Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Supreme Court recently clarified that freedom of speech, even if the subject, tone or intent of that speech is vile, incendiary, misguided or hurtful, is a sacrosanct and inalienable right in this country; for the time being, at least. Even though the Court found in favor of the vicious, hate-spewing, possibly inbred Phelps family that picket schools, funerals and public thoroughfares in the hopes of convincing the masses that we deserve the punitive fury of the Divine because we tolerate homosexuality*, I say, "Yay!" While I use that word often, it is one that is well-chosen, not just for its resounding affirmation, but also for its exuberance and joie de vivre. Even if your words are truly shitty, I think you should be able to speak them. I also believe there is a responsibility that comes with having a voice, and that you should think before you speak. Or type. Definitely before you text, especially if you're drunk. Sometimes I forget that I believe this, and sometimes thinking is just too much effort, but I still want to talk or write, so I do it anyway, but this post isn't about me, it's about WORDS. Why don't you just shut up, Imaginary Cyber-Conscience that's always interrupting me? Always nagging, always whining! You're not the boss of me! Shut it!
Like I was saying, words are potent. As Chief Justice John Roberts wrote in his ruling, "Speech is powerful. It can stir people to action, move them to tears of both joy and sorrow, and...inflict great pain." In 1984, arguably the best book written in the history of ever, one of the cornerstones of mass control is the manipulation and restriction of words. This is a partial explanation of Newspeak, the language Orwell created in the book. Here Syme, who is working on the latest edition of the Newpeak dictionary, is speaking to Winston Smith, the protagonist of the story:
Scraps of paper
In your pockets
In your shoes
In your memory
Shreds of love
Curled at the edges
Shards of a life
Stuffed in a pocket
To be read
Read between the lines
Underlined in red
Unfurled far away
In a piece of a place
A slip of a spark
On a scrap of paper
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
That was back when I was adorable. Look how cute I was!
I wrote a blog before this one about a trip I took with McAdams to Montana.That was the birth of the magic. My very first favorite picture from that blog was this one, entitled "Holy Shit House, Batman!"
I was modest back then, and put asterisks between the 'S' and the 'T' of 'shit'. How cute is that?!
I still love it! Historically accurate rock rules!
Oh, just listen to my love sound! By the way, The DeFrancos were Canadian. That's just another little fun fact I offer you here, on this blog, free of charge. Anyway, this just proves that I have always had impeccable taste in music, and you should think that I am wise, discerning and urbane. Think that now, please.
Mama came home from school and shrugged the heavy book bag from her sagging shoulder. Then came the slow process of shedding the armor she wore against the cold: the peeling off of the gloves, finger by finger; the wool hat releasing the damp hair beneath; the unwinding of the scarf, over the head and around, over and around, enough to make you dizzy; thick coat, button down sweater, pullover, and finally the elegant figure of mama emerged, like a delicate bird that had landed uncertainly in the living room. Only her belly looked incongruous, as if she had swallowed a beach ball. Where had she found a beach ball, here in the middle of a Wisconsin winter?
“You asked me where your sister came from, and how she got in my stomach. Those are good questions. I got you a special book from the library today. Shall we make some hot chocolate and read it?”
The book was filled with pictures made from figures cut out of brightly colored construction paper. It was called Where Did I Come From? We spread the pages across our laps, warm and filled with the taste of sweet, curled in on each other like the leaves of a cabbage. I smiled. I was happy and ready to begin. “Your Mommy and Daddy love each other very much,” she began, as I fingered the picture of a smiling, dark haired man, holding the hand of a pretty blonde lady…
I think I am about to embark on some firsts coming up in the near future. Normally, change scares the heck outta me, and I resist it like kitties resist the shower. Try it. They resist real hard. But many of my firsts have been great, and if it weren't for them, there would never have been seconds. Bring it on, life! I ain't afraid of you!
*Charo pronounces it "cuchi - cuchi". Two free fun facts in one posts! Damn, this blog is good!