.
Incidentally, her mother is going to be on a History Channel special on the Holocaust this weekend. If you're watching said program, keep an eye out for a 'Glazer' or something similiar with a story about surviving Auschwitz with a band of travelling midgets.
EDIT: The name she will be appearing under is GLAZER, or something similar to that, not Sternberg. Sternberg is my professor's maiden name. Otherwise, the story about Dr. Mengele and the travelling midgets will likely single her out. :)