I was recently asked if I had seen Star Wars. This question was quickly qualified, pointing out that the questioner meant the original. The first thing that ran through my head was, originals? You mean there is anything else? Oh yeah, there were those 2 1/2 pieces of crap the powers that be decided to torture us with. ( 1/2 of Revenge of the Sith is worthwhile, I will grant that, but no more.) I laughed when answering this question, because of course I had seen them. Hadn't everyone in this country? I often forget that the whole Star Wars deal isn't a universal experience, and that as a child of 1974, my perspective on their cultural impact might be a bit skewed.
So yeah, I've seen them. Several times. Probably several dozen, sadly enough. Okay, fine - I own them, actually. As a kid, we all lived and breathed Star Wars. We were the original brand loyalists - we had Star Wars sheets, trading cards, lunch boxes, t-shirts and action figures (with extra cool points for those with parents who would patiently cut out UPC codes for the limited edition 1979 Boba Fett.) I was so jealous of my friend Paul - while I had to be content with my dinky Landspeeder and TIE fighter, he had the Millenium Falcon with all it's eight million moveable parts!
The nice thing about being the lone girl in a circle of friends was that I always got to be Princess Leia. Which was fortunate, what with the dearth of female characters around. If you didn't fancy yourself spending an afternoon pretending to be tied to a rock or fainting a lot, the princesses were the way to go. Princess Leia and Princess from Battle of the Planets got to kick butt and be stylish. Other than that, you were pretty much out of luck. Wonder Woman seemed too far out of reach for a little girl, far too womanly with that sparkly bustier and bosom that could front the prow of a ship. The bionic woman was boring when you took away the sound effects. Charlie's Angels required more girls than we had around, and left the boys to be bad guys or a disembodied voice. Besides, unless they were blonde, they all dressed like Mom. We occasionally played Dukes of Hazzard, but that entire game just involved jumping in and out of the window of my Dad's car until he would catch us and tell us to knock it off.
Princess Leia had it all going on, though. She had attitude in spades and snappy dialogue to go with it, trading sassy banter with bad and good boys alike. She was handy with a blaster and tactical maps and could pilot a ship when the occasion called for it. All that, and pretty white dresses that didn't get dirty, like ever, and extremely complicated hairstyles. This is who I totally wanted to be when I grew up - I wanted to have adventures and face down unspeakable evil while moving through life with courage and grace, and an endless supply of smartass remarks. Of course, I also figured by the time I grew up, one could actually win an interstellar spacecraft in a card game and there would be plenty of evil aliens to do battle with behind the greater backdrop of intergalatic war - so take it for what it's worth.
Showing posts with label wanton editorializing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wanton editorializing. Show all posts
Monday, August 7, 2006
Saturday, July 13, 2002
If you haven't heard already, South Africa's Sesame Street will be introducing an HIV positive muppet. This scandalous fact seems to be on everyone's lips lately, and I just don't get it. Maybe I am missing something here, because I'm really having a hard time wrapping my brain around why this is such a big deal.
It is estimated that one in nine people in South Africa have HIV. One in nine. With numbers like that, an HIV positive character is far more socially relevant than wether or not the Cookie Monster will learn the value of sharing, and the significance of the letter B. For many children the specter of HIV won't be some far off boogeyman, but instead their reality. One of their friends will have it, one of their parents, or relatives, or teachers, or maybe it will be them. When 40% of adult deaths in South Africa are attributed to HIV, it's no longer about the dangers of needle sharing and unprotected sex, or the tragedies of contaminated blood supplies - it's about a population trying to come to grips with what is now everybody's problem.
Nor do I understand the outrage about Sesame Street's supposedly "PC" attitude towards modern programming. This isn't new and it isn't news. If you hadn't noticed this until recently, you've been watching the wrong show. This latest brouhaha is just Sesame Street doing what Sesame Street has always done. Ethnic diversity, multiculturalism, and tolerance - along with a host of other "liberal" mores - have been a mainstay of the show since it started. This is PBS. Broadcasting with a social conscience and a liberal political bent is kinda what it's all about.
'Course, I could be wrong, what the hell do I know - I love Sesame Street.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,
And look what it's done so far.
