I'm often fascinated by urban artifacts, the raw materials or left-overs of construction. The weathered remnants of once-useful or well-loved possessions.
My sister and I went for a walk yesterday, where I saw these things:
11:41:56 PM
Like Father, Like Daughter
You know, I seem to have lost my drive, my impetus, my enthusiasm for doing things. I want to know why. And how to get it back for myself. It's hurting me in school and at home.
... I just can't seem to get going. It's the same dumb thing all over again. Why is everything so hard? It used to seem so easy. I think it did, at least that's how I remember it.
Why do I have this feeling of futility, desperation and unhappiness. I don't know what's wrong. I'm getting lonely and emotional, I can't accept things, I always have to suppress myself.
Especially Daddy is being super-obnoxious. What's gotten into him lately? Maybe he's got a bit what I have, only he's showing it differently.
Well, that was right on. My father definitely has suffered intermittently from depression.
At least I wasn't self-medicating with drugs. Meditation kept me from that.
11:27:59 PM
Getting All Hot About Sappho?
A review of a new translation of Sappho's poetry fragments reminds me again that I've never understood what all the fuss was about. Her reputation survives from antiquity, despite the few remnants of verse that are left to us. My guess is that one must actually read ancient Greek to truly get it. In part, of course, she benefits from the glow of originality. You get points for being the first person in the Western tradition to write "You burn me."
And I need hardly mention that, in no small part, her continuing fame derives from the fact that she was, you know, the Sappho from *nudge, nudge, wink* Lesbos. Them thar love pomes is mostly to wimmin, ya dig?
Sheesh. Okay, putting aside the question of the actual existence of a real-life woman named Sappho (a debate similar to the question of the biography of, say, Homer)... Maybe she was a lesbian. Sure, fine by me. Maybe she was a wonderful WRITER, who wrote in the voices of many different personae. Has there never been a woman who could write in the voice of a male lover, for example? (Or a male poet who wrote love poetry to both women and men? *cough* Shakespeare *cough*) Please! Show some imagination people.
Does it matter?
It matters to at least two sets of people: those who need an exemplar to demonstrate that artistic greatness is as much a part of the heritage of those who are attracted to the same sex as it is of straight people, and those who find the need to say something like, "Well, yes, but... that was ancient Greece and, let's face it, they were all heathens."
I've never ever understood why anyone cares what kind of person has sex with what other kind of person. I do place great value and invest great significance in honesty, love, compassion, generosity, thoughtfulness, and forgiveness between human beings. When such vital concerns and powerful emotions are in play, the question of whether innies or outies or both are involved seems to me utterly petty and besides the point.
8:46:56 PM
You can pick your nose, and you can pick your children, and now you can pick your children's nose...
Stock's overarching claim is that germ-line modifications will ''write a new page in the history of life, allowing us to seize control of our evolutionary future,'' an echo of the classic eugenicist dream. New technologies will allow humans to make fundamental alterations to their individual genetic compositions and those of their children. The net effect, he says, will be to draw ''reproduction into a highly selective social process that is far more rapid and effective at spreading successful genes than traditional sexual competition and mate selection.'' In the future, he claims, we will be ''much more than simply human.'
I fail to see how anyone can argue with a straight face that allowing rich people loose in the human genome is going to improve the species at an accelerated rate. What, pray tell, counts as "successful" to those folks? Big breasts? Height? Intelligence? Alpha-instincts? What?
With luck, natural selection will just have a bunch more mutations to choose from. Without luck, we'll all end up with snub noses because Richy Rich thinks they look better, and you know what a trend-setter he is.
The good news is also that I think we're a long way away from really understanding what does what at a fine level in the genome. The bad news is that our ignorance won't prevent a whole bunch of people from mucking about with it anyway. The results are bound to be messy much of the time. (Can anybody say "thalidomide"?)
I do agree with Stock that this change is coming. I hope that, initially, we can find a way to legislate that it be used only to cure genetic diseases, not to "enhance" or "tinker," at least for some appropriate moratorium period, while we try to get a grip on what it is we're actually doing.
8:11:21 PM
Do Both
An article in today's New York Times discusses the similarity of results between some forms of "talk therapy" and certain psychotropic drugs. I, for one, am not surprised that both conversation and pills can change the way the brain works. The brain clearly operates on a "use it or lose it" principle ~ all good reasons to keep learning, keep growing, and to keep an open mind.
7:16:22 PM
Whither velvetelvis?
It is with regret that I remove velvetelvis from my blogroll. The site has gone dead for no discernable reason.
Apparently, Elvis has left the building.
Any sightings or reports of velvetelvis's resurrection would be gratefully received.
4:19:39 PM
Head, Meet Brick Wall; Brick Wall, This is Head
All I've ever really wanted from my father is an opportunity for real connection ~ a sense that he saw me as a whole person, with my own ideas, feelings, and needs. It would take so very little from him, and I have so much affection and support and fun to offer in return.
Sadly, I think I must come to terms with the likelihood that this will never happen the way I'd like it to. For various reasons, my father is locked inside himself, and it seems especially difficult for him to reach out to me (more difficult than to my sister, for example). I'm going to have to let go of my fond hopes in this relationship, and accept what there is, and try to cultivate gratitude for it.
Unfortunately, my visit to Boston, which was otherwise pleasant, had a pretty sour note enter it last night. My sister witnessed what my father had to say to me, and she was utterly shocked. I said to her afterward, "Welcome to my world." She had no idea. I have to say it was helpful, for once, to have someone else experience this interaction, so that I wasn't having to report it into skepticism ("Are you sure you're not exagerating? He was surely joking, wasn't he?" Aah.... no.) I was fairly upset, my sister was appalled.
I felt like a fool for hoping that things would be different, but then, I've been through this before. I woke up this morning feeling a remarkable sense of peace. I can forgive him for the hurt he causes, because I know he has certain limitations. He's not a bad person ~ in many ways he's a wonderful person ~ but he won't ever be the parent I'd like him to be.
2:22:38 PM
A Loss of Innocence
I used to love to travel by airplane. The magic of flight delighted me. The mystery and possibility of airports and the myriad exotic destinations to which they were the gateway enchanted me. The patterns of civilization or nature seen from above appealed to me both for both their beauty and their meaning.
These pleasures have been significantly diminished since September 11 of last year. I'm writing this on my shuttle flight back to DC. As we boarded, I found myself giving my fellow passengers the once-over. Hmm, there's a blond young man in a yellow t-shirt with Hebrew lettering on it. Hmm, there's a young Muslim woman, covered, with a huge black backpack. Say, why does that tall guy in the olive shirt keep getting up and going to the back of the plane? And what's up with the man with the French/Algerian accent who boarded the plane at the last minute after swapping his ticket?
I hate looking at other people with suspicion.
I hate wondering which would be more damaging, an explosion in the back of the plane or over the midsection by the wings, where I'm sitting.
As I was browsing in the bookstore before boarding, the news on the radio informed us that many baggage checkers in airports had a total of 15 minutes of training, and that the FBI had just taken a woman into custody in Texas who had completed one leg of her travels with a loaded .375 magnum in her carry-on luggage. Well, isn't that special!
Is that man who waited and watched us all line up and get on the plane an air marshall? I hope so, because if he isn't, his scrutiny was hardly welcome.
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