I'm not saying that I believe everything the fortune teller told me, or even any of it, but still, when someone takes out the cards and reads you your fate, whether they be mystic or saint or the blackjack dealer in Room 234, you listen, and you listen carefully. (At least I did, anyways.)
Backtrack:
I was on the beach, Hawaii Beach, to be precise, even though this beach is not anywhere near Hawaii but is to be found instead in the lovely and sceanic port of Sihanoukville, Cambodia, named after the former King himself. (And it really is lovely and scenic.) The occasion is a work sponsored getaway, at which free accomodation is provided, a meal and dancing is par for the course, and lazing on the beach under a broiling sun while deceptive waves hint at a tsunami-free future is not mandatory, no, but encouraged.
The fortune teller was a lucky (?) break.
A few of the other staff members were having their fortunes read, so I figured what the hell, life's short, let's give it a go. I'd never had my palms read or my future told, and last year I read a really interesting and enlightening book called A Fortune Teller Told Me by an Italian journalist, Tiziano Ternani (who passed away last year). The book chronicle's Ternani's adventures around Asia as he travels by land and by sea to chat with various fortune tellers of all shapes, colours and sizes, after vowing not to journey by air for an entire year after being warned not to do so by a particularly insistent sage. His conclusion: Most fortune tellers use similar tactics, relate similar stories, but every now and then, when you least expect it, you hear something about yourself that, if not unsettling, is, at the very least, spooky.
Not that I believe in any of this, of course.
She looked like a typical middle aged Cambodian woman -- forty to forty five, long gray hair, a little plump. (Actually, the life expectancy of most Cambodians is around fifty something, but women usually live a little longer than men, just like everywhere, so I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt.) She sat before a spread-out blanket, on the sand, a pack of regular playing cards in her hands. A Cambodian staff member from our work would act as translator. Everything was set.
Split the deck three times, I was told. I did so. She placed a handful of cards on the blanket, and asked me to pick three.
Thus, it began.
First, she made some general statements -- that I loved my friends very much, that I was a kind man, that I would have good luck from now until October. (My birthday's in October, which worried me a little.) And even though I am kind, I have to be careful, because those around me, those I call my 'friends', are out to deceive me. She stated that I don't rely on others for work, that I find it myself. She also said that I was of mixed nationalities.
Interesting.
Whether I'm a kind man is not up to me to declare, and whether my friends are deceiving me, scheming and plotting and forming conspiracies to silence me, well, I'll soon find out, I guess. The other stuff rings true -- I have relied on myself for work these last few years, purposely staying independent, travelling from country to country. And I am of mixed nationalities, in a sense, since my father's originally from England.
I asked her: "Am I going to die young?" (For some reason, don't ask why, I've always had this feeling. I'm not sure what 'young' is -- thirty-five, forty, but it's a feeling I've had.)
She promptly said no, no, that I will live to be 96 years old. (My great-grandmother died at 96).
The final parlor trick was a reading of my signature. A chaotic, slightly reckless person I am, according to her, after reading my John Hancock.
So there you have it. No burning incense or thundering clouds or black magic; just a deck of cards, and a blanket, and a few, seemingly random observations. I thanked her, headed back to the waves, looked out at the sea.
Nonsense, of course. A bunch of generalities, applicable to anyone at all, really.
Still, there were enough specifics -- somewhat general specifics, to be sure, but applicable to me and my life nevertheless -- that it left me thinking. Left me wondering. What do I do with those words? Do I apply them? Do I discard them like seashells lovingly picked by a young child on the beach only to be forgotten hours, if not minutes, later? Why believe any of it? Nothing more than a money-making scam. Nothing more than wishful thinking, priced for sale.
I stood on the beach and looked out at the dock that stretched into the beginning of the beginning of the sea. It looked similar to docks I'd seen in Ontario, docks I'd seen in Shimane. The water, the ocean, the small islands visible from the shore -- these, too, were familiar. In that moment I found myself unsure of where I actually was at that present moment in time -- Canada, Cambodia, Japan? If I were to have woken up here, on this beach, with no recollection of who I was or where I'd come from, I would have nothing to guide me. Nothing to hint at home.
A vast and concentrated universe this is.
Sometimes, on certain specific (albeit isolated) days, when the sun is bright and the waves lap the shore at the right, regulated pace, when fortune tellers deal their decks of cards on blankets that shield their feet from the hot and slippery sand, I'm tempted, if not encouraged, to wade into the water and wait, patiently, anxiously, for celestial signals that will reveal the universe's splendor in all its maddening simplicity and glory.
