Not a Magpie

This time of year, I simplify all commercials down to the basic needs or assumptions being made about consumers and announce them over the voice of the narrator. The easiest, and funniest, of commercials are the jewelry ones. They all boil down to, “women like sparkly things.” Which is what magpies like. So, when these commercials come on, I holler out, “CAW, CAW Magpie! Magpie!”

Most other commercials boil down to, “You're special! Spend money!” This actually works for all of them. Hmm. It could be that I've been sick for a few days now and in between fever and coughing fits, I get way more amusement out of this than is really there. Either way, it's kept me very happy while I slowly meld with the couch cushions here. Being sick is blarg.

An Erinku:
cough, cough
sniff, ACHOO
orange juice
aspirin and tissue
(Disneyland was TOTALLY worth it!!)

Smells Like Vacation

As I've gotten older, I've become just a tich afraid of flying. It started on a trip I took to Hawaii, approximately 100 years ago. That trip involves a seven or eight hour flight over ocean...nothing but ocean and the plane is expected to land on some tiny little island (which is minute in comparison to the enormous vastness of ocean). About four hours in, I realized, goodly and truly, that if we were to crash, we would be screwed and would have at least several hours of floating in ocean until we could be rescued, male dolphins and all.

And so, now that I'm older and have flown over many more oceans in different directions and in different countries, I still get nervous. I'm reminded that while flying is incredibly awesome, we haven't quite adapted to it all the way, considering how few generations ago it was that we, collectively, were driving goat-drawn carts.

My family has helped address this creeping, cumulative nervousness by plying me with beer before a flight. It very much works and makes it all a fun adventure instead of a terrifying act of defying gravity. I'm also fond of pointing out that in any type of crash, those folks least damaged are usually asleep (relaxed) or drunk (relaxed, and absolutely not to be driving). And if I'm going to be in a plane crash, I'm going to be one or the other...and especially not driving the plane.

Part of the problem is that Denver always has turbulence, and Reno does about 90% of the time. As every trip of mine in the last 10 years has involved flying out of and back to Denver, that means every trip has turbulence, and many have turbulence on both ends.

Tonight, I hunted down the New Belgium brewery at the Denver airport. Their beers are a tad on the expensive side, but they are 20 oz. beers that are strong enough to make you submit to ALL kinds of TSA screening. Hmm. They should consider getting folks drunk pre-screening. (As a side note, Denver has the old-school metal detectors and the naked scanners are reserved for folks who can't seem to remember to remove their belt buckles/cell phones/glasses/four pounds of quarters from their pockets. To keep yourself modest, remove the metal, stupid!) Right. Beer. So I ate some awesome french fries and had a mega beer pre-flight.

I have recently appeased the flight gods, as every flight for the last however many years has me showing up to the gate exactly when my group is getting first call to board. Tonight was no exception. I boarded, noted that the folks in the safety video had very fake smiles, admired the moon and stars coming out, and gripped the armrests in a hold that would a WWF wrestler weep. The entire ascent, I was very impressed to note, my internal dialog continued to repeat, “Bumble bees aren't supposed to fly, it's an aerodynamic impossibility! Bumble bees aren't supposed to fly...”

I have often noticed that when I've got a beer powering me, my logic is impeccable and my vocabulary vast. And that is why the next time I fly, I'm having two mega beers. Screw this. Adrenaline is an old friend of mine and has, theoretically, kept me alive this far, in spite of me never staring down a sabre-tooth tiger or a t-rex. But give it a chance to scream in my ear about spiders, being over 10 feet above ground, or sitting on a stage holding a cello while everyone stares, and my adrenaline is all about flooding my system with “help.” Stupid evolution. Yes, I got thumbs out of it, but some days I'd rather just be oblivious.

Moral of today's story: the world is always beautiful from a different perspective.

An Erinku (powered by beer-tinged adrenaline):
though I tip
my little laptop
my seatmate continues
to read over my shoulder

Decency, or, Why Bach Matters

While I was at the Denver Mountain Sun (an expansion of my very favoritest pub, ever, based in Boulder), I was thinking about the enormous pile of cello homework I've been given for winter break...which starts after my juries on Saturday morning. A significant chunk of this large pile o' homework is an entire Bach sonata that is due January 3rd. That's a lot to ask, as Bach is a bit temper/mental (snort, music major dork joke). ANYWAY! While I was drinking another free beer at the Denver Mountain Sun (they keep sending me coupons and I keep going, it's a symbiotic relationship), I started to think about whether or not Bach is still relevant today.

I think he is. While he wrote a lot for church, was very religious, and was overly excited about counterpoint, which are all things I'm not into at all, I've found that playing his music means you have to be calm, collected, and thoughtful. To play his music well, seems to include the requirement of being a decent human being.

I think decency is very much missing from a lot of folks (including a small subset of my circle) in general. And by decency, I don't mean dressing modestly. Nakedity happens and is natural, and naked dancing to Bach would make for a fun show, actually. What I mean is having the ability to see the world beyond where our natural selfishness ends. Having the ability to empathize with others and making the conscious decision to be helpful and caring. And having Bach be an inspiration for this is exactly why his music still matters today.

Hmm. I see a pattern in my last few blogs as I wrestle with how to deal with some people I know! Anyway, I don't belive in an afterlife, although I do flirt with the idea of reincarnation. If this is the only life I've got, I'm going to make it as great as I can. To quote a random quote I read somewhere, "I can't think of a single instance where being an asshole helped me get ahead." I try to be as decent as I can, with the typical Erin screw-ups. So if I'm wrong about the afterlife and reincarnation, I can at least be glad I tried to be a decent human, naked Bach dancing and all.

