A Quote and "A Childhood Savior"

"The only thing of value anyone has to offer
is their uniqueness
and individuality
no matter who you are or what you do.
Life your life.
Notice what you are really thinking about
Write about that.
Show us what you don't want anyone to see.
Remember that while art can be product
product can never be art."

--Penny Arcade, "Manifesto" (as anthologized in Verses That Hurt)

I think that the above quote is a beautiful rendering of an artist's place in the world. Her whole "Manifesto" is fantastic, but that's the big point right there. Now, I'm going to tell a story about something. I'm not feeling very inspired today, so we'll just see what happens.

A Childhood Savior

When I was young (think like a wee child of six and on), my grandmother had this enormous Rottweiler named Ledi. Ledi was the first of my G'ma Helen's dogs. Ledi ruled the north side of the kitchen, curled on her side against the indentation in the wall on top of a ratty blanket. She was a big girl, so she had trouble with her knees. But she a good dog and I can always remember my grandmother having this dog when I was young.

A lot of people say that Rottweilers are evil killer dogs. They can be. Ledi and Bandit (the other Rottie) would attack someone if they thought that any of us were in danger. But that doesn't make them killers; that makes them protectors. Ledi couldn't be allowed outside while the kids were in the pool. We would go under the water, and she would instantly run to the spot on the side of the pool where we went under and bark at us until we returned to the service. Then, she would run along the edge, trailing us, making sure that we were okay.

I know that dogs can't have panic attacks, but if a dog could have, it would have been this one.

I was in the pull one day by myself when I was eleven. It was hot, I was pale, but I do love the water. I always have. In my grandmother's pool, there is a railing, like in a lot of pools, that leads down the center of the steps. Because my brother Mason and I were small, we could slide down this railing in lieu of having an actual slide. Sure, it wasn't the episcent of cool, but it was fun and different. The fact that the adults told us not to do it made it that much more inviting.

So, I was in the pool by myself, the adults trusting me to my own safety. Maybe they were in the kitchen, shelling peas and talking about people, maybe they were asleep--I don't recall. What I do know is that I was playing on the "slide" and Ledi was walking around the backyard, patrolling for threats. I went down the rail a few times, and everything was good. And then, I got up on to it, slick with the water from the pool, sat on it, and fell off the other side.

I had neglected to think of a few things. First, the rail was hot and slick and I should've been more careful. Second, the rail anchored into the concrete on the side of the pool. Third, the top of the rail that I was falling from was about four feet off the ground. Add that to my height of about four feet, and I was looking at a pretty good bash of my head. I could already see the stitches, the blood, and the emergency room in my future. I was ready for it. I Zen-ned out, and tried to just take the fall.

Suddenly, though, I hit something warm and hard in mid-air and tumbled into the pool. From out of nowhere, Ledi had ended up beside me and I fell on her, knocking me into the pool and away from the concrete. I scraped my arm and stomach on the side, but I was fine. Ledi yelped and ran off. She wasn't very fond of me for a while after that, but she saved me then. No one else around and I was headed for a concussion.

Rotties are protectors.

I wasn't one of the people in my family that helped bury Ledi a few years later. She had gotten older and bigger and more arthritic and it had become a tragedy to watch her. The thought of her dying was sad, but it wasn't nearly as sad as the thought of her having to live a life confined to a messy palette on the floor, barely able to get up and eat.

So, she was put to sleep. I don't really remember what happened. I remember watching my dad go out with G'ma Helen and my aunt Lani, but I don't remember digging the hole. I remember a sad meal afterwards. I remember it was twilight, back before the back yard had been completely cleaned out and it was a bit of a jungle back there, teeming with snakes and boyhood games.

They walked back in, and it bothered me that nothing had been said over that grave, and that such a good protector was sent to the earth. But we mourn our pets, and we move on. And the day gives all new opportunities to save and be saved.

Slacktivism

Yesterday, we had an event at Shorter called 1ove (pronounced "one-love") in which people wore black t-shirts that had the name of an issue emblazoned on the back of them along with ubiquitous Verizon slogan "Can you hear me now?" This event was meant to promote awareness of the issues that are currently facing the world.

However, I have several issues with this campaign:

• Awareness is all well and good, but what actually came of yesterday? No money was committed to any cause, no one (to my knowledge) changed their views on a major issue, and no one attempted to actively better the causes that they supported.
• It was supposed to be coupled with a day of silence with the silence only to be broken by discussion of the issue at hand. Few, if any, participated in this aspect of the program. Instead, they ate dinner like they always did, just this time wearing the same shirt as about a hundred other people.
• The issues listed tended to be broad, like "Abortion" or "Cancer" or "Abuse." While I think that all of these things are issues on which one should have a stance (except cancer...who was a pro-cancer stance?), these issues, by simplifying to their overarching themes cheapen the overall message presented therein. More on this below.
  
• Lastly, people were forced to write their message on their shirt when they received it in the Student Affairs office. However, one of my gay friends was told that he was not allowed to put anything about homosexuality on his shirt. So, basically, this event was meant for your one love, provided that that love isn't someone with the same bits as you.