What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
(And yeah, I know the Rainbow Connection is from The Muppets. Sometimes we must make do. )
It is estimated that one in nine people in South Africa have HIV. One in nine. With numbers like that, an HIV positive character is far more socially relevant than wether or not the Cookie Monster will learn the value of sharing, and the significance of the letter B. For many children the specter of HIV won't be some far off boogeyman, but instead their reality. One of their friends will have it, one of their parents, or relatives, or teachers, or maybe it will be them. When 40% of adult deaths in South Africa are attributed to HIV, it's no longer about the dangers of needle sharing and unprotected sex, or the tragedies of contaminated blood supplies - it's about a population trying to come to grips with what is now everybody's problem.
Nor do I understand the outrage about Sesame Street's supposedly "PC" attitude towards modern programming. This isn't new and it isn't news. If you hadn't noticed this until recently, you've been watching the wrong show. This latest brouhaha is just Sesame Street doing what Sesame Street has always done. Ethnic diversity, multiculturalism, and tolerance - along with a host of other "liberal" mores - have been a mainstay of the show since it started. This is PBS. Broadcasting with a social conscience and a liberal political bent is kinda what it's all about.
'Course, I could be wrong, what the hell do I know - I love Sesame Street.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,
And look what it's done so far.
What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
(And yeah, I know the Rainbow Connection is from The Muppets. Sometimes we must make do. )
Sunday, June 30, 2002
Maybe it's because I just watched Roger & Me last night, or maybe the heat is making me cranky, but really - to say that children go hungry in the US because their parents are dumb is, quite frankly, the dumbest thing I have ever heard. Okay, maybe not the dumbest thing, but certainly naive, and reeking of priviledge.
Lots of families go hungy, not because they are too stupid, or too lazy, or don't give a shit about their kids. Truth is, for a lot of people, the American Dream is a big, fat lie. The romantic notion that the only thing standing in the way of a white picket fence and two cars in the driveway is some elbow grease and good ole fashioned ingenuity is, quite simply, bullshit. Equal opportunity for all is a nice idea on paper, but really, the playing field sure as hell isn't equal, and a small group of people have the ball, and they aren't sharing.
Imagine this, if you will:
You work at a factory, making whatever. The money is decent - you can raise your family on your income. Your family, your friends, everyone works there. Whatever industry this factory is in, it is the only game in town. Every other business serve the employees of the factory. The grocery stores, the retail stores, the car lots, the real estate agents, the restaurants, all make their money from the factory's wages. So then, the layoffs start. A couple thousand people in one day. Then a couple thousand more. Then a few more, for good measure. The great thing is, you aren't being laid off because business is bad, but instead because your company realized that they can pay people in Mexico 70 cents an hour to do your job! What a great deal!
There are only a couple hundred jobs to be found, so the rest get unemployment. Frightened that people will start to leave town to find better jobs, the local government tells people not to worry, the job market will pick up, it will be okay. But it's not okay. Soon people realize that the jobs they found making half what they made at the factory don't pay their rent. Unemployment will maybe cover your mortgage, or your bills, but not both. The local economy becomes depressed, retailers start losing their businesses. More and more stores close, and more and more people become unemployed. Crime goes up - way up, depressing the economy even more. You can't sell your house, because the market is for shit. Your trapped with a mortgage you can no longer afford. You can either pay your rent or feed your kids, but if you don't pay your rent, you'll get evicted and won't be able to feed them anyways. Your choice is either to abandon your house, and hope you can find a job elsewhere, or wait till the bank forecloses and you end up on the street. You can't get unemployment if you move out of state to try and find a job, even if you could afford the expenses of moving. Then again, you can't get unemployment if you live in a cardboard box, either, so whichever way you look, you're screwed. You can't borrow money from your friends or family to help you get back on your feet, because they all lost their jobs, too, and are facing the same thing.
Everyone knows, though, that the only reason your kids are going to school hungry is because you are dumb. Yeah, right, whatever.
Lots of families go hungy, not because they are too stupid, or too lazy, or don't give a shit about their kids. Truth is, for a lot of people, the American Dream is a big, fat lie. The romantic notion that the only thing standing in the way of a white picket fence and two cars in the driveway is some elbow grease and good ole fashioned ingenuity is, quite simply, bullshit. Equal opportunity for all is a nice idea on paper, but really, the playing field sure as hell isn't equal, and a small group of people have the ball, and they aren't sharing.
