MOTHER'S DAY and LATEX GLOVES...and COOTIES

Two things I really dislike get rants from me today.  The Mother's Day thing, I guess, is obvious.  I miss my little boy (who would now be in his 40s). It's fine for the rest of you to celebrate, but for one day, let me hide out in my cave and ignore the rest of you.  Mean spirited on my part, maybe, but very, very honest.

Enough of Mother's Day...

 Latex gloves.  I hate latex gloves.  I have had various caregivers who help me live with my various disabilities.  They have all been a bit eccentric, from the fanatical proselytizing Christian to the sweet elderly lady who thought that changing sheets every week was too often to my current one who is really quite good.  She does her work reasonably well and is nice and caring and helpful (except for about every fourth week).

Latex Gloves

The first one wore latex gloves when doing housework and laundry and the like.  I have no problem with that.  If she needed to put lotion on my back or legs, no latex gloves.  Likewise when she tied my hair.  Of course, if she had to touch sores or any bodily fluids, the gloves came on.  That is reasonable.  The elderly lady never wore latex gloves.  I guess she just didn't like them or maybe she was allergic.

My current caregiver wears them for everything.  Any time she touches me, she puts on those damned gloves.  When she helps me dress.  When she helps me walking.  Even when she brings me food.  (I still haven't figured that one out.)  She used to wear them when she tied my hair.     I put an end to that.  I am a keshdhari Sikh.  My hair are clean and well maintained and I hold my hair to be sacred.  Refusing to touch them is beyond insulting to me.  In fact, I insisted she take off the gloves or find another client.  She took off the gloves.

Latex gloves are gross.  It feels like a dead thing touching me.  As I said, I understand the purpose sometimes, but really...I asked her if she was afraid I'd give her cooties or something.  She didn't know what cooties are, so she explained it was for my  protection.  I almost lost my temper, but I kept cool.  "My protection?!  Are you dirty or do you have leprosy or something?  You do wash your hands after using the toilet, don't you?  I can't buy that bit about my protection.  You wear them for your protection, not mine."

COOTIES

"It's cooties, isn't it?"  I'm not sure if cooties only exist in the Western Hemisphere, so I'll explain.  No one is quite sure what cooties are, but they are the absolute worst and highly contagious.   The symptoms are varied and mostly innocuous, but always result in severe social problems for the infected unfortunate.  

Once you get them, it is very hard, even impossible to get rid of them.  So how do you get cooties?  Other than by associating with others with cooties, the usual way is by being socially unacceptable.  Cooties breed in young people who are "different," especially in noticeable ways.  The poor kid who can't afford designer clothes.  The intellectual, four-eyed kid who would rather read than gossip.  The bucked tooth girl with the strange accent that none of the boys want to date.  The crater-faced teenager with zits all over his face.  Fat kids.  Cooties breed especially virulently in fat.  Cooties is primarily an affliction of the uncool. 

Certain occupations can also give you cooties.  Garbage collectors, of course, have cooties by definition.  Most politicians have a very bad case, but some, such as Jack Layton (dear Jack, I miss him) seem to be immune.  Less lofty politicians, such as Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton are surprisingly cooties free.  I am not sure why.  Some more prestigious professions can also make you highly susceptible to cooties, such as being a lawyer or a proctologist.  I have also heard that morticians have cooties, but I am unable to verify this.

A few professions will actually make you immune to this dread condition.  Veterinarians and for some unknown reason, train engineers, are known to be 100% cooties free.  Go figure.  So are the 1%, of course, but I'm really not certain about Paris Hilton.

Paris Hilton

They can also run in families.  If you have a sibling with really bad cooties, say a gay brother or a sister with cerebral palsy, people might get cooties even talking to you.  I have heard you can get cooties even being in the same room with someone with a super bad case of cooties, maybe a girl who doesn't shave her legs or wear make-up, but I think that is an exaggeration.  As you can see, these cooties are really a very dangerous thing to have. The cootified individual has few, if any, friends and has a lonely existence.  Even their family members may resent them for bringing cooties into the family. 

The thing is that I don't see how latex gloves can protect anyone from cooties.

Since many carriers of cooties are impossible to spot, I guess the only way to be certain to remain cooties-free is to live in a "safe-room" somewhere with no contact with other human beings.  Certainly you shouldn't become a caregiver dealing with people like me.

My caregiver petting my dog - without wearing latex gloves

End of Rant.  Thank you for listening

FIVE BOOKS

"YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT.  YOU NEED ONLY PAY THE PRICE.   - Harry Browne

FIVE BOOKS

I'm not sure why I have been feeling so introspective recently, but I have been looking inward a lot.

