Sunday, August 31, 2008

Life lives on lives


A passage from The Power of Myth. Joseph Campbell discussing an Indonesian myth:

"In the beginning, according to this story, the ancestors were not distinguished as to sex. There were no births, there were no deaths. Then a great public dance was celebrated, and in the course of the dance one of the participants was trampled to death and torn to pieces, and the pieces were buried. At the moment of that killing the sexes became separated, so that death was now balanced by begetting, begetting by death, while from the buried parts of the dismembered body food plants grew. Time had come into being, death, birth, and the killing and eating of other living beings, for the preservation of life. The timeless time of the beginning had been terminated by a communal crime, a deliberate murder or sacrifice.

Now, one of the main problems of mythology is reconciling the mind to this brutal precondition of all life, which lives by the killing and eating of lives. You don't kid yourself by eating only vegetables, either, for they, too, are alive. So the essence of life is this eating of itself? Life lives on lives, and the reconciliation of the human mind and sensibilities to that fundamental fact is one of the functions of some of those very brutal rites in which the ritual consists chiefly of killing—in imitation, as it were, of that first, primordial crime, out of which arose this temporal world, in which we all participate. The reconciliation of mind to the conditions of life is fundamental to all creation stories. "

Confessions of a cursive dunce

I can't read cursive. Never learned it. Can't write it either.

Instead of cursive, my school district taught something called duvall. Duvall is a system of connecting letters together, similar to cursive ... but different. Don't ask me why they thought it would be a good idea to leave us students ignorant of the type of handwriting implemented by the rest of the English-writing world. Apparently, someone caught the reformist bug.

According to this letter to the editor of Northwest News, my district stopped teaching cursive in favor of duvall around 1985—which would have been about the time I went through the district. Duvall is the sort of useless junk that you don't use outside of the learning environment. It's difficult and time-consuming. So, once I finished grade school, I completely forgot it.

Occasionally, this little educational quirk causes some confusion for me. Sometimes at work I'll have to ask someone to interpret a note they left for me. I've received quite a few cards from grandma, the contents of which have left me guessing. But usually, it's not a big deal.

When I signed in to take the GREs, the proctor gave me some forms to read and sign. Part of the official process is to copy down a statement in "your best cursive handwriting" ... of which I have none. So, I had to sit there and fake what I imagined to be cursive handwriting from what I've seen other people do.

I'm sure it won't have any consequences for my test scores, but it was an odd experience, nonetheless.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Vocab fun—no it's not an oxymoron

So, until recently, I had been studying for the GREs. And at least for the verbal section, it was a lot of looking up specific definitions for words of which I had a general sense of the meaning—acrimonious, lascivious, hegemony, moribund ... fun ones like that.

But along the way, I was surprised to find that I was totally off-base on the definition of callow. In my head, I would have thought sarcastic, biting, acidic, or something like that. But it means "lacking adult sophistication: immature." A very useful word when you know what it means.

Takashi Murakami goes hip-hop


A link to Kanye West's new(?) video "Good Morning," which is directed by one of my FAVORITE artists, Takashi Murakami. I can't find a version that will allow me to embed on the blog, but here's a still photo to tantalize you. I love the little hip-hop bear with rainbow, glossy eyes and some of the first shots of him waking up in the morning. I also love the moment when he gets swallowed by the cloud-monster. Some of the appearances by traditional Murakami iconography are fun for a long-time fan like me, too. I don't think you'll be sorry if you take three minutes to watch.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

100 Things to do Before You ... Nevermind


I was doing one of my semi-weekly rounds of reading not-so-highbrow news and came upon this bit of irony. Dave Freeman, the co-author of 100 Things To Do Before You Die, passed away last week, at the age of 47 ... having only gotten through about 50 of the items on his list.

Freeman died of a fall—the number three cause of accidental deaths.

Does Anyone Want to Die in a Hospital?

Lyrics to a new(ish) Conor Oberst song "I don't want to die (in the hospital)"

I don't want to die in the hospital
I don't want to die in the hospital
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

I don't want to hear all these factory sounds
Looking like a girl in a sleeping gown
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

Can you make a sound to distract the nurse
Before I take a ride in the long black hearse
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots back on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots back on
I gotta go, go, go
Cause I don't have long

I don't give a damn what the doctors say
I ain't gonna spend another lonesome day
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

And they don't let you smoke and you can't get drunk
All there is to watch are these soap operas
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

Can you get this tube out of my arm
Morphine in my blood like a slow sad song
I don't want to die in the hospital
You gotta take me back outside

Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots back on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots on
Help me get my boots back on
I gotta go, go, go
Cause I don't have long

Is there still a world out my windowsill
All there ever was I remember still
I don't want to die in this hospital
You gotta take me back outside

Don't know when it's day or when it's night
All I ever see are fluorescent lights
I don't want to die in this hospital
You gotta take me back outside

They give me all these flowers and these big balloons
But I don't wanna stay in this little room
I don't want to die in this hospital
I don't want to die

Are the stars still in the sky?
Is that fat moon on the rise?
Feel the earth against my feet
As the cold wind calls for me

I don't want to die in this hospital
I don't want to die in this hospital
No I ain't gonna die in this hospital
You gonna take me back outside

Yeah I ain't gonna die in this hospital
No I ain't gonna die in this hospital
No I ain't gonna die in this hospital
You gonna take me back outside

The Omaha, NE, singer/songwriter has frequently returned to the subject of death and mortality in his music, but in this particular song, he hits on a theme that will resonate for many in our modern world. When asked how they want to die, I would guess, most people would say things like—surrounded by friends and family, in their own bed, comfortable, at home, with a view of trees, etc.

Some may genuinely prefer the security of knowing they are surrounded by medical professionals, in a sterile environment, to the end ... but according to some research, more than half of patients with life-limiting, chronic illness die in hospitals, even though up to 70% of Americans express a wish to die at home. (This from a study done at Sewanee: the University of the South.)

This disconnect is startling and sad. And as much as some folks find Oberst petulant and arrogant, I like his emotionally charged, heavily vibrato style. And for me, this song says something eloquent and beautiful about a problem many of us will face and more of us should be going into with our eyes open.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

terrier extravaganza








This morning, I went over to Marymoor Park to check out the Sammamish Kennel Club's all breed dog show. I went specifically to see the border terriers ... because that's what I have and that's what I love. (Not that I don't love all dogs. I just have a special place in my heart for the borders.)

It was so much fun to see a whole cluster of them prancing around in the ring. Their sturdy little physiques, their cute beards, their perky dispositions. Border terriers are not all that common ... at least around Seattle they're not ... so I don't see them very often. And there must have been about 20 at the show. Oh, it made my weekend!

My mom came with me. After the border terriers finished their show, we asked one of the owners if we could pet her dog, and I told her I had one at home. Anyway, turns out, she had puppies at the show with her! So, not only did I get to see a whole gaggle of border terriers, I got to see puppies too.

I'm sharing some of my favorite photos of the day. The final photo is a wheaten terrier—my mother's favorite dog. This female won today, and she was so sweet. Her name was Teagan.