My mind has been a jumble of words lately. “Mere” words? I’ve heard the expression, “action, not words”. We all know about empty rhetoric. But just as seemingly innocuous symbols can be powerful under certain circumstances, words also have power. Words, after all, are a type of symbol themselves—they are our means of communicating our experience of the world, and to some extent define what we think of reality.
Of course, words have limitations. Some experiences cannot be described in words. Poetry is the closest approximation that we can have in words of such experiences. Magic was an art of meaningfully crafted words, but it is one that modern society doesn’t place any stock in. Similarly, oaths and promises made verbally are no good—they must be reinforced on paper. People don’t take the “word” of others very seriously. But just as certain symbols can activate the unconscious, words still have an effect, even if it’s not explicit.
I was discussing Jewish customs with someone, and one thing discussed was the strict adherence to Torah followed by Orthodox Jews. From the point of view of Kabbalah, there is a very important reason for this. There is a Kabbalistic text called Sefer Yetzirah, or “The Book of Formation”. It’s about what it sounds like—the formation of the universe. And what is used to build the universe? The letters of the Hebrew alphabet, in mathematically meaningful patterns, particularly variations of the name YHVH (or IHVH).
From the Sefer Yetzirah (Hermetic Library version) :
He fixed the twenty-two Letters of foundation on the sphere like a wall with 231 gates, and turned the spheres forward and backward. For an illustration may serve the three letters, Gemel, Nun, Ayin. There is nothing better than joy {spelled Ayin-Nun-Gemel in Hebrew} and nothing worse than sorrow or plague {spelled Nun-Gemel-Ayin, in Hebrew}.
But how was it done? He combined, weighed and exchanged: the Aleph with all the other letters in succession, and all the others again with Aleph; Bet with all, and all again with Bet; and so the whole series of Letters {was paired off in very possible way}. Hence it follows that there are 231 formations, and that every creature and every word emanated from one name.
This is in an incredibly complex system, and I will not be able to simplify it here. But if one is familiar with Gematria or Notarikon, one knows that the letters also have numerical values, and the total numerical value of a word can be used to reveal hidden meanings of the word. A good example from Peter Bull’s gematria site:
Gematria works on the premise that the letters of the alphabet can also be used as numbers, and therefore words and phrases acquire distinctive numerical values. A well known example is that of God, whose name spelt in Hebrew, is IHVH (). The values of these four letters are 10 - 5 - 6 - 5, thus the 'number of His name' is 26. It follows from this, by means of numerical equivalence, that God is identifiable with AHBH and AChD - Love and Unity - because the letter values of these two words sum as 1 + 5 + 2 + 5 and 1 + 8 + 4 = 26.
The Torah as a sacred text is not important simply because it is the “word of God”, but the letters themselves and their word combinations have very deep and important meaning. And thus, if one is an observant Jew, one must not change a letter of the Torah, and must uphold it, because to not uphold it is to threaten the structure of the universe. Magicians who work with Kabbalah work with the letters and their numberings to not only gain secret knowledge, but also to create in their own right.
But the West is not the only civilization that is centered on the alphabet. In the East, the 14 sounds of the Sanskrit alphabet are given by Lord Shiva, who beats them out on his damaru (drum) at the end of his Tandav (cosmic dance of creation and destruction—embodied in the image of Shiva Nataraj). The 14 basic sounds make up the Maheswara Sutras: “ aiyn rilrk eon aiuc hayavarat lan namanananam jhaban ghadadash jabagadadash khaphachaṭhathacaṭatav kapay sasasr hul “
In addition, the Goddess Kali wears a necklace of skulls or severed heads, each one representing a vibration of a letter of the Sanskrit alphabet. The severed heads represent the destruction of the Ego (as the heads are of demons of the ego such as anger, desire, passion, etc.). Kali herself is beyond Time and Space (“Kala means time, and Kali devours it”), and represents the rawest form of consciousness. The symbol is full of meaning, as the Ego is necessary to life in the world in spite of the limitations created by its “demons”, just as words are necessary even though they are also limited in their means of expressing the ultimate Mystery. Kali slays the demons when the balance of “too much and too little” is upset—the demons should be in balance with the devas (gods, or godly qualities) of the ego, but when the demons take over, Kali appears and destroys them and brings clarity to the soul, getting rid of all temporal distractions. The fact that the heads also represent grammar sounds symbolizes the loss of speech when one experiences this kind of clarity (among other things).
Finally, there are the sounds of mantras, usually referred to as bijas (seeds)—sounds like aum aim hrim klim krim srim, hum, etc. The vibrations of these sounds are associated with different qualities. Aum is the vibrational sound of the unity of the universe, hence its frequent use in meditation. When chanted properly, these mantras are capable of changing consciousness. This is true both in terms of belief and scientific finding; several studies have been done that demonstrate changes to the brain function as a result of regular meditation.
So, next time you speak, think about the mythical weight and foundation of your words. They have more impact than you might think. Choose them wisely.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Creatively Speaking
Art is a funny thing. It is a term that can encompass so many things, yet we often use it to refer to works created via drawing, painting, sculpture, or some other kind of media involving images.
I have not visited the elementary school that I attended as a child in many years. Yet I am fairly certain that in the halls of Mountview Road Elementary School in Morris Plains, there still hangs a rather faded work of art with my former name on it, and the year, "1981". As I recall, it is a framed image with orange matte (looks more like construction paper) that surrounds images of colorful squares, which are not quite as colorful after 30 years. They weren't even as colorful after 15 years.
The picture was originally hung in the school corridor because it was an art award that I had received. Yes, an award. For ART. The story behind the image is not so exciting. When I was in the 4th grade, our teacher, Mrs. Blauvelt, used to read to us after lunch, mostly (then) new works by Judy Blume or Beverly Cleary. While she read, even if I was interested in the story, I would become restless. I noticed that some of the boys in the class would take out a piece of paper and some markers, fill the paper with squares, then color them in. So, I did the same thing. Our art teacher, Mrs. Petronzi, had an extra credit box in her classroom. I would put my name on these and dump them into her extra credit box. Then, at an assembly one day at the end of the school year, I was presented with an art "award" that consisted of her framing 4 of these non-exciting creations into a picture. No one was more surprised than me that I would get any kind of award for this level of sloth.
As I was driving this evening, it occurred to me that this is my immortal legacy to Mountview Road Elementary--a framed picture of crappy squares drawn by someone with what you might call a "manual fixation". My friend has two children with a similar fixation. When we sit around her kitchen table talking, they are compulsively tearing something to bits or taking it apart. We must have sublimated the whole "idle hands are the Devil's workshop" thing. I just don't know that we're usually rewarded for it.
This evening, I drove back to the neighborhood near where I work, to a library where I used to work. I was there to hear my friend Marjorie Keyishian read her poetry, along with another accomplished poet whom I'd never heard/met, Heather Dubrow. Before the reading, I stood out in the hallway with Geraldine, who works at the same university that I do, in continuing education. She pointed out that one of the artworks was from one of our students, and it was beautiful. "It's certainly not anything I could create," I said.
"Now don't you say that. With the right art class, you could do things like that too", she replied.
She may be right. I don't know. Art is something that does have a basic language and technique to it. But I still think the truly talented can transcend that technique naturally, though I suppose like anything else, you may have to know the rules before you can break them. I was an English major in college, but I never took a class on writing. Yet I know how to write. My obnoxiously large vocabulary can probably be attributed to 7 years of Latin classes. Still, the "necessity" of such things I question, though I would imagine classes are necessary if you don't have a natural talent and want to learn. I recall John Leigh Karborn telling me that he had actually taken some art classes and found them thoroughly depressing and confining, so he dropped them. Yet, he does pretty amazing artwork. There are no hard and fast rules for getting it right, it seems.
Creativity is an impulse that springs from the collective unconscious. We use our standards and techniques to modify our creations, though sometimes this isn't necessary. At the poetry reading, someone asked Marge and Heather if they ever had a poem come out right "on the first try". They both said "yes", and Marge added, "about once every 15 years".
I don't know if I can write poetry. I have written poems, but I am unable to judge them. I have taken classes on poetry, and I understand everything about meter, rhyme scheme, form, etc. But I still don't know if I write decent poetry or not. Perhaps I need a writing group for that, or maybe I'm just not confident in my work. In any event, my poetry will likely be confined to my bbfiction blog, or to my notebooks, unless I have a compelling reason to do otherwise.
Heather Dubrow's poetry can be light and humorous, and can also cut like a knife. One of her poems, "motherlove", is about a girl whose father dies, and whose mother seems to have a string of new boyfriends ("uncles"), and not much regard for her. The girl marries a dentist, has a family, eventually gets old and dies. The poem ends with the lines, "We laid her in the cavity they had dug for her / with the headstone she requested, 'beloved wife and mother' / paid for by the children who / could not read what it unsaid." Ouch! But absolutely perfect. Of the strange flower zwartkop aenonium she writes, "No one can believe this flower was ever a virgin."
I have Marjorie Keyishian's earlier book of poetry, "Slow Runner", which has some amazing images from her life, reflections on family, reflections on places. This time she read mostly from "Demeter's Daughter", her current chapbook, which tackles the Demeter/Persephone myth from a very motherly point of view. She envisions her from many perspectives, including that of a young woman going down the the "bowels of the house" to do her laundry, "where machines would wipe / stains away, semen and dirt, tomatoes ... / The hall reeking of cabbage and the oil / Of sardines that leaked out of the tin, was / dim, for the landlord was saving money". She encounters a drunken Hades on the elevator, and a struggle ensues. She also writes about Persephone "going" off to her marriage to Hades (he waits at the bottom of the hill in his dark car), and she, "sits in the kitchen, hands folded / shoulders wrapped in a shawl / crocheted for a girl who's gone / She's dancing or was. A red candle / sheds wax in the shape of tears she / would cry if she were not so cold."
After the reading, I mentioned an alternative interpretation of the myth to Marge, that suggests that Persephone deliberately ate the pomegranate seed to remain in Hades. In one sense, it's the representation of the mother/daughter tension when the daughter grows up. Marjorie said she hadn't thought about it that way, or heard that version. The Demeter/Persephone myth is a critical one to our modern thoughts about females, sex, and death (all of which are associated). And Persephone is one of those key deities that was taken from the underworld and moved to the sky eventually, along with Dionysus, god of wine, fertility, and foreigners. Western culture was never the same after that.
When both women discussed their creative process, it seems to be a combination of inspiration and disciplined technique, and like most works, one is never satisfied with the results. A particularly talented Honors student where I work asked me before he graduated, "When is a piece of writing ever truly finished?" The only answer I could give him was that at some point, you decide you're finished, even if you could say more. Otherwise, the piece becomes the "El Dorado" of your creativity, perpetually over the next hill and never reached. Marge and Heather both alluded to the fact that they still wanted to change poems they'd already published, with the notable exception of things like sonnets, which have a form that they are more or less resigned to accept.
Driving to work each morning, I encounter some beautiful ruins along the road that I take through the mountains. I am determined to photograph these ruins under just the right lighting conditions, and also to paint them. Whether or not the end result will be art will be a weighty matter.
I have not visited the elementary school that I attended as a child in many years. Yet I am fairly certain that in the halls of Mountview Road Elementary School in Morris Plains, there still hangs a rather faded work of art with my former name on it, and the year, "1981". As I recall, it is a framed image with orange matte (looks more like construction paper) that surrounds images of colorful squares, which are not quite as colorful after 30 years. They weren't even as colorful after 15 years.
The picture was originally hung in the school corridor because it was an art award that I had received. Yes, an award. For ART. The story behind the image is not so exciting. When I was in the 4th grade, our teacher, Mrs. Blauvelt, used to read to us after lunch, mostly (then) new works by Judy Blume or Beverly Cleary. While she read, even if I was interested in the story, I would become restless. I noticed that some of the boys in the class would take out a piece of paper and some markers, fill the paper with squares, then color them in. So, I did the same thing. Our art teacher, Mrs. Petronzi, had an extra credit box in her classroom. I would put my name on these and dump them into her extra credit box. Then, at an assembly one day at the end of the school year, I was presented with an art "award" that consisted of her framing 4 of these non-exciting creations into a picture. No one was more surprised than me that I would get any kind of award for this level of sloth.
As I was driving this evening, it occurred to me that this is my immortal legacy to Mountview Road Elementary--a framed picture of crappy squares drawn by someone with what you might call a "manual fixation". My friend has two children with a similar fixation. When we sit around her kitchen table talking, they are compulsively tearing something to bits or taking it apart. We must have sublimated the whole "idle hands are the Devil's workshop" thing. I just don't know that we're usually rewarded for it.
This evening, I drove back to the neighborhood near where I work, to a library where I used to work. I was there to hear my friend Marjorie Keyishian read her poetry, along with another accomplished poet whom I'd never heard/met, Heather Dubrow. Before the reading, I stood out in the hallway with Geraldine, who works at the same university that I do, in continuing education. She pointed out that one of the artworks was from one of our students, and it was beautiful. "It's certainly not anything I could create," I said.
"Now don't you say that. With the right art class, you could do things like that too", she replied.
She may be right. I don't know. Art is something that does have a basic language and technique to it. But I still think the truly talented can transcend that technique naturally, though I suppose like anything else, you may have to know the rules before you can break them. I was an English major in college, but I never took a class on writing. Yet I know how to write. My obnoxiously large vocabulary can probably be attributed to 7 years of Latin classes. Still, the "necessity" of such things I question, though I would imagine classes are necessary if you don't have a natural talent and want to learn. I recall John Leigh Karborn telling me that he had actually taken some art classes and found them thoroughly depressing and confining, so he dropped them. Yet, he does pretty amazing artwork. There are no hard and fast rules for getting it right, it seems.
Creativity is an impulse that springs from the collective unconscious. We use our standards and techniques to modify our creations, though sometimes this isn't necessary. At the poetry reading, someone asked Marge and Heather if they ever had a poem come out right "on the first try". They both said "yes", and Marge added, "about once every 15 years".
I don't know if I can write poetry. I have written poems, but I am unable to judge them. I have taken classes on poetry, and I understand everything about meter, rhyme scheme, form, etc. But I still don't know if I write decent poetry or not. Perhaps I need a writing group for that, or maybe I'm just not confident in my work. In any event, my poetry will likely be confined to my bbfiction blog, or to my notebooks, unless I have a compelling reason to do otherwise.
Heather Dubrow's poetry can be light and humorous, and can also cut like a knife. One of her poems, "motherlove", is about a girl whose father dies, and whose mother seems to have a string of new boyfriends ("uncles"), and not much regard for her. The girl marries a dentist, has a family, eventually gets old and dies. The poem ends with the lines, "We laid her in the cavity they had dug for her / with the headstone she requested, 'beloved wife and mother' / paid for by the children who / could not read what it unsaid." Ouch! But absolutely perfect. Of the strange flower zwartkop aenonium she writes, "No one can believe this flower was ever a virgin."
I have Marjorie Keyishian's earlier book of poetry, "Slow Runner", which has some amazing images from her life, reflections on family, reflections on places. This time she read mostly from "Demeter's Daughter", her current chapbook, which tackles the Demeter/Persephone myth from a very motherly point of view. She envisions her from many perspectives, including that of a young woman going down the the "bowels of the house" to do her laundry, "where machines would wipe / stains away, semen and dirt, tomatoes ... / The hall reeking of cabbage and the oil / Of sardines that leaked out of the tin, was / dim, for the landlord was saving money". She encounters a drunken Hades on the elevator, and a struggle ensues. She also writes about Persephone "going" off to her marriage to Hades (he waits at the bottom of the hill in his dark car), and she, "sits in the kitchen, hands folded / shoulders wrapped in a shawl / crocheted for a girl who's gone / She's dancing or was. A red candle / sheds wax in the shape of tears she / would cry if she were not so cold."