I have been thinking about five books that have helped shape my life, each one radically different from the others. You may notice that I do not include Shri Guru Granth Sahib ji among these books because, as any Sikh will tell you, it belongs in its own class alone and is not properly a book, anyway. I have tried to leave our all holy scriptures, but found I could not leave out the Tao Te Ch'ing.  Taoists, forgive me.

OK, the five books, in the order that I read them:

The Tale of Genji by Shikibu Murasaki

http://webworld.unesco.org/genji/en/part_1/1-1.shtml

Markings by Dag Hammarsjköld

Not available on line, but in print and easy to obtain

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

 http://search-ebooks.eu/a/ayn-rand-the-fountainhead-pdf

Tao Te Ch'ing by Lao Tsu

http://terebess.hu/english/tao/gia.html

How I Found Freedom In An Unfree World by Harry Browne

http://www.jimspeak.com/wp-content/uploads/downloads/freedom_in_an_unfree_world.pdf

Two novels, two spiritual classics and a self-help book.  

Do any of these surprise you? Do you now feel that maybe you don't know me as well as you thought you did?

If that list doesn't seem to be strange, even contradictory , I can only believe you haven't read these books. I would recommend them all to any of my friends. Let me make something clear. I am not a follower of any of these. I read Genji without becoming a member of the Heian Court, Markings without becoming a Christian, Rand without becoming an objectivist. Lao Tsu without becoming a Taoist and Browne without becoming a libertarian. Nonetheless elements of all are an integral part of who I am today.  I identify myself primarily as Sikh, although the group identification is secondary to my identity as an individual.

Now that the list and links are here, I need a rest. Four of the five are available on line. I believe these to be legal and ethical links. If not, please let me know.

These are pictures of the editions I first had.  (I love the Internet.)

Of these books, the one with that clashed most with my accepted way of life was Harry Browne.  As I recall, the last project in the book was to write my own personal moral code.  What kind of hubris does that take for a young woman in her twenties to do what most people believe is best left to Deity?  So, of course, I did it.  I do not have a copy of it here, but I put a lot of thought and work into it.  

I remember writing that true morality must be based on one’s most deeply held values.  I have always been value-oriented, so this is a logical place to start. That is one reason it is necessary for an individual to write her/his own code.  What right does anyone have to dictate to another what their most deeply held values are, anyway?  So why would I accept someone else’s code as my own?  (“What is a value” is a bit complicated and better left for another day.  You can just use your working knowledge of values for now.)

I knew from the start that the value I held most dear was integrity.  So what exactly do I mean by “integrity”?  First, I do not mean “honor.”  Honor is socially defined and varies from group to group.  Honor essentially means following the rules, spoken and unspoken, of the group.  So honor might demand one thing among my friends and something completely different, even contradictory, within my family.  For example, my friends might expect me to lie about what they had been doing (anything else would label me as a snitch, at the very best), while my family might have a rule that we must always tell the truth.  

Integrity is not like that.  My integrity comes from within me and has nothing to do with what group I happen to be with at the moment.  Integrity to me means being true to what I know and believe to be true in any and all circumstances.  This is difficult for several reasons.

First, it assumes that I know what I truly believe.  That is most difficult.  How do I separate myself from all the groups I belong to, throw out their ideas of what is right and wrong and then choose for myself what I believe to be morally correct?  I think most people never do that;  they follow what they are taught and are content with that.  That’s fine for them, I suppose.  Sheep are fine animals, in their own way. 

I am not a sheep.  Neither are my close friends.

These are not my close friends.

Integrity demands that I ask myself questions such as, what am I willing to live for?  What am I willing to die for?  When and what am I willing to compromise?  These questions really need to be asked and answered in advance of a crisis to be helpful.  Very few people, if any, are able to be clear-headed in a crisis and even if they are able, generally action needs to be immediate, so there is no time for thinking.  I cannot even suggest how someone else might answer those questions, but I have answered them for myself and lived my life according to my personal answers.  I am not going to answer them here;  those who know me know my answers, those who don’t, have no reason to know.

I need to add here that it is impossible to know how you will react in a crisis until you are actually there.  However, if you have thought it out in advance, you are much more likely to act in accordance with your integrity than if you did not.  I know that I have.  And there have been times when I haven't.

Once the individual has answered these questions and knows where s/he stands, the fun begins.  Now is the time to actually live according to them.  This is often quite difficult and the rewards are beyond immeasurable.  My personal integrity demands that I either tell the truth or refuse to answer.  Sometimes this is a bit dicey, at best.  I remember someone once asking me about herself, “Do you think I’m a good person?”  The blunt answer was, “No, you do things that I find reprehensible and by my standards, you’re really not a good person, at all.”    I admit I fudged a bit and still managed to tell the truth: “It doesn’t matter what I think.  What is important is what you think about yourself.”  Actually, that is closer to the truth than my opinion would have been.  Fortunately, she dropped the subject, but had she gone on, I might have been compelled to give my blunt answer.  What I could not do was say, “Yes, I think you’re a good person.”  