I'm tempted to believe.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Thursday, April 07, 2005
THE ABSOLUTE, LIKE, NECESSITY OF OLD SITCOMS' LEADING MEN IN REINFORCING HUMANITY AS MORE THAN ONE BIG DRUNK LEANING AGAINST A LAMPPOST
Is humanity itself (and I'm definitely including myself here, although others might debate the validity of my inclusion) fundamentally, at its coure, the equivalent of Woody on Cheers? Or Barbarino on Welcome Back Kotter? Or Bull on Night Court?
Are we all, at our fundamental core, way down deep, just plain and simply stoooooooooooopid?
Sometimes I think so.
Sometimes I don't.
But sometimes I do, and a lot of it has to do with the fact that I've been around a little bit these last few years. I've been to Hiroshima. I've checked out the killing fields. I've taught former heads of Toshiba, and Cambodian orphans, and been almost robbed by a motodop at midnight in Phnom Penh, and ridden a double-decker bus in Hong Kong, and had a personal tour of director Akira Kurosawa's former film studio by his long-time art director (and even got to hold the actual mask worn by the dude who plays Godzilla). There are many, countless, untold thousands of things I haven't done, and still hope to do, but I have certainly seen and heard and felt and thought about much, much more than I had ever anticipated. I used to think that life could be learned through a book; now I know that's not true.
I also know some other things, too.
The variety of life. The variety of people making their way through that life, this life, our life that we all share. It's mind-boggling, it really is. You can tell yourself all you want that you are a sane, rational, clear-headed individual -- but when you are stuck in a foreign land where you do not know a single soul, and you can't speak the language, and you are far from home, if that home still exists, you will be confronted with the essential fragility of who we are and what we think that we can be. It's not a pretty picture, or an enviable experience, but it's definitely a human one, and I recommend -- if for no other reason that it will allow you to feel like an immigrant, alone and forgotten, and that has to be a good thing, a good feeling, I'm sure of it.
The variety, though, is what leads to the questions. Questions that can't be answered.
Are we all the same, us humans? I guess so, yes, I think so, but after living in Japan for four years, and in Cambodia for almost two, I can also that there are differences, and these differences arise from living in groups, and these groups are ethnically and nationally oriented, and there is very little that we, as humans, can do that to rectify this imbalance.
Do we need to rectify it?
I don't think so, actually; perhaps that's too strong a word. What we need is balance. What we need is perspective.
Perhaps this goes back to my earlier post on the pope's passing (scroll down if you're interested).
We all want to believe what we believe. That's fine. All well and good. And we're in a certain stage of civilization's development where we have now, thankfully, accepted that other people's beliefs do not necesarily match our own. In other words, you are Jewish and free to perform your rituals and observe your holidays and do what it is that the people in your faith do; I am Muslim (for example; I haven't converted -- yet), and I practice my faith, and we agree that while our faiths our separate, they are also equal.
That's the theory.
Still.
Much of the world if not most of the world is composed of varying civilizations that offer unique and singular takes on religion and culture; I'm sure Iran and Japan share many things, but there's a lot that's different, too.
And yet our cultures breed us to believe, deep deep deep down, that we are right.
Think about it. The way we talk, the way we dress, the way we eat, the political opinions we hold -- our culture gives them to us.
Recently (and by 'recent' I refer to the last, oh, two hundred years) things are shifting because people are moving, travelling from one culture to another for work and for play, cross-pollinating their species, merging cultures. There is a fertilization of ideas and outlooks that is taking place; I recognize this. Things are changing for the good, I believe. In part.
But still...
A roundabout, long-winded way to get to my point (and it's debatable that I have one), which is: People are good and decent and kind, yes, but we are, I've come to conclude, also more than a little stoooopid. We harbor our resentments. We root for the home team simply because we live in the same city as the team; we root for our country against their country simply because we live where we live. We go around proclaiming that our country is the best country in the world to live, while dozens, if not hundreds of other countries'citizens shout the same repetitive mantra. We worship the faiths of our family simply because they told us to.
We instinctively align ourselves with others who feel the same way that we do, the way a drunk uses a lamppost -- for support, not illumination.
It thus serves a purpose, this lamppost does -- but not the one it was intended for.
Maybe that's what my fears come down to.
We, as humans, absolutely crave support, not illumination; it's what gets us through the night. We listen to those who will tell us what we want to hear. We listen to the radio stations that play what we like. We watch the shows that confirm our own conceptions of the world. We approach life based on the models that have been formed by us, or by what we form ourselves. We are firm, and unflexing, and do not want to change. We are stubborn.