Imagine this, if you will:
You work at a factory, making whatever. The money is decent - you can raise your family on your income. Your family, your friends, everyone works there. Whatever industry this factory is in, it is the only game in town. Every other business serve the employees of the factory. The grocery stores, the retail stores, the car lots, the real estate agents, the restaurants, all make their money from the factory's wages. So then, the layoffs start. A couple thousand people in one day. Then a couple thousand more. Then a few more, for good measure. The great thing is, you aren't being laid off because business is bad, but instead because your company realized that they can pay people in Mexico 70 cents an hour to do your job! What a great deal!
There are only a couple hundred jobs to be found, so the rest get unemployment. Frightened that people will start to leave town to find better jobs, the local government tells people not to worry, the job market will pick up, it will be okay. But it's not okay. Soon people realize that the jobs they found making half what they made at the factory don't pay their rent. Unemployment will maybe cover your mortgage, or your bills, but not both. The local economy becomes depressed, retailers start losing their businesses. More and more stores close, and more and more people become unemployed. Crime goes up - way up, depressing the economy even more. You can't sell your house, because the market is for shit. Your trapped with a mortgage you can no longer afford. You can either pay your rent or feed your kids, but if you don't pay your rent, you'll get evicted and won't be able to feed them anyways. Your choice is either to abandon your house, and hope you can find a job elsewhere, or wait till the bank forecloses and you end up on the street. You can't get unemployment if you move out of state to try and find a job, even if you could afford the expenses of moving. Then again, you can't get unemployment if you live in a cardboard box, either, so whichever way you look, you're screwed. You can't borrow money from your friends or family to help you get back on your feet, because they all lost their jobs, too, and are facing the same thing.
Everyone knows, though, that the only reason your kids are going to school hungry is because you are dumb. Yeah, right, whatever.
Sunday, June 16, 2002
*sigh*
Do you ever get the sneaking suspicion that you have become really, really boring? I haven't been blogging much at all lately, because I haven't had much to say. For those who know me, you know how odd this is. I always have something to say!
So what the hell happened? When did I become so incredibly dull that my own musings bore the crap out of me? I used to be interesting. I used to dye my hair purple and go out dancing all night long, dressed in PVC hot pants and clinging to the bars of a makeshift cage. I used to go on impromptu road trips and splash around in fountains. I used to argue about philosophy until all hours of the morning, and rant about stuff I read the in the newspaper as though it actually mattered.
I am sitting here, wearing my emily t-shirt, emblazoned with the words "sixteen and gothic" and I have realized that I am no longer either. (Well, duh. :P) The thing is, I realize that we grow up, and it's not really my lost youth that I am mourning. (Okay, not much.) The accessories I have acquired throughout this life, my tattoos, my piercings, don't define me any more than my shaved head or my black lipstick did. It's okay that I am married now, and have a job, and can no longer go dancing on a Wednesday. It's okay that my road trips are mostly planned, and my black leather studded dog collar is in retirement. I can say with certainty that I like where I am, it's a nice place, and the view is pretty.
The thing is, where I was, wasn't really all that radical. Goth started before I was even born, and certainly wasn't new by the time I stumbled upon it sixteen years later. Being a disenchanted and disenfranchised university student sure as hell wasn't the cutting edge. Blue hair does not a revolution make. I am more radical now as I rapidly approach thirty than I ever was in my misspent youth. I learned how to think, and even more important, how to act, and my politics are no longer a fashion statement and a handy dating tool. So why am I so easily dismissed? Just another chick who got married and got boring. God, she probably even votes!
When did I become invisible?
I wear a disguise
I'm not just your average jane
The super doesn't stand for model
But that doesn't mean I'm plain
If all you see is how I look
You miss the superchick within
And I christen you titanic underestimate and swim
I've got the rifle gonna be myself
I'll be everything that I want to be
I am confidence in insecurity
I am a voice yet waiting to be heard
I'll shoot the shot bang that you hear round the world
I'm a one girl revolution
Some people see the revolution but most only see the girl
I can lose my hard earned freedom if my fear defines my world
I declare my independence from the critics and their stones
I can find my revolution I can learn to stand alone...