Before I canonize myself here, I need to answer one question.  Do I always act with integrity?  The answer, sadly, is, no.  I am neither Howard Roarke nor Lao Tsu;  I sometimes let myself down.  Over the years, though, those times have become fewer and now I can generally expect that I will follow the rules I have laid down for myself.    

So integrity means knowing what I believe and living accordingly.  It also means that I must change my beliefs if I become convinced that they are in error.    Correcting old errors is good. As knowledge and experience increase, old ideas may become shallow and false.  In addition, I do make mistakes in judgment sometimes, after all.  

Clinging to old beliefs that I have outgrown is both dishonest and limiting. 

I do not believe in limiting myself.  

I think this is one thing all five books have in common:  they are all deeply concerned with integrity.

I think that is enough on integrity for now.  Back to my moral code.  I have forgotten most of it, and I would really like to know how much I’ve followed, how much I’ve changed and have a glimpse of the woman I was back before life became serious.  I think my values are pretty much the same, but my understanding of them and how I apply them, I hope, has grown over the last 40 years.  I do clearly remember two statements, both of which I still hold dear.

1.  Do not knowingly say things that are not true

2.  Never surrender your weapons to anyone.

And in big red letters across the top I had written:  

 I have always had a small problem with authority.

SOME ASSUMPTIONS ARE WRONG

Not original, but too good to pass up.

WOMEN WHO KNOW THEIR PLACE
 
Barbara Walters of 20/20 did a story on gender roles in  Kabul, Afghanistan several years before the Afghan conflict.
 
She noted that women customarily walked five paces behind their husbands.

She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands.
Despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem happy to maintain the old custom.

Ms Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked, 'Why do you now seem happy with an old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?'

The woman looked Ms Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation said, "Land mines."

Moral of the story is (no matter what language you speak or where you go):

BEHIND EVERY MAN, THERE'S A SMART WOMAN!

Thanks to Friend Asha

COURAGE OF CONVICTION (The Matter of Balwant Singh Rajoana) by I.J. Singh

Beant Singh's assassin, Balwant Singh Rajoana, is to be hanged on Saturday, rules the court.  But the jail authorities are reluctant to do.
The political back and forth between the jail authorities and the courts continues.  The courts have ordered a hanging; the jail authorities would like to defer the moment.
Why?
There is no doubt that Balwant Singh, by his own admission, is guilty in the killing of Beant Singh, the former Chief Minister of Punjab, almost a decade ago in 1995.
Balwant Singh has not requested a delay.  He has not appealed to a higher court.  He has not petitioned for mercy.
Balwant Singh absolutely refuses to recognize the courts or the legal proceedings that convicted him and sentenced him to die.
He has repeatedly and clearly asked that no one intercede on his behalf.
It is not that Balwant Singh wants to die; it is that he is willing to do so.
It is that everyone is free to challenge the existing law, whether on taking a life, as Balwant Singh did, or going through a red light.  Each carries a price that the law demands.
When a man deliberately decides to break a law he must also be ready to pay the piper.  And Balwant Singh is.
He committed a crime.  Why?
Because Beant Singh, the Chief Minister, was responsible for the arbitrary and capricious murder of so many innocent Sikhs  -- all in the name of state security and peace.  Something had to be done. The state mechanisms of justice had totally failed.  And when all other means have failed it is just and rightful to take to the sword.
This is what Balwant Singh did.  That is why to the peasantry of Punjab Balwant Singh has reached an iconic status.
But when the courts have so ruled why do the jail-authorities cringe at carrying out the orders?
Simply because the jailers and those designated to carry out the hanging see the political realities.  To most Sikhs Balwant Singh is a man who has done no wrong; he is a hero to so many that it would be politically unwise to hang him.  Many would like to give him a medal instead.
From a hanging a popular backlash could result and that would hardly be conducive to peace.
His guilt is not issue today.  It is the shortsighted political decision that is to be rued.
A crime deserves punishment and alternatives to hanging exist.
Before Indians in India – Sikhs and non-Sikhs – take umbrage at my words; to them what I say sounds like interference in the internal affairs of their country, I ask them to think a little.  Not so long ago, when apartheid was the law of the land in South Africa, it was our moral duty to raise our voices against it – no matter if we were citizens of India, Germany, Africa or India.  Why then should we hold our tongue in the case of miscarriage of justice in India?
South Africa is not the only nation whose genocidal policies raised our hackles.  It became everyone’s cause, no matter the race, color, caste, creed, religion or geography and nationality.
Take careful note of the fact that India’s record of justice for its own people is horrendous.  One example of many that exist:  the killing of several thousand Sikhs in its capital city of Delhi in 1984 when the police watched, if not aided and abetted the murders.  And where is justice now 28 years and a dozen Inquiry Commissions later?  Still waiting!
I would be willing to bet that the ordinary Punjabi, the ordinary Sikh, grieves for Balwant Singh today while at the same time he salutes and celebrates the courage of his convictions.
Hanging of the man – Balwant Singh – who acted in the face of such unabating injustice would reopen fresh the wounds of the 1980’s.  And that is not the way to a future of peace.  It is the way to unending resentment and violence.
Is that what the policymakers in India want?  I would think they are a lot smarter than that.
A government of the people ought to listen to the people; it needs to have an ear to the ground