So are we stooooopid?
I guess so.
But I take consolation in the fact that Woody on Cheers, Barbarino on Kotter and Bull on Night Court were mere supporting players. They leaned on others for support -- and if those leads, those Sam Malones and Mr.Kotters and Judge Harrys did not offer total illumination, they at least provided a little bit of light.
Which is maybe all we can hope for.
Are we all, at our fundamental core, way down deep, just plain and simply stoooooooooooopid?
Sometimes I think so.
Sometimes I don't.
But sometimes I do, and a lot of it has to do with the fact that I've been around a little bit these last few years. I've been to Hiroshima. I've checked out the killing fields. I've taught former heads of Toshiba, and Cambodian orphans, and been almost robbed by a motodop at midnight in Phnom Penh, and ridden a double-decker bus in Hong Kong, and had a personal tour of director Akira Kurosawa's former film studio by his long-time art director (and even got to hold the actual mask worn by the dude who plays Godzilla). There are many, countless, untold thousands of things I haven't done, and still hope to do, but I have certainly seen and heard and felt and thought about much, much more than I had ever anticipated. I used to think that life could be learned through a book; now I know that's not true.
I also know some other things, too.
The variety of life. The variety of people making their way through that life, this life, our life that we all share. It's mind-boggling, it really is. You can tell yourself all you want that you are a sane, rational, clear-headed individual -- but when you are stuck in a foreign land where you do not know a single soul, and you can't speak the language, and you are far from home, if that home still exists, you will be confronted with the essential fragility of who we are and what we think that we can be. It's not a pretty picture, or an enviable experience, but it's definitely a human one, and I recommend -- if for no other reason that it will allow you to feel like an immigrant, alone and forgotten, and that has to be a good thing, a good feeling, I'm sure of it.
The variety, though, is what leads to the questions. Questions that can't be answered.
Are we all the same, us humans? I guess so, yes, I think so, but after living in Japan for four years, and in Cambodia for almost two, I can also that there are differences, and these differences arise from living in groups, and these groups are ethnically and nationally oriented, and there is very little that we, as humans, can do that to rectify this imbalance.
Do we need to rectify it?
I don't think so, actually; perhaps that's too strong a word. What we need is balance. What we need is perspective.
Perhaps this goes back to my earlier post on the pope's passing (scroll down if you're interested).
We all want to believe what we believe. That's fine. All well and good. And we're in a certain stage of civilization's development where we have now, thankfully, accepted that other people's beliefs do not necesarily match our own. In other words, you are Jewish and free to perform your rituals and observe your holidays and do what it is that the people in your faith do; I am Muslim (for example; I haven't converted -- yet), and I practice my faith, and we agree that while our faiths our separate, they are also equal.
That's the theory.
Still.
Much of the world if not most of the world is composed of varying civilizations that offer unique and singular takes on religion and culture; I'm sure Iran and Japan share many things, but there's a lot that's different, too.
And yet our cultures breed us to believe, deep deep deep down, that we are right.
Think about it. The way we talk, the way we dress, the way we eat, the political opinions we hold -- our culture gives them to us.
Recently (and by 'recent' I refer to the last, oh, two hundred years) things are shifting because people are moving, travelling from one culture to another for work and for play, cross-pollinating their species, merging cultures. There is a fertilization of ideas and outlooks that is taking place; I recognize this. Things are changing for the good, I believe. In part.
But still...
A roundabout, long-winded way to get to my point (and it's debatable that I have one), which is: People are good and decent and kind, yes, but we are, I've come to conclude, also more than a little stoooopid. We harbor our resentments. We root for the home team simply because we live in the same city as the team; we root for our country against their country simply because we live where we live. We go around proclaiming that our country is the best country in the world to live, while dozens, if not hundreds of other countries'citizens shout the same repetitive mantra. We worship the faiths of our family simply because they told us to.
We instinctively align ourselves with others who feel the same way that we do, the way a drunk uses a lamppost -- for support, not illumination.
It thus serves a purpose, this lamppost does -- but not the one it was intended for.
Maybe that's what my fears come down to.
We, as humans, absolutely crave support, not illumination; it's what gets us through the night. We listen to those who will tell us what we want to hear. We listen to the radio stations that play what we like. We watch the shows that confirm our own conceptions of the world. We approach life based on the models that have been formed by us, or by what we form ourselves. We are firm, and unflexing, and do not want to change. We are stubborn.