After the reading, I mentioned an alternative interpretation of the myth to Marge, that suggests that Persephone deliberately ate the pomegranate seed to remain in Hades. In one sense, it's the representation of the mother/daughter tension when the daughter grows up. Marjorie said she hadn't thought about it that way, or heard that version. The Demeter/Persephone myth is a critical one to our modern thoughts about females, sex, and death (all of which are associated). And Persephone is one of those key deities that was taken from the underworld and moved to the sky eventually, along with Dionysus, god of wine, fertility, and foreigners. Western culture was never the same after that.
When both women discussed their creative process, it seems to be a combination of inspiration and disciplined technique, and like most works, one is never satisfied with the results. A particularly talented Honors student where I work asked me before he graduated, "When is a piece of writing ever truly finished?" The only answer I could give him was that at some point, you decide you're finished, even if you could say more. Otherwise, the piece becomes the "El Dorado" of your creativity, perpetually over the next hill and never reached. Marge and Heather both alluded to the fact that they still wanted to change poems they'd already published, with the notable exception of things like sonnets, which have a form that they are more or less resigned to accept.
Driving to work each morning, I encounter some beautiful ruins along the road that I take through the mountains. I am determined to photograph these ruins under just the right lighting conditions, and also to paint them. Whether or not the end result will be art will be a weighty matter.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Material/Literal
On a boring, rainy Monday evening, I went poking through some of the dregs of my DVD collection at home. I have a set of videos from a site called Five Minutes to Live, that specializes in weird films and foreign documentaries. My collection includes things like “Dinah Shore’s Portal to Hell” (not an actual show, just a collection of acts on her show)and some very bizarre Christian fundamentalist movies and television shows. These shows are hilariously awful, but they also make you wonder about the people who made them. Do they really think these films are going to make me embrace their religious views? They’re more likely to make me think they are, in Lewis Black’s terminology, “stone cold f**k nuts”.
One of these films is called “Rock : It’s Your Decision”. There is an obnoxious phrase/meme going around these days, “first world problems”. This seems to me to be a clear example of a “first world problem”. “Rock music is one of the biggest challenges a Christian teenager faces”, says the minister. Really? Their biggest challenge? Maybe the aborigines had it right when they took teenage boys out and scarified them. That strikes me as more of a legitimate challenge. There is a brilliant dissection of this movie by someone who calls himself the “Cinema Snob”. You can watch Part 1 here and Part 2 here.
As I was laughing at this stupid film, a more serious thought occurred to me. The youth pastor in this movie encourages young Jeff to make his decisions “backed up by Scriptural passages” in the way that academics back up their arguments with authoritative sources. It suddenly occurred to me what the problem is with this approach.
Biblical scripture is a collection of teachings, ancient laws, and myths. While one could reasonably take some scriptural texts at face value, others are not so simple, especially (as most churches assert) when the text must be taken as a whole. Contrary to Martin Luther’s pleading, the Bible is not a text that clearly and simply speaks for itself. If it did, we would not have volumes and volumes of theological interpretation.
But the problem is not the Bible itself. The problem is the same one faced by science: cultural materialism. Hardcore science people and skeptics hate the fanatically religious, but they do have one thing in common—they are working from the same assumption that there is no existence outside of matter. For the literalist Christian, everything is concrete. Scripture is an account of actual events, and the Bible contains actual instructions. And they always try to defend themselves via materialist methods. Like scientists (who can get a lot farther with this, because they are dealing with the observable world), having an a priori materialistic assumption is going to create problems.
Most fundamentalists don’t even realize that they are materialists. They believe in spirits, angels, demons, and magical places called Heaven and Hell in a very literal sense. Scripture is, in the words of James Simpson, an actual written contract between men and a very materially real God. This is the notion that scientists laugh to scorn—there is no evidence for it whatsoever. Moreover, it is not really a religious viewpoint. Religion, as I’ve said before, is about “linking back” or “tying back” what has been split apart. This is an entirely metaphorical construct, because you are not dealing with something “physical”—it is an idea that centers around the mystery of consciousness and being. It doesn’t properly belong to the realm of science; at best, it is in the realm of phenomenology and analytical psychology. It has nothing to do with the external, observable world or anything “concrete”—it has to do with what Jung terms the “psychical” world—the world of the “psyche”.
The literalist is another version of the materialist—they believe that all of the mythology of scripture has a real, physical, material reality. And this makes them on the defense from both sides, because they are seen as misunderstanding the scripture on the side of religion, and as flat-out factually wrong from the side of science.
This is another archetypal problem. We live in a materialistic culture. One can balance materialism with religion, but many of the monotheisms have fallen into disfavor because of the extreme emphasis on dogma and rules over compassion for the human family as a whole (which should be the function of religion). It is imbalanced, because both the religious and secular world are too materialistic. This is naturally going to lead to extreme responses, as an attempt to rebalance the psyche.
In Jolande Jacobi’s introduction to Jung’s psychology, she says, “Only where faith and dogma have frozen into empty forms—and this is largely the case in our ultra-civilized technological, rational-minded Western world—have they lost their magic power and left man helpless and alone, at the mercy of evil without and within.” (p. 50) Zombie imagery is so very popular because it is a metaphor for this conundrum—the human as the shambling, lifeless dead. One might very well attempt to synthesize these two views by taking an extreme religious viewpoint. This way, they feel they are satisfying both worlds. But in reality, they are just as dead, because such extreme religiosity requires extreme repression of normal instinct in the name of morals. No one wins in these scenarios.
The only way to solve the conundrum is to invent a working mythology of one’s own, or re-invent an existing one. While we share common archetypal ideas, the way that we respond to those ideas will necessarily guide our assumptions about the world, and hence our actions in it. Trying to pump meaning into dead images does not work. Trying to love a deity because you “ought to” does not work. And rejecting the mystery of consciousness and life will leave you empty. A new synthesis has to be found if you want to really live. Not that any one of us has really figured it out yet.
One of these films is called “Rock : It’s Your Decision”. There is an obnoxious phrase/meme going around these days, “first world problems”. This seems to me to be a clear example of a “first world problem”. “Rock music is one of the biggest challenges a Christian teenager faces”, says the minister. Really? Their biggest challenge? Maybe the aborigines had it right when they took teenage boys out and scarified them. That strikes me as more of a legitimate challenge. There is a brilliant dissection of this movie by someone who calls himself the “Cinema Snob”. You can watch Part 1 here and Part 2 here.
As I was laughing at this stupid film, a more serious thought occurred to me. The youth pastor in this movie encourages young Jeff to make his decisions “backed up by Scriptural passages” in the way that academics back up their arguments with authoritative sources. It suddenly occurred to me what the problem is with this approach.
Biblical scripture is a collection of teachings, ancient laws, and myths. While one could reasonably take some scriptural texts at face value, others are not so simple, especially (as most churches assert) when the text must be taken as a whole. Contrary to Martin Luther’s pleading, the Bible is not a text that clearly and simply speaks for itself. If it did, we would not have volumes and volumes of theological interpretation.
But the problem is not the Bible itself. The problem is the same one faced by science: cultural materialism. Hardcore science people and skeptics hate the fanatically religious, but they do have one thing in common—they are working from the same assumption that there is no existence outside of matter. For the literalist Christian, everything is concrete. Scripture is an account of actual events, and the Bible contains actual instructions. And they always try to defend themselves via materialist methods. Like scientists (who can get a lot farther with this, because they are dealing with the observable world), having an a priori materialistic assumption is going to create problems.
Most fundamentalists don’t even realize that they are materialists. They believe in spirits, angels, demons, and magical places called Heaven and Hell in a very literal sense. Scripture is, in the words of James Simpson, an actual written contract between men and a very materially real God. This is the notion that scientists laugh to scorn—there is no evidence for it whatsoever. Moreover, it is not really a religious viewpoint. Religion, as I’ve said before, is about “linking back” or “tying back” what has been split apart. This is an entirely metaphorical construct, because you are not dealing with something “physical”—it is an idea that centers around the mystery of consciousness and being. It doesn’t properly belong to the realm of science; at best, it is in the realm of phenomenology and analytical psychology. It has nothing to do with the external, observable world or anything “concrete”—it has to do with what Jung terms the “psychical” world—the world of the “psyche”.
The literalist is another version of the materialist—they believe that all of the mythology of scripture has a real, physical, material reality. And this makes them on the defense from both sides, because they are seen as misunderstanding the scripture on the side of religion, and as flat-out factually wrong from the side of science.
This is another archetypal problem. We live in a materialistic culture. One can balance materialism with religion, but many of the monotheisms have fallen into disfavor because of the extreme emphasis on dogma and rules over compassion for the human family as a whole (which should be the function of religion). It is imbalanced, because both the religious and secular world are too materialistic. This is naturally going to lead to extreme responses, as an attempt to rebalance the psyche.
In Jolande Jacobi’s introduction to Jung’s psychology, she says, “Only where faith and dogma have frozen into empty forms—and this is largely the case in our ultra-civilized technological, rational-minded Western world—have they lost their magic power and left man helpless and alone, at the mercy of evil without and within.” (p. 50) Zombie imagery is so very popular because it is a metaphor for this conundrum—the human as the shambling, lifeless dead. One might very well attempt to synthesize these two views by taking an extreme religious viewpoint. This way, they feel they are satisfying both worlds. But in reality, they are just as dead, because such extreme religiosity requires extreme repression of normal instinct in the name of morals. No one wins in these scenarios.
The only way to solve the conundrum is to invent a working mythology of one’s own, or re-invent an existing one. While we share common archetypal ideas, the way that we respond to those ideas will necessarily guide our assumptions about the world, and hence our actions in it. Trying to pump meaning into dead images does not work. Trying to love a deity because you “ought to” does not work. And rejecting the mystery of consciousness and life will leave you empty. A new synthesis has to be found if you want to really live. Not that any one of us has really figured it out yet.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Austerity
The term "austerity" has been used a lot lately in the media in reference to untangling the mess of world economies. The term implies a sadhuk-like discipline, depriving oneself for one's own good and everyone else's. In Europe, where austerity measures are being considered to deal with the EU's dire economic situation, there is a lot of rebellion and pushback. France elected its first Socialist (and anti-austerity) President in many years, and now Spain is angrily rising up against such austerity measures.
In some cases, austerity on some level may not be off the mark. In the case of Greece (as someone put it) they want the benefits provided by countries like Norway, but they don't want to pay the taxes. The reason many socialist countries have such wonderful benefits is because the people pay a lot of taxes. In exchange, they are guaranteed a certain quality of life--in theory. Sometimes this works out well, other times it does not. Corruption and greed will upset any system.
The logic of austerity says that when money is a problem, you don't spend, and you get rid of things you don't need. On an individual level, this is quite a sensible way of behaving, and even has its own virtuous name: frugality. However, it is not the way to manage organizations or national economies.
John Maynard Keynes has a theory of economics that is gaining popularity again in the face of the global financial crisis. Keynes suggested that restrictive financial decisions on a microeconomic level had negative ramifications on the macroeconomic level. In short--decisions to be frugal and not spend had ramifications for the larger economy. The end result was known as a "general glut" where there is insufficient demand for output, and thus high unemployment ensues, and the economy stagnates. Austerity for the larger group will bring the economy to a standstill. The only way to pump life into the economy is for the larger group--the country's representatives, the government--to spend more money so that those who are frugal because they have less money can go back to spending. Spending is good for business, and generates jobs if there is enough demand.
When governments become austere, then that means money is not flowing to those in need of it, which means spending decreases even more, and unemployment goes up even more. One might argue that we don't have the money; in fact, we DO have the money, we've just also borrowed a lot and have to pay down. The question of fiscal priority is what is debated, and there's been virtually no logic to that debate at all.
The problem in the U.S. is that Congress refuses to raise taxes on the very rich--not even by a small margin, as the President has suggested. Even that small margin would go a long way towards helping the deficit. Republicans argue that the rich are "job creators" and if they have less money they won't create jobs. But this is just a smokescreen; corporations won't be affected at all by the proposed tax increases. And--a good CEO does not create jobs. His or her job is to run the company with the greatest efficiency, which means spending the least amount of money. The only way a corporation will create jobs is if demand soars, and if no one can purchase products, demand will not go up.
Now jobs could be created by the government. They are in fact the only ones who really CAN create jobs. But in a climate of spending austerity for the government, jobs won't be created. In fact, what we see is people in government jobs being attacked as having too many benefits. In reality, these jobs often provide reasonable benefits for a productive and enjoyable life and career.
Which brings us to another point about austerity--quality of life. If you cut social programs, those who rely on those programs to make ends meet have no opportunity to have any quality of life. It goes back to the Horatio Alger "rags to riches" myth--if you are poor in America, it's OK, because hard work will make you rich. The implied corollary is that those in need of welfare are lazy. But most people in need of welfare work very very hard, and have been denied opportunities that others are fortunate enough to get. Many are disabled either mentally or physically, and can't go to Harvard to become CEO of a big company. And not everyone can do that, anyway--someone has to take the so-called "lesser" jobs. And those jobs frequently don't pay enough to make a living, and may not offer sufficient benefits, if any at all.
Not everyone wants to be an accountant or a Wall Street banker, and in the land of "Opportunity", the "greatest country in the world", we should be able to pursue our own passions and dreams. The taxes we pay support programs that make this possible. Cutting those programs to avoid taxing the rich, whose quality of life would be totally unaffected by the additional tax, demonstrates either incredible ignorance or greed. Which, I should note are 2 of Buddhism's 3 great evils of the world. (Wrath is the 3rd one.)
It's worth noting that we live in a society that attaches real value to monetary value. What I mean is that the more you have/spend, the more you're worth. So--for all my library director colleagues who like to be team players, cut budgets, and "make do with less", the actual unconscious message is, "you don't cost much, so you're not worth much." By contrast, if you spend every penny of your budget and be sure to note that you really NEED this and more (overspending occasionally is good, too), you are likely to not only keep your budget, but get more. If you think I'm wrong--look at how many directors cut their budgets, only to be told, "good, you can cut more next year."
Similarly, poorer people in society who can't spend as much as richer people are unconsciously seen by larger groups as "lesser" in value. How else can a supposedly "Christian" group of people justify giving the rich a break, while imposing further "austerity" on the poor (literally and relatively speaking)? The "poor" must not have as much value because they don't have/spend as much money.
I have probably told the story of Mrs. Takawa, who brought Reiki therapy to the United States from Japan. Mrs. Takawa used to give Reiki Master attunements for free. She quickly discovered that no one wanted them or valued them. So, she decided to start charging $10,000 for them. All of the sudden, people were clamoring for them, and took them seriously. She noted that this was a curiously American trait; I might suggest that it is a curious trait of Western civilization. The Eastern worldview is a bit different.
It's probably worthwhile to think about how we assess "value" and the consequences of imposing "austerity".
In some cases, austerity on some level may not be off the mark. In the case of Greece (as someone put it) they want the benefits provided by countries like Norway, but they don't want to pay the taxes. The reason many socialist countries have such wonderful benefits is because the people pay a lot of taxes. In exchange, they are guaranteed a certain quality of life--in theory. Sometimes this works out well, other times it does not. Corruption and greed will upset any system.
The logic of austerity says that when money is a problem, you don't spend, and you get rid of things you don't need. On an individual level, this is quite a sensible way of behaving, and even has its own virtuous name: frugality. However, it is not the way to manage organizations or national economies.