March 28, 2012

Published with permission of the author.

(Inter) National Brotherhood(/Sisterhood) Week

This is a song by the USA's master parodist, Tom Lehrer. This song needs an introduction by me, as well as Tom's intro.

First let me pontificate a bit, then listen to the song.

National Brotherhood Week is now National Brotherhood/Sisterhood Week to reflect, I suppose, the changing social climate.  I think National Siblinghood Week would be better, saving a total of three syllables that could be used more profitably elsewhere.    According the Wikipedia, the authoritative source of just about everything except for school papers, it is held on the third week of February.  (February, of course, is Black History Month.)  I guess it came and went without much, if any, notice this year.

I sort of wonder what the people behind it, National Conference for Community and Justice, expect to accomplish?  Of course, they want us all to realise that we are sisters and brothers (or brothers and sisters) and end all our prejudices based on race, colour, creed, socioeconomic class and country of national origin.  I think the prejudice based on gender, disability and sexual orientation must have been added in recent years.  If India had such a week, caste would have to be included.  Although my high caste friends assure me that caste is no longer relevant in India, my friends who are not high caste assure me otherwise.  Who should I believe?  I won't get into such oddities as manual scavenging here;  I don't want to make you uncomfortable, now, do I?

I think very little is accomplished by it personally.  Those who consider themselves unprejudiced will give each other  self-congratulatory slaps on the back, not understanding or not willing to admit or not caring  that we all have nasty prejudices lurking in us and rooting them out would be more profitable than denying them.  The bigots will remain bigots and, I suspect, ignore the whole thing, as it seems the entire country (USA) does every year except, I suspect a few kids in liberal and Montessori Schools.

My prejudices?  I was hoping you wouldn't ask.  I find racial and ethnic differences more interesting than distasteful.  I tend to be more prejudiced against those on top than those on the bottom, you know, the 1%, but that's socially acceptable, so I suppose it doesn't count.  Stupid people.  I find them insufferable.  I know they can't help being stupid, but I dislike them and I know that isn't very nice.

A bit of explanation for my readers from countries outside of North America and those too young to remember what these references are.

Sheriff Clark was Sheriff Jim Clark of Selma, Alabama, the quintessential segregationist, [Racial segregation, also called Jim Crow,  was the USA form of apartheid enshrined in the laws of the South.  The Northerners were less honest and pretended that they believed in equality of the races, ignoring the squalid ghettoes of the Northern cities. All segregation laws have either been repealed or declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court.]   Sheriff Clark died, unrepentant,  in 2007.
Lena Horne was a great Black (now African American) singer, actress. dancer and activist, among other things.  She died in 2010.

I think everyone should be able to follow the rest of the song.

For those of you in other countries (mostly India, among my readers), feel free to replace Mr. Lehrer's words with your own local prejudices in place of the U S of A ones as written.

Tom Lehrer's Introduction:

One week of every year is designated National Brotherhood Week. This is just one of many such weeks honoring various worthy causes...During National Brotherhood Week various special events are arranged to drive home the message of brotherhood. This year, for example, on the first day of the week Malcolm X was killed which gives you an idea of how effective the whole thing is. I'm sure we all agree that we ought to love one another and I know there are people in the world that do not love their fellow human beings and I hate people like that. Here's a song about National Brotherhood Week.

THE SONG:
Oh, the white folks hate the black folks,
And the black folks hate the white folks.
To hate all but the right folks
Is an old established rule.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
Lena Horne and Sheriff Clarke are dancing cheek to cheek.
It's fun to eulogize
The people you despise,
As long as you don't let 'em in your school.

Oh, the poor folks hate the rich folks,
And the rich folks hate the poor folks.
All of my folks hate all of your folks,
It's American as apple pie.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
New Yorkers love the Puerto Ricans 'cause it's very chic.
Step up and shake the hand
Of someone you can't stand.
You can tolerate him if you try.

