Hulu is the business

I don't remember if I've mentioned this before, but Hulu.com is an awesome site. I now can watch Death Note through at my leisure. There is also some other really great content, tv shows, movies, etc. Now you can all watch Death Note. I'm sure you'll rush over there.

The anime is strikingly similar to the manga, most anime differs in some way, but Death Note is almost like a transcription. I guess that the story was good enough that they didn't want to disturb it. I know, I'm of one mind recently, all about Death Note, but, in my defense, it is really inspirational, both to the writer and artist in me.

But I have been wasting time in other ways, watching The Office Season 3 that I got me for Christmas, playing cards with the kids, and learning to play SuperSmash Bros. Brawl on the Wii. It's a big learning curve. I can beat the four-year-old, that's about it.

And the Ass Saw the Angel

About a week ago I finished reading And the Ass Saw the Angel by Nick Cave. This is from the back cover:

"Outcast, mute, a lone twin cut from a drunk mother in a shack full of junk, Euchrid Eucrow of Ukolore inhabits a nightmarish Southern valley of preachers and prophets, incest and ignorance. When the God-fearing folk of the town declare a foundling child to be chosen by the Almighty, Euchrid is disturbed. He sees her very differently, and his conviction, and increasing isolation and insanity, may have terrible consequences for them both. Compelling and astonishing in its baroque richness, Nick Cave’s acclaimed first novel is a fantastic journey into the twisted world of Deep Southern Gothic tragedy."

That said, this is one of those books that I wish I’d never read so I can enjoy reading it again for the first time. It’s like Christmas, and I read very slowly towards the end so I could savor it. The imagery is so brilliant, that I went to work the next day after reading it thinking I’d watched a movie the night before.

A major theme is about those people who are marginalized by society, why they’re marginalized, and how the marginalization affects them. And the Ass Saw the Angel is full of marginalized characters: Cosey Mo is a prostitute who is lovely in Euchrid’s eyes, Euchrid himself who is daydreamy and curious, but is assumed to be stupid and crazy, his quiet father, the only intelligent child of a severely inbred family.

Normally while reading a story, I can’t help but try to discern who the bad and good characters are supposed to be. But ATASTA blurs these definitions. The mainstream is the church people, the Ukulites, who purport to uphold what is pure and righteous, but then unleash heinous acts of violence against the people they’ve marginalized in the community: the prostitute, the crazy mute, the alcoholic. It’s no surprise that what they deem as putrid isn’t nearly as vile as the hate and violence that seethes inside them.

Throughout the book, Euchrid becomes increasingly more insane, and begins to commit more obscure acts of violence. I still can’t dislike Euchrid. It seems that in the beginning, his insanity was a seed that only grew wild because of the violence and indifference inflicted on him by his mother and the townspeople. I think it reflects a case of biology influenced by environment, which makes me sad when I think about our own stories in relation to our contemporary society.

Other than that, the story, the prose, the characters are heart-breakingly beautiful.

Here's another blog on it (but it's a spoiler on some of the action)

Comedy is the fuel to my fire

political comedy, doubly so:

"Prop 8 - The Musical" starring Jack Black, John C. Reilly, and many more... by Jack Black

Only in my hometown...

Most of my friends have left their hometown, never to return. Once you leave, I think it would be impossible to move back…well; at least that is my case. For example, I was the poor kid at the private school. I realize that my mom wanted the best for me and I helped round out the rich kids and their snobbiness (not that I didn’t pick some of it up). When you leave your hometown, you realize that you can re-invent yourself and leave old insecurities behind. Readers, you may find this hard to believe, but in my hometown, I am quite reserved and quiet. I often catch myself staring and wonder what I missed by not being in the class of rich and upper class of my hometown. Those 3 women in my previous post on ‘Reverence,’ are a part of that upper class that I am not a member. This is an old town, with old money and old memories. No matter what, even if I made a million, to these people I would still be nouveau rich and never part of that inner circle.
For example, my good friend is a very good attorney and very smart. She pretty much produces more work for a secretary than four attorneys. She is on her way to partner in her firm. One of the inner rich circles of the rich of our hometown is an attorney at a rival firm. She will not even acknowledge that she exists let alone they are from the same home town. I find this funny in the city the size of our capital. Leaving your roots frees most people of their fears.
I hate that I feel like I am on the outside looking in with these people when I come here. I don’t have the passport to make it to the other side of the fence. The few chances I have had to get to the other side, I have run from them…. Where I live now, I embrace every opportunity to do so…more like run if I am invited. For some reason, I feel it is my place not to go in this snobby, clique place… otherwise; I walk in everywhere else and situation like I own the place. I am glad this *fear* hasn’t followed around the world and into my real life. After examining this, I realized that I will never be able to move into a small town! Big cities only! :)
NOTE: What blows me away is that I never, ever, see this clique at Wal-Mart EVER. Surely, they don't by their toilet paper out of town, too, or pay their house keepers to do it? I guess that most of them don't work so they might not go during the weekends...or, they pay someone! LOL! :)

