It seems strange (and kind of sad) to me that nobody can REALLY be that Obscure Object of Desire. Being the OOoD requires total isolation -- since no human being can POSSIBLY live up to OOoD-hood 24-hours a day -- which just means "teasing" in the every day vernacular. All of the typical idols are only idols because we don't know what they smelled like the morning after.
Men get a break here because they're SUPPOSED to smell bad ("manly"), and to be odd or flawed or whatever. But women? An unreachable ideal. Perfect only as long as the situation can be carefully controlled. Movie stars have that luxury (except in the National Enquirer), but actual real human beings?
My goodness, no wonder everybody's so messed up!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Climax
Google! Horsepucky! Good Night! Krasny! And all the other fake cuss-words that I can't think of right at the moment.
After last week's totally depressing tour-de-trash at Club Abstract, I decided to wear the most obnoxious outfit I could think of, in order to drive the Bad Flotsam crazy tonight; an outfit that would both turn them on and repell them in equal measure. I spent a week searching for the proper accessories. I ate very little food in order to fit into it. I practiced getting in and out of it as fast as possible, in order to forsee potential problems during the night.
I wore The Guitar Wolf, the most "crotchy" outfit I own.
And what happened?
Nobody came. The jerks didn't show up. It was totally dead. And there I was, in my weird crotchy outfit, acting like a prima donna for nobody in particular.
Regardless I don't regret a second.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Shoe Trauma
Golly, I'm REALLY out of practice buying clothing. For so many years I've been getting things specially made, or ordering things, that I've forgotten what it's like to really go out and SHOP. I envy the women -- esentially ALL women, give or take -- who can just wander from store to store and try things on. I could do that too, but it would mean bringing all the "accessories," and even so I wouldn't look "right."
Shoes are the worst, because they're expensive and if they don't fit...well, you're screwed. Today I went to Fairview Park Mall to look for tan fishnets and houndstooth shoes (as part of my "Scare The Bullies at Abstract" plan for tonight). I came up empty on both counts but I did find myself staring at three extremely cute pairs of shoes at "Spring," and I was instantly confronted by a salesperson.
In shoe stores I tend to just buy the size 10s. Rarely do I go wrong, though to buy a shoe without trying it on is virtually unheard of. So if the saleslady isn't insistant, I'll bite the bullet and buy size 10s...but if she is basically forcing me to try them on -- to be nice, or to just treat me like any other customer -- I'll go along with it, though this is weird in a store packed full of 14 year old girls.
So there I was with my leopard-print heels, blushing and taking a few steps while the salespeople smiled encouragingly, with a thousand small eyes on me. And wouldn't you know it, only the size 11s fit.
Why don't I like this situation? Because I don't like to confuse salespeople, and I don't like being in "1/10th drag" in public (I have nightmares about that), and as I get older I get more anxious to avoid these situations. But I got a good pair of shoes regardless, and managed to replenish my collection of cheap black/white/red earrings. And the saleslady was very sweet and acknowledged that -- yes -- houndstooth shoes are in short supply.
The other frightening thing about Fairview Park Mall is the bus ride. Sometimes the person next to you will insist on telling you about their glory days at the Coronet, and yeah it was a rough place full of bikers but if you knew the rules you wouldn't get beaten up. Or you'll get a nice old lady who wants to tell you about her grandchildren. Those types of people are all okay, but sometimes you'll get the crazy people -- or simply be SURROUNDED by the crazy people -- because both downtown Kitchener and Fairview Park Mall are most visibly populated by the adult offspring of crack addicts.
All this explains why I avoid that mall -- and the bus ride there -- at all costs.
Shoes are the worst, because they're expensive and if they don't fit...well, you're screwed. Today I went to Fairview Park Mall to look for tan fishnets and houndstooth shoes (as part of my "Scare The Bullies at Abstract" plan for tonight). I came up empty on both counts but I did find myself staring at three extremely cute pairs of shoes at "Spring," and I was instantly confronted by a salesperson.
In shoe stores I tend to just buy the size 10s. Rarely do I go wrong, though to buy a shoe without trying it on is virtually unheard of. So if the saleslady isn't insistant, I'll bite the bullet and buy size 10s...but if she is basically forcing me to try them on -- to be nice, or to just treat me like any other customer -- I'll go along with it, though this is weird in a store packed full of 14 year old girls.