Oh, the Protestants hate the Catholics,
And the Catholics hate the Protestants,
And the Hindus hate the Moslems,
And everybody hates the Jews.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
It's National Everyone-smile-at-one-another-hood Week.
Be nice to people who
Are inferior to you.
It's only for a week, so have no fear.
Be grateful that it doesn't last all year!
***********************************************************************************




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAOwYDlEQXo&feature=related

References


Sheriff Jim Clark:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Clark_%28sheriff%29

Lena Horne:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lena_Horne

Tom Lehrer:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Lehrer

Segregation:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racial_segregation_in_the_United_States

 National Conference for Community and Justice:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Conference_for_Community_and_Justice

I AM GRIZABELLA

Some time ago, I promised my friend, Harry, that I would tell him the story of me as Grizabella.  With my usual humility, I am thinking that my other reader might like to hear the story, as well.

It is well-known to everyone who knows me that I cannot sing.  I do not use the word "cannot" lightly.  I have tried.  I nearly drove 3 voice teachers to suicide with my attempts before I decided to give the music world a break, and took up playing the guitar while others sang.

When a small group of us decided we wanted to do the musical, Cats, there were some difficulties,  the first being that this was in 1983 and Cats  was relatively new, which caused two problems.

1. There was no script available to us
2. The copyright was jealously guarded

The first wasn't too difficult.  Since it was all sung, we simply got the original Broadway  recording which - HALLELUJAH! - included all the lyrics.   The second simply couldn't be overcome, so we did what any good Jellicle cats would do and became what today would be called "pirates."   No big deal, really, as we intended only a single private performance.

Those two difficulties overcome, we next turned to casting.  I assumed I would work on props and run around as a stray extra Jellicle cat.  [To learn about Jellicle cats, go here.  Or if you prefer the German version, here]  After all, almost all of the spoken lines are sung.   And I couldn't carry a tune if the fate of the universe hung on my doing so.

Mais non!   It was almost unanimously (I abstained) decided that I absolutely must be Grizabella.  I pointed out that the climax of the whole play was when Grizabella sings - emphasize SINGS - Memory , then  demonstrated by "singing" the opening bars...

Memory

All alone in the moooooonlight

After the company removed their hands from their ears, they still insisted we'd have to find a way.  I refused lip-synching, that is more dishonest than pirating.  Anyway, that would be funny and this is a very serious, moving moment, one of the most poignant scenes in all of theatre.  

We did sort of work it out.  It was decided that I would recite the words with the instrumental version playing in the background.  As a compromise, not to let our audience down, we would do an encore of Memory sung by the whole cast, while I pantomimed Grizabella's part.  I suppose that I should have steadfastly refused a part I was clearly incompetent to play, but this was Grizabella in Cats, the leading role in a Broadway smash hit.  Our production was a bit off-Broadway, of course, and only a chosen few would ever even know it was ever done, but still, how could I possibly find the necessary humility to turn it down?  I really didn't try too hard.  I had my own ideas about Grizabella and grabbed the opportunity to try them out.

  This is how Grizabella was played in London and on Broadway. 

“Like a flower as the dawn is breaking

The memory is fading.”

Grizabella has fallen to the ground, seemingly defeated; she struggles to her feet, stands up, and sings the final lines of Memory :

 Touch me

It's so easy to leave me

All alone with the memory of my days in the sun.

If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is

Look, a new day has begun 

 

Grizabella belts out "Touch me" with everything she can muster, then considers her present situation and makes a promise to the other cats. For her and perhaps for all the Jellicles, it's a new day.

Then she extends her arm behind her, not daring to look at the other cats, desperately hoping that at least one of them will overcome their distaste and actually touch her. Of course, one of them does, then another and another, and she is welcomed back into the Jellicle community, sort of. She is then chosen by the Patriarch of the Jellicles to be reborn and “come back to a different Jellicle life.” All cheer as she rises up past the Heaviside layer. It has always been unclear to me whether the other cats are happy that she has another chance or are just relieved to be rid of her.

Now the stage has been set and we get to the meat of the story.

During rehearsals, I more or less portrayed her the usual way, but I had my own idea about how I thought she ought to be played, which I saved as a surprise to all, including my fellow thespians. I performed exactly as we had rehearsed until it came time to humbly extend my hand behind me. Instead, I turned and glared directly at the other cats and extended my hand for a handshake. The other cats were all in total confusion and I waited until the one who was supposed to gingerly touch me slowly and with great hesitation approached me. When she was almost there, I saw the lightbulb go on in her eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing, who my Grizabella represented.   She stuck out her hand, and we heartily shook hands.   Except for Old Deuteronomy, the other cats, still a bit mystified, approached me rather gingerly – and only after shaking Grizabella's (my) hand did they understand what happiness is.   At the end Old Deuteronomy, played by my husband, approached me and when I held out my hand to him, fell  at my feet. Now there's a man who knows what happiness is.   Of course, me being me, I made a kicking motion at him and he scrambled to his feet. Old Deuteronomy (him) put his arm around Grizabella (me) and led her to the place where she could go up, up, up to be reborn.  (Of course, my  Grizabella - and all the Jellicles along with her - had already been reborn without any mystical nonsense, but even so, the show must go on.)     