So are we stooooopid?
I guess so.
But I take consolation in the fact that Woody on Cheers, Barbarino on Kotter and Bull on Night Court were mere supporting players. They leaned on others for support -- and if those leads, those Sam Malones and Mr.Kotters and Judge Harrys did not offer total illumination, they at least provided a little bit of light.
Which is maybe all we can hope for.
WHY POPEYE, EMBODIED BY ROBIN WILLIAMS, IS GOOD FOR THE CHILDHOOD SOUL
Something you loved at five years old should not be the same thing you love at twenty-nine years old. You're supposed to have matured in your artistic tastes, put your childish thoughts away, realized that our preschool likes and dislikes, even loves and fears, are something to be left behind, not intentionally sought after.
But after watching the DVD of Popeye, I can state, unequivocally, once and for all: Naaaaah.
Viewed objectively, as a so-called adult, Popeye is a strange movie. It's photographed and directed like a drama, because the director is Robert Altman, one of the most respected, if not revered, directors of the last fifty years (MASH, The Player, Nashville, McCabe and Mrs.Miller, Short Cuts, The Long Goodbye, and on and on). It's paced like a drama, too. The story is episodic and rambling, without even a hint of a plot. The characters are, by necessity, cartoons; Robin Williams plays Popeye brilliantly, and Shelly Duvall as Olive Oyl is, well, the cartoon come to life. And yet they are given adult quirks and lines of dialogue that I didn't understand at five but can certainly appreciate a quarter of a century later. To top it all off, it's a musical.
The whole idea is ludicrous. "I know! We'll make a big-screen version of the old Popeye cartoons, but it'll be live-action, paced like a drama, and, of course, it'll be a musical! What's not to love?"
A crazy notion.
But what a great film.
Again, I can't really view it objectively.
Nor do I want to.
As a child, there was something altogether right about seeing your animated, comic-book heroes come to life in a format that at least approximated reality. Such adaptations showed that there was a definitive link between the 'real' world and the world of comics and books; it was possible for one to transcend the other. I could read the Superman comic books, then see Christopher Reeve's version of the character boldly fly across the screen. I could devour Batman's adventures at night in my bed, then watch him on TV in the campy-but-as-a-kid-I-didn't-know-it TV show. (I knew there was SOMETHING odd when Adam West, as Batman, pulled a can of Shark-Repellent Spray to fend off a bothersome great white, but I couldn't place my finger on why.) I could catch Popeye cartoons on Sunday mornings, which were straightforward and simple and funny and goofy, and then see Popeye transformed into a living, breathing person as embodied by Robin Williams -- alert, funny, a simulation of the cartoon but there, a real person (or as real as any of us can be).
A lot of stuff in movies and TV shows goes sailing directly over kids' heads, but that's an altogether good thing; it allows children to understand that they can still enjoy something on a basic entertainment level while subtly, almost covertly implanting the notion that there's something, well, more going on underneath the surface, ideas and messages and allusions that point to a world larger than the one they know.
Popeye can jump out of a cartoon into the real world, yes, but this real world will be strange and funny and slightly off-kilter and, while similar to the world you know, only vaguely so -- that's the message, at five, I unintentionally, against-my-will, got.
As for the message I got at twenty-nine, while watching it again?
I can't do better than what the man himself said:
I am what I am and that's all that I am.
But after watching the DVD of Popeye, I can state, unequivocally, once and for all: Naaaaah.
Viewed objectively, as a so-called adult, Popeye is a strange movie. It's photographed and directed like a drama, because the director is Robert Altman, one of the most respected, if not revered, directors of the last fifty years (MASH, The Player, Nashville, McCabe and Mrs.Miller, Short Cuts, The Long Goodbye, and on and on). It's paced like a drama, too. The story is episodic and rambling, without even a hint of a plot. The characters are, by necessity, cartoons; Robin Williams plays Popeye brilliantly, and Shelly Duvall as Olive Oyl is, well, the cartoon come to life. And yet they are given adult quirks and lines of dialogue that I didn't understand at five but can certainly appreciate a quarter of a century later. To top it all off, it's a musical.
The whole idea is ludicrous. "I know! We'll make a big-screen version of the old Popeye cartoons, but it'll be live-action, paced like a drama, and, of course, it'll be a musical! What's not to love?"
A crazy notion.
But what a great film.
Again, I can't really view it objectively.
Nor do I want to.