Reverance

I usually don’t go to Midnight Mass because when I went with my mom at 11 or so, the church was so packed with people, it made it quite unpleasant. My mom said “I had NO IDEA ‘so and so’ was Catholic”. Anyway, since I missed the last Sunday in Advent, I thought I better go to at least one Mass on Christmas.
I saw some people I hadn’t seen in 100 years. In particular, I saw 3 sisters who I have known my whole life. These girls were never very pretty but they worked with what they had and could because they came from money. Their mom was my pre-school teacher a 100 years ago and their family seem to always have their hand into some money making plan that suits their needs at the time. As I looked at these women I knew as girls, I was taken aback. None of them could sit still during Mass; they couldn’t control themselves from turning around and looking at people, fidgeting with their hair, whispering and just really unbelievable. I know you come from money; a lot of things can be excused but at 33+++ for each of those girls is really unacceptable. I know the saying “you are always 17 in your hometown” BS but at 17, you should be able to control yourself during Midnight Mass and show some reverence. I am surprised that they didn’t whip out their cell phones and start texting… I guess money doesn’t buy reverence or maturity.
I also have to throw in that I was jealous. Each one of them had a matching diamond earrings that I can only assume that *Santa* brought to them on Christmas Eve. I thought they must be so spoiled that their parent’s have to get them the same earrings so there is no fighting among them in their 30s for expensive gifts…
The only thing I am not jealous of is their nose/ teeth combination. OMG. I think these three girls have the ugliest noses/teeth combination I have ever seen. I would rather not get diamond earrings and have extra ass than have these nose/horse teeth combination. Each one has a different combo and each equally ugly. Maybe their rich daddy should have taken them to the plastic surgeon instead of going to the jewelry store…and they were always goofy girls so they are probably goofy, unsophisticated women…so, I know they don’t make up for their lot in life with personality…

Bing!

Around the tender age of 11, I developed the crush that ate Chicago on Bing Crosby. While my contemporaries were crushing on Cory Haim (or other such Cory’s), the New Kids on the Block, or someone from Saved By the Bell, I was watching the Road To movies with Bing and Bob Hope and wishing I was Dorothy L’Amour or Rosemary Clooney. He’s everywhere this time of year, and I revisit that time of life when I swooned for him like the teenage girls of the forties.

Christmas to me is Bing Crosby. His voice was, and remains transporting for me. He has sung for my family every year at Christmas since I can remember. Now, I reflect on the slow, dreamy quality of his voice that represents how Christmas should be. Meaningful and slow, rich and full, comfortable and comforting. All I would like to do right now is make a warm drink and cuddle on the couch with someone and watch White Christmas and Holiday Inn back to back.

Sadie, Sadie Single Lady

A response to Sadie the Married Lady:

I'm thirty-one and have never been married. I have a string of failed relationships behind me. Living in Oklahoma doesn't help any, because everyone my age seems to be suckling the hard cock of tradition.

But I've got a split identity that cleaves me into two different personalities.

One personality reacts to the harsh judgments of many local married women. With phrases like, "People like you..." "I'm glad I'm not single," "you must be lonely," and "at least I'm married," I've felt like the brunt of criticism...as if something's wrong with me because I'm thirty-one and not married...unlike (apparently) every thirty-one year old woman in Oklahoma. These kinds of remarks make me feel bad about myself, and I don't like that because I'm a good person.