An Erinku:
Mountain Sun
has hoppy beer
I love to drink it
anyways

Bad Role Models

We aren't as removed from cavemen days as we might like to think we are. It goes beyond the fact that when something is broken, (like the t.v., toaster, or lock on the window) out first instinct is to smack it. What is extra amusing to me is how often hitting things actually makes them work again. Besides this spectacular display of bashing things with our caveman clubs are a bunch of more disturbing examples.

I was out and about (or, if I'm channeling my inner Canadian, "oot and aboot") recently and found myself with a gaggle of women drinking cheap beer. As the pitchers flowed, we shared stories both awesome and sad. It turns out that every single one of them had been abused (sexually, emotionally, or physically) at some point by a partner or by an adult, almost exclusively male. Sadly, this is not the first time I've been out with a group of random women and found out about this common thread.

I think of this as I've lately been in a lot of arguments with multiple men that are of the opinion that it's natural and healthy to follow their "animalistic" instincts, especially when it comes to sex. The argument is that society expects a standard of sexual conduct and this is oppressive to women, especially when it comes to marriage. (By the way, the marriage contract predates the Middle Ages with the earliest one dating back to around 176 BCE. It was written to protect the WIFE financially in case of widowhood or divorce. It's called the Ketubah.) This suggests to me there is now a trend of incredible sexism in the name of free loving. Calling it feminism while making the case that "screwing around is a way of rebelling against society" is a new twist on forever-long interaction...or not so new if you heard, at all, of the 60's.

Anyway, having come from a pretty feminist background, I continue to argue that what makes us human, as opposed to being merely animals that learned to walk upright and develop opposable thumbs, is the ability to reflect on our desires and to act on them -- or not. To be aware (again) that we all share this little planet and that only focusing on our primitive urges, while fun, can have long-lasting repercussions on anyone not strong enough, physically or emotionally, to say no. While women may not often come with enough testosterone to bench press a slug bug, there are other strengths we've got.

Abuse is abuse is abuse. Sexual abuse is like the caveman dragging the unconscious victim back to the cave. Emotional and physical abuse is the smacking someone upside the head with a club until they either agree or until they are unconscious...at which point they are dragged back to the cave.

The whole "I'm just following my natural instincts" argument doesn't impress me much. It just makes me lose hope that we, as a species, are interested in moving forward. If humans didn't have more potential, it wouldn't take us so long to mature; we'd be out on our own by a year old...as are the other species that solely operate on instinct. Since we have big brains and the ability to use other parts of it to think, it takes significantly longer to develop.

When sticking your hand on a hot stove burner, it immediately retracts without conscious though. Living purely by instinct is the same way. It means you celebrate the body by partying hard and by screwing around. It feels good. It's not intellectual; it's not enlightened, nor is it the way of the future. It's just thoughtless.

An Erinku:
Thursdays' seriousness
always
catches me
by surprise

Swarm of Words

Words are my weapon. As long as I can remember, I've swam in a sea of words and feel their different weights and their different colors. I use them like a chef uses all manner of spices (knowing full well I'm a terrible cook and that this analogy won't require me to make anyone dinner). Growing up, I never bought into the reassurement that "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me." I know better. I have made people cry and even had a few folks hate me because of just a few well-placed words.

Everyone has a weapon. Most folks uses actions. Some are back-stabby or are passive-aggressive (a particularly unhelpful type of action). When I first realized the power I had with words, I abused that power. I've got a good-girl aura about me and pairing that with my vocabulary lead me to being a bit of a problem-causer at elementary school. I remember falsely accusing a kid of something stupid to see if I could get him in trouble, just to see if I could. I could.

When you first discover your weapon, it's a bit of a power rush. And you use your powers for evil. Ideally, not for too long. When you hurt someone, you know. And that's when you have a choice. You can join the light side, with occasional jaunts over to the dark side (they do promise cookies, routinely). Or you can continue doing what you're doing because that power rush feels good. However. We all share this little planet and no matter how much you try to avoid folks, you will continue to bump into them. Irony is the force that powers the universe, after all.

So. If you continue on your merry little power-tripping way, you will continue to run into those you hurt. And if you don't take any time to self-reflect or try to learn from past experiences, you will continue to use your weapon in the way that elementary school kids do. As a grown-up, this makes you (at best) very selfish and (at worst) a terrible human being.

I learned my lesson, repeatedly, since elementary school. The things that run through my mind at any given time are pretty funny and fairly often are unnecessarily mean. As I've gotten older, I'll get ready to speak, only to pause and say, "Yeah" instead of what was really happening internally. I know my weapon. I use it on special occasions and often on myself...since I don't make myself cry.

I've been thinking about this for the past few days as I've had a streak of running into folks I typically avoid. I'm up to four this far for the weekend and I plan on spending the rest of the evening in to avoid the other two I know of. I was wondering if there was some common thread between them all that I dislike their company and I came up with weapons. Each of these six knows their weapons well and each of them takes pleasure in hurting others. Each of them are not folks I want to be around, in spite of the fact they are all very grown-up (some are in the elderly category, even).

Everyone has a weapon: the trick is only using it when necessary. If you are using it to feel better about yourself or to feel a sense of power/control, you aren't contributing to the human race in a meaningful way. When you figure out how to play nicely with others (something you should have figured out by third grade or so), feel free to join the rest of us. Until then, keep to yourself. Bah!

An Erinku:
weekend of roughness
right before finals
of course
I have my cranky pants on!