As a child, there was something altogether right about seeing your animated, comic-book heroes come to life in a format that at least approximated reality. Such adaptations showed that there was a definitive link between the 'real' world and the world of comics and books; it was possible for one to transcend the other. I could read the Superman comic books, then see Christopher Reeve's version of the character boldly fly across the screen. I could devour Batman's adventures at night in my bed, then watch him on TV in the campy-but-as-a-kid-I-didn't-know-it TV show. (I knew there was SOMETHING odd when Adam West, as Batman, pulled a can of Shark-Repellent Spray to fend off a bothersome great white, but I couldn't place my finger on why.) I could catch Popeye cartoons on Sunday mornings, which were straightforward and simple and funny and goofy, and then see Popeye transformed into a living, breathing person as embodied by Robin Williams -- alert, funny, a simulation of the cartoon but there, a real person (or as real as any of us can be).
A lot of stuff in movies and TV shows goes sailing directly over kids' heads, but that's an altogether good thing; it allows children to understand that they can still enjoy something on a basic entertainment level while subtly, almost covertly implanting the notion that there's something, well, more going on underneath the surface, ideas and messages and allusions that point to a world larger than the one they know.
Popeye can jump out of a cartoon into the real world, yes, but this real world will be strange and funny and slightly off-kilter and, while similar to the world you know, only vaguely so -- that's the message, at five, I unintentionally, against-my-will, got.
As for the message I got at twenty-nine, while watching it again?
I can't do better than what the man himself said:
I am what I am and that's all that I am.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
THESE ARE THE RULES
While watching a highly influential Catholic priest bear the brunt of BBC'S HardTalk interviewer the other night, I found myself in a strange and unexpected position, as I actually found myself agreeing with most, if not all, of what the holy man said. (I'm assuming that he's 'highly influential', because his official title was 'The Most Revered Such and Such'. He's not just a reverend; he's the most reverend. I have no idea what that means, or if it's even grammatically correct, but it sounds kind of cool, like something a rapper would declare for himself.)
Not that I'm saying that I agree with what the Catholic church stands for, necessarily, because I'm as about as agnostic, on-the-fence, maybe-there-is-or-maybe-there-isn't kind of guy that you could find when it comes to believing in the existence of a Higher Power. (If there is a God, I think he would resemble either Dustin Hoffman or Johnny Carson. I don't know why; something about the quiet confidence they both have. An ease with their power and ability. Either those two, or Pauly Shore, who may, in fact, be the Prodigal Son, already returned to us, but we're too ignorant to notice. Put a beard on him, have a few shots, squint your eyes a bit -- just tell me that dude doesn't look like Jesus. ) The church's attitudes on abortion, gay marriage, divorce, you name it, clearly aren't in line with what most free-thinking societies in the world will tolerate anymore.
And yet...
This priest the other night is a die-hard, given-my-life-to-the-church kind of guy, right? He's in it for the long haul. He's accepted the doctrine, gone through the rituals, accepted the life. And his argument to the interviewer boiled down to, essentially, and I'm paraphrasing:
"Look. These are the rules of this particular religion that we belong to. What we believe is based on our interpretation of divine scripture -- the word of God, not the word of the state, or the word of the president, or the word of Sally Jesse Raphael. It's not the church's jobs to move with the times, to get with the times, to bend and sway with the people's will. This is what we believe. It may not be practical in a modern world, or even sensible, but you know what? These are the rules of the club, rules that have stood the test of time for centuries. You're either in or your not."
(That was a very loose paraphrasing of his remarks, by the way.)
I'm with him on that. With something as sacred as religion, you don't take it lightly, and you don't change it lightly; you can't add an amendment here or there every two, three hundred years if the Book that you're following, whose Word you are following, you believe to be divine. It is what it is; if you don't like those rules, if you think they don't apply to your life, fine -- choose another religion. Or none at all.
That's my take on it, anyways. As I said, I'm not a Catholic or a Christian, and I don't follow any particular faith. It's not my deal, at the present moment; it's not for me. (I could barely handle it when my high school teachers used to tell us to do chapter four, pages twelve to fifteen, because I always wondered why, who says we have to, and they would say we do, so just do the work, so organized enforcement of spiritual rules ain't my cup of tea.)