I'll be everything that I want to be
I am confidence in insecurity
I am a voice yet waiting to be heard
I'll shoot the shot bang that you hear round the world
I'm a one girl revolution
~Superchic(k), One Girl Revolution
Do you ever get the sneaking suspicion that you have become really, really boring? I haven't been blogging much at all lately, because I haven't had much to say. For those who know me, you know how odd this is. I always have something to say!
So what the hell happened? When did I become so incredibly dull that my own musings bore the crap out of me? I used to be interesting. I used to dye my hair purple and go out dancing all night long, dressed in PVC hot pants and clinging to the bars of a makeshift cage. I used to go on impromptu road trips and splash around in fountains. I used to argue about philosophy until all hours of the morning, and rant about stuff I read the in the newspaper as though it actually mattered.
I am sitting here, wearing my emily t-shirt, emblazoned with the words "sixteen and gothic" and I have realized that I am no longer either. (Well, duh. :P) The thing is, I realize that we grow up, and it's not really my lost youth that I am mourning. (Okay, not much.) The accessories I have acquired throughout this life, my tattoos, my piercings, don't define me any more than my shaved head or my black lipstick did. It's okay that I am married now, and have a job, and can no longer go dancing on a Wednesday. It's okay that my road trips are mostly planned, and my black leather studded dog collar is in retirement. I can say with certainty that I like where I am, it's a nice place, and the view is pretty.
The thing is, where I was, wasn't really all that radical. Goth started before I was even born, and certainly wasn't new by the time I stumbled upon it sixteen years later. Being a disenchanted and disenfranchised university student sure as hell wasn't the cutting edge. Blue hair does not a revolution make. I am more radical now as I rapidly approach thirty than I ever was in my misspent youth. I learned how to think, and even more important, how to act, and my politics are no longer a fashion statement and a handy dating tool. So why am I so easily dismissed? Just another chick who got married and got boring. God, she probably even votes!
When did I become invisible?
I wear a disguise
I'm not just your average jane
The super doesn't stand for model
But that doesn't mean I'm plain
If all you see is how I look
You miss the superchick within
And I christen you titanic underestimate and swim
I've got the rifle gonna be myself
I'll be everything that I want to be
I am confidence in insecurity
I am a voice yet waiting to be heard
I'll shoot the shot bang that you hear round the world
I'm a one girl revolution
Some people see the revolution but most only see the girl
I can lose my hard earned freedom if my fear defines my world
I declare my independence from the critics and their stones
I can find my revolution I can learn to stand alone...
I'll be everything that I want to be
I am confidence in insecurity
I am a voice yet waiting to be heard
I'll shoot the shot bang that you hear round the world
I'm a one girl revolution
~Superchic(k), One Girl Revolution
Monday, May 6, 2002
The issue of personal responsibility keeps coming up again and again everywhere I turn, in real life and online. It boggles my mind that so many people seem to have abdicated all responsibility for their lives and happiness, and are so quick to lay blame. It's fate's fault, or their mother's, or husband's, or the evil bloggers. The bag boy at the grocery store probably has it in for you, too. Then there is the delightful irony of watching the very same people laying blame for how the act and react at the feet of other people, telling those same other people that they should control how they act and react so those who have no control can feel better. So, for those who feel they must lay the blame for their personal happiness on everybody else's doorstep, I say:
Own your shit. Hug it, love it, take it home and call it George.
Own your shit. Hug it, love it, take it home and call it George.
Monday, April 15, 2002
Why, oh why do people who live in the middle of the city allow their cats to roam around outside? I was taking the garbage out tonight and this pretty little cat, with collar, goes wandering through the parking lot. Hello, people! We live at a major bloody intersection, in a big city! This is a really good way for your cat to get hit by a car, stolen, or catch some terrible disease.
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
So, on another blog, a guy commented about how the current discussion going on in the comments section was being conducted by "hormonally heightened" females. He apparently came into the discussion in order to start some "intelligent discourse". Little did we know that the discussion happily going on before that was lacking in intelligence. Gosh, it's a good thing he came along to set us little ladies straight.