So there I was with my leopard-print heels, blushing and taking a few steps while the salespeople smiled encouragingly, with a thousand small eyes on me. And wouldn't you know it, only the size 11s fit.
Why don't I like this situation? Because I don't like to confuse salespeople, and I don't like being in "1/10th drag" in public (I have nightmares about that), and as I get older I get more anxious to avoid these situations. But I got a good pair of shoes regardless, and managed to replenish my collection of cheap black/white/red earrings. And the saleslady was very sweet and acknowledged that -- yes -- houndstooth shoes are in short supply.
The other frightening thing about Fairview Park Mall is the bus ride. Sometimes the person next to you will insist on telling you about their glory days at the Coronet, and yeah it was a rough place full of bikers but if you knew the rules you wouldn't get beaten up. Or you'll get a nice old lady who wants to tell you about her grandchildren. Those types of people are all okay, but sometimes you'll get the crazy people -- or simply be SURROUNDED by the crazy people -- because both downtown Kitchener and Fairview Park Mall are most visibly populated by the adult offspring of crack addicts.
All this explains why I avoid that mall -- and the bus ride there -- at all costs.
Fathers and Crows: Culture Clash
"Fathers and Crows" is a rich book, but one of its greatest pleasures is watching "Savages" and Frenchmen try to understand the differences between each other's cultures. Vollmann seems to have a perfect handle on this; his explanations are convincing and often quite subtle.
In the chapter called "The Exercise of Hell," Membertou (tribal elder of the Micmac) deals playfully with a topic that the French (represented here by Lescarbot) take quite seriously (though not nearly as seriously as the Jesuits will a few years later).
In the chapter called "The Exercise of Hell," Membertou (tribal elder of the Micmac) deals playfully with a topic that the French (represented here by Lescarbot) take quite seriously (though not nearly as seriously as the Jesuits will a few years later).
Lescarbot spoke to him of christening. What a stupid bearded word! He could hardly say it!
What is christening for? he asked.
To keep your soul from getting lost.
In the woods? -- Membertou (who could grind chert-stones to bits with his teeth, who could swallow a stick two hands long) did not comprehend this answer. His soul never got lost.
No, in Hell, cried Lescarbot. His eyes gleamed.
Where is Hell? asked Membertou patiently.
Under the ground.
But we never go there!
...
To Lescarbot he said gravely: Brother, I seem to see us both in Hell together, eating much meat and laughing at the DEVILS. What do you say to that? -- for he wanted to try the man's courage.
But at this, all the Iron People shouted out against him, rudely, as if he were not in his own Country.
Membertou gazed upon them. --Brothers, learn once and for all: I speak here, even in this drafty box you've built. When I open my mouth, you must listen. I sit while others stand. It is not the custom in my Country for friends to shout against friends.
The Masturbatory, Self-Interested Fiber Disease
I try to stay on top of all the most grotesque and mysterious fringes of our bio-diverse world, especially when they're related to parasitism. I'm pleased to finally find out that they've named a film genre after my obsessions: "Body Horror."
My fear and fascination of parasitic invasion probably began (as I've said before) with "The Seeds of Doom" and solidified with "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill" which puts me in a particularly exclusive body horror sub-genre: fear of being turned into a plant.
That sounds funny I'm sure, but through most of my life this has been an honest-to-goodness little phobia...but though it still fascinates me I no longer sort of suspect that it will happen to me. I'm not alone, though, judging by the amount of horror fiction written on the subject: "Fungus" by Harry Adam Knight springs immediately to mind, and also "The Voice in the Night" by William Hope Hodgson (which inspired the Japanese film "Attack of the Mushroom People.")
All this explains why I find "Morgellons Disease" so intriguing. Rampant parasites under the skin? Weird egg-sacks? Multi-colored cellulose fibers growing out of sores that never seem to heal?
That would be interesting enough, but add to this the fact that the "disease" -- which apparently affects thousands in the United States -- is most likely a case of internet support groups gone mad, and you have a REAL fascinating story.