John Maynard Keynes has a theory of economics that is gaining popularity again in the face of the global financial crisis. Keynes suggested that restrictive financial decisions on a microeconomic level had negative ramifications on the macroeconomic level. In short--decisions to be frugal and not spend had ramifications for the larger economy. The end result was known as a "general glut" where there is insufficient demand for output, and thus high unemployment ensues, and the economy stagnates. Austerity for the larger group will bring the economy to a standstill. The only way to pump life into the economy is for the larger group--the country's representatives, the government--to spend more money so that those who are frugal because they have less money can go back to spending. Spending is good for business, and generates jobs if there is enough demand.
When governments become austere, then that means money is not flowing to those in need of it, which means spending decreases even more, and unemployment goes up even more. One might argue that we don't have the money; in fact, we DO have the money, we've just also borrowed a lot and have to pay down. The question of fiscal priority is what is debated, and there's been virtually no logic to that debate at all.
The problem in the U.S. is that Congress refuses to raise taxes on the very rich--not even by a small margin, as the President has suggested. Even that small margin would go a long way towards helping the deficit. Republicans argue that the rich are "job creators" and if they have less money they won't create jobs. But this is just a smokescreen; corporations won't be affected at all by the proposed tax increases. And--a good CEO does not create jobs. His or her job is to run the company with the greatest efficiency, which means spending the least amount of money. The only way a corporation will create jobs is if demand soars, and if no one can purchase products, demand will not go up.
Now jobs could be created by the government. They are in fact the only ones who really CAN create jobs. But in a climate of spending austerity for the government, jobs won't be created. In fact, what we see is people in government jobs being attacked as having too many benefits. In reality, these jobs often provide reasonable benefits for a productive and enjoyable life and career.
Which brings us to another point about austerity--quality of life. If you cut social programs, those who rely on those programs to make ends meet have no opportunity to have any quality of life. It goes back to the Horatio Alger "rags to riches" myth--if you are poor in America, it's OK, because hard work will make you rich. The implied corollary is that those in need of welfare are lazy. But most people in need of welfare work very very hard, and have been denied opportunities that others are fortunate enough to get. Many are disabled either mentally or physically, and can't go to Harvard to become CEO of a big company. And not everyone can do that, anyway--someone has to take the so-called "lesser" jobs. And those jobs frequently don't pay enough to make a living, and may not offer sufficient benefits, if any at all.
Not everyone wants to be an accountant or a Wall Street banker, and in the land of "Opportunity", the "greatest country in the world", we should be able to pursue our own passions and dreams. The taxes we pay support programs that make this possible. Cutting those programs to avoid taxing the rich, whose quality of life would be totally unaffected by the additional tax, demonstrates either incredible ignorance or greed. Which, I should note are 2 of Buddhism's 3 great evils of the world. (Wrath is the 3rd one.)
It's worth noting that we live in a society that attaches real value to monetary value. What I mean is that the more you have/spend, the more you're worth. So--for all my library director colleagues who like to be team players, cut budgets, and "make do with less", the actual unconscious message is, "you don't cost much, so you're not worth much." By contrast, if you spend every penny of your budget and be sure to note that you really NEED this and more (overspending occasionally is good, too), you are likely to not only keep your budget, but get more. If you think I'm wrong--look at how many directors cut their budgets, only to be told, "good, you can cut more next year."
Similarly, poorer people in society who can't spend as much as richer people are unconsciously seen by larger groups as "lesser" in value. How else can a supposedly "Christian" group of people justify giving the rich a break, while imposing further "austerity" on the poor (literally and relatively speaking)? The "poor" must not have as much value because they don't have/spend as much money.
I have probably told the story of Mrs. Takawa, who brought Reiki therapy to the United States from Japan. Mrs. Takawa used to give Reiki Master attunements for free. She quickly discovered that no one wanted them or valued them. So, she decided to start charging $10,000 for them. All of the sudden, people were clamoring for them, and took them seriously. She noted that this was a curiously American trait; I might suggest that it is a curious trait of Western civilization. The Eastern worldview is a bit different.
It's probably worthwhile to think about how we assess "value" and the consequences of imposing "austerity".
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Tradition
The Vatican recently did an "investigation" of American nuns, and chastised them for spending too much time tending to the poor and needy, and not enough time opposing abortion and gay marriage. Which is a perfect summary of everything that is wrong with the Vatican. The nuns have it right.
There is something archetypal about this, when it comes to unconscious associations with male and female roles. The difference in approach to religious vocation falls right into expected qualities. Male vocations center around "tending the flock" by fencing in the sheep, providing order. Whereas the female vocation is motherly--it is focused on compassion and caring. An excellent clergyperson of either sex balances the qualities of both with equanimity.
However, these days the Vatican is more split than ever. If the pedophilia scandal doesn't demonstrate how removed male and female are from each other in the 21st century Church, the investigation of the nuns should. It's as though they want to stamp out femininity in the Church, except for lip service to the Virgin Mary and the female saints. I've noticed that when the Catholic channel profiles female saints, it is always in terms of their obedience to their superiors. Their own connection to the Divine is given less importance.
It is sad that the Church should fall victim to this split, making it as bad in this respect as conservative Protestantism. Jung had always praised the Church as having all the elements of integrated wholeness. They seem to have forgotten that this is their teaching.
Some of this is related to the age-old split between religion for the "people" and religion for "contemplatives"--popular vs. mystical religion. What people need now is the contemplative version of religion, not the popular one. They do not need to be fed dogmas and admonitions; they need to learn inner silence to be able to hear the voice of God (or the Self, if you prefer). Silence makes you aware of that difficult-to-describe mystery that leads to love of others. This kind of love leads to compassion for others, and spread widely enough, an end to greed, war, hatred, and prejudice. But other motivations have always driven organized religion, and the bigger the group, the worse it gets. The more people giving their light to something, the darker their Shadow.
I have been doing research on the relationship between the feminine and the Shadow. Hades himself notwithstanding, the underworld has a distinctly feminine quality. We talk about various queens of the underworld--Persephone, Hecate, Ereshkigal, to name a few. Fertility and sexuality are seen as dangerous, and also have underworld associations. Much of this may be related to the shift of the underworld from the Earth to the Sky mythologically. Once the mysteries moved to the Sky, anything related to the Earth was either demonized or rendered inferior. And of course, "Mother Earth" is about birth, death, and rebirth--and life in this material world itself. While the Cathars may be long gone, the idea of matter and the material world as "evil" hasn't quite gone away, nor its feminine association.
The gay marriage debate ties into this, as any man or woman who would assume an "opposite" role is treated as unnatural. In fact, there is nothing unnatural about any version of sexuality. Regardless of outward physical manifestation, all humans are both "male" and "female", and one or the other side may express itself dominantly in the psyche. Really, it is a testament to the weight of culture that more people don't fall in love with people of both sexes. The reproductive urge is certainly part of that equation, but in a world that is getting overcrowded, that urge seems to have lessened, and more people getting involved in relationships that are non-reproductive, homosexual or heterosexual.
It is encouraging to see us moving towards a world that is more prone to discarding this outdated tradition. President Obama's open endorsement of gay marriage is a bold step forward in many ways, though we have to ask ourselves why this is even a question in a 21st century that has discarded many other traditions. It's another case where the facts are superseded by tradition, even though no one really understands where the tradition comes from. I cannot resist including Stephen Colbert by way of example here:
Jesus says nothing about homosexuality. It is the book of Leviticus that mentions it, and St. Paul mentions it in one of his letters. But if we look at those sources--Leviticus consists of laws for a nomadic people a couple thousand years ago, and not even observant Jews would follow some of the dictums of that book. For example, I don't know of a Jewish community where it is OK to stone your wife for adultery or sell your female children into slavery. Those things have fallen away with time and progress. And so should the dictum against homosexuality.
As for St. Paul--I have always thought of modern "Christianity" as "Paulism" rather than true Christianity. Paul has become the defining voice in Christian doctrine for both Catholic and Protestant, and this really should be examined. Paul, by the way, was against ALL marriage, not just homosexual ones. He only begrudgingly accepted that heterosexual marriage was a reproductive necessity, and therefore should be carried out but only with strict guidelines.
But even beyond the marriage issue--Paul was chosen as the voice of Christianity by political committee. Not everyone accepted Paul's teachings--some people thought of him as a blasphemer and heretical, most notably John of Patmos, who wrote the Book of Revelation. For more on this, see Elaine Pagels' fantastic new book, Revelations: Visions, Prophecy, and Politics in the Book of Revelation
. Pagels has done some interesting research, and shows that John of Patmos was very likely not a Christian but a "messianic" Jew, and how the Book of Revelation was used by various Christian figures to support their view of the religion and suppress others. The politics of the New Testament are more surprising than you might imagine.
Nonetheless, in a secular world, the Biblical viewpoint should not be influential in terms of making secular law. This is about legal, secular marriage. If a couple goes to a Church and gets married, without the proper licensing and paperwork with the town, they are not married by law. And they are not required to have a religious ceremony to be married. As churches of all kinds are tax exempt, because they are "exempt" from the secular, their beliefs should not influence laws for the many with differing beliefs. This should just be common sense.
It just convinces me more that we are a society badly in need of balance, on both the religious and secular sides. Traditions should be examined, and ones that no longer serve humanity should be discarded. Examination requires looking at weakness, something the Church has shown itself to be loathe to do time and time again--they prefer to project their weakness onto "Satan's influence in the world," and they're not the only ones. But this is a problem. We are all as much "Satan" as we are "God". Not acknowledging that leads to psychosis--a psychosis that justifies prejudice against others because "they" are capable of evil and "we" are so squeaky clean.
I'll end with this--thanks to Rodney Orpheus for posting this and reminding me of it. It's from the "wickedest man in the world", Aleister Crowley:
There is something archetypal about this, when it comes to unconscious associations with male and female roles. The difference in approach to religious vocation falls right into expected qualities. Male vocations center around "tending the flock" by fencing in the sheep, providing order. Whereas the female vocation is motherly--it is focused on compassion and caring. An excellent clergyperson of either sex balances the qualities of both with equanimity.
However, these days the Vatican is more split than ever. If the pedophilia scandal doesn't demonstrate how removed male and female are from each other in the 21st century Church, the investigation of the nuns should. It's as though they want to stamp out femininity in the Church, except for lip service to the Virgin Mary and the female saints. I've noticed that when the Catholic channel profiles female saints, it is always in terms of their obedience to their superiors. Their own connection to the Divine is given less importance.
It is sad that the Church should fall victim to this split, making it as bad in this respect as conservative Protestantism. Jung had always praised the Church as having all the elements of integrated wholeness. They seem to have forgotten that this is their teaching.
Some of this is related to the age-old split between religion for the "people" and religion for "contemplatives"--popular vs. mystical religion. What people need now is the contemplative version of religion, not the popular one. They do not need to be fed dogmas and admonitions; they need to learn inner silence to be able to hear the voice of God (or the Self, if you prefer). Silence makes you aware of that difficult-to-describe mystery that leads to love of others. This kind of love leads to compassion for others, and spread widely enough, an end to greed, war, hatred, and prejudice. But other motivations have always driven organized religion, and the bigger the group, the worse it gets. The more people giving their light to something, the darker their Shadow.
I have been doing research on the relationship between the feminine and the Shadow. Hades himself notwithstanding, the underworld has a distinctly feminine quality. We talk about various queens of the underworld--Persephone, Hecate, Ereshkigal, to name a few. Fertility and sexuality are seen as dangerous, and also have underworld associations. Much of this may be related to the shift of the underworld from the Earth to the Sky mythologically. Once the mysteries moved to the Sky, anything related to the Earth was either demonized or rendered inferior. And of course, "Mother Earth" is about birth, death, and rebirth--and life in this material world itself. While the Cathars may be long gone, the idea of matter and the material world as "evil" hasn't quite gone away, nor its feminine association.
The gay marriage debate ties into this, as any man or woman who would assume an "opposite" role is treated as unnatural. In fact, there is nothing unnatural about any version of sexuality. Regardless of outward physical manifestation, all humans are both "male" and "female", and one or the other side may express itself dominantly in the psyche. Really, it is a testament to the weight of culture that more people don't fall in love with people of both sexes. The reproductive urge is certainly part of that equation, but in a world that is getting overcrowded, that urge seems to have lessened, and more people getting involved in relationships that are non-reproductive, homosexual or heterosexual.
It is encouraging to see us moving towards a world that is more prone to discarding this outdated tradition. President Obama's open endorsement of gay marriage is a bold step forward in many ways, though we have to ask ourselves why this is even a question in a 21st century that has discarded many other traditions. It's another case where the facts are superseded by tradition, even though no one really understands where the tradition comes from. I cannot resist including Stephen Colbert by way of example here:
| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| Barack Obama's Gay Blasphemy | ||||
| ||||
Jesus says nothing about homosexuality. It is the book of Leviticus that mentions it, and St. Paul mentions it in one of his letters. But if we look at those sources--Leviticus consists of laws for a nomadic people a couple thousand years ago, and not even observant Jews would follow some of the dictums of that book. For example, I don't know of a Jewish community where it is OK to stone your wife for adultery or sell your female children into slavery. Those things have fallen away with time and progress. And so should the dictum against homosexuality.
As for St. Paul--I have always thought of modern "Christianity" as "Paulism" rather than true Christianity. Paul has become the defining voice in Christian doctrine for both Catholic and Protestant, and this really should be examined. Paul, by the way, was against ALL marriage, not just homosexual ones. He only begrudgingly accepted that heterosexual marriage was a reproductive necessity, and therefore should be carried out but only with strict guidelines.
But even beyond the marriage issue--Paul was chosen as the voice of Christianity by political committee. Not everyone accepted Paul's teachings--some people thought of him as a blasphemer and heretical, most notably John of Patmos, who wrote the Book of Revelation. For more on this, see Elaine Pagels' fantastic new book, Revelations: Visions, Prophecy, and Politics in the Book of Revelation
. Pagels has done some interesting research, and shows that John of Patmos was very likely not a Christian but a "messianic" Jew, and how the Book of Revelation was used by various Christian figures to support their view of the religion and suppress others. The politics of the New Testament are more surprising than you might imagine.Nonetheless, in a secular world, the Biblical viewpoint should not be influential in terms of making secular law. This is about legal, secular marriage. If a couple goes to a Church and gets married, without the proper licensing and paperwork with the town, they are not married by law. And they are not required to have a religious ceremony to be married. As churches of all kinds are tax exempt, because they are "exempt" from the secular, their beliefs should not influence laws for the many with differing beliefs. This should just be common sense.
It just convinces me more that we are a society badly in need of balance, on both the religious and secular sides. Traditions should be examined, and ones that no longer serve humanity should be discarded. Examination requires looking at weakness, something the Church has shown itself to be loathe to do time and time again--they prefer to project their weakness onto "Satan's influence in the world," and they're not the only ones. But this is a problem. We are all as much "Satan" as we are "God". Not acknowledging that leads to psychosis--a psychosis that justifies prejudice against others because "they" are capable of evil and "we" are so squeaky clean.
I'll end with this--thanks to Rodney Orpheus for posting this and reminding me of it. It's from the "wickedest man in the world", Aleister Crowley:
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Authoritarian
It's been an interesting last few days. Different events weave themselves together in a common narrative.
First, I was getting my car serviced the other day. (And it will have to be back in the shop later this week or by Monday for new transmission fluid lines). While there, I met an interesting woman who was a photo researcher, and knew some people that I was acquainted with. She told me about a book she'd seen on the authoritarian personality. I've studied the authoritarian personality in graduate school. It was Dr. Art Pressley at Drew University who said in his class on Psychology and Violence that "statistically, authoritarian personality types become police officers or ministers."
However, I was reminded of the reverse aspect of authoritarianism--the tendency to be obedient to specific instructions, and the ability to disassociate personal responsibility and compassion when following orders.
