The Whole World's Broke; Ain't Worth Fixing

Human beings. Such a promising, heartbreaking species--so much potential, and yet, so much shittiness! Annoying one minute, delightful the next. Relationships on an individual level just reveal the larger truth--opening your soul fully and getting betrayed when you least expect it. Admiring a person of great ideals who turns out to have slovenly personal relationships (my dad says a lot of hippie movers-and-shakers were sadly, of this stripe, like so many Committed to Great Ideas People)... Or, hey, better yet! How about having a parent who's a molester? I think that combines the whole, loving/hurtful paradox efficiently.

But--no, knowing truly good people is the worst. You grow a false optimism. You get fooled into thinking the heartbreak can be delayed indefinitely. That maybe there's hope.

I've thought it over long and hard--considered this thing, people, as individuals and as a collective, for years on end--and I hate it, but, I've come to a decision. It's not going to work out. There's a lot of potential and we've come really far. Not so much enslaving and genociding and such. But in the end we destroy everything and hurt everyone. Not everywhere, all the time, but... it's enough.

It's time to call the bluff. There's no use pretending this is somehow going to turn out well. Trying leaves you crying. Hoping gets you a bashed-in heart.

So.

It's time to start all over, make a new beginning.

I'm hoping there's a mothership, and I'm hoping it comes for us soon.

Otherwise...

Kool Aid, anyone?

Anniversary Awareness

In the spirit of celebrating and aware-ing ourselves of joyful awesomenesses, I want to announce: Paul and I just celebrated the anniversary of our first date. On March 17th. (St. Patty's Day.) The FIFTEENTH anniversary of our first date! (We will have achieved nine years of wedded bliss this coming August. But, come on! FIFTEEN! Such a cool, huge number! In three years I'll have spent HALF MY LIFE with the man! I mean, the dude. The truly kind, empathetic, hilarious dude. Who's getting hotter with every year and every receded hair, have I mentioned?)

Here's a photo (!!!!!!) of the free-form apple-pear turnover (recipe courtesy of Julia Child) I made him:

Hmm. Well, it's not as pretty as Kay's pix but I didn't have time to plate it before the photographer (Paul) went to bed. Still, you can tell, my offering was oozing with love.

There's no photo for this, but, Paul woke up early and bought me yellow and purple mums and gave me a funny-man CD (featuring the comedic stylings of the sadly dead Mitch Hedburg).

We're in love! 3(17)x15= 765 mega cubic watts of love!

Time for some fun! Let's talk about Death!

.. at a FUNERAL, that is! I'm talking about the immensely amusing movie, Death at a Funeral (2007). DO see it. DON'T SEE THE REMAKE. It sucks. I can tell just by the preview. (Although, there is one cool thing about the crappy remake--it's black people appropriating something white people did.)



LOOK! I posted a picture! And got Paul only moderately grumpy, trying to help me figure out how to do it. (He says, I'm the one that got moderately snipey.) Also, he's the reason I saw this in the first place. Yay, Paul!

Spoiler Alert

Before I get to my main thoughts on The Sex Lives of Cannibals, I have to say--Kay, if you're high maintenance, I'm super high maintenance. Crap food, and a hospital where people go to die! Eek! I don't think I'd even want to vacation there, much less live there.

Although, is it a vacationable location? p. 65: "Clean water was impossible to find... There were still palm trees on Betio, which provided coconuts and toddy, but there wasn't any shrubs left for firewood, which is a poor emitter of heat anyway. Everyone had worms. Every child had hepatitis A. Tuberculosis was rampant. There were lepers..."

THERE WERE LEPERS!

One resident's reason for moving away? "Too many people on Tarawa. And the smell is beginning to bother me." (The author is in complete accord with this assessment: "It was true. Where he lived, the fetid stench of sizzling shit at low tide was breathtakingly foul.")

The fetid STENCH! of SIZZLING! SHIT!

Diapers--USED diapers--bobbing by in the tide while one is going for a nice, refreshing swim... Shudder. Well, you get the idea. But, the ending topped it all, for me. On the final page, the author HIMSELF dangles his OWN CHILD over the sea so HE CAN POOP IN IT!

WHAT! (And, his wife laughs, "He's our little island boy.")

ACK! I couldn't believe it. He ENDS the book with aw-shucks laughter about shitting in the ocean? If you can't beat 'em, join em? The spoiler alert from my title isn't a warning about giving the ending away, it's a warning about... well, gosh. SPOILING everything! With our SHIT!

I found this tale of life in the remote Pacific quite amusing, at points... And intriguing. Such a profoundly different lifestyle. But, ultimately, I found it disgusting and discouraging and disheartening. They say, that in many ways, islands are microcosms for what's happening on a larger scale all around our planet. Luckily, much of the developed world has better sewage systems... Although we also dispose of much worse things than shit. Like, well, you know. Things that don't decompose. Poison. Nuclear waste. So. Fun times.

But I also noticed, in my dismay and discouragement and disgust, that I was resorting to blaming the island people, in order to relieve my discomfort... By which I mean, I vaguely thought, Oh, those PEOPLE suck. They should know better. Those problems are just a result of their being stupid, and wrong. They should get organized! They should fix things! Mere poverty, mere culture shouldn't stand in their way! They DESERVE their hellhole.