I won't recite the whole schpiel -- you can research it yourself if you're interested -- but I will point out the prevalence of Morgellons-themed You-Tube videos by people who are supposedly filming their "intelligent fibers." I'll also point out the intellectual dishonesty of so many of the "sufferers," who proudly trumpet that the CDC is investigating the disease but neglect to mention that they're only doing it because they're barraged with letters about it.
The claims of the sceptics seem reasonable to me: it's delusional parasitosis (otherwise there'd be SOME physical evidence other than what's posted anonymously on YouTube), but the sufferers of delusional parasitosis now have Morgellons to fall back on. Now that they have a support group they can all cluster together and reinforce their beliefs, avoiding the antipsychotic medication that would supposedly stop the delusions. This is complicated by people who want to be part of a grotesque mystery, and -- perhaps -- by a real but much-less-spectacular condition that a very small group of people actually have.
But maybe I'm wrong! Lord knows that being worried about something unknown and dangerous makes most people feel more alive. No wonder many of us sort of half-wish it would turn out to be real!
My fear and fascination of parasitic invasion probably began (as I've said before) with "The Seeds of Doom" and solidified with "The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill" which puts me in a particularly exclusive body horror sub-genre: fear of being turned into a plant.
That sounds funny I'm sure, but through most of my life this has been an honest-to-goodness little phobia...but though it still fascinates me I no longer sort of suspect that it will happen to me. I'm not alone, though, judging by the amount of horror fiction written on the subject: "Fungus" by Harry Adam Knight springs immediately to mind, and also "The Voice in the Night" by William Hope Hodgson (which inspired the Japanese film "Attack of the Mushroom People.")
All this explains why I find "Morgellons Disease" so intriguing. Rampant parasites under the skin? Weird egg-sacks? Multi-colored cellulose fibers growing out of sores that never seem to heal?
That would be interesting enough, but add to this the fact that the "disease" -- which apparently affects thousands in the United States -- is most likely a case of internet support groups gone mad, and you have a REAL fascinating story.
I won't recite the whole schpiel -- you can research it yourself if you're interested -- but I will point out the prevalence of Morgellons-themed You-Tube videos by people who are supposedly filming their "intelligent fibers." I'll also point out the intellectual dishonesty of so many of the "sufferers," who proudly trumpet that the CDC is investigating the disease but neglect to mention that they're only doing it because they're barraged with letters about it.
The claims of the sceptics seem reasonable to me: it's delusional parasitosis (otherwise there'd be SOME physical evidence other than what's posted anonymously on YouTube), but the sufferers of delusional parasitosis now have Morgellons to fall back on. Now that they have a support group they can all cluster together and reinforce their beliefs, avoiding the antipsychotic medication that would supposedly stop the delusions. This is complicated by people who want to be part of a grotesque mystery, and -- perhaps -- by a real but much-less-spectacular condition that a very small group of people actually have.
But maybe I'm wrong! Lord knows that being worried about something unknown and dangerous makes most people feel more alive. No wonder many of us sort of half-wish it would turn out to be real!
Friday, April 20, 2007
The Book Sale
UPDATED: Beers' connection to the eugenics movement is spurious at best, so I've removed the "e" word from this post.
Every SPRing the Unitarian Church in Waterloo holds its annual book sale, an event they've been hosting ever since I was a small child. Their book collection is enormous, largely unsorted, and stacked in ways that make it difficult for even the most avid reader to find what they're looking for. I think the sale is somehow linked to the Canadian Federation of University Women, but the Unitarians get their fringe benefits too: a sprinkling of strange religious books are always to be found in the most mysterious of places.
The sale often attracts crazy people, or the guardians of crazy people. Last year a man was endlessly playing "chopsticks" on the piano. This year they'd hired young adults of dubious functionality who roamed around listening to their MP3 players. Their job seemed to consist of alternately leaning against the book tables looking bored, and lunging at you to snatch books out of your hands, saying "I'll put that away for you."