 

****************************************************************
[The first video won't play in "my country," so I am adding in this performance by a group of high school actors.  They don't have the fancy props and all, so they need to rely only on talent and preparation.   They do one helluva good job.]
****************************************************************





Not a dry eye in the house, including his and mine.

Of course, we didn't have a huge tire or a crane to lift me up. He led me to a ladder draped with silk chunnis and nicely decorated with glitter stars and encouraged me to climb it. At that point, it was unclear to both of us whether it was Grizabella and Old Deuteronomy , or my husband and myself. I managed to climb it and stand triumphant at the top, looking less like a cat and more like a statue of Nike the goddess of victory. At least that is how I felt.

The Goddess of Victory

The mystical divinity of unashamed felinity
Round the cathedral rang 'Vivat'
Life to the everlasting cat

GRIZABELLA and THE DEATH OF A SHAHEED

(He would have been 41 today.)

Brilliant!  Brilliant!  Brilliant!!  I have read many comparisons and opinions about Elaine Paige's interpretation of Grizabella  and that of Betty Buckley as Grizabella.

First, please listen to Ms. Paige's performance.


Elaine's Grizabella is sad, bedraggled, defeated, completely down and out.  I feel pity for her and her plight.  Her singing is exquisite and moving in its beauty. I cannot but feel very sorry for her pathetic Grizabella, the poor, down-trodden former glamour cat.   I am happy to see her lifted out of her tragic existence and chosen to be reborn.  It is a stellar performance.

Now, please listen to Betty Buckley as Grizabella the Glamour Cat.




Betty  Buckley's Grizabella, the second performance you just listened to,  inevitably moves me to tears. She is feeling, living, every emotion, all the pain, the despair that she refuses to give in to, clinging to that last hope, that last bit of dignity. I feel no pity for her Grizabella.  Compassion, perhaps, or empathy.  This Grizabella is down about as low as it is possible to go and yet she retains her pride and dignity as a cat must; she is not defeated. I don't know who is the better singer, but this performance is Grizabella to me.  This is the embodiment of artistic integrity.

 I have known a very few people like this in my days as a social activist.  These are the people I most respect and admire, the ones who have every logical reason to give up, to accept whatever crap life hands them, to lose all hope and curl up in a sad, little, pathetic ball and die...but are somehow able to reach inside and pull out that strength and dignity  to demand - not beg -

"Touch me!"

You can turn away if you choose, but there is a promise here that is often overlooked or misunderstood:

"If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is."

I have expressed my admiration of the potential greatness of our species many times.  I don't get that admiration from looking at the easy, showy, obvious achievements that others seem to so much admire.  Yes, the big buildings and spaceships and the superhighways are all impressive, but that is not where our true greatness lies.

Our true greatness comes from overcoming adversity, refusing to accept others' negative judgments of us, having the strength and courage  to stand up and scream to the whole social structure:

"Go to bloody hell, you cannot keep me down.  

You can kill me, but you cannot defeat me. "

My admiration is of these generally unsung, unknown valiant souls who keep their integrity and their dignity in the face of all adversity and mistreatment.  Not humiliation.  Such people cannot be humiliated, since only those who consent can be humiliated.  These will never consent. I pray that I am someday found worthy to be included in their number. They are my examples.  They are my heroes.  They are my teachers.

People who know me and know of my life have often asked me  where I got the strength and inspiration to keep going after the horrendous things that I have been through.  Now you know.

"Look!  A new day has begun..."

In Which I Out Stubborn A Cat

This might be a stupid story, but I am telling it by special request, so don't criticize, OK?

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"Never try to out stubborn a cat"  Lazarus Long in R. A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love

I did not follow the above advice.  I out stubborned a cat.  I'll follow my friend Harry's advice and leave out all the extra stuff.

Kitty was sitting where I wanted to sit.  I stared at her until she jumped down.  

That's the story without any unnecessary words, just getting down to business. 

That's what happened.   Not very interesting, I think, but if you are satisfied, go do something else while I tell the story.
 
When I was a kid, we used to have a cat named "Kitty."  I did not name that cat, obviously.  I love cats, but Kitty and I had issues, and neither of us liked the other.  In fact, to my eternal shame, I had been quite rough with her and was forbidden to touch her.  

