doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
just a thought
a day spent
0
It is 2:35 in the afternoon, on a Sunday, and I’m still in my pajamas.
Hell, I’m still lounging around in bed.
I’ve gotten up, straightened a few things, done a load of dishes, and eaten, but I’ve come back to bed.
When I’m stressed or tired or bored, I watch movies. They please me. They take me away.
My sister and brother-in-law recently traded me a 48″ widescreen HDTV for a laptop. So now I have the perfect television for movies – and it’s parked in my bedroom, along with my TIVO.
I’m watching movies today. I don’t know if I’m stressed. Or bored. Or anything. I know I’m tired. Mostly because I fall asleep during the movies and wake up, pause, then fall asleep again. When I awake, I rewind and watch until I fall asleep again.
Today’s movies are full of artists. And they are making me think.
I’ve read in all of the blogging “how-tos” that you shouldn’t blog more than once a day. That you should keep to topics. That you should do this or that or whatever. Well, heck, my audience is so dang small and y’all pretty much know me that I’m guessing you’re okay if I don’t follow the “rules” of blogging.
So what does this have to do with movies? Writing, my dears, writing.
The first movie had nothing to do with writing but it was about an artist wanting to break free. Double Happiness (1994) stars Sandra Oh as a would-be actress growing up in a traditional Chinese home but in a very progressive Canadian life. She is trying to come to terms with being true to herself and her family.
The second movie, Bright Young Things (2003) is about a writer who is trying to save up money to marry his sweetheart. In the process of saving money, he becomes a gossip columnist, a down-on-his-luck writer, and a soldier. It is set in 1930s London and has all of the appeal of the decadent ages – lots of drink, money, witty repartee, and covert happenings.
Finally, I just finished watching Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle (1994). It is about the vibrant, amazing Dorothy Parker and her friends of the Algonquin Round Table, set in the 1920s.
And this is what is making me think. If I were alive during that time, would I have been writing and being witty with all of them or am I just not brave enough to do that? Do I live too far from where things are happening to make things happen? Am I not good enough to be recognized for the things I love doing? How do you start? How do you break in? How do you meet the people who do these things and how do you become a part of that inner circle so you can do them, too?
It’s not just about writing or photography or art, in particular. It’s about anything. What is your passion? What have you always wanted to do? Do you wonder how to get that “big break”? Do you wonder how others do it?
It always seems to happen in New York or Chicago or Los Angeles. Do I *really* have to live in a huge city to make it? Aren’t there other ways?
I’m blaming this post on Erin who has gotten me to think more about movies lately. While I’ve often thought about them and their messages, I haven’t often written on that. So I blame her. Heh.
And because it’s Sunday and I always post poetry on Sundays (and there is one directly below, if you haven’t already seen it), here is another. From the formidable Mrs. Parker:
Symptom Recital
I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men….
I’m due to fall in love again.
fire!
05 years ago
by dawn
in just a thought
I’ve lived in large cities. However, I’ve never lived in the middle of the downtown area where I was surrounded by high rises and lived in a high rise myself.
I stayed with friends in D.C. who live downtown on the 10th floor of a building.
As I lounged around in bed one morning, I noticed that the sounds of fire truck sirens were different there than there are in more open places. They don’t have an ebb and flow sound.
It sounded like a wail. It pierced my heart and made me want to cry.
It was the oddest response.
The way it echoes off of the walls of the buildings, bouncing off of corners and cruising down streets, the siren wails out its call.
I thought of the Sirens in Greek myths and wondered if that’s what it was like (okay, is it weird that I think of Sirens while on vacation and associate it with the sirens of a fire truck???).
The Sirens calls were said to be lovely and heart-breaking all at once.
That’s exactly how the fire sirens sounded to me. Lovely and heart-breaking.
reality
05 years ago
by dawn
in just a thought
“And it’s true we are immune
When fact is fiction and TV reality
And today the millions cry
We eat and drink while tomorrow they die.
~ U2 ~
There is something you don’t realize about Arlington National Cemetery until you are there and seeing it in person.
It is huge.
There are thousands and thousands and thousands of headstones dotting the country side. It seems never ending.
You look out from a hill, over the city of Washington, D.C. and you can see the great monuments of Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson. Above these headstones sits Arlington House, the home of Robert E. Lee.
Arlington caused me to pause and think. I had a hard time not crying when I saw a fresh grave site. I had a hard time not wanting to scream at the injustices. I had a hard time not thinking about my grandfathers, great-uncles, and my dad and their service in the military.
I had to stop and think about the discrimination that was shown even here, in our national cemetery. People with prestige have large headstones. They are not the simple ones that we see in the photos (like those to in this photo) but are grand and detailed. And there is a small section, at the very edge of the cemetery, that is dedicated to the U.S. Colored Troops. And a memorial that is dedicated to women but most of the photographs inside are of men.