This, along with the fear/cognitive dissonance factor, is a huge variable when looking at why anyone can take something like Fox News seriously. There is an unconscious fear of life that people try to conquer via strict control. We all want control of our lives to a certain degree. But many people cannot face the unknown without specific, direct, and forceful instructions. Or, they like to have power over others by giving those instructions. Those who are compassionate may be seen as "weak" and "wishy-washy" because they openly admit that a situation has no specific answer, and that life is more chaotic and unexpected than following neat, orderly patterns. A "template" is desired, and something as complex as life does not have a template. It goes back to what Joseph Campbell said: If your life is going along smoothly, it is probably someone else's life", or someone else's expectations for you. If you are dissatisfied, bravo. You are recognizing that you can stand up and have your own influence, and not merely do what others tell you.
The more uncertain things are, the worse this gets. There was a book written in the 1980s called the "Lucifer Principle" by Howard Bloom (not to be confused with literary critic Harold Bloom). Bloom examined patterns in civilization, and came to the conclusion that societies that were hell-bent on chastising people for their morals were societies in decline. He gave the British Empire's decline as an example, and the poetics of Henley and other fin-de-siecle poets who were a response to the Rossetti's, Wilde, Swinburne, and other "racy" Victorians, blaming their morals for Britain's decline, and certainly the whole "Hail Britannica" nationalism expressed by these counter-writers was indicative of that response. The national myth was unraveling, and someone had to be blamed. Not unlike what's happening in the U.S. now. My friend's fiance posted a video of the Oprah Winfrey show from 1986, featuring Tipper Gore and Jello Biafra among others:
For those of you who don't remember, one of the big 1980s controversies in America was the founding of the PMRC, the "Parents Music Resource Center". Mrs. Gore, then-wife of Senator then Vice President Al Gore, argued that music should be rated in the same way movies and TV were rated, so that parents could be aware of explicit content. Regardless of what she said, the result was a blacklisting by certain artists by the record industry, or forcing them to re-write songs to "clean them up" for the market. Jello Biafra was the singer for the Dead Kennedys, which has been one of my favorite groups over the last 20 years. He did briefly attempt a political career, and also had success with spoken word projects. The Dead Kennedys always come to mind for me when I think of Johnny Ramone's definition of punk: "It's warped-out surf music." Just listen to "Too Drunk to F--k", and you'll hear that in the guitars.
An interesting call comes in during part 3 of this show--a woman gets angry at Biafra because his music caused her son to "pull a knife on his father". Biafra takes a shot at her for bad parenting, and no one will ever know if she was as great as a parent as she seemed to think. Nonetheless, blaming bands for antisocial behavior is really a distraction from the issue. If punk or metal music actually caused this kind of psychotic or criminal behavior, then every child, teen, or twentysomething adult (or older) who heard it would pick up a weapon and start attacking. The fact remains that this just isn't true. It's a convenient scapegoat. For anyone to engage in that type of behavior, something else has to be wrong--whether its a chemical imbalance caused by an archetypal imbalance or something else, the music is merely a reflection, not the cause.
Which brings us back to the Shadow. Between the increase in the xenophobic authoritarian and the idea that we must censor or curb things that are "immoral", both point to a deliberate attempt at repression of things that we don't want to acknowledge are natural. With teens who are experiencing hormonal tsunamis, there needs to be a balance, and this does not involve repression. It involves a means of expression (and creative things like music, art, and writing are great safe ways to express), balanced with a dose of rationality. But it also requires validation, and not treating teenagers like they're psychotic criminals. There has to be understanding of where they are in their development, and space for them to develop. Very disturbing behavior should be addressed (e.g., killing small animals, or other violent behavior towards others), otherwise they should be left alone with whatever music, reading, and style of dress that they choose.
Punk has always been about questioning authority. This doesn't sit well with authoritarian types. But it's a natural process--there should be a push-pull between cultural ideas. Whatever you believe should be challenged. If it's not, then you are blindly following something, and it doesn't lead to any personal or societal growth. This same woman who was angry at Biafra said that her son's psychiatrist blamed the music for his condition. That psychiatrist should have been stripped of his or her credentials. And clearly they never read D.W. Winnicott, the authority on juvenile psychology. Winnicott goes into great detail about the ways in which adolescents push boundaries, and how it should be handled. (Hint: not the way this mother and psychiatrist handled it.) It makes me think of the ending to that crummy but amazing B-rate movie starring the Ramones, "Rock and Roll High School".
If a developing adolescent is left to their own cultural devices, they will likely integrate those into a meaningful adult life. If they are repressed, you have a greater possibility of stunted psychological growth, and extreme behavior in younger adults may come out of this. While this is an extreme example, many serial killers lead incredibly repressed lives in the name of "preserving their morals". It is an extreme, but it is instructive of the danger in trying to lock down the expansive psyche too much in the name of fear of difference. A more normal response to repression is hatred of others who are "different". This is hardly a moral response, as far as I'm concerned. Morals are merely an excuse, like "national security".
It is very hard to be someone of your own. Society is against it, in spite of the value placed on "individualism". Any attempt by parents to mold their child into something they want them to be will inevitably fail. Somewhere along the line, if the child has any mind at all, they will realize they've been living a lie.
I don't mean to say that parents shouldn't try to educate their children in right action and behavior--obviously this is a parental responsibility. But anyone should be wary of putting their own agenda, lost dreams, and fears onto their children. It's impossible to do this perfectly, but from what I've seen, the key is space to grow. Plants kept in a small container, animals kept in small cages--they don't necessarily grow, or their growth is stunted. The biggest fallacy out there is that we must protect our children from some big, bad monster that is Life out there. Children have to take risks, get hurt, make mistakes--even make life decisions that you don't like. Otherwise, they never realize their potential as human beings. There is no protection from "Life".
And of course, I'm repeating myself when I say, "why should you protect yourself from Life"? Often we are running away from uncomfortable or challenging experiences. Challenges are like initiations that make you a better person. While we don't scarify and beat young boys moving from childhood to adolescence like aboriginal tribes did, there are different forms of scarification. And they're not abuses--they are a normal part of living. To quote Campbell again: "Life is an opera, only it's one that hurts."
Embracing the darkness of life doesn't mean caving in to meaner impulses. It means having an awareness of them, and integrating them productively into our lives. All of the arts afford us an opportunity to do this meaningfully and without harm.
This, along with the fear/cognitive dissonance factor, is a huge variable when looking at why anyone can take something like Fox News seriously. There is an unconscious fear of life that people try to conquer via strict control. We all want control of our lives to a certain degree. But many people cannot face the unknown without specific, direct, and forceful instructions. Or, they like to have power over others by giving those instructions. Those who are compassionate may be seen as "weak" and "wishy-washy" because they openly admit that a situation has no specific answer, and that life is more chaotic and unexpected than following neat, orderly patterns. A "template" is desired, and something as complex as life does not have a template. It goes back to what Joseph Campbell said: If your life is going along smoothly, it is probably someone else's life", or someone else's expectations for you. If you are dissatisfied, bravo. You are recognizing that you can stand up and have your own influence, and not merely do what others tell you.
The more uncertain things are, the worse this gets. There was a book written in the 1980s called the "Lucifer Principle" by Howard Bloom (not to be confused with literary critic Harold Bloom). Bloom examined patterns in civilization, and came to the conclusion that societies that were hell-bent on chastising people for their morals were societies in decline. He gave the British Empire's decline as an example, and the poetics of Henley and other fin-de-siecle poets who were a response to the Rossetti's, Wilde, Swinburne, and other "racy" Victorians, blaming their morals for Britain's decline, and certainly the whole "Hail Britannica" nationalism expressed by these counter-writers was indicative of that response. The national myth was unraveling, and someone had to be blamed. Not unlike what's happening in the U.S. now. My friend's fiance posted a video of the Oprah Winfrey show from 1986, featuring Tipper Gore and Jello Biafra among others:
For those of you who don't remember, one of the big 1980s controversies in America was the founding of the PMRC, the "Parents Music Resource Center". Mrs. Gore, then-wife of Senator then Vice President Al Gore, argued that music should be rated in the same way movies and TV were rated, so that parents could be aware of explicit content. Regardless of what she said, the result was a blacklisting by certain artists by the record industry, or forcing them to re-write songs to "clean them up" for the market. Jello Biafra was the singer for the Dead Kennedys, which has been one of my favorite groups over the last 20 years. He did briefly attempt a political career, and also had success with spoken word projects. The Dead Kennedys always come to mind for me when I think of Johnny Ramone's definition of punk: "It's warped-out surf music." Just listen to "Too Drunk to F--k", and you'll hear that in the guitars.
An interesting call comes in during part 3 of this show--a woman gets angry at Biafra because his music caused her son to "pull a knife on his father". Biafra takes a shot at her for bad parenting, and no one will ever know if she was as great as a parent as she seemed to think. Nonetheless, blaming bands for antisocial behavior is really a distraction from the issue. If punk or metal music actually caused this kind of psychotic or criminal behavior, then every child, teen, or twentysomething adult (or older) who heard it would pick up a weapon and start attacking. The fact remains that this just isn't true. It's a convenient scapegoat. For anyone to engage in that type of behavior, something else has to be wrong--whether its a chemical imbalance caused by an archetypal imbalance or something else, the music is merely a reflection, not the cause.
Which brings us back to the Shadow. Between the increase in the xenophobic authoritarian and the idea that we must censor or curb things that are "immoral", both point to a deliberate attempt at repression of things that we don't want to acknowledge are natural. With teens who are experiencing hormonal tsunamis, there needs to be a balance, and this does not involve repression. It involves a means of expression (and creative things like music, art, and writing are great safe ways to express), balanced with a dose of rationality. But it also requires validation, and not treating teenagers like they're psychotic criminals. There has to be understanding of where they are in their development, and space for them to develop. Very disturbing behavior should be addressed (e.g., killing small animals, or other violent behavior towards others), otherwise they should be left alone with whatever music, reading, and style of dress that they choose.
Punk has always been about questioning authority. This doesn't sit well with authoritarian types. But it's a natural process--there should be a push-pull between cultural ideas. Whatever you believe should be challenged. If it's not, then you are blindly following something, and it doesn't lead to any personal or societal growth. This same woman who was angry at Biafra said that her son's psychiatrist blamed the music for his condition. That psychiatrist should have been stripped of his or her credentials. And clearly they never read D.W. Winnicott, the authority on juvenile psychology. Winnicott goes into great detail about the ways in which adolescents push boundaries, and how it should be handled. (Hint: not the way this mother and psychiatrist handled it.) It makes me think of the ending to that crummy but amazing B-rate movie starring the Ramones, "Rock and Roll High School".
If a developing adolescent is left to their own cultural devices, they will likely integrate those into a meaningful adult life. If they are repressed, you have a greater possibility of stunted psychological growth, and extreme behavior in younger adults may come out of this. While this is an extreme example, many serial killers lead incredibly repressed lives in the name of "preserving their morals". It is an extreme, but it is instructive of the danger in trying to lock down the expansive psyche too much in the name of fear of difference. A more normal response to repression is hatred of others who are "different". This is hardly a moral response, as far as I'm concerned. Morals are merely an excuse, like "national security".
It is very hard to be someone of your own. Society is against it, in spite of the value placed on "individualism". Any attempt by parents to mold their child into something they want them to be will inevitably fail. Somewhere along the line, if the child has any mind at all, they will realize they've been living a lie.
I don't mean to say that parents shouldn't try to educate their children in right action and behavior--obviously this is a parental responsibility. But anyone should be wary of putting their own agenda, lost dreams, and fears onto their children. It's impossible to do this perfectly, but from what I've seen, the key is space to grow. Plants kept in a small container, animals kept in small cages--they don't necessarily grow, or their growth is stunted. The biggest fallacy out there is that we must protect our children from some big, bad monster that is Life out there. Children have to take risks, get hurt, make mistakes--even make life decisions that you don't like. Otherwise, they never realize their potential as human beings. There is no protection from "Life".
And of course, I'm repeating myself when I say, "why should you protect yourself from Life"? Often we are running away from uncomfortable or challenging experiences. Challenges are like initiations that make you a better person. While we don't scarify and beat young boys moving from childhood to adolescence like aboriginal tribes did, there are different forms of scarification. And they're not abuses--they are a normal part of living. To quote Campbell again: "Life is an opera, only it's one that hurts."
Embracing the darkness of life doesn't mean caving in to meaner impulses. It means having an awareness of them, and integrating them productively into our lives. All of the arts afford us an opportunity to do this meaningfully and without harm.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Supermoon
I was at dinner on Friday night, at a French restaurant with 3 other friends. My one friend mentioned that this was the night of the "supermoon", a full moon (in Scorpio) that is astronomically at perigee (closest point to the Earth). If you believe in astrology, this means things will get incredibly intense and emotional during this phase. Whether the supermoon or no, this was very true for me.
Since I've returned from vacation, I've felt like I'm driving full speed at a brick wall. All the decisions I made in January were turned upside down, and now I don't know where I stand on any of them, including situations that I vowed I was done with. There is an excellent video of Carl Jung talking about the archetypes. He talks about the Anima (which would be the Animus in my case), and how when one meets someone who approximates that image, they are hopelessly caught by them and can't get out. "They come to me and say, 'For God's sake doctor, you have to help me.' But there is nothing that can be done. They are captured." I have attempted to wrest myself free of such projections, but I have to say I have not been successful. Whenever I seriously try, I just break down. I must say this is unusual for me, because usually time will loosen the grip. But it hasn't.
In addition, I'm still stuck between the Ph.D. and the counseling degree. The very rational part of me says to go for the counseling degree, and not bother with the Ph.D. It's more practical, has more long term application. But my intuition has kicked into high gear (like it did before I got married, and I stupidly ignored it), and seems to be saying NO, don't do that, you won't be happy.
I suspect this is because much of what is taught in counseling programs is cognitive behavioral therapy. While this has some short term uses, I am dead set against the premises that it is based on. "Psychology" is about working with the "psyche" (loosely translated as "soul"), and modern psychology assumes there is no soul. While there may not literally be a "soul" in the sense that religion has taught (or maybe there is), it is clear that consciousness is a complex thing, and cannot be reduced to a bunch of chemical reactions. Most notably I see cognitive behavioral therapy dealing with suffering in the way an M.D. deals with suffering--prescribe a painkiller. All of their solutions are rational, and the mind is not rational, and reasoning alone does not solve archetypal problems. If it did, none of us would ever have any problems--we'd solve them all nice and neatly. I look at case study after case study in which people do NOT get better from this type of therapy. Whereas I look at journals of Jungian psychiatry (which combines Jungian practice with medication when needed), and find that the "hopelessly" insane become better by drawing pictures of circles and cities and describing their crises in terms of that to the therapist, who has enough sense about the patterns to help show them the way out. In many cases, the person goes back to an entirely normal life. Why should that be the case?
I've been reading a book called "The Science Delusion" by Rupert Sheldrake, a biochemist from Cambridge. Sheldrake is not anti-science; he is anti-materialism. He argues in the book that materialistic/mechanistic assumptions underly modern science, and are not questioned. He points out that these assumptions are unproven, and believing that everything can be materially explained (even though many scientists have failed to do so) actually inhibits scientific progress. Science has to admit what it doesn't know, and not take the material view "on faith". Which is what they're doing. Many hardcore atheists incorrectly assume that this worldview has been proven. It hasn't.