Because I strive to think clearly and respond compassionately in all things.

Of course, the decisions the islanders collectively make do affect the island, and their lives--but that's not what I was thinking. I was thinking, Why aren't they more like us, with our insanely overflowing wealth and plentiful resources and industrialized lifestyles, where we effectively HIDE our gross, disgusting messes and chilling destruction?

Paul says, my description of this book reminds him of the experience of listening to NPR for several hours straight.

Hideho! Good cheer! Time for a good dose of denial. Let's think about something else.

Catching Up

Um, yeah. So--remember Goat Song? That was a cool book. LOTS of details about goats. And cheese. I forgot to tell you, Kay--that cheese-making process DOES sound way hard.

Anyway, I actually took a few notes on my reactions! Which I promptly stuck in a wordfile and abandoned. I've retrieved them for your delight and edification. Or, perhaps, momentary bemusement.

So, here's my random comments on assorted caprine topics: (Caprine=goat-related! of or pertaining to goats. You know, like canine, feline, ursine! I figured it out! Me and google did. Also, the latin for goat is oatga. No, that's pig latin, you idiot. Previous two sentences from WikiAnswers. Anywho...)

*pasteurized milk... Who knew that we lose out on some many super antibodies and stuff from pasteurization? I got all het up about it, then talked to Paul and his opinion was that there was something to be said for not dying from milk consumption. Hmm. Yes, I think there IS something to be said for that. Something good.

*animal suffering, illness... I hated that the poor girl goat got so sick. That would be stressful for me, too, Kay. And I hated thinking about the baby boy goats getting killed, and just... factory-farm animal life, in general. (The goat-sung goats seemed to have a very happy life, it was more just thinking about animal husbandry in general. I seem to recall that it came up.)

*I vaguely remember reading something idyllic about the experience of wandering about with goats... The author goes herding the goats into the woods; bringing a book, but setting it aside to “read” the wind, the trees… being in moment... It seemed blissfully boring. (Being busy rushes time along; the dull life slows things down. I should give up tv and only do really boring things. Then my life would feel as if it were lasting forever. Or, just get hurt alot. Boy does pain make time slow down!)

*bonding with the goats... sweet.

*peeing on the coyote scat to send a “message” to the coyote!... AWESOME. And so male, don't you think?

Here's my favoritest excerpt, quoted in full from:

Goat Song by Brad Kessler
P.130

JULY 29

“Last night I woke to wind, a coolness in the house as if a stranger were moving through the halls. I heard him in the trees and in the garden; and suddenly the earth seemed lovely again and a new breeze sang through the screens. [Wife] Dona slept, but [dog] Lola got up and went to the window and we stood together smelling wind and earth as if a great lever shifted somewhere in the universe. Stars spun overhead; and later back in bed I laid on an extra quilt against the cold and I could hear the goats across the lawn in the barn. Were they sniffing the new air as well? Did they sense that stranger too, moving in the cool of the garden—or was I the only one to feel him there?
In the morning on the milk stand I felt that cool against my back again, a breeze like someone’s breath; and I felt a sudden indescribable joy. Hannah was on the stand. Lizzie watching. She leaned her head over the gate and sniffed my ear. Sometimes you make your own momentary paradise—it never lasts too long.”

Final thought: how is it that there was so much more sex in this book, than the one with SEX IN THE TITLE?

Only 4 Months 'Til My Birthday!

Just sayin'...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL!!!

High Maintenance

While reading The Sex Lives of Cannibals, I couldn't help but continuously wonder whether I would take to the rustic island life like Troost & his wife or if I would be more like the disenchanted woman from the agency whom they replaced. I'm a bit divided on the issue. On one hand I like to think that I don't necessarily need all the modern conveniences and luxuries such as television and air conditioning but then I have my limits.

There are a couple things I can think of that would seriously affect my opinion of island life. The food issue would be huge for me. The thought of only getting the most derelict ant laden preservative filled crap that no other country in the world would take is almost unthinkable to me. Especially because there is absolutely nothing available to try and doctor it up (i.e. fresh veggies, seasonings). The thought of eating rotting cans of Spam everyday just turns my stomach. Although the thought of eating regular Spam doesn't sound too great either. Maybe this would all be tolerable if it was possible to grow a garden, but even that isn't possible. How are these people still alive?

The other thing that would really make me think twice about living there is the sanitation conditions. Or lack thereof. Not having some sort of sewage and/or waste disposal system would be terrible. The smell alone would be bad enough, but having to watch people defecate in the ocean and/or not having a private place available for your own personal needs is nightmarish to me. Even some kind of port-a-potty system would be better than what those people have. Yuck. I can't even imagine.

I guess my point is, I don't think I have what it takes to live on a real desert island. Not if I had a choice in the matter. I would rather spend a year camping in the wilderness than on that island. And I'm sure I'd still have enough stories and experiences to write a book about it later on. It's a good thing there are people that can do that kind of thing because I'm definitely not one of them. Count me out!