Kitty, sort of

I went to the family room where she had taken up permanent residence in my favorite chair.  She looked up at me with that superior smirk seen only on cats' faces.  She knew I was not supposed to touch her, I'm sure she did.  Stupid cat!

I am not one to give up so I just stood and stared at her.  She stated back for a while.  Then she laid down and tucked her head between her front legs.

I stared.

She quit pretending to sleep and sat up.

We both stared.

She decided it was time to take a bath, a common displacement activity of cats.

 
I stared.


 
She continued bathing.

By this time, a couple of other family members had come in and were watching our duel.

She finished her bath and lay down, making one of those low-pitched mrow sound that cats make.  

I stared.





 



"Give it up!"  I was ordered.

I stared.

Kitty abruptly stood up, hissed at me menacingly and

 
 















...And jumped down.

And stalked off as cats do.

 That is how I out stubborned a cat.  I was about 10 or 11, I think.  I have no idea how old Kitty was.

Illustrations:  All adapted from Public Domain. 

My Saddest Blogpost Yet

IN THIS BLOG, i WILL NOT MAKE IT A HABIT OF REPRINTING OTHERS' ARTICLES.  THIS, HOWEVER IS SO IMPORTANT THAT IT MUST BE PRINTED.  EVERYONE IN THE USA NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND THE RAMIFICATIONS OF THE NDAA, AS SIGNED INTO LAW BY BARACK OBAMA ON THE LAST DAY OF 2011, THE DEATH DAY OF THE USA BILL OF RIGHTS.

Barack Obama has betrayed the American people.  I hope I am not picked up and detained indefinitely because I write that.  The days of our being able to speak freely and without fear of are of the past.  Now anybody can be detained indefinitely without being charged with anything.  I feel sick, but I will not shut up.   My political philosophy has not changed.  I remain a Progressive.  I am now a betrayed Progressive. 

I hold some controversial opinions.  I will continue to hold these openly.  A few of these are:

1. I support the establishment of an independent Sikh homeland

2. I oppose USA (and Canadian) military intervention in the affairs of other nations unless said nation is directly attacked by that other nation

3. I support the right of private citizens to own and use firearms and ammunition.

4. I support the right of any two consenting adults to marry.

5.  I support the legalization of marijuana.

6. I support the right of the people to rise up against an oppressive government and to change it by any means necessary. 

7. I support the USA Bill of Rights and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms in their entirety.   I suggest the reader print out a copy of each and hide it away somewhere because they may soon be either completely ditched or altered beyond recognition.  I do not support the Constitution of the Republic of India which denies my existence as a Sikh.

8. I support my right to write whatever I damned well please as long as it is neither fraudulent nor libelous, with truth being an absolute defense against libel.  

   

     I suppose that's enough jellybeans in the machinery for now. 

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   From now on … Our Biggest Mistake is Believing We Are Free

Monday, 02 January 2012 21:40 Bob Alexander

On December 17, 2007 Senator Christopher Dodd spoke on the Senate floor against George W. Bush’s warrantless eavesdropping and telecom company amnesty compromise, “Clear, first-hand whistleblower documentary evidence [states] that for year on end every e-mail, every text message, and every phone call … hundreds of millions of private, domestic communications … have been copied in their entirety by AT&T and knowingly diverted wholesale … into a secret room controlled exclusively by the NSA.”

Then Senator Barack Obama announced he supported the amnesty "compromise" saying, “So I support the compromise, but do so with a firm pledge that as President, I will carefully monitor the program, review the report by the Inspectors General, and work with the Congress to take any additional steps I deem necessary to protect the lives -- and the liberty -- of the American people.”

I didn’t want George W. Bush, Barack Obama, or any future president of the United States to “carefully monitor the program.” I wanted a president who would stop the wiretapping program, restore the Fourth Amendment, and protect the Constitution of the United States. That’s his goddamned job. But that’s not the president I got for Christmas in 2008. The eavesdropping on every call, text, fax or email hasn’t stopped. It’s just being “carefully monitored.”

Fast forward to December 31, 2011 when Reader Supported News editor Marc Ash wrote, “President Obama today signed the highly controversial Defense Spending Bill. The National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), with its so-called Homeland Battlefield provisions, allows, according to many legal scholars, the indefinite detention of US citizens by the US military. What is most striking is a lengthy signing statement by Obama, in which he maintains his reservations about the Homeland Battlefield provisions, saying, 'I have signed this bill despite having serious reservations with certain provisions that regulate the detention, interrogation, and prosecution of suspected terrorists.' His defense of civil liberties in the signing statement was passionate. Nonetheless, at the same moment, he signed the bill into law.”