That doesn't mean that a Biblically literal (or any scripturally literal) view is correct, either. These are extreme ends of a spectrum. The truth lies somewhere in between. I have always been interested in the things that don't "fit" in with our current knowledge, that don't pan out neatly in experiments, or entirely defy experimentation. Scientists tend to handle these things by either shrugging and calling them coincidences, or claiming they are hoaxes. Why? Because they don't fit in with a material world view. They are trying to make everything fit that world view, and sorry, I'm just not convinced. I have seen too many things myself that don't "fit", and have read cases of many others that do, and they are not "irrational" dreamers--often they come from very militaristic or scientific backgrounds. Simply sweeping them under the carpet because "they can't be possible because they don't fit my worldview" doesn't make the materialists any better than the uber-religious that insist things have to be true because "their scripture says so".
For me, this has translated to an interest in phenomenology--the study of experiences and patterns of experience. This deals with what may or may not be "factually" true, but is felt to authentically be true. The question becomes--what experiences make people believe certain things so strongly? It is the quest of depth psychology, and the real heart of healing people who feel "split". I don't know what Consciousness is, exactly--I know a lot of metaphors for it. But where it comes from and where it goes to is not a question science has answered. They prefer to believe it isn't real. But they wouldn't be scientists without their consciousness. The answers science has given to this conundrum only raise more questions. In a Psychology Today blog, a neuropsychiatrist admitted that though he acted as if all consciousness had its source in the chemical reactions of the brain, he really had no idea if this was true. We know that these things happen or generate certain reactions, but we don't know why, and it's the chicken and the egg all over again. What comes first?
While I am interested in psychic phenomena, there are so many less controversial things that are mysteries. For instance, psychosomatism. How can people have horrible illnesses that have no physical origin? Never mind your stomach aches, there is a rapid increase in Morgellon's Disease, which produces oozing sores. Not hives, sores. No one knows how these things happen or how to cure them--they have no apparent origin. Giving the sufferers stress-relieving drugs like Xanax or Valium does not usually help. It's not a simple reaction to stress; it's something far more complex and not understood.
In any event, this is where my interests lie, and it's difficult in a scholarly and scientifically materialistic culture to find a niche. Financing is a big part of the problem; I could go to the Jung Institute to become a Jungian therapist, but it will end up costing me $80,000 out of pocket. There are no scholarships or fellowships, and the required therapy isn't covered by insurance. I could get a fully-funded Ph.D. in religion, potentially, but the question of whether or not I'd have to leave my job comes up. They don't generally give you such generous fellowships if you still plan to work full-time. I could still get a research Ph.D. overseas, but then the funding issue comes up again. In short, I have no answers right now, but a lot of energy to get going.
Which brings us full circle (pun intended) to the full moon. Here is a photo of it (courtesy of NASA). I hope your weekend has been less intense than mine.
Since I've returned from vacation, I've felt like I'm driving full speed at a brick wall. All the decisions I made in January were turned upside down, and now I don't know where I stand on any of them, including situations that I vowed I was done with. There is an excellent video of Carl Jung talking about the archetypes. He talks about the Anima (which would be the Animus in my case), and how when one meets someone who approximates that image, they are hopelessly caught by them and can't get out. "They come to me and say, 'For God's sake doctor, you have to help me.' But there is nothing that can be done. They are captured." I have attempted to wrest myself free of such projections, but I have to say I have not been successful. Whenever I seriously try, I just break down. I must say this is unusual for me, because usually time will loosen the grip. But it hasn't.
In addition, I'm still stuck between the Ph.D. and the counseling degree. The very rational part of me says to go for the counseling degree, and not bother with the Ph.D. It's more practical, has more long term application. But my intuition has kicked into high gear (like it did before I got married, and I stupidly ignored it), and seems to be saying NO, don't do that, you won't be happy.
I suspect this is because much of what is taught in counseling programs is cognitive behavioral therapy. While this has some short term uses, I am dead set against the premises that it is based on. "Psychology" is about working with the "psyche" (loosely translated as "soul"), and modern psychology assumes there is no soul. While there may not literally be a "soul" in the sense that religion has taught (or maybe there is), it is clear that consciousness is a complex thing, and cannot be reduced to a bunch of chemical reactions. Most notably I see cognitive behavioral therapy dealing with suffering in the way an M.D. deals with suffering--prescribe a painkiller. All of their solutions are rational, and the mind is not rational, and reasoning alone does not solve archetypal problems. If it did, none of us would ever have any problems--we'd solve them all nice and neatly. I look at case study after case study in which people do NOT get better from this type of therapy. Whereas I look at journals of Jungian psychiatry (which combines Jungian practice with medication when needed), and find that the "hopelessly" insane become better by drawing pictures of circles and cities and describing their crises in terms of that to the therapist, who has enough sense about the patterns to help show them the way out. In many cases, the person goes back to an entirely normal life. Why should that be the case?
I've been reading a book called "The Science Delusion" by Rupert Sheldrake, a biochemist from Cambridge. Sheldrake is not anti-science; he is anti-materialism. He argues in the book that materialistic/mechanistic assumptions underly modern science, and are not questioned. He points out that these assumptions are unproven, and believing that everything can be materially explained (even though many scientists have failed to do so) actually inhibits scientific progress. Science has to admit what it doesn't know, and not take the material view "on faith". Which is what they're doing. Many hardcore atheists incorrectly assume that this worldview has been proven. It hasn't.
That doesn't mean that a Biblically literal (or any scripturally literal) view is correct, either. These are extreme ends of a spectrum. The truth lies somewhere in between. I have always been interested in the things that don't "fit" in with our current knowledge, that don't pan out neatly in experiments, or entirely defy experimentation. Scientists tend to handle these things by either shrugging and calling them coincidences, or claiming they are hoaxes. Why? Because they don't fit in with a material world view. They are trying to make everything fit that world view, and sorry, I'm just not convinced. I have seen too many things myself that don't "fit", and have read cases of many others that do, and they are not "irrational" dreamers--often they come from very militaristic or scientific backgrounds. Simply sweeping them under the carpet because "they can't be possible because they don't fit my worldview" doesn't make the materialists any better than the uber-religious that insist things have to be true because "their scripture says so".
For me, this has translated to an interest in phenomenology--the study of experiences and patterns of experience. This deals with what may or may not be "factually" true, but is felt to authentically be true. The question becomes--what experiences make people believe certain things so strongly? It is the quest of depth psychology, and the real heart of healing people who feel "split". I don't know what Consciousness is, exactly--I know a lot of metaphors for it. But where it comes from and where it goes to is not a question science has answered. They prefer to believe it isn't real. But they wouldn't be scientists without their consciousness. The answers science has given to this conundrum only raise more questions. In a Psychology Today blog, a neuropsychiatrist admitted that though he acted as if all consciousness had its source in the chemical reactions of the brain, he really had no idea if this was true. We know that these things happen or generate certain reactions, but we don't know why, and it's the chicken and the egg all over again. What comes first?
While I am interested in psychic phenomena, there are so many less controversial things that are mysteries. For instance, psychosomatism. How can people have horrible illnesses that have no physical origin? Never mind your stomach aches, there is a rapid increase in Morgellon's Disease, which produces oozing sores. Not hives, sores. No one knows how these things happen or how to cure them--they have no apparent origin. Giving the sufferers stress-relieving drugs like Xanax or Valium does not usually help. It's not a simple reaction to stress; it's something far more complex and not understood.
In any event, this is where my interests lie, and it's difficult in a scholarly and scientifically materialistic culture to find a niche. Financing is a big part of the problem; I could go to the Jung Institute to become a Jungian therapist, but it will end up costing me $80,000 out of pocket. There are no scholarships or fellowships, and the required therapy isn't covered by insurance. I could get a fully-funded Ph.D. in religion, potentially, but the question of whether or not I'd have to leave my job comes up. They don't generally give you such generous fellowships if you still plan to work full-time. I could still get a research Ph.D. overseas, but then the funding issue comes up again. In short, I have no answers right now, but a lot of energy to get going.
Which brings us full circle (pun intended) to the full moon. Here is a photo of it (courtesy of NASA). I hope your weekend has been less intense than mine.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Animals and Art
As I was driving home today, I thought about 3 things:
1. I haven't written a blog post since returning from New Orleans.
2. The CD I have in my car, of two guys with guitar, sitar, and flute, mostly sucks. My cat could do better.
3. My sister sent me some cards with artwork by cats.
These 3 thoughts have led to this post, which is a collection of animals "doing" art or music.
Let's begin with music. First, here are some birds playing a guitar:
Here is Nora the cat playing a piano:
Here is Nora playing with an orchestra:
Here are cats doing music with a car chase video:
Finally, here are some cats doing art on an iPad. I'm sure there's plenty more, but I'm having a hard time finding things that aren't contrived, photoshopped, or otherwise manipulated. As a non-manipulative blogger, I ask you to enjoy the above, and if you miss my essay-ic blog posts, never fear, more are coming.
1. I haven't written a blog post since returning from New Orleans.
2. The CD I have in my car, of two guys with guitar, sitar, and flute, mostly sucks. My cat could do better.
3. My sister sent me some cards with artwork by cats.
These 3 thoughts have led to this post, which is a collection of animals "doing" art or music.
Let's begin with music. First, here are some birds playing a guitar:
Here is Nora the cat playing a piano:
Here is Nora playing with an orchestra:
Here are cats doing music with a car chase video:
Finally, here are some cats doing art on an iPad. I'm sure there's plenty more, but I'm having a hard time finding things that aren't contrived, photoshopped, or otherwise manipulated. As a non-manipulative blogger, I ask you to enjoy the above, and if you miss my essay-ic blog posts, never fear, more are coming.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Forty
Today is my fortieth birthday. This is considered a "milestone" birthday, though in true fashion, most of my friends who are in their 50s and 60s (or heading there shortly) assure me that 40 is "young". My body has given me signs this year that this may not be entirely truthful. However, I am sure they all wish to be young as well, so anyone younger must be...well, young.
I went to a palm reader in New Orleans who told me I'd live to be 100. I hope she's wrong. 100 seems like a long time. Unless, of course, I have several great books waiting to burst out of me like an alien when I'm that age, assuming I'm not shot down by Parkinson's or Alzheimer's. Then I'm sure 100 won't be old enough. But I've got quite some time to find that out.
I was greeted early this morning by a gift from the cat on the bedroom floor, which had to be cleaned up before anything else. Mother Nature, or perhaps Yahweh, has given me another gift, in the form of burning sinuses. Really, it seems like the kind of thing Yahweh would do. ("I will smote them with poisonous yellow powder from deceptively pretty flowers and weeks of no rain.") I'm going by track record here.
I am optimistic, however, that things can only go up from here, unless gravity starts to take them down. I have arranged a shorter day at work, that will be punctuated by a lunch out with my co-workers. I don't know what I will do afterward, though--it will be a beautiful day outside, but I live in fear of the killer pollen.
According to legend, it rained the day I was born. My father had a boat in those days, and my family used to go fishing. My one sister told me that "I ruined a perfectly good fishing trip" by being born. A shame too--if she had been left adrift to fish instead of the alternative, her life might have been different. In any case, I strangely have no guilt about this, nor any shame about the fact that I share a birthday with Adolph Hitler, something else my family reminds me of from time to time, or at least used to. My astrological chart looks nothing like Hitler's. I had a sister-in-law when I was married who had the same birthday as me, and I can tell you that we were absolutely nothing alike. Many of you will say, "well, sure, astrology is BS." Like Aleister Crowley, though, I tend to think it has some merit, it's just that birthday sun signs are usually the only experience anyone ever has with astrology. It's much more complicated than that.
But that is a digression. I've had many discussions lately with friends about what we will do when we "grow up". I have to wonder when that happens. I was sure it would have happened by this time. But I still have many things to pursue, like I did when I was younger. The difference is that now I have more limitations than I did when I was younger, at least in terms of finances and domicile. I should be grateful that everything else is a green light. I feel like I have more opportunity these days, not less, and more modes of expression.
Now if I can just convince my body to be on the same page, I'll have achieved world domination by the time I'm 45. Or something like that.
I went to a palm reader in New Orleans who told me I'd live to be 100. I hope she's wrong. 100 seems like a long time. Unless, of course, I have several great books waiting to burst out of me like an alien when I'm that age, assuming I'm not shot down by Parkinson's or Alzheimer's. Then I'm sure 100 won't be old enough. But I've got quite some time to find that out.
I was greeted early this morning by a gift from the cat on the bedroom floor, which had to be cleaned up before anything else. Mother Nature, or perhaps Yahweh, has given me another gift, in the form of burning sinuses. Really, it seems like the kind of thing Yahweh would do. ("I will smote them with poisonous yellow powder from deceptively pretty flowers and weeks of no rain.") I'm going by track record here.
I am optimistic, however, that things can only go up from here, unless gravity starts to take them down. I have arranged a shorter day at work, that will be punctuated by a lunch out with my co-workers. I don't know what I will do afterward, though--it will be a beautiful day outside, but I live in fear of the killer pollen.
According to legend, it rained the day I was born. My father had a boat in those days, and my family used to go fishing. My one sister told me that "I ruined a perfectly good fishing trip" by being born. A shame too--if she had been left adrift to fish instead of the alternative, her life might have been different. In any case, I strangely have no guilt about this, nor any shame about the fact that I share a birthday with Adolph Hitler, something else my family reminds me of from time to time, or at least used to. My astrological chart looks nothing like Hitler's. I had a sister-in-law when I was married who had the same birthday as me, and I can tell you that we were absolutely nothing alike. Many of you will say, "well, sure, astrology is BS." Like Aleister Crowley, though, I tend to think it has some merit, it's just that birthday sun signs are usually the only experience anyone ever has with astrology. It's much more complicated than that.
But that is a digression. I've had many discussions lately with friends about what we will do when we "grow up". I have to wonder when that happens. I was sure it would have happened by this time. But I still have many things to pursue, like I did when I was younger. The difference is that now I have more limitations than I did when I was younger, at least in terms of finances and domicile. I should be grateful that everything else is a green light. I feel like I have more opportunity these days, not less, and more modes of expression.
Now if I can just convince my body to be on the same page, I'll have achieved world domination by the time I'm 45. Or something like that.
Monday, April 16, 2012
New Orleans Day 3
On my last day in New Orleans, I left the French Quarter behind, and headed over to the Garden District and the Irish Channel area. This was my first time taking one of the streetcars that still runs in New Orleans. It's $1.25 to run the whole line, and I took the St. Charles line down towards the District. Most interesting was watching the driver navigate the car around a traffic circle--she actually had to stand up to do that.
I stopped at a restaurant for breakfast on the way. The restaurant had a new scheme of having the bar open in the morning, so the hostess seated me there, saying I could be entertained by Evan, the bartender. Evan was not used to getting to work at the ungodly hour of 8 am, as he was usually the night bartender. Still, he was a local, and we had quite a long discussion.
His parents lived in the Garden District, and he recommended that I make my way down to Audubon Park and zoo (where I'd hoped to end up on the boat that never materialized the day before), but I never did make it, as it was an additional walk of 3 miles from the farthest end of the Garden District. I mentioned the Lafayette Cemetery, and asked if it was safe to go there. "You're going in the daytime--it should be fine. Just don't go there at night." He said in general in New Orleans, "Just use your common sense--if something doesn't seem right, stay away. Most of it is just fine."
I asked him about how Hurricane Katrina had impacted the Garden District; I didn't imagine as much of a storm impact, as it was pretty far inland from the river. "My parents were fine during Katrina--they didn't get any flooding," he said. "It was the aftermath that was bad."
"Aftermath?"
"Yeah. We were lucky to just end up with a broken window. But New Orleans was like a third-world nation. My Dad went away for four weeks after Katrina, and when he came back, there was still no power."
"A lot of crime and looting?"
"Oh yeah. It really brought this area down. But they had nowhere to put displaced people. It was a mess."