This event has its heart in the right place but it completely misses the point with its head. It seems to me to be another example of slacktivism. See, this event, as I've mentioned, didn't actually do any good. However, because people supported their beliefs, it left them the warm feeling of actually having attempted to accomplish something. Which is foolish. Nobody should get the warm-fuzzies of work without the actual work. Wearing a t-shirt, popping on a wristband, playing vocabulary games for rice, walking 10k, whatever...these are all good steps, but they ultimately fizzle because the focus is not on the issue at hand, but rather on the gross consumerism that defines the modern issue.

The modern issue is fashionable and faddish, and thus, it is completely removed from actual political and charitable action. If someone can be quickly inspired to try to "change the world" then they will just as easily grow bored when the world proves not quite so easy to change.

Last night, at dinner, someone was wearing one of the "Abortion" -labelled shirts. Now, I know Shorter College, so I knew this girl was probably Pro-Life. So, I started a conversation about abortion at the table with some obvious Pro-Choice folks. And they expressed their views, but in absolutist views. But abortion doesn't have two camps, one for and one against. Instead, this multi-faceted issue poses a lot of questions:

• When does life begin? Conception? Birth?
• Whose rights are in question: the individual or the family?
• How much say should the government have in the right to abortion?
• Should the government provide abortions as part of healthcare to those that can't afford it (i.e. Medicaid)?
• Should teens be required to tell their parents if they have an abortion?
• Should women be required to tell their inseminating partner if they want to have an abortion?
• What about the morning after pill?
• What about abortion in the case of rape? Incest? Gross birth defects?
• Is it a women's issue? A healthcare issue? A governmental privacy issue?

These questions were posed to Jamel, Danny, Vizzy, and some others that were around. We talked, but in five minutes, how can you possibly think to cover all of that?

Slacktivism has to go. Do something. But do something that makes a difference in something besides how you feel about yourself.

I Didn't Give Blood Today

Today, I want to take a brief moment to talk about something that I don't understand and that I have passively taken a stance against. It only affects me about once every two or three months, because that's how often I face this discrimination.

Today, we had a blood drive on campus.

Luckily, I didn't know about it until after dinner...it would have completely ruined my entire day if I had known about it beforehand. You see, I would like to give blood. I have no problem with needles, my veins are very visible (seeing as my skin is like onion leaf pages), and I would like to help the world. On top of that, I love cookies and juice. Further, I've never passed out and I think that the sensation is something that I should have in my past. Giving blood seems a good thing from all of these angles.

But I can't give blood.

The reason I can't give blood is this, from the American Red Cross website. Basically, since I'm a practicing homosexual, I can't offer to save a life through blood donations to the American Red Cross (and many other organizations). This has led to me conflicting views on the Red Cross. On the one hand, I support their world-wide mission, I fully believe in the Red Diamond and all of its subsidiary organizations, I like the third Geneva Accord, I want them to continue doing good work, and I want to help.

But, it's hard to support something when they say carte blanche: "We don't want your help."

I guess maybe the community's money is good enough, but not its soul.

Quandries

Some quagmires presented by the past few days:

-Catie's new boyfriend (as in a few months) Paul looks like he's going to be long-term. He just spent the week up here with her. However, every single time that I have left them, I have had an awkward good-bye with Paul. Here's why:

1. Catie and I are best friends and are thus at at least a hug goodbye stage.
2. I have known Paul for approximately 100 combined hours of social time. Not a lot in the grand scheme of things.
   
3. Paul has passed the best friend screening and been accepted by both Krystin and myself.

Therefore, I feel like I shouldn't shake his hand, because we're friends, not partners in a law firm. I don't want him hug because I don't know what his physical bubble is with other men. Plus, we haven't known each other that long. But, I feel like that he's too much within the inner circle for me to simply wave at him as he leaves...that seems like a snub. However, I have awkwardly waved at him after hugging Catie every single time. And it just doesn't feel right. So, before the next time I see him, I have got to figure out what and how to work this.

-I, by my nutrition report, consumed 9,000 mg of sodium in one day. How did I not die? Or piss ocean water?

-I only slept three hours last night, yet I'm still cognizant and fairly high functioning. At what point will I fall over and die.

Meeting People

First thing is first: I'm awful at meeting people.

It's always this weird mix of trying to keep the conversation light enough to not seem creepy while at the same time, getting to know people is all about learning about them and their pasts, which requires questions.

Plus, if you don't have any people in common to talk about, you have to talk until you find a point of interest that you can talk on.

And so, it's kind of awful. Not to say that I don't love meeting new people, but rarely does it just flow. And the people that I do just flow with...well, those people become my best friends.

Celebrating Shorter

Yesterday was Celebrate Shorter. It's this campus-wide event where they cancel class to counter-intuitively celebrate student achievement. The fact that it occurs on April Fool's Day isn't lost on me. Basically, the day goes from 9 to 4:30 (about the length of my normal Wednesday), and there are different student-led events around campus at all times to show just how smart and accomplished we all are.