Most of the books are cheap discount self-help paperbacks, but the real gems are to be found in the "old books" section. Sometimes they have interesting handwritten inscriptions on their flyleaves, making an already interesting book even more interesting. This year I escaped with four nifty ones:
Every SPRing the Unitarian Church in Waterloo holds its annual book sale, an event they've been hosting ever since I was a small child. Their book collection is enormous, largely unsorted, and stacked in ways that make it difficult for even the most avid reader to find what they're looking for. I think the sale is somehow linked to the Canadian Federation of University Women, but the Unitarians get their fringe benefits too: a sprinkling of strange religious books are always to be found in the most mysterious of places.
The sale often attracts crazy people, or the guardians of crazy people. Last year a man was endlessly playing "chopsticks" on the piano. This year they'd hired young adults of dubious functionality who roamed around listening to their MP3 players. Their job seemed to consist of alternately leaning against the book tables looking bored, and lunging at you to snatch books out of your hands, saying "I'll put that away for you."
Most of the books are cheap discount self-help paperbacks, but the real gems are to be found in the "old books" section. Sometimes they have interesting handwritten inscriptions on their flyleaves, making an already interesting book even more interesting. This year I escaped with four nifty ones:
- "Klondike" (1958) by Pierre Berton. Vanilla asked me if I'd be looking for "Ice Lit," and indeed I was. Considering the joy I got from his "Just Add Water and Stir" collection -- and knowing that he grew up on the jolly tundra -- I figured I couldn't go wrong. The inscription: "To pop from Charlene & Frank, Christmas 1958."
- "I Married the Klondike" (1961) by -- you guessed it -- Laura Beatrice Berton. Owning these two books is sort of like owning the husband and wife themselves.
- "A Mind That Found Itself" (1927), an autobiography by Clifford Whittingham Beers. Credited as the founder of the mental hygiene movement, this promises to be a bizarre read. The inscription: "To Mrs. Lucy E. Beach, secretary of the Child Guidance Council of London, with the compliments of the author Clifford W. Beers, founder and secretary of the National Committee for Mental Hygiene, 370 Seventh Avenue, New York City, January 18, 1928." So this copy is signed by Mr. Eugenics himself, a dubious treat. Looking online it seems that he was fond of signing copies of his books, many of which go for an excess of $150 USD. This copy is pretty ratty, though it does include an odd printed addendum pasted in the back.
- "The Guide Handbook" (1965), the prep guide for Girl Guide Recruits. I was a bit confused by the chapter headings "To spread and Mount," "Stalking," "What To Do If Clothing Catches Fire," "Burping," and "Diagonal Lashing," but I'm sure it will all be clear in time. The inscription: "Barbara L. Gratton, May 4/66, 7 Riverside Drive W." which has been clumsily pasted over with a printed address label saying "Hayman, 141 Woodhaven Rd., Kitchener, Ont, N2C 1V2."
THIS LIBRARY is intended for the use of mental health workers and teachers of defective children. Subscription: 10/' per annum [postage extra.] For more information apply to:-- MISS EVELYN FOX, Hon. Sec., Central Association for Mental Welfare, 24, Buckingham Palace Road, London S.W.1.The address has been crossed out and a new stamp added: "39 Queen Anne Street, London, W.1, Tel: WELbeck 1272." I bet that phone number doesn't add up anymore. There's even a sign-out sheet on the following page, covering dates from 22.10.36 to 18.9.47. The notice at the bottom says:
This book must be returned within one month of date of issue. It may be re-entered for a second month, on application, if no other demand for it has been made. If retained without permission, a fine of 6d. will be imposed for each week or portion of a week in excess of the month.
Update on Mount Hussey
I said last week that I'd keep "you" posted about Mount Hussey, and I'd tell you as soon as it melted (because as you know Spring arrives as soon as Hussey melts completely).
I took this picture on Tuesday. As you can see, Mount Hussey was entirely melted, leaving behind only a clump of topsoil known as "Dirty Little Hussey." This means that, as of Tuesday, you are allowed to put away your winter wardrobe, lighten your haircolour, and do whatever gardiners do when it's Springtime.
As an aside, people in some countries don't think it's necessary to capitalize the seasons. In the case of Spring I feel that a single capital letter doesn't even do it justice, so from now on I'll be spelling it SPRing.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
My New Digs: Soundproofing Mystery Partially Solved!