Despite the above-average success I've had in my life, I still feel like in my family's home community I'm not successful until I'm married. Why? Any idiot can marry any other idiot. And they do.

My other identity sleeps in until 8 am on Saturday and gets up to go for a 4-8 mile run. I go to the farmer's market and come home to work on one of my gardens. I grow my own flowers and vegetables, and eat relatively healthy, except for chocolate mousse and champagne at intervals. I paint on canvas or wood, or do some other creative projects. At nights I go out, or stay in and make elaborate dinners for my close friends. Or I stay in and read. Read in bed or the bathtub with candles and scented oils. Often on weekends, I have an overnight guest, male or female, or sometimes I prefer to sleep alone in the middle of my bed. The cherry on my experience is the luxury of leisure. This identity is happy and content, and pours my heart out to the world around me, as it lets the world pour it's exhilaration for living into me.

What I appreciate is a single or married woman who can love and appreciate me for who I am...single or married. I appreciate my women friends, married or single, who still maintain their own identity and personal strength. And who know that with or without a man, we've all got each other common.

What I don't appreciate is those married women who perpetuate the stereotype that being single is the sad alternative. I've been in your houses, I've seen your husbands, and the undesirable things that make me want to close my ears and eyes to this chaos of yours that I'm not accustomed to. The truth is, if you criticize me, 1.) you appear to be concealing insecurity and latent discontentment, and 2). you open the door for me to criticize your lifestyle choice.

I have two college degrees, have served on boards and traveled to most major cities in the US to do so. I have visited 14+ countries, have done commercial and runway modeling and still get stopped in the street by curious men. At 3 am on a school night when a girl or boyfriend calls sobbing, I put on my shoes and coat, and drive until I find them to give comfort. I'll do anything for my friends. And if a friend says, "Can you meet me in Wandsworth Town next Thursday?" I can and will. I have many friends, close loving friends, many interests and activities and access to leisure time. I can drive an hour just to tuck my Grandma into bed if I'd like...even at 2 am after getting off the phone with her (though she's so independent, she protests that she can tuck herself in).

My life only has the routine that I create for it. And if I don't like that routine, if I don't like that town or those people, I can move on. Every day can be what I make it, and living the way I chose is lovely. And by the way, I'd take a bullet for your children as long as you raise them with confidence and a self-possession like your own.

Other than that, I'm sure that you know as well as I do that your husband wants to do things to me that you'd cringe to imagine.

So leave me alone with the happy, loopy, childlike freedom of the unmarried life. Love me, and I'll worship you. Ask any of my women friends.

Something About the Eyes

Death Note is addictive and intoxicating in a lot of ways. The story and characters are great, unexpected and genre-defying in many ways. But the art–the art is mind-shatteringly beautiful. At first, it seems strange and harsh, maybe even grotesque. As I continue in the series, though, it makes me sigh and pause to just look and take in the drawings.

The main character, Light, experiences a reversal of character in book 4 or 5, I can’t remember which. He loses his ambition for godhood and his power to cause death. And when he does, his eyes change. His gorgeous, half-closed, and penetrating eyes become wide-open windows into his pure soul. The change was startling and unwelcome.

The change in the character’s actions and words are not so hard for me. But his eyes are changed, feel wrong. I never knew there could be so much power invested in what seems to be a somewhat insignificant detail. Just the width of the character’s eyes.

Sadie, Sadie Married Lady

I’m sure that’s from a musical somewhere. This morning I was talking to a guy at work who had just gotten married. Rarely have I seen a man glow, but this one did, with a soft and serene light. It helped me to firm up some ideas that I’ve been having about marriage.

Some of my friends devoutly wish to be married, which I tend to dismiss. (Sorry, ladies) I’ve seen the other side, I’ve been involved in a relationship which I’m discovering is more dysfunctional than I could have ever imagined. Since most of the emotions I’ve had about marriage in the last few years have been unpleasant, I tend to think that the single ladies are much better off.

But since making the announcement that the marriage is over, I have started to see married people in a new light. My friends the Trents are completely gone on each other, and such a unit. It is amazing to see. They make me wish for something similar one day. The newlyweds glow and sigh, and couples that have been married for 40 years amaze me (even though I secretly suspect that they have driven each other crazy long ago.)