It caused me to pause. And think. And hurt. And feel.
and another thing…
05 years ago
This is treacherous territory. Looking at societal constructs critically begs people to come back at me.
And I’m okay with that.
While my observations are not scientific, I have been doing them for a very long time and am looking at it from the perspective of understanding the online world and how it emulates the offline world.
So…this is the thing…
I participate in a few online photography memes. I belong to a few online photography groups. And I’ve noticed a trend among those photoblogs that are considered premium and those photos that are consistently voted as top of the class.
For the most part (and this is not always but is so consistent that I think it merits mention), men’s photographs and photoblogs are considered the “best”.
What this makes me wonder is if a man’s perspective is considered the norm. If we see a photograph and look at the way a man shoots images versus the way a woman shoots images, is there something about the male eye that draws us in more than the female eye? Is there something more compelling about the ways men compose shots versus the ways women compose shots?
Or is it, really, just a good ol’ boys network and even if they aren’t all that great, they still pat one another on the back and say, “Well done.”?
And if that is the case, how do women make a place for themselves?
And is it really that important?
propogating positive thought
05 years ago
I was working out yesterday afternoon and I was really enjoying myself. I was on a new machine, I was feeling good on it, I was realizing that I was getting a great workout on it, and the adrenaline rush that was giving me a high. In addition, I was listening to one of my favorite groups, Indigo Girls, on my iPod and I was having a hard time not singing and dancing as I was working out.
I was feeling really, really good. It was a positive experience.
I got off the machine and went to get the disinfectant to wipe it down and a guy comes up to me. He says, “You looked like you were having such a good time. It was making me smile.”
That made me grin like an idiot. Heh. Feeling good is infectious. It breeds and propogates. We share it with someone and they, in turn, share it with someone else.
But the same is true for sadness. Or loneliness.
After that euphoria, I went home and got some sad news. Some news that, at first blush, hurt my feelings deeply.
I was in tears most of the night and didn’t sleep well. It was a fitful sleep.
When I got up this morning, I wanted to shoot off an e-mail, questioning. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand what was going on.
What I realized, though, is that none of that really matters. And my feelings aren’t as hurt now as they were at first thought.
I’m going to be okay. I will survive this minor setback and move on.
storm a-brewing
05 years ago
by dawn
in just a thought
I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen, some grand, huge thing – just to happen.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I’m waiting but that’s how I feel. Like I’ve put things on hold just because something may be coming up.
I feel like I’m going through the motions – living life just to live it until that big thing happens. I go to school. I go to work. I go to the gym. I hang out at home with Dakota. I go out with my nieces and nephews.
But these are things that are happening while I wait.
It’s there, on the periphery…haunting me, telling me something is coming.
And it’s not a bad thing. It’s an exciting thing. That much I can feel. But I don’t know what it is.
And this is odd for me. I’m used to rushing out and embracing new things, not waiting for them.
It’s frustrating.
It’s annoying.
It’s jarring.
I want to know what it is.
noteworthy
06 years ago
by dawn
in just a thought
The fire in southern California, fueled by the infamous Santa Anas, is making me think about the upcoming season.
It’s too early for fire season and, yet, here it is upon us.
A fire in Arizona has already been spotted and is being dealt with only a hundred miles or so from where I live.
We haven’t had a real winter this year. It snowed once, in town, and that was only about an inch of snow. It didn’t snow out at my house at all. It is distressing.
We are surrounded by huge forests and so many of those have been hit by the bark beetle so half of the trees are already dead and just ready to fuel the fires.
–
I heard an interesting report on NPR this morning. It seems that when a woman becomes pregnant, she retains some of the fetal cells of the fetus. Even if she has an abortion or miscarriage, those fetal cells stay in her for her entire life.
Why this is significant is because those fetal cells can morph and will rush to areas that are being attacked by disease.
For instance, they discussed a woman who had gone into the hospital with hepatitis. She had had 2 abortions, 2 miscarriages, and 1 born child. She refused treatment but doctors noticed that she had an abnormal amount of fetal cells around her liver.
A few months later, she had no symptoms of the hepatitis. It seems that the fetal cells had become liver cells and had repaired all of the damage.
I find that absolutely amazing.
winning
06 years ago
I’ve been thinking about this topic for a while and a conversation that I had last night pushed me in the direction of writing it. While the conversation touched on this, the people involved were not in the same situation and didn’t want to hurt anyone or cause any grief.
I’m not one of those people who thinks that competition is bad. I’m not one of those people who thinks that we should give ribbons to everyone and declare everyone a winner.