My neighbour (across the duplex partition wall) is listening to music. It's the first time she's done so since she moved in, and of course I can hear every note. I know more about Jamiroquai now than I ever wanted to know.
But honestly, this is a wonderful opportunity because it's allowed me to test some audio hypotheses...this is the first time I've had a really steady noise next door to experiment with.
By sealing myself in the bathroom I was able to learn two things: the noise is NOT coming through the ceiling, but it IS coming through the bathroom heating vent. It's also coming through the vent in the computer room and is REALLY noticable in the living room vent, which might explain why all the vent baffles were closed tight when I moved in.
More importantly, however, I can say with almost total assurance that noise is ALSO coming through the cracks in the upstairs landing walls, left when the landlords removed the carpeting (over the summer) and didn't replace the baseboards. I bet those cracks go right through to the other apartment. One very wide crack spans part of the wall at the top of the stairs, but a more obscure culprit is a series of cracks in the top step. The other steps don't seem to be leaking sound.
This was difficult to figure out because I'd never clued in that my stairway has killer reverb, so when the noise leaked through the top step it bounced around in the stairway, obscuring the source. By (yes) covering my head with towels and resting on the top step, I was finally able to figure this out.
So here's my plan:
But honestly, this is a wonderful opportunity because it's allowed me to test some audio hypotheses...this is the first time I've had a really steady noise next door to experiment with.
By sealing myself in the bathroom I was able to learn two things: the noise is NOT coming through the ceiling, but it IS coming through the bathroom heating vent. It's also coming through the vent in the computer room and is REALLY noticable in the living room vent, which might explain why all the vent baffles were closed tight when I moved in.
More importantly, however, I can say with almost total assurance that noise is ALSO coming through the cracks in the upstairs landing walls, left when the landlords removed the carpeting (over the summer) and didn't replace the baseboards. I bet those cracks go right through to the other apartment. One very wide crack spans part of the wall at the top of the stairs, but a more obscure culprit is a series of cracks in the top step. The other steps don't seem to be leaking sound.
This was difficult to figure out because I'd never clued in that my stairway has killer reverb, so when the noise leaked through the top step it bounced around in the stairway, obscuring the source. By (yes) covering my head with towels and resting on the top step, I was finally able to figure this out.
So here's my plan:
- I need to fill in those cracks. Right now they're stuffed with bath towels and closely-packed paper towels, which isn't ideal. Tomorrow I'll go to the hardware store and find out what they recommend; maybe it will involve caulking.
- Get a rug for the landing at the top of the stairs. It will look nice and dampen the sound further.
- Find something fuzzy for the wall, to further stop noise from bouncing around the staircase; good friend Peevil recommended a big shag picture of a Matador. Now I know where to put it.
- Close the vent baffles as soon as it gets warm, if ever.
The Masturbatory, Self-Interested Death Orgy
Minutes after the second spate of Virginia tech shootings became news people had turned tragedy into a tool to support their causes. The postings I personally saw -- on Americablog -- connected the incident to both gun control and the war in Iraq. Meanwhile, on the right (Townhall), the incident was being used to illustrate the heartlessness of the left (turning tragedy into support for gun control) and to then say "I wish some of those students were carrying guns."
The frenzy has already started in the media, I'm sure. Have they chosen music to go with the Blacksburg graphic yet? What's the catchy phrase, is it "Virginia Tech Tragedy" or "Columbine II" or "Blacksburg Slaughter?" It may be too early for the shots of cute weeping children, but I'm sure the satellite trucks are ready for the upcoming mourning ceremonies and the inevitable pilgrimmages which allow people to say they were there (and maybe get on TV and be part of an event).
The real frenzy will begin once we know the ethnicity and social affiliation of the attacker. In the few clips I watched yesterday the poor news anchors were virtually PANTING for this information. Does "Asian" mean, like, a muslim from India or Pakistan? Or was he a Christian fundamentalist? A recent immigrant? An over-achiever? Did he watch violent movies, was this an example of jilted male rage, and what sort of music did he listen to? Where are his parents, HOLY COW, WHAT AN INTERVIEW, find his parents! Are there any copycat killers? Exacly how many morbid records did he break? Let's interview pundits with contrary opinions about how the incident was handled, speckled with families of the slain, heroes of the day (quick, find a hero!) Let's even raise our ratings by condemning the way the news media latches on to tragedy in order to raise ratings.