From the outside, the institution of marriage seems somewhat mystical. People wear rings, and talk about their husband or wife, and when they talk or think about their significant other, they get the strangest look on their faces. I can see that if you’ve never been a part of such a supernatural alliance it would seem all important. I’m divided on the whole subject. I swear that I’m never going to get caught up in that again. But then again, the more single I get, the more wistful I feel.

free audiobooks, hippies!

Librivox, free audiobooks in the public domain recorded by the common people—If that’s not modern hippie commune material, I don’t know what is.

I’m currently listening to Fanny Hill: The Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. It is something that we talked about in grad school, but I never got a chance to read. You know it is relevant to my interests.

The fun thing about the hippie commune recordings is that you have a wide variety of voices reading the books, even with the same book. For this book, the first reader is Chip, from Tampa. He sounds like he should be reading for MovieFone. What’s even better about this is that he has a really deep voice, and the book is written from the perspective of Fanny herself, so phrases like “my innocence” and “when I was a girl” are read by a guy you know is a bass in the barbershop quartet. The payoff is in part two, when a guy with a very sexy British accent picks up the reading. I’m not to part three, but I sampled it, and it is a woman. She sounds blond and bubbly. We’ll see how it works out.

And this is some pretty hot stuff, or I’m deprived or have a thing for archaic language. I may finally get my wish for a bizarre little kink.

http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/20028

Outter...

I admit…I am a dating site outter. I cruise the online dating sites, looking for anyone I might know. I don’t see any different than going out to a bar to cruise guys…you just get to know who they and what their diet is before you every speak to them.
I get most uncomfortable when I run into ads from guys I work with or went to school with…that is very uncomfortable!
It is almost the same as outing a GAY but not as serious!

And the Ass Saw the Angel

I'm reading what I think is my favorite book in the entire world. Maybe.

It's And the Ass Saw the Angel by Nick Cave. It's dark, terribly disturbing and beautiful.

"Suddenly Mule stiffed and fell silent, as though ossified. The clouds of red dust engulfed the beast, then fell away and settled in veils at his feet. We stared at each other. Mule, it seemed, was cast in lead and draped in falling red veils. Dread crawled over Mule and sat like a king in all the places of his face. His lips curled back to reveal huge yellow teeth. He frothed. He foamed. His demented eyes egged in their orbits as if they were being laid. And all the while he goggled horribly, over mah shoulder, at it coming."

Where are they tonight

I read this article today, and I can't stop thinking about it. Prostitution was a mystery to me, something that I thought people did due to their drug addictions. But now I think about it completely differently, and I can't believe how rampant and unchecked it is. Here's the article How Prostitution Works. It opened my eyes to so many things, and made me think.

One thing that occurred to me after reading this article is how glamorized pimps are in mainstream society right now. Sexual inequality is extremely pronounced in prostitution. The women are victims of violence...if it was your mother or sister, wouldn't you be angry? And the men who commit the violence are glorified by society.

Another issue it brought up is that it seems like when someone robs a bank or kidnaps a person or a vehicle or whatever, the crime is acknowledged by the cops and the newspaper. The criminals are sought and punished. So why is prostitution so rampant and it seems....acceptable? Why does the law not do more to aggressively address prostitution, and why are there not aggressive ad campaigns to illicit compassion for the victims of prostitution? Why is there not education in the mainstream about what's really going on?

I think the law doesn't do more against prostitution because the women aren't like me or you reporting a stolen car. I'm an educated white middle-class women, and that somehow gives me rights that aren't given to prostitutes.

I thought also of the women's self-esteem. How could they ever think that they'd be able to merge with a society that thinks so poorly of them? Their self-esteems are broken, but how could they attempt to reach out to society for support and protection, when society rejects them and views them as garbage?

And abuse: especially if you're raised in an abusive home, that's your world. Why should you expect anything different from the real world? You don't know anything different, so you're more likely to accept the abuse. That's why I like YWCA's slogan: Eliminating Racism, Empowering Women. I feel like empowerment comes about through building self-esteem. I want to see these women rehabilitated and recovered enough to say, "Oh, fuck no!" when it comes to abusive relationships.