Do people still really think this way? Didn't this misogynistic bullshit go out of style sometime in late 1973? Last I checked, we were all, male and female, under the influence of hormones. They go running through our bodies when we are stressed, scared, hurt, and frightened, not to mention when we are in the mood to tangle some sheets. Last I checked, neither sex gets to claim some "get out of hormones free" card that allows them to pass go and collect two hundred dollars. Unless of course, testosterone is no longer considered a hormone. Gotta keep up with those advances in medical science, I guess.
It wouldn't bother me so much if this were only about the rantings of the occasional internet dipshit. The problem is, this whole "those pesky women, always at the mercy of their hormones" mentality affects more than just the clouded minds of a mere few. It's awfully pervasive, for these oh-so-enlightened times. For instance, the British Boxing Association decided, oh about two years ago, to not allow women to enter the sport of boxing, because apparently women are so at the mercy of their hormones that they could not be trusted to not accidentally maim or kill another boxer while they suffered through the apparently mind bending effects of PMS. Gee, little do my friends and family know that they gamble with their lives hanging out with me for a few days each month. Funny how the male dominated boxing that I have witnessed has also had their problems with the occasional maiming and killing. Guess the British Boxing Association is suffering from short term memory loss. Too many blows to the head can do that, I have heard.
Now, I am not all that interested in stepping into the boxing ring, as I like my nose right where it is, but decisions such as this have a much wider impact. We can assert that women are autonomous and capable individuals, yet every time a group of people who get to decide what we can do and how we can do it base their decisions on the idea that women are helplessly at the mercy of their overwhelming hormonal urges, any assertion to the contrary by the general public is completely undermined. Yeah, you've come a long way, baby. The thing is - I don't get it. I really don't. What is so fearsome and loathsome about a few women having an intelligent and passionate conversation, or about a woman wanting to play a freakin' sport that makes everyone have to run out and find any excuse to characterize them as nothing more than a Stepford wife married to a bunch of biological secretions.
So let me say this for all those who may be a little confused. Just because a woman displays a little passion and zeal doesn't mean she is a hapless victim of her hormonal urges.
Well, unless she's naked.
Do people still really think this way? Didn't this misogynistic bullshit go out of style sometime in late 1973? Last I checked, we were all, male and female, under the influence of hormones. They go running through our bodies when we are stressed, scared, hurt, and frightened, not to mention when we are in the mood to tangle some sheets. Last I checked, neither sex gets to claim some "get out of hormones free" card that allows them to pass go and collect two hundred dollars. Unless of course, testosterone is no longer considered a hormone. Gotta keep up with those advances in medical science, I guess.
It wouldn't bother me so much if this were only about the rantings of the occasional internet dipshit. The problem is, this whole "those pesky women, always at the mercy of their hormones" mentality affects more than just the clouded minds of a mere few. It's awfully pervasive, for these oh-so-enlightened times. For instance, the British Boxing Association decided, oh about two years ago, to not allow women to enter the sport of boxing, because apparently women are so at the mercy of their hormones that they could not be trusted to not accidentally maim or kill another boxer while they suffered through the apparently mind bending effects of PMS. Gee, little do my friends and family know that they gamble with their lives hanging out with me for a few days each month. Funny how the male dominated boxing that I have witnessed has also had their problems with the occasional maiming and killing. Guess the British Boxing Association is suffering from short term memory loss. Too many blows to the head can do that, I have heard.
Now, I am not all that interested in stepping into the boxing ring, as I like my nose right where it is, but decisions such as this have a much wider impact. We can assert that women are autonomous and capable individuals, yet every time a group of people who get to decide what we can do and how we can do it base their decisions on the idea that women are helplessly at the mercy of their overwhelming hormonal urges, any assertion to the contrary by the general public is completely undermined. Yeah, you've come a long way, baby. The thing is - I don't get it. I really don't. What is so fearsome and loathsome about a few women having an intelligent and passionate conversation, or about a woman wanting to play a freakin' sport that makes everyone have to run out and find any excuse to characterize them as nothing more than a Stepford wife married to a bunch of biological secretions.
So let me say this for all those who may be a little confused. Just because a woman displays a little passion and zeal doesn't mean she is a hapless victim of her hormonal urges.
Well, unless she's naked.
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