He then reflected on the current year. "We're a bit concerned about this year. Winter was warm, you know, no hard freeze. The year of Katrina, the Winter was 3 degrees warmer than average. That keeps the Gulf warm, and creates an environment that makes these big hurricanes. This is another year like that."
After leaving the restaurant, I walked the rest of the way to the district. The houses were breathtaking, and the landscaping was beautiful. Most were surrounded by iron fences. The telephone poles were all entwined with jasmine. Some properties had little ponds, straw horses, other architectural or landscaping curiosities.
As I made my way through the District, I came to Washington and Poydras Streets, where Lafayette Cemetery #1 was located. I later learned that the area just to the South was known as Lafayette originally. It was a different town from New Orleans, and rivaled it in prosperity. Eventually it was incorporated into the city with other small surrounding towns. I spent some time wandering through the cemetery. It was the perfect day--warm, but with a gentle breeze that made it like an Autumn day. I wasn't aware of any famous figures buried there, I just knew that Ann Rice used the cemetery in some of her novels, particularly about the Mayfair witches. Across the street from the cemetery was the Garden Book Shop, one of Ann Rice's favorite bookstores. Naturally I spent some time there.
While in the cemetery, I was approached by a woman with a New York accent. "Excuse me, can you tell me anything about this cemetery? Why are these cemeteries special?"
I told her as much as I knew about these above-ground cemeteries from the tour I'd taken on Tuesday. I also gave them local advice on shopping, which she was keen on finding. "So," she said, "I can say I've seen a New Orleans cemetery, and that's good enough."
"If it's good enough for you," I said.
I finally asked where she was from. She was there with her husband and bored teenage daughter. "New York," she said. I'd guessed correctly. After giving them some direction about town, I said goodbye, and realized that no matter where I go, people always think I have information they need. Earlier I had been stopped by another couple that was looking for the streetcar stop. In spite of it being my first time ever riding it, I was able to help them out. I think I was more surprised that I could give correct information than anything else.
I'd posted my thoughts about my information karma to Facebook, and my friend Chris wrote back: "You should have fun with it. Tell them, 'Timothy Leary had his first acid trip right on these very grounds.'" It was a pretty good idea, though I didn't get a chance to try it out.
Eventually I got hungry and found a place for lunch on Magazine Street. I decided to poke around the Garden District some more afterward, and then I remembered that there was a Catholic shrine nearby. I decided to take the plunge and go visit. The shrine was for Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos. He's "Blessed" because he needs one more miracle to be a saint. (I always thought it was 3 miracles, but apparently Pope John Paul II lowered the required amount to 2). Like other Catholic sites in New Orleans, it was a bit tricky finding the entrance to this one, and when I did, I had to be "buzzed" into the building, and then accompanied to the shrine itself. Maybe there's just a lot of crime around, I don't know. The woman at the shrine told me that there was another miracle involving a girl with cancer, and that they were very close to getting canonization. "The Vatican requested that we have the pertinent documents translated into Italian," she said. "We knew we were close. Then the girl--in a totally unrelated surgery--ate before surgery and ended up dying on the table. It was unrelated, but the Vatican had to throw out the whole case because she had died." It was clear that they were disappointed.
I watched the short film on Blessed Francis Seelos, and he actually seems like a very cool guy--the kind that Christians should want to be identified with. He died of yellow fever while ministering to members of his parish that had yellow fever. I had a very nice woman unlock the shrine door for me, and I walked in. It is in the back of the cathedral on Constance St. I have to say that the place had a very "sacred" feeling to it. I've had experiences in various houses of worship of many religions where I feel like something is pouring out of my heart, and I feel quiet inside. It's quite a peaceful feeling. I had that feeling in the shrine. So, perhaps there is something to this almost-Saint, or maybe the devotion there creates the atmosphere.
I headed back up to St. Charles Ave., and stopped in the Avenue Pub to have a couple more local brews before calling it a day. I sat near two other tourists, one from Texas, one from Colorado. They had been on Bourbon St. the night before, and had a terrible experience. "Everyone was so mean. And at the bar we were at, someone pissed in a cup, mixed it with some beer, and put it on the curb 'to see if a homeless person would drink it.'" The one man I spoke to, Philip, said, "I saw old couples walking up and down Bourbon St. by the sex shops. I had to wonder, 'What could they possibly find here that they want to see?'"
The bartender cut in at this point. She said, "Now, don't go away from New Orleans sour because you had one bad experience on Bourbon Street. New Orleans is definitely not like that." I had to agree with her--it was an unfortunate case of someone winding up in the wrong bar at the wrong time. He said he would try to amend his negative experience that evening. After all, the French Quarter Festival was just beginning that evening.
But as for me, I had a REALLY early flight the next morning, so I had to pack it in early. I had a very timely flight from New Orleans back to Newark on Friday morning, with absolutely no delays or inconveniences. On the bus to the airport, we stopped at a Sheraton hotel to pick up a passenger. The woman across from me pointed out two airplane pilots getting onto another shuttle. "Oh look," she said. "They're going to be flying a plane. Let's see if they're walking straight."
I arrived home to a day much colder than that of New Orleans, but not unreasonably cold. I got home feeling like I had an excellent time, and that going back was a must--just not right now. Within the next couple of weeks, New Orleans weather will start to become unbearable. I'll wait til after Summer. And after hurricane season.
I stopped at a restaurant for breakfast on the way. The restaurant had a new scheme of having the bar open in the morning, so the hostess seated me there, saying I could be entertained by Evan, the bartender. Evan was not used to getting to work at the ungodly hour of 8 am, as he was usually the night bartender. Still, he was a local, and we had quite a long discussion.
His parents lived in the Garden District, and he recommended that I make my way down to Audubon Park and zoo (where I'd hoped to end up on the boat that never materialized the day before), but I never did make it, as it was an additional walk of 3 miles from the farthest end of the Garden District. I mentioned the Lafayette Cemetery, and asked if it was safe to go there. "You're going in the daytime--it should be fine. Just don't go there at night." He said in general in New Orleans, "Just use your common sense--if something doesn't seem right, stay away. Most of it is just fine."
I asked him about how Hurricane Katrina had impacted the Garden District; I didn't imagine as much of a storm impact, as it was pretty far inland from the river. "My parents were fine during Katrina--they didn't get any flooding," he said. "It was the aftermath that was bad."
"Aftermath?"
"Yeah. We were lucky to just end up with a broken window. But New Orleans was like a third-world nation. My Dad went away for four weeks after Katrina, and when he came back, there was still no power."
"A lot of crime and looting?"
"Oh yeah. It really brought this area down. But they had nowhere to put displaced people. It was a mess."
He then reflected on the current year. "We're a bit concerned about this year. Winter was warm, you know, no hard freeze. The year of Katrina, the Winter was 3 degrees warmer than average. That keeps the Gulf warm, and creates an environment that makes these big hurricanes. This is another year like that."
After leaving the restaurant, I walked the rest of the way to the district. The houses were breathtaking, and the landscaping was beautiful. Most were surrounded by iron fences. The telephone poles were all entwined with jasmine. Some properties had little ponds, straw horses, other architectural or landscaping curiosities.
As I made my way through the District, I came to Washington and Poydras Streets, where Lafayette Cemetery #1 was located. I later learned that the area just to the South was known as Lafayette originally. It was a different town from New Orleans, and rivaled it in prosperity. Eventually it was incorporated into the city with other small surrounding towns. I spent some time wandering through the cemetery. It was the perfect day--warm, but with a gentle breeze that made it like an Autumn day. I wasn't aware of any famous figures buried there, I just knew that Ann Rice used the cemetery in some of her novels, particularly about the Mayfair witches. Across the street from the cemetery was the Garden Book Shop, one of Ann Rice's favorite bookstores. Naturally I spent some time there.
While in the cemetery, I was approached by a woman with a New York accent. "Excuse me, can you tell me anything about this cemetery? Why are these cemeteries special?"
I told her as much as I knew about these above-ground cemeteries from the tour I'd taken on Tuesday. I also gave them local advice on shopping, which she was keen on finding. "So," she said, "I can say I've seen a New Orleans cemetery, and that's good enough."
"If it's good enough for you," I said.
I finally asked where she was from. She was there with her husband and bored teenage daughter. "New York," she said. I'd guessed correctly. After giving them some direction about town, I said goodbye, and realized that no matter where I go, people always think I have information they need. Earlier I had been stopped by another couple that was looking for the streetcar stop. In spite of it being my first time ever riding it, I was able to help them out. I think I was more surprised that I could give correct information than anything else.
I'd posted my thoughts about my information karma to Facebook, and my friend Chris wrote back: "You should have fun with it. Tell them, 'Timothy Leary had his first acid trip right on these very grounds.'" It was a pretty good idea, though I didn't get a chance to try it out.
Eventually I got hungry and found a place for lunch on Magazine Street. I decided to poke around the Garden District some more afterward, and then I remembered that there was a Catholic shrine nearby. I decided to take the plunge and go visit. The shrine was for Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos. He's "Blessed" because he needs one more miracle to be a saint. (I always thought it was 3 miracles, but apparently Pope John Paul II lowered the required amount to 2). Like other Catholic sites in New Orleans, it was a bit tricky finding the entrance to this one, and when I did, I had to be "buzzed" into the building, and then accompanied to the shrine itself. Maybe there's just a lot of crime around, I don't know. The woman at the shrine told me that there was another miracle involving a girl with cancer, and that they were very close to getting canonization. "The Vatican requested that we have the pertinent documents translated into Italian," she said. "We knew we were close. Then the girl--in a totally unrelated surgery--ate before surgery and ended up dying on the table. It was unrelated, but the Vatican had to throw out the whole case because she had died." It was clear that they were disappointed.
I watched the short film on Blessed Francis Seelos, and he actually seems like a very cool guy--the kind that Christians should want to be identified with. He died of yellow fever while ministering to members of his parish that had yellow fever. I had a very nice woman unlock the shrine door for me, and I walked in. It is in the back of the cathedral on Constance St. I have to say that the place had a very "sacred" feeling to it. I've had experiences in various houses of worship of many religions where I feel like something is pouring out of my heart, and I feel quiet inside. It's quite a peaceful feeling. I had that feeling in the shrine. So, perhaps there is something to this almost-Saint, or maybe the devotion there creates the atmosphere.
I headed back up to St. Charles Ave., and stopped in the Avenue Pub to have a couple more local brews before calling it a day. I sat near two other tourists, one from Texas, one from Colorado. They had been on Bourbon St. the night before, and had a terrible experience. "Everyone was so mean. And at the bar we were at, someone pissed in a cup, mixed it with some beer, and put it on the curb 'to see if a homeless person would drink it.'" The one man I spoke to, Philip, said, "I saw old couples walking up and down Bourbon St. by the sex shops. I had to wonder, 'What could they possibly find here that they want to see?'"
The bartender cut in at this point. She said, "Now, don't go away from New Orleans sour because you had one bad experience on Bourbon Street. New Orleans is definitely not like that." I had to agree with her--it was an unfortunate case of someone winding up in the wrong bar at the wrong time. He said he would try to amend his negative experience that evening. After all, the French Quarter Festival was just beginning that evening.
But as for me, I had a REALLY early flight the next morning, so I had to pack it in early. I had a very timely flight from New Orleans back to Newark on Friday morning, with absolutely no delays or inconveniences. On the bus to the airport, we stopped at a Sheraton hotel to pick up a passenger. The woman across from me pointed out two airplane pilots getting onto another shuttle. "Oh look," she said. "They're going to be flying a plane. Let's see if they're walking straight."
I arrived home to a day much colder than that of New Orleans, but not unreasonably cold. I got home feeling like I had an excellent time, and that going back was a must--just not right now. Within the next couple of weeks, New Orleans weather will start to become unbearable. I'll wait til after Summer. And after hurricane season.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
New Orleans Day 2 (Wednesday)
I am an early morning person rather than a night owl as a rule, so my second day in New Orleans started with a 7 am visit to the famous Cafe du Monde for their beignets and cafe au lait. As I turned from Canal St. onto Decatur, I noticed some interesting architectural features--gas lanterns lit with actual flame outside hotels and restaurants, and drainpipes that looked like something out of Lovecraft's story about Innsmouth.
At the cafe I noticed that most of the waitstaff was Asian, and some of them didn't speak much English (or French). Beignets are the only thing you can order, and they give you a plate with 3 of them, absolutely smothered in powdered sugar. Beignets are often defined as "French doughnuts". They are not circular with a hole in the middle; they look more like puff pastry, and they are delicious. I contemplated getting beignet mix to bring home, but I notice that they need to be deep fried. Not having a deep-frier, and not really inclined to buy one, I think such an experiment with frying in my kitchen would be nothing short of disaster. The cafe au lait is made with their special coffee, which is blended with chicory. I already like chicory-based coffee drinks, and you need to like strong coffee to like this.
I wandered out to the "Moonwalk" (their name for the walkway along the river) to see about catching a ship over to the "Fly", about 3 miles outside the Garden District. However, there was no sign that there were going to be any ships until afternoon, so I opted to walk around town a bit more and take a cruise on the last Mississippi steamboat, the Natchez. The French Quarter Festival was going to begin on the following evening, and there were lots of golf carts whizzing up and down the Moonwalk by the Aquarium, and lots of ringing of hammers and tools as stage sets and booths were being put together.
Around 11:00 I boarded the Natchez with lots of other people, got myself a glass of red wine and settled in at a table on the top deck, enjoying the breeze off the river. The cruise was about 2 hours. That section of the Mississippi does not have a whole lot to see--oil and sugar refineries, the distant site of the monument of the Battle of New Orleans, a couple of plantations, and lots of other boats. They did allow us to visit the steam engine room (and this is truly the last steamboat in New Orleans, others just have a wheel stuck on the back of a regular boat), but I didn't go down. I didn't care much about the scenery, I just liked being out on the water. You did get a spectacular view of the New Orleans skyline, and the Jackson Square area. While sitting on deck, I had a chat with a woman who was in a tour group. She lived in Phoenix, but was originally from Scotland. She told me she used to live in New York State, and when visiting family there she would routinely take the train to Toronto and fly out of there to Phoenix just to avoid Newark. "I don't miss Newark Airport at all," she said. It's hard to blame her.
After the cruise, I headed over to the Marigny section of New Orleans for lunch. My friend had told me about a great restaurant there with reasonable prices, and I remembered finding their menu appealing. I headed down the other end of Decatur Street towards Frenchmen Street. I couldn't exactly remember the name, but I had a feeling I'd know it if I saw it. As I passed the French Market and headed towards Esplanade Ave., a couple of young skate rats were sitting on the curb. One called out to me, "Hey there, you've got a nice ass!" I turned around and shouted back "thank you!" and we both started laughing. I got a lot of compliments, most of them not quite so blatant, as I walked through the city over the three days. Sometimes I find these remarks to be creepy, but I can't say that was the case in New Orleans. They felt like genuine compliments, and that's how they were taken.
Esplanade Ave. had some spectacular houses, and if I'd had time to visit the Mid-City area, I think I would have seen more of them. But I headed up Frenchmen Street, and found the place I was looking for--the Marigny Brasserie. The place seriously lives up to the hype--excellent food, great service, good prices. I was more than satisfied after I left. I wandered into a bookstore down the street, which was largely a purveyor of gay porn, to my amusement. However, for the dedicated book shopper who is not particularly into gay porn, you could dig through and find a lot of local history and folklore material as well.