And one final thought, I think building self-esteem for women and respect from men begins when they're boys and girls. I know schools can't always nurture this, but maybe other programs for outreach. I think girls need to know that even if they get shit at home, they don't have to put up with shit from the rest of the world.

Here are a couple of interviews with prostitutes in OKC. They're difficult to watch, but they made me angry about the situation of girls and women all over the world.

Yvonne
Mary

My New Favorite Song

Stay warm inside

I keep thinking about what a strange time we're living in. Not that I expected to go through life without experiencing any of the insanity that my grandparents did during the great depression and two World Wars. Or maybe I did...maybe I thought the security of my childhood would extend into forever. Grandpa had fought the demons with his heroic strength and fearlessness to sit back in his old age and provide security and tenderness to his grandchildren. As a side note, it seems that without him, my security in unconditional love is lamentably uncertain.

Earlier, I was washing some laundry in the kitchen sink and reflecting with a heavy heart on the most recent events in India. I wondered if a war is beginning to brew between Pakistan and India. I read on CNN today about Rwanda, and have a helpless understanding that the violence (poverty and AIDS) in Africa is far from being over. There's the report I heard about on NPR that within five years there's certain to be another terrorist attack in the West. And then our own individual, but nationally collective, spiral into economic crisis.

When I was a child I believed in something good and redeeming. That hope could come even in the darkness moments. But at thirty-one I realize that I don't believe in anything any more. After so many years of awakening to the willingness of human beings to inflict pain or death on others, I don't believe that there's a light at the end of anyone's tunnel.

So what keeps me going without a secure personal foundation of love, a sense of home to return to, uncertain beliefs for anything beyond this world, hope for peace and compassion to prevail over violence and apathy?

I think there's an answer. I think there's potential for compassion and love everywhere. Each of us just has to chose it. I think there's hope and disappointment, pain and delight in every human experience. I do believe in one thing that's eternal: the capacity of the human spirit to love, to give selflessly, to make decisions that will affect others in positive ways, and even throw some creativity out into the world. The answer's in that feeling we get when we go out of the way to help a patron find a picture of their great-grandfather, or bring some magazines by a friend's house when she's laid up with a broken leg. Or I don't know...like making enough soup to share with friends.

And for our own pockets of personal experience, I believe it's how we use the opportunity in each moment...or the more positive moments...to enjoy the simple things that emerge from daily existence and activity. As I rinsed my laundry in the sink, I took advantage of that time to reflect: many people are hurting in this world right now, tomorrow it could be me. But for now, I'm going to enjoy this music...this moment, the textures and smells and colors, and the quiet of the night.

it's like that disco song, but much sadder.

I’m leaving. Yeah, we’ve played these games before, though it’s usually you doing the leaving. I don’t understand how things have gotten to the way they are now, but the situation is intolerable, so the only choice I have is to go. It’s either live in pain for sixty years, or go and make them mine, whether they turn out good or bad.

You treat me badly. You’ve treated me badly for years. You ignore me, punish me with silence, critique everything from my choice in entertainment to friends to my technique in bed. You dislike my ambition, my love for education. You have convinced me to change for you without asking. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m doing all the things for a guy that I said I’ve never do: change my personality and my behaviors, and put off my dreams, and sacrifice what is important to me.

You’ve ignored my needs; I have sex only when I force the issue, which is usually about once every three months. Yet, I find you in front of the computer about 2-3 nights a week. I don’t remember the last time you kissed me. That is the part that I’m most ashamed of. You may act like it is me avoiding the physical affection in our relationship, but you describe the sensation of me touching you as “weird.” I can put my arms around you and you remain motionless. I’ve dealt with that for a long time.

So why have I stayed? You are a good father. I come home at night, and the kids are happy. I like seeing them happy. I love sharing the kids with someone who loves them the same way I love them. I promised myself as a child of 13 that I’d never put my kids through a divorce. It complicates everyone’s lives, and there are all kinds of difficult considerations: living arrangements, money, emotional health and security for the kids.

But I finally have reached that place my mother must have reached when I was 13. I can’t do it anymore. If I stay, it’s a death sentence. So I’ll go. And I’ll most likely be happy again, but it will take years to undo the damage.