I think that healthy competition is good for us. It motivates us. It prompts us to do better, to push ourselves, to invest in something that matters.
But I’m also a little leery when people say they win at an argument or that they have come out on top and it leaves someone else feeling bad or hurt or angry.
I wonder what the point is then. Why would you want to win if you’ve hurt someone else? In the long run does it make you feel better? Does it make you a better person? Does it make you more humane? Probably not.
I like to win as much as the next person. In fact, I have this stupid computer game that I play sometimes for fun. It is impossible to win. I have tried it a million different ways but the way it is set up, I don’t think it’s winnable. So when it comes to the end of the game and I haven’t won, it tells me that I’m a loser. It states, unequivocably, “Loser!” How rude, I tell it each time. You don’t have to laugh at me just because I can’t conquer you.
Winning. We have to win the war on terrorism, drugs, illegal immigration. It’s mandated.
Our society has become about winning. The person who makes the most money says, “I win!” What do you win? 80 hour work weeks? Time away from your family and friends? The pleasure of a missing out on a walk through the forest with your trusted pet?
When we win a war, do we really win? And what happens to those who lose? I can’t help but think of Bosnia and all of the people who still suffer there. Or Afghanistan. Or any number of other places. We won. Yahoo.
It doesn’t make me feel like a winner. I feel like we dropped the ball somewhere and let our fellow mankind down.
We didn’t win. We lost something precious.
And I think we need to think about that. When we say, “I win” what does it mean? Have we let someone down along the way to attain that? Have we hurt someone?
Is conquering things really that important?
constructing a life
06 years ago
I was recently talking to a friend and he said that he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s happiness. When in a relationship, it is each person’s responsibility to find their own happiness. Each person can enhance the other’s life but it is not the responsibility of one to increase the happiness quotient of the other.
I agree with this.
So often we will hear, “Oh, I would be so happy if only…” The sentence ends with “if he would do this for me” or “if only this would happen for me” or any other multitude of endings.
I think that we create our own happiness. I don’t think that we can put that responsibility on anyone else.
Oh, yeah…life can throw us some crazy curveballs that knock us down for a while. And yeah, it’s easy to get caught up in the negative. But I think that it’s imperative for our overall growth to find the things that make us happy and create a spot for ourselves that is pleasant.
I wouldn’t even say that it’s good to place people at the center of our happiness quotient. They have their own issues and if they are down, will we be down, as well? If we do place other people in that equation, perhaps it should be to recognize the impact they have on our lives and create a positive feeling around that.
I’m a pollyanna. I know this. I do tend to be the eternal optmist. But I do have experience with turning the bad into good.
When my life was at its darkest and I felt like the entire world was caving in on me and I wouldn’t, literally, survive until the next day, I would find things to make me smile.
The birds were singing outside. That’s a good sign.
I like the way the sun is coming through the blinds and making shadows on the walls.
That song really makes me feel like smiling and dancing and laughing.
This book, flower, color, view, whatever makes me happy today and I’m not going to allow anything to change that perspective.
These days I have much to be happy about. But even if all of those elements in my life weren’t there, I would make it a quest to find things that did please me and allowed me to be a happy person. I think it’s the only way to have a good, strong, long life.
the writing is on the wall
06 years ago
by dawn
in just a thought
I’m thinking about removing the comments section from my photoblog (not this part of my site, only the photoblog). I rarely get any comments there and I’m getting more spam than comments.
It’s kind of a hard decision, though. When I do get comments, I enjoy them. It’s nice to know what people think about the things I’m doing with my photography. It’s nice to get some positive feedback.
I don’t have much time to go around leaving comments at other peoples’ sites, though, and when that happens, my comments go way down.
I don’t want to feel compelled to comment at other peoples’ sites in order to get comments, either. When I comment, it is not so they will comment on mine. It’s because something moved me to comment. Something made me want to take the time to leave a response.
I don’t leave many responses, so when I do, it means something.
I’m the same way at flickr. I’m not popular there by a long shot. I don’t have a lot of people commenting on my images nor do I have a huge amount of people favoriting my images (although I have a lot of people adding me as a contact – which is odd). It doesn’t bother me, though, because I don’t comment on many peoples’ images and I have very few favorites. If I comment or I favorite, it means that I’m moved to do so. A favorite is just that…favored – over everything else I’ve ever seen.
–
I wanted to thank everyone for their thoughts yesterday. I’m being so silly about school. I know I can get good grades if I just focus. The problem is that life gets in the way and focus is sometimes impossible.
–
Today is one of those days where I’d like to be at home, between my soft, cozy sheets. I’m still tired and I’d rather be lounging about in bed.
I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open this morning. That’s an odd thing for me and not at all typical.