As I headed back down Decatur Street, I passed another witch/voodoo shop called Hex, and opted to have a reading and consultation there, which was very worthwhile. The woman who read for me was spot-on with everything, and I don't say that lightly. I have read myself for many years, and I'm pretty good at spotting frauds and "face readers". She scarcely looked at me while she did the reading, and she came up with many very specific things that would not generally fit most people. One of her first questions was, "So, what's stopping you from working on your doctorate?" She was also right on with many family and relationship issues, and in the end she gave me some good advice and remedies regarding both. She only recommended buying one inexpensive thing in the store. At one point she looked up at me and said, "You know, you don't need me, or this store. You already know everything I'm telling you. You have that guidance on your own, you just need to listen." I told her that was true, but I need to hear it from someone else who doesn't know me. Sometimes I don't know if what I'm "hearing" is my own Self (in Jungian terms) or my own delusions. She said that was entirely reasonable.
I felt like dessert after this, so I headed back towards Bourbon Street and stopped at La Divinia on one of the side streets for some Italian chocolate chip mint gelato, which was very good. The sky was darkening at this point, and my umbrella was in my room (naturally), so I ducked into an Irish pub called Flannigan's. There were two older men there, visiting from Ireland. I ought to have bought them a drink, on account of them saying my name properly ("Breej" rather than "Bridge-id"), but they bought me Guinness instead. Another young man came in after they left, and we sat talking with the bartender. They had McSorley's dark, so I had that, and he started pouring me Jamieson shots. I don't typically do shots, but these went down smooth. Then he told us he just got a surprise shipment of authentic French chartreuse. He opened it, let me read the pamphlet that went with it (which was in French), and then poured me some. It was good, but went down like fire. I'd contemplated having a cognac, but after that, I knew I would not even remember my name after another drink. So, I paid for what I had (I don't think I tipped him, I was so out of it, and I do feel bad about that), and made my way back to my hotel. I have no interest in being so far gone that I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm at, and all the heavy liquors will do that to me.
I did wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of a couple having sex in the next room. I have a rule about people having sex in the next hotel room. They have a right to do it, but I have a right to critique it if it disturbs my slumber. It sounded slightly kinky, and the girl seemed excited, but there were times when I wasn't sure if she was enjoying herself or throwing up. (Could have been both.) Compared to the couple I once heard in a Paddington, London hotel room, I'd give them a 6, but the guy still lost points for moving too fast. If you know what I mean.
Tomorrow I will discuss my last, much quieter day in New Orleans.
At the cafe I noticed that most of the waitstaff was Asian, and some of them didn't speak much English (or French). Beignets are the only thing you can order, and they give you a plate with 3 of them, absolutely smothered in powdered sugar. Beignets are often defined as "French doughnuts". They are not circular with a hole in the middle; they look more like puff pastry, and they are delicious. I contemplated getting beignet mix to bring home, but I notice that they need to be deep fried. Not having a deep-frier, and not really inclined to buy one, I think such an experiment with frying in my kitchen would be nothing short of disaster. The cafe au lait is made with their special coffee, which is blended with chicory. I already like chicory-based coffee drinks, and you need to like strong coffee to like this.
I wandered out to the "Moonwalk" (their name for the walkway along the river) to see about catching a ship over to the "Fly", about 3 miles outside the Garden District. However, there was no sign that there were going to be any ships until afternoon, so I opted to walk around town a bit more and take a cruise on the last Mississippi steamboat, the Natchez. The French Quarter Festival was going to begin on the following evening, and there were lots of golf carts whizzing up and down the Moonwalk by the Aquarium, and lots of ringing of hammers and tools as stage sets and booths were being put together.
Around 11:00 I boarded the Natchez with lots of other people, got myself a glass of red wine and settled in at a table on the top deck, enjoying the breeze off the river. The cruise was about 2 hours. That section of the Mississippi does not have a whole lot to see--oil and sugar refineries, the distant site of the monument of the Battle of New Orleans, a couple of plantations, and lots of other boats. They did allow us to visit the steam engine room (and this is truly the last steamboat in New Orleans, others just have a wheel stuck on the back of a regular boat), but I didn't go down. I didn't care much about the scenery, I just liked being out on the water. You did get a spectacular view of the New Orleans skyline, and the Jackson Square area. While sitting on deck, I had a chat with a woman who was in a tour group. She lived in Phoenix, but was originally from Scotland. She told me she used to live in New York State, and when visiting family there she would routinely take the train to Toronto and fly out of there to Phoenix just to avoid Newark. "I don't miss Newark Airport at all," she said. It's hard to blame her.
After the cruise, I headed over to the Marigny section of New Orleans for lunch. My friend had told me about a great restaurant there with reasonable prices, and I remembered finding their menu appealing. I headed down the other end of Decatur Street towards Frenchmen Street. I couldn't exactly remember the name, but I had a feeling I'd know it if I saw it. As I passed the French Market and headed towards Esplanade Ave., a couple of young skate rats were sitting on the curb. One called out to me, "Hey there, you've got a nice ass!" I turned around and shouted back "thank you!" and we both started laughing. I got a lot of compliments, most of them not quite so blatant, as I walked through the city over the three days. Sometimes I find these remarks to be creepy, but I can't say that was the case in New Orleans. They felt like genuine compliments, and that's how they were taken.
Esplanade Ave. had some spectacular houses, and if I'd had time to visit the Mid-City area, I think I would have seen more of them. But I headed up Frenchmen Street, and found the place I was looking for--the Marigny Brasserie. The place seriously lives up to the hype--excellent food, great service, good prices. I was more than satisfied after I left. I wandered into a bookstore down the street, which was largely a purveyor of gay porn, to my amusement. However, for the dedicated book shopper who is not particularly into gay porn, you could dig through and find a lot of local history and folklore material as well.
As I headed back down Decatur Street, I passed another witch/voodoo shop called Hex, and opted to have a reading and consultation there, which was very worthwhile. The woman who read for me was spot-on with everything, and I don't say that lightly. I have read myself for many years, and I'm pretty good at spotting frauds and "face readers". She scarcely looked at me while she did the reading, and she came up with many very specific things that would not generally fit most people. One of her first questions was, "So, what's stopping you from working on your doctorate?" She was also right on with many family and relationship issues, and in the end she gave me some good advice and remedies regarding both. She only recommended buying one inexpensive thing in the store. At one point she looked up at me and said, "You know, you don't need me, or this store. You already know everything I'm telling you. You have that guidance on your own, you just need to listen." I told her that was true, but I need to hear it from someone else who doesn't know me. Sometimes I don't know if what I'm "hearing" is my own Self (in Jungian terms) or my own delusions. She said that was entirely reasonable.
I felt like dessert after this, so I headed back towards Bourbon Street and stopped at La Divinia on one of the side streets for some Italian chocolate chip mint gelato, which was very good. The sky was darkening at this point, and my umbrella was in my room (naturally), so I ducked into an Irish pub called Flannigan's. There were two older men there, visiting from Ireland. I ought to have bought them a drink, on account of them saying my name properly ("Breej" rather than "Bridge-id"), but they bought me Guinness instead. Another young man came in after they left, and we sat talking with the bartender. They had McSorley's dark, so I had that, and he started pouring me Jamieson shots. I don't typically do shots, but these went down smooth. Then he told us he just got a surprise shipment of authentic French chartreuse. He opened it, let me read the pamphlet that went with it (which was in French), and then poured me some. It was good, but went down like fire. I'd contemplated having a cognac, but after that, I knew I would not even remember my name after another drink. So, I paid for what I had (I don't think I tipped him, I was so out of it, and I do feel bad about that), and made my way back to my hotel. I have no interest in being so far gone that I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm at, and all the heavy liquors will do that to me.
I did wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of a couple having sex in the next room. I have a rule about people having sex in the next hotel room. They have a right to do it, but I have a right to critique it if it disturbs my slumber. It sounded slightly kinky, and the girl seemed excited, but there were times when I wasn't sure if she was enjoying herself or throwing up. (Could have been both.) Compared to the couple I once heard in a Paddington, London hotel room, I'd give them a 6, but the guy still lost points for moving too fast. If you know what I mean.
Tomorrow I will discuss my last, much quieter day in New Orleans.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
New Orleans Day 1 (Tuesday)
It goes without saying (almost) that one never gets to or from Newark Airport without some kind of ordeal. In my case, my flight to New Orleans was delayed 50 minutes, and then the gate was changed to the other side of the terminal. However, arriving in New Orleans made up for it, as everyone there was markedly more cheerful and helpful. I got to my hotel at the same time I'd originally anticipated, so it was all good.
The shuttle driver asked if I was there visiting friends. "No," I said. "I hope to meet some new ones."
"Now THAT's the way to do it," he said.
I was checked in to my hotel by midnight, which is early by New Orleans standards. I thought about going out, but then realized that I really didn't know where I was going at that point, and I'd rather learn in daylight first. I woke up fairly early the next morning and headed over to Decatur Street in the French Quarter. I had a place in mind for breakfast, but it turned out to be closed. So, I ended up happily at the French Market cafe, where I had one of the best breakfasts of my whole life. I was going to visit the Ursuline Convent, but it appeared to be closed in spite of signs saying it was open. I noticed that many houses of worship in New Orleans (especially Catholic ones) were very difficult to get into, in spite of their "open and come in" advertising. I'm not sure why that is. I ended up wandering around the French Quarter, taking photos, and checking out its offerings. I walked all the way up and down Royal and Bourbon Streets. I also spent some time walking along the Mississippi River, and while there decided to sign on for a tour of St. Louis #1 cemetery. A friend had warned me not to go to any of the New Orleans cemeteries alone, so I took her advice.
The streets of New Orleans are beautiful, with ornate iron balconies often covered in flowers, and colorful houses. I noticed that many doors have shutters over them, which I've not seen at all up North. Demaine Street seems to have a lot of voodoo and esoteric places. I had read that there was a voodoo temple at the top end of Demaine Street, but I didn't make it up there.
I had stopped for a drink, and tried the local Abita Amber, which was pretty good, though not my favorite. I decided to postpone lunch til after the tour. I spent a lot of time sitting in the shade, as my pale genetically-European skin was already burning to a crisp in the hot sun. The tour of the cemetery was largely in an open space that was hot and filled with stone, so it was like being in an oven, though the guide took us to stand in shady places under large monuments.
If you've not been to a New Orleans cemetery, you should visit one if you go. They are unlike most cemeteries in the world, as they are entirely above ground. When the French settlers arrived in New Orleans nearly 300 years ago, they found that if you dug a hole, it would immediately fill up with about a foot of water. If you buried someone in the ground, the first storm would send the coffins floating away, usually into your back yard. This was a problem for the French and then the Spanish who lived there, and when yellow fever epidemics broke out and wiped out more than half the population, it got worse. So, they developed this step-tomb system, which contained anywhere from 1 to 3 slots for caskets. The person would be placed in a wooden casket, and then put into one of these slots. The slot was then bricked up, plastered over, and the initials of the burying undertaker were written in the plaster with the date. (This is still done, by the way). Tombs could be rented or bought, and if one couldn't afford to buy, they had the tomb for a year and a day before the next rent, and when their time was up, the body would be taken out. The sun is so hot in New Orleans, the bodies actually bake at 400 degrees Fahrenheit within those tombs (also called "ovens"). So, not much was left of the body, and what was left would be crumbled and put into the caveau ("cave", an empty space at the bottom of the tomb). The tombs are ornately decorated in many cases. Marie Laveau, the famous voodoo queen, has her monument in St. Louis No. 1, but she's not actually buried there. This doesn't stop people from marking her tomb with large X's and leaving offerings in front of it.
The weirdest and most out of place monument in the cemetery was a large pyramid, which our tour guide told us belonged to Nicholas Cage, and housed 5 of his deceased cats. She noted rather dryly that Nicholas Cage was the only person she ever knew of who could be arrested for drunkenness in New Orleans. She also told us that wild parrots could be found throughout the town, and mentioned an incident where one stole her hat while she was giving a tour. She came back the next day and found pieces of the straw on the ground. "Stupid parrot. Hope he chokes on the rest of it. That was an expensive hat." Then she looked at me and laughed. "I'm probably being too mean to that parrot. But I was pissed off."
On the ride back, our tour guide told us that they used to give tours of St. Louis No. 2, but no longer do so because it is too dangerous. They did a tour for a Halloween event one year, and they had to be accompanied by armed guards. She recalled an incident in that cemetery where someone actually jumped out at the tour group with a gun and demanded their money. The second woman the gunman approached happened to have a black belt in Judo and wasted the guy into the ground. But the tour guides weren't thrilled, as people still could have been shot if she wasn't successful in subduing him.
After the tour I went and had dinner at the Crescent City microbrewery. I found that all the sunlight did not make me that hungry. New Orleans is a peculiar choice for me in some ways, because I don't eat vegetables and I'm not fond of most seafood. Still, I did not have a single bad meal while I was there.
I ended up wandering into Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo, which is a great place with a great vibe. Afterward, I headed down Bourbon Street to the Old Absinthe House. This is not the original Old Absinthe Bar where Aleister Crowley used to go--that is now a rather cheesy-looking tropical bar. I had the Absinthe Frappe (not cheap--$20), and a nice chat with a woman visiting with her husband, originally from Toronto.
"This place is really wild," she said.
"Yes, I think the nights can get quite wild."
"Not just the night--all day! People are drinking here all the time! And you can take it anywhere, as long as its in a paper cup!"
This is absolutely true. And I'd heard from many others, tourists and natives alike, that New Orleans visitors and maybe the locals start drinking early and don't stop. The woman and I talked politics for awhile, and the workings of dual citizenship (she was both a Canadian and American citizen). After her husband was ready to go, she said goodbye, and I pressed on to Pirate's Alley Cafe, which is also an absinthe house. I figured that I won't get properly-served absinthe up North, I might as well drink it here.
They were very nice in the Pirate's Alley place, and got to see an authentic louching machine. In order to release the flavor of absinthe, it has to be "louched". One puts a small amount of absinthe in a glass, then puts a special slotted spoon over it with a sugar cube. (Sometimes they set the sugar cube on fire, but that's an American thing.) Then they do a slow drip of water from the machine into the glass, over the sugar cube. This creates a clouding effect in the absinthe, and releases the flavor. Some of the machines are quite ornate--another bartender told me he'd gotten one from a museum that was closing, and the design was of 3 women's bodies bent over. I met some more people in this bar, and one very nice woman from Milwaukee bought me another absinthe. The bartender, learning it was my birthday, gave me a shot of something called "Toxic Baby". I have no idea what's in it, but it tastes like mint. I was also talking to a man from Chicago, who was a regular visitor. He told me to avoid Bourbon and Canal between 10 pm and 2 am, as it got to be quite dangerous.
It was getting late at that point, so I headed back to my hotel, via Royal Street, avoiding the sex shops and revelry on the block before me. I went to bed and only suffered a minor headache, for which I considered myself lucky. Tomorrow I will post about my second day in the Big Easy.
The shuttle driver asked if I was there visiting friends. "No," I said. "I hope to meet some new ones."
"Now THAT's the way to do it," he said.
I was checked in to my hotel by midnight, which is early by New Orleans standards. I thought about going out, but then realized that I really didn't know where I was going at that point, and I'd rather learn in daylight first. I woke up fairly early the next morning and headed over to Decatur Street in the French Quarter. I had a place in mind for breakfast, but it turned out to be closed. So, I ended up happily at the French Market cafe, where I had one of the best breakfasts of my whole life. I was going to visit the Ursuline Convent, but it appeared to be closed in spite of signs saying it was open. I noticed that many houses of worship in New Orleans (especially Catholic ones) were very difficult to get into, in spite of their "open and come in" advertising. I'm not sure why that is. I ended up wandering around the French Quarter, taking photos, and checking out its offerings. I walked all the way up and down Royal and Bourbon Streets. I also spent some time walking along the Mississippi River, and while there decided to sign on for a tour of St. Louis #1 cemetery. A friend had warned me not to go to any of the New Orleans cemeteries alone, so I took her advice.