Oh, this is also the day when we get all of the awards.

So, I raked in awards yesterday. I got the "Excellence in Theatre Studies" (three years running, now), "Loue P. Newman Award for Excellence" (Outstanding senior that shows academic strength, leadership, involvement, quest for knowledge, growth in spirituality, etc...basically, the most ultimate senior at Shorter this year), and the "Thelma Hall Creative Writing Award" (best creative writer on campus).

So, two quick stories about Celebrate Shorter and why I think it shows some major issues in my time at Shorter:

1. During the Awards Lunch, I broke one of my cardinal rules of eating at any place that doesn't have assigned seating (I had an assigned table). I sat in the corner seat. This only gives one the possibility of three conversations while an end seat has two and a middle chair has five. The philosophy of always picking a middle chair is that if a conversation gets awkward or stagnates on one side, I can simply turn to the other side and enter whatever they are talking about. But, in the interest of saying as few inappropriate things as possible, I cornered myself. Bad move.

So, when we sat down, salad and cake were already in front of us. Then they brought bread, tea, and water. And we weren't allowed to eat anything until after ALL the awards were given. Wrong answer. Being the classy individual that I am, I ate both the wedges of cheese from my salad and snuck a roll during the athletic awards.

But, anyway, I was sitting across from two upper administration people and I had a professor of mine seated next to me...so, I have to mind my manners around the adults. Which means I can't talk a whole lot. And so they talk...about their lives...and their kids...and the school...and their kids...and then they talk about the kids some more. At one point, the male upper administration asked if he should get his daughter the Disney phone that allows you to check your child's location via GPS and check their phone calls (and I guess texts) from any computer.

They debated this for awhile, and as the conversation was winding down, I said it seemed a little Big Brother. He said it wasn't being Big Brother, it was being a parent. Properly chastised, I shut up. And started wonering what his children's lives must be like.

My parents never felt the need to check up on me. They knew I was a good kid. They trusted me to blaze my own path and if something went wrong, I'd either ask for their help or handle it on my own. If they had tried to micro-manage my life like that, I would have rebelled to another country. I would have ex-patted to a place so distant that it costs too much to call on the telephone. And if this is the kind of attitude that infuses something as simple as a choice of cell phone, then I can only imagine what the rest of the privacy policies of that household are.

Granted, I understand the need to know what is going on in a child's life. But looking over their shoulder is going to make them needy, obsessive-compulsive, and paranoid. Children won't trust their parents with big issues because their parents' have proven themselves untrustworthy. Trust, like respect, for every human being is earned and not something that is naturally instilled. I know that this sounds a bit idiotic, but maybe, just maybe...kids can sometimes take care of themselves.

This reminds me of a Violent Acres post that I read that covers a very similar subject and is worth a look.

Second story in the near future.

Non-Violent Protest

Recently, in the Fine Arts building of Shorter College, a poster was put up beseeching resident assistant professor John Cimics to "Teach [his] students something today!" with a picture of beneficent Jesus behind the man. The flyer attributed the command to God and concluded with a Bible verse. Cimics has become notorious through the theatre department for wasting class time, being a bad director, and for having unrealistic and bizarre classroom practices (for instance, a Voice for the Actor I class spent 5 minutes on the International Phonetic Alphabet but their final [in a degree focused towards contemporary stage performance] will be Ventriloquism).

Responses ranged from outrage to agreement. People have called the author of this flyer "soulless" and have said that the flyer is "tacky." Of course it seems soulless and tacky: protest to those satisfied with the status quo seems that way. Regardless of what I think of the man, the flyer was funny, poignant, true, and non-violent. Thus, I have to support it.

This piece of resistance to the dumbing down of education (made even better by the fact that the author still remains anonymous) has inspired me to think of other ways of spreading resistance.

As some of you know, I recently responded to a pamphlet put out about the morality (or lack of it) of homosexuality by Dr. Aaron J. Werner, Dean of Chapels at Shorter. However, the problem of LGBT hate is a tad rampant outside the Arts Department here. In my Shakespeare class today, I came across a poster listing twelve of the stupidest reasons to ban gay marriage done in rainbow Sharpies. The reasons ranged from gay parents always make gay kids (not only assuming that kids are the only reason for marriage but also supposing the fact that straight parents only make straight kids) to the fact that religion was against homosexuality (to which I would respond that this was a gross generalization). Regardless, though, I would love to take a more extreme measure. And here's what I'm thinking.

In a few days, the local BCM (think Baptist Student Union with a new name: Baptist Collegiate Ministries) will be having a date auction to fund their summer missions immediately following one of their meetings. What if I took a group of LGBT's and made the dates always end up same sex? I mean, I support the idea of going out and doing good in the world. Further, I support a charitable, loving view of all religion. And I think it would be hilarious to know that your support came from people who you actively mistrust and hate.

And maybe we could all get together and watch The Birdcage and feel better about life...or maybe Eddie Izzard. This plan is still in the formative stages. Thoughts?