So as of now … anyone … anywhere … can be detained indefinitely by order of the President of the United States. Obama said. “I want to clarify that my Administration will not authorize the indefinite military detention without trial of American citizens.” But what he just signed says he can. We just have to trust him … and all future presidents from now on. Florida Democratic representative Debbie Wasserman Schultz says she’ll be working with other Democrats to repeal the Homeland Battlefield provisions as soon as Congress reconvenes. Good luck with that one. What are the chances a Republican controlled house will repeal provisions it had already passed in a 283 to 136 vote?

If the provisions are not repealed, or if the president changes his mind and decides to use the law he signed … then any of us could end up like Al-Jazeera journalist Sami Al-Hajj. He was arrested in Pakistan on December 15, 2001 and detained at Guantánamo for over 6 years. According to documents published by Wikileaks, the government wanted Al-Hajj “to provide information on the al-Jazeera News Network's training program, telecommunications equipment, and newsgathering operations.” He was beaten, sexually assaulted… and released without charge on May 1, 2008.

We are all now officially … small prey animals. We have the same rights a field mouse has against a hawk. Prey animals can’t get a lawyer or a trial. Prey animals get eaten.

So let’s kick off The New Year with what we know about Late Great The United States.

War criminals are immune from prosecution.

The president can declare martial law by declaring a public emergency and this public emergency can be anything he says it is.

The president can scoop up U.S. citizens and detain them forever if he wants to because Habeas Corpus is now a memory.

This government doesn’t mind backsliding into slavery. One of Project Censored’s top stories from 2008 was about how our government used slave labor to build the U.S. Embassy in Iraq. “Thousands of citizens from countries that banned travel or work in Iraq were tricked and smuggled into brutal and inhumane labor camps and subjected to months of forced servitude ... all in the middle of the US-controlled Green Zone.”

The borders of closing … or in some cases … closed.

From the CODEPINK website, “In October 2007 Ann Wright, retired U.S. army colonel and former diplomat who quit in opposition to the Iraq war, and Medea Benjamin, co-founder of CODEPINK were on their way to Toronto at the invitation of the Toronto Stop the War Coalition but were denied entry into Canada.”  The border was closed to them.

Our email and phone conversations are monitored by the government.

Is my phone tapped? Is yours? We don’t know. Was this email read by some government stooge? We don’t know. How many U.S. citizens will disappear? We don’t know. Somebody goes out for a loaf of bread and a pack of cigarettes some night and  then … poof … vanishes. Did he run away from his life; or is she in a secret prison somewhere? We’ll never know.

How bad is it? How bad could it get? When is it too late?

What exactly are we waiting for? What incident, what sign, what great shocking event has to happen to make us realize The American Dream is over, dead, and done with?

Naomi Wolf, author of The End of America, has said that she will stop speaking out when someone she knows has disappeared. I suppose it is a natural delusion to think that someone else will be disappeared first. I guess Ms. Wolf believes that people are renditioned in alphabetical order.

I did not expect Barack Obama to be this nation’s savior. But I did not think he could turn out to be as bad, or worse, than George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. In 2008 Obama gave us the Audacity of Hope. Less than four years later the only hope we have is the desperate hope that it’s not as bad as it seems.

The President wants us to believe what he says … not what he signed into law.

On December 31st 2011 the “Lesser of Two Evils” argument finally, completely, and utterly collapsed. Any liberal who tries to put a positive spin on this steaming pile is as delusional or corrupt as the  rightwing lunatic gasbags on Fox. By signing this perversion, Constitutional professor Barack Obama has put himself above the Constitution. From now on the President of the United States is a king. We have to depend upon his noblesse oblige to keep us out of the gulag. Jesus Christ I’m starting to agree with Sarah “I’ve Lost My Goddamned Mind” Palin. This hopey, changey thing turned into a Dick Cheney wet dream.

The next time some liberal zombie tells me to vote Democratic because these freakin’ Republicans are out to destroy the country I’ll subtly disagree by throwing up on his shoes.

Published under under the GNU/GPL License.

PHOTOSHOP CS 5.1 and the HIPPIES

I really was having trouble describing what I was doing, so I put it in this video.  The techniques really have nothing to do with hippies or Scott Mackenzie or even 1968, but the brushes fit well into that very strange era.

I was not a hippie.  My life at that time was filled with weightier matters and I was far too political to be a hippie.  Nonetheless, I really liked the hippies.  I didn't much like their drugs and the refusal of some of them to bathe, and their sexual antics frankly embarrassed me, but they seemed to be the embodiment of a kind of freedom that has always attracted me, a sort of benevolent anarchy overflowing with chardi kala.  (OK, I know the reality was not quite that pretty, but it was 44 years ago and time has blurred the edges, as time should.) 

And the music!  I may have turned away from the sex and drugs (at least in the literal sense), but the rock 'n' roll was irresistible.  Even today, decades later, the music remains.