The streets of New Orleans are beautiful, with ornate iron balconies often covered in flowers, and colorful houses. I noticed that many doors have shutters over them, which I've not seen at all up North. Demaine Street seems to have a lot of voodoo and esoteric places. I had read that there was a voodoo temple at the top end of Demaine Street, but I didn't make it up there.
I had stopped for a drink, and tried the local Abita Amber, which was pretty good, though not my favorite. I decided to postpone lunch til after the tour. I spent a lot of time sitting in the shade, as my pale genetically-European skin was already burning to a crisp in the hot sun. The tour of the cemetery was largely in an open space that was hot and filled with stone, so it was like being in an oven, though the guide took us to stand in shady places under large monuments.
If you've not been to a New Orleans cemetery, you should visit one if you go. They are unlike most cemeteries in the world, as they are entirely above ground. When the French settlers arrived in New Orleans nearly 300 years ago, they found that if you dug a hole, it would immediately fill up with about a foot of water. If you buried someone in the ground, the first storm would send the coffins floating away, usually into your back yard. This was a problem for the French and then the Spanish who lived there, and when yellow fever epidemics broke out and wiped out more than half the population, it got worse. So, they developed this step-tomb system, which contained anywhere from 1 to 3 slots for caskets. The person would be placed in a wooden casket, and then put into one of these slots. The slot was then bricked up, plastered over, and the initials of the burying undertaker were written in the plaster with the date. (This is still done, by the way). Tombs could be rented or bought, and if one couldn't afford to buy, they had the tomb for a year and a day before the next rent, and when their time was up, the body would be taken out. The sun is so hot in New Orleans, the bodies actually bake at 400 degrees Fahrenheit within those tombs (also called "ovens"). So, not much was left of the body, and what was left would be crumbled and put into the caveau ("cave", an empty space at the bottom of the tomb). The tombs are ornately decorated in many cases. Marie Laveau, the famous voodoo queen, has her monument in St. Louis No. 1, but she's not actually buried there. This doesn't stop people from marking her tomb with large X's and leaving offerings in front of it.
The weirdest and most out of place monument in the cemetery was a large pyramid, which our tour guide told us belonged to Nicholas Cage, and housed 5 of his deceased cats. She noted rather dryly that Nicholas Cage was the only person she ever knew of who could be arrested for drunkenness in New Orleans. She also told us that wild parrots could be found throughout the town, and mentioned an incident where one stole her hat while she was giving a tour. She came back the next day and found pieces of the straw on the ground. "Stupid parrot. Hope he chokes on the rest of it. That was an expensive hat." Then she looked at me and laughed. "I'm probably being too mean to that parrot. But I was pissed off."
On the ride back, our tour guide told us that they used to give tours of St. Louis No. 2, but no longer do so because it is too dangerous. They did a tour for a Halloween event one year, and they had to be accompanied by armed guards. She recalled an incident in that cemetery where someone actually jumped out at the tour group with a gun and demanded their money. The second woman the gunman approached happened to have a black belt in Judo and wasted the guy into the ground. But the tour guides weren't thrilled, as people still could have been shot if she wasn't successful in subduing him.
After the tour I went and had dinner at the Crescent City microbrewery. I found that all the sunlight did not make me that hungry. New Orleans is a peculiar choice for me in some ways, because I don't eat vegetables and I'm not fond of most seafood. Still, I did not have a single bad meal while I was there.
I ended up wandering into Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo, which is a great place with a great vibe. Afterward, I headed down Bourbon Street to the Old Absinthe House. This is not the original Old Absinthe Bar where Aleister Crowley used to go--that is now a rather cheesy-looking tropical bar. I had the Absinthe Frappe (not cheap--$20), and a nice chat with a woman visiting with her husband, originally from Toronto.
"This place is really wild," she said.
"Yes, I think the nights can get quite wild."
"Not just the night--all day! People are drinking here all the time! And you can take it anywhere, as long as its in a paper cup!"
This is absolutely true. And I'd heard from many others, tourists and natives alike, that New Orleans visitors and maybe the locals start drinking early and don't stop. The woman and I talked politics for awhile, and the workings of dual citizenship (she was both a Canadian and American citizen). After her husband was ready to go, she said goodbye, and I pressed on to Pirate's Alley Cafe, which is also an absinthe house. I figured that I won't get properly-served absinthe up North, I might as well drink it here.
They were very nice in the Pirate's Alley place, and got to see an authentic louching machine. In order to release the flavor of absinthe, it has to be "louched". One puts a small amount of absinthe in a glass, then puts a special slotted spoon over it with a sugar cube. (Sometimes they set the sugar cube on fire, but that's an American thing.) Then they do a slow drip of water from the machine into the glass, over the sugar cube. This creates a clouding effect in the absinthe, and releases the flavor. Some of the machines are quite ornate--another bartender told me he'd gotten one from a museum that was closing, and the design was of 3 women's bodies bent over. I met some more people in this bar, and one very nice woman from Milwaukee bought me another absinthe. The bartender, learning it was my birthday, gave me a shot of something called "Toxic Baby". I have no idea what's in it, but it tastes like mint. I was also talking to a man from Chicago, who was a regular visitor. He told me to avoid Bourbon and Canal between 10 pm and 2 am, as it got to be quite dangerous.
It was getting late at that point, so I headed back to my hotel, via Royal Street, avoiding the sex shops and revelry on the block before me. I went to bed and only suffered a minor headache, for which I considered myself lucky. Tomorrow I will post about my second day in the Big Easy.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Catch-Up
Wow, it's been a month or longer since I've posted. March has been characterized by unusually warm weather, illness, and general insanity. I don't mind the occasional illness, I just mind a whole string of things that have no reasonable explanation, and should. I suppose I should be grateful that I'm not dead yet. But some days were pretty bad. In any event, I am starting to feel like a human again, and should play catch-up with those of you who read faithfully (or not).
We left off at the end of February, when I visited the Jung Institute about becoming an analyst. I've decided to start more traditionally because a. I can't become an analyst without having done supervised counseling, and b. it's what I can afford (free at my place of work). Nonetheless, it was an interesting evening. I had a train ride home where I got to hear the voice of a man who sounded like a cross between Animal from the Muppets and Fat Albert. I should have made a wish, or something. That doesn't happen every day, and may never happen again.
In the middle of March, I attended the Mid-Atlantic/New England Regional American Academy of Religion conference, and presented a paper on afterlife mythologies and religious conflict for the Psychology of Religion section. It was pretty well received, and I'm now looking to turn the idea into a book. Usually I do a full write-up on each session, but I will pass this year. I heard some interesting arguments for the existence of God, a discussion by my favorite professor (and now colleague) Stephen Johnson about Richard Niebuhr's theology, and a summary of a working group on pluralistic religious teaching, which was quite interesting. Much of that takes place from a Christian perspective looking at "other" religions, and this is problematic. I started to listen to a paper discussing Calvin's view that "God" and the "human soul" as separate substances actually glorified the human soul, but I ended up leaving early. I can't warm up to Calvin. (The theologian, not the cartoon character) and I think the notion that the soul is separate from God is BS, with no offense to the woman giving the paper. The other papers in my section were on the psychology of early Korean Christian converts, and secular ideas of attaining happiness, both of which were fascinating. I may write on the latter at some point. I met some great new people, and some old classmates from seminary, which was a surprise and a delight. One friend was a minister who I had 3 classes with in graduate school--I didn't recognize him at first, but I was very happy to see him once I remembered. We had some great class discussions.
Last month was Fred Rogers's birthday. Well, it would have been if he was alive, anyway. I have started doing some sketching, and while I was sketching one day, I listened to this clip of Mr. Rogers getting a lifetime achievement award at the Emmy's. It always makes me cry. It's weird, because I had mixed feelings about Mr. Rogers growing up. I kind of liked the parts of his show where he took you to see how crayons were made or something like that, but that "Land of Make Believe" always creeped me out. On the whole, he was obviously a good guy trying to do a good thing for children, and was very humble. Now that I am more involved with the study of psychology, what he was doing makes more sense to me. But as a kid, he seemed kind of nerdy and goofy. Of course, I'm pretty nerdy now, so I'm not one to talk.
I wish I could say I've made huge progress on my stories or academic writing, but this month has really been rather blah. We are opening a pharmacy school where I work, and we're acquiring these standard 4,000 page manuals that doctors use for our library collection. I found myself paging through them, looking to diagnose myself, as it's cheaper than going to the doctor. I think I did figure out what my problem is, not that it's all that easy to solve. In short, I don't think I'm managing stress as well as I'd like to believe.
I've had two whole months now of not being in love with anyone, and grieving my last loss, if you can call it that. I came to the realization that the reason we fall in and out of love is because we project our Anima/Animus image onto someone, and naturally they can never live up to that actual image--they resemble it, but they're not it. I also realized that marriages fail because when we get married, our spouse is no longer the Anima/Animus, but rather the Mother/Father. The archetype suddenly shifts, and now your partner looks like someone you've never met. They don't properly "fit" your parental image, and you resent them for it. This is why people can live together for a long time, but if they get married, everything suddenly changes. The only answer is to integrate those images, and not let them take over--we become "possessed" by them, as Jung indicates in this clip.
And true to form--I was thinking about relationships the other day, around the same time I was looking for some empty journals on my bookshelves. (I acquire lots of blank writing journals). I found one that had diary entries from the month just before I got married. It was very sad to read, and once again reminded me why I prefer to be alone and not to settle for something that isn't right. The universe has a habit of reminding me of this whenever I'm melancholy.
I started April by seeing Wild Flag. I wrote about them last April, when I saw them opening at Radio City for another band. They were as spectacular as ever--I just wish I could have stayed for the whole gig. It was a miserable night in New York, and I wasn't feeling that great. I knew I couldn't catch a train later than the 11:11, so I cut out early. I did see my friends Richard and Ray, which was awesome. I also discovered that McSorley's gives you doubles of their ale for only $5. And I'm still looking forward to Ray's photos. I was in the back for the show, but had a good view of the band. Seeing Carrie Brownstein always makes me happy. I have to say, I like them much better live than on record--their album didn't really grab me, not that I think it's bad. But I may be unfairly comparing them to Sleater Kinney in my mind. The L.A. Times had a review of an earlier show, before their album came out. They mentioned that neither Mary Timony nor Carrie Brownstein had quite the vocal range of Corin Tucker, which is a fact. That might be the difference, but I'm not sure. They're a great live band, and absolutely worth seeing. I always go home inspired.
Next week I head to New Orleans, for a much needed vacation. I've not been there, so in true Brigid's Blog fashion, I'm sure I will provide a travelogue when I get home. I am not bringing a computer to the Big Easy. But I am bringing a camera, and need to update my Flickr subscription. I hope to visit a few haunted sites and cemeteries. And the Old Absinthe Bar.
We left off at the end of February, when I visited the Jung Institute about becoming an analyst. I've decided to start more traditionally because a. I can't become an analyst without having done supervised counseling, and b. it's what I can afford (free at my place of work). Nonetheless, it was an interesting evening. I had a train ride home where I got to hear the voice of a man who sounded like a cross between Animal from the Muppets and Fat Albert. I should have made a wish, or something. That doesn't happen every day, and may never happen again.
In the middle of March, I attended the Mid-Atlantic/New England Regional American Academy of Religion conference, and presented a paper on afterlife mythologies and religious conflict for the Psychology of Religion section. It was pretty well received, and I'm now looking to turn the idea into a book. Usually I do a full write-up on each session, but I will pass this year. I heard some interesting arguments for the existence of God, a discussion by my favorite professor (and now colleague) Stephen Johnson about Richard Niebuhr's theology, and a summary of a working group on pluralistic religious teaching, which was quite interesting. Much of that takes place from a Christian perspective looking at "other" religions, and this is problematic. I started to listen to a paper discussing Calvin's view that "God" and the "human soul" as separate substances actually glorified the human soul, but I ended up leaving early. I can't warm up to Calvin. (The theologian, not the cartoon character) and I think the notion that the soul is separate from God is BS, with no offense to the woman giving the paper. The other papers in my section were on the psychology of early Korean Christian converts, and secular ideas of attaining happiness, both of which were fascinating. I may write on the latter at some point. I met some great new people, and some old classmates from seminary, which was a surprise and a delight. One friend was a minister who I had 3 classes with in graduate school--I didn't recognize him at first, but I was very happy to see him once I remembered. We had some great class discussions.
Last month was Fred Rogers's birthday. Well, it would have been if he was alive, anyway. I have started doing some sketching, and while I was sketching one day, I listened to this clip of Mr. Rogers getting a lifetime achievement award at the Emmy's. It always makes me cry. It's weird, because I had mixed feelings about Mr. Rogers growing up. I kind of liked the parts of his show where he took you to see how crayons were made or something like that, but that "Land of Make Believe" always creeped me out. On the whole, he was obviously a good guy trying to do a good thing for children, and was very humble. Now that I am more involved with the study of psychology, what he was doing makes more sense to me. But as a kid, he seemed kind of nerdy and goofy. Of course, I'm pretty nerdy now, so I'm not one to talk.
I wish I could say I've made huge progress on my stories or academic writing, but this month has really been rather blah. We are opening a pharmacy school where I work, and we're acquiring these standard 4,000 page manuals that doctors use for our library collection. I found myself paging through them, looking to diagnose myself, as it's cheaper than going to the doctor. I think I did figure out what my problem is, not that it's all that easy to solve. In short, I don't think I'm managing stress as well as I'd like to believe.
I've had two whole months now of not being in love with anyone, and grieving my last loss, if you can call it that. I came to the realization that the reason we fall in and out of love is because we project our Anima/Animus image onto someone, and naturally they can never live up to that actual image--they resemble it, but they're not it. I also realized that marriages fail because when we get married, our spouse is no longer the Anima/Animus, but rather the Mother/Father. The archetype suddenly shifts, and now your partner looks like someone you've never met. They don't properly "fit" your parental image, and you resent them for it. This is why people can live together for a long time, but if they get married, everything suddenly changes. The only answer is to integrate those images, and not let them take over--we become "possessed" by them, as Jung indicates in this clip.
And true to form--I was thinking about relationships the other day, around the same time I was looking for some empty journals on my bookshelves. (I acquire lots of blank writing journals). I found one that had diary entries from the month just before I got married. It was very sad to read, and once again reminded me why I prefer to be alone and not to settle for something that isn't right. The universe has a habit of reminding me of this whenever I'm melancholy.
I started April by seeing Wild Flag. I wrote about them last April, when I saw them opening at Radio City for another band. They were as spectacular as ever--I just wish I could have stayed for the whole gig. It was a miserable night in New York, and I wasn't feeling that great. I knew I couldn't catch a train later than the 11:11, so I cut out early. I did see my friends Richard and Ray, which was awesome. I also discovered that McSorley's gives you doubles of their ale for only $5. And I'm still looking forward to Ray's photos. I was in the back for the show, but had a good view of the band. Seeing Carrie Brownstein always makes me happy. I have to say, I like them much better live than on record--their album didn't really grab me, not that I think it's bad. But I may be unfairly comparing them to Sleater Kinney in my mind. The L.A. Times had a review of an earlier show, before their album came out. They mentioned that neither Mary Timony nor Carrie Brownstein had quite the vocal range of Corin Tucker, which is a fact. That might be the difference, but I'm not sure. They're a great live band, and absolutely worth seeing. I always go home inspired.
Next week I head to New Orleans, for a much needed vacation. I've not been there, so in true Brigid's Blog fashion, I'm sure I will provide a travelogue when I get home. I am not bringing a computer to the Big Easy. But I am bringing a camera, and need to update my Flickr subscription. I hope to visit a few haunted sites and cemeteries. And the Old Absinthe Bar.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)