On Sunday we might find out which element of American foreign or domestic policy prompted God into doing this. There will be an "outpouring of sympathy" across the country, in which people hope silently for more camera time and get a thrill out of the "bonding." If they ever read this blog entry, they will accuse me of not "feeling" anything and insist that they have every right to be -- not just sad or regretful -- but totally and verbally broken up and outraged about what happened. There will be an unspoken desire to keep the story alive so we can all feel excited and in permenent danger. The school officials will be rightly or wrongly crucified. The Bush administration will accuse democrats of crassly pursuing corruption investigations while the rest of the country is "in mourning."
Very little of it will be honest, most of it will be destructive, and it makes me damn sick.
The frenzy has already started in the media, I'm sure. Have they chosen music to go with the Blacksburg graphic yet? What's the catchy phrase, is it "Virginia Tech Tragedy" or "Columbine II" or "Blacksburg Slaughter?" It may be too early for the shots of cute weeping children, but I'm sure the satellite trucks are ready for the upcoming mourning ceremonies and the inevitable pilgrimmages which allow people to say they were there (and maybe get on TV and be part of an event).
The real frenzy will begin once we know the ethnicity and social affiliation of the attacker. In the few clips I watched yesterday the poor news anchors were virtually PANTING for this information. Does "Asian" mean, like, a muslim from India or Pakistan? Or was he a Christian fundamentalist? A recent immigrant? An over-achiever? Did he watch violent movies, was this an example of jilted male rage, and what sort of music did he listen to? Where are his parents, HOLY COW, WHAT AN INTERVIEW, find his parents! Are there any copycat killers? Exacly how many morbid records did he break? Let's interview pundits with contrary opinions about how the incident was handled, speckled with families of the slain, heroes of the day (quick, find a hero!) Let's even raise our ratings by condemning the way the news media latches on to tragedy in order to raise ratings.
On Sunday we might find out which element of American foreign or domestic policy prompted God into doing this. There will be an "outpouring of sympathy" across the country, in which people hope silently for more camera time and get a thrill out of the "bonding." If they ever read this blog entry, they will accuse me of not "feeling" anything and insist that they have every right to be -- not just sad or regretful -- but totally and verbally broken up and outraged about what happened. There will be an unspoken desire to keep the story alive so we can all feel excited and in permenent danger. The school officials will be rightly or wrongly crucified. The Bush administration will accuse democrats of crassly pursuing corruption investigations while the rest of the country is "in mourning."
Very little of it will be honest, most of it will be destructive, and it makes me damn sick.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Yeast!
From its inception The New Yorker has carried weekly advertisements for Fleischmann's Yeast, which apparently cures everything from acne to insomnia, meanwhile improving "digestion" and upping the energy levels of people who had all but given up hope.The ads always have photographs of healthy, vigorous people demonstrating what they can now do thanks to Yeast. All of them were in some way notable before their digestive/acne/blood problems began, and all of them are now able to return to the strenuous activities with made them notable in the first place: dancing, golfing, fishing.
Here's a sample testimony for Miss Myrtle R. Ivins from Philadelphia, pictured above:
During business hours, I meet many people, including the officers of the large firm where I work. Naturally, my embarassment was almost unbearable when, after an illness that upset my blood, my face broke out in pimples. I was actually ashamed to meet anyone.By the 1940s these "yeast miracles" became fodder for radio comedians; I've heard many radio spoofs of the time that feature over-the-top testimonials about the life-changing effects of yeast.
What made it hardest to bear was that formerly my skin had been especially clear--kept so by an active outdoor life. I played some tennis and golf, swam and rode a little, and had done my share of hiking. But I had to give up all these sports, I was so badly run down. My whole digestive system became unbalanced.
My doctor suggested Fleischmann's Yeast. Today, after eating it faithfully every day for over six months I feel fine. My face has improved greatly. My appetite is splendid. I'm able to be back in the open once more, enjoying the sports I love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)