As a certified not-sure-what's-out-there kind of guy, then, to me, the big argument seems to centre upon: The church is not in step with modern mores and attitudes. To which I would answer: That's right, because that's the nature of the beast; it's an old, almost ancient religion -- if you think it's views are archaic and obsolete, well, they probably are, but rules are rules. (Other issues, like the effect these views have on attitudes towards AIDS and abortion are senstive and extremely relevant politically, emotionally, even spiritually, but again, this is the nature of religion itself -- interpretation of ancient texts, and we can't expect a religion that strives to maintain the sanctity of God's original intent to change with the same ease and grace as The Dukes of Hazzard did when switching their lead roles from Bo and Luke to Coy and Vance for a season or two. And if there was any time in life when I did believe in God, it was when the original Dukes, Bo and Luke, returned to their show after their extended hiatus --which was, I think, the result of a contract dispute, but that was in the real world, which had no logical or relevant boundaries on my immersion in that fuller, more plausible fictional one; at that point in time, my seven-year old self would have gladly, even enthusiastically accepted the notion of divine grace -- what other explanation could there be? Man, was I happy they came back to Hazzard. But don't get me started...)
It's like saying that the rules of basketball should be changed, because it's not fair that only really tall guys get all the breaks; short people should have an automatic in. Or declaring that playing hockey with skates is ridiculous because time has shown that this gives an advantage to fast skaters; slow skaters are left behind. The game should thus be played on grass, or even sand, but not ice. And who says that a 1500 metre running race has to be 1500 metres? That excludes those who are better at short distances, not to mention those who are disabled, or even just fat.
Silly comparisons, I know, but my point is, often adjustments are necesary in life; the rules are, occasionally, altered. But at a certain point you have to say: You know what, if we make any more changes, than this isn't the game we started with at all anymore. If we take skates away from hockey and change the surface from ice to sand, and make everyone wear wet t-shirts instead of shoulderpads, and pair the teams boy-girl boy-girl, at a certain point you're forced to declare: This ain't hockey. It's something different entirely -- maybe equally valid, equally entertaining, but not hockey. Call it something else.
Religion comes with rules. Religion comes with principles. I don't think it's the job of the religion itself -- whether it's a Catholic or Protestant or Jewish or Islamic one -- to change. There are many sects, many denominations, many possibilities, but they all come with certain guidelines and unbreachable barriers, based, in the end, on the essential uncertainty of faith itself. If you can handle the rules set down based on this faith, maybe it's for you. If not...
I was royally pissed off when I was a kid that both Marvel's Secret Wars II and DC's Crisis on Infinite Earths, the most entertaining comic book series I had ever read, had finite runs -- Marvel's book being nine issues, DC's being twelve. But I knew that going in; I knew they were limited series, not ongoing ones. I accepted the rules that the companies were playing by, and I played the rules, bought the books, and accepted the limitations, which largely centred around the sadness I would feel when both series ended. It wasn't fair; I didn't agree with it. But I bought the books because I wanted the experience.
The Catholic church is saying: If you want the experience, well, these are the rules. It's okay to not live up to them from time to time, or even often, because we're all sinners, but these are the rules. You either follow them or you don't. You're either a Catholic or you're not. If you come to a point where the rules don't match your own, personal, experienced view of the world, maybe it's time to question what you thought you believed in -- which could lead to a deeper, stronger faith, or an unexpected, painful exit.
Either way, we're the ones that have to change, not them.
Not that I'm saying that I agree with what the Catholic church stands for, necessarily, because I'm as about as agnostic, on-the-fence, maybe-there-is-or-maybe-there-isn't kind of guy that you could find when it comes to believing in the existence of a Higher Power. (If there is a God, I think he would resemble either Dustin Hoffman or Johnny Carson. I don't know why; something about the quiet confidence they both have. An ease with their power and ability. Either those two, or Pauly Shore, who may, in fact, be the Prodigal Son, already returned to us, but we're too ignorant to notice. Put a beard on him, have a few shots, squint your eyes a bit -- just tell me that dude doesn't look like Jesus. ) The church's attitudes on abortion, gay marriage, divorce, you name it, clearly aren't in line with what most free-thinking societies in the world will tolerate anymore.
And yet...
This priest the other night is a die-hard, given-my-life-to-the-church kind of guy, right? He's in it for the long haul. He's accepted the doctrine, gone through the rituals, accepted the life. And his argument to the interviewer boiled down to, essentially, and I'm paraphrasing:
"Look. These are the rules of this particular religion that we belong to. What we believe is based on our interpretation of divine scripture -- the word of God, not the word of the state, or the word of the president, or the word of Sally Jesse Raphael. It's not the church's jobs to move with the times, to get with the times, to bend and sway with the people's will. This is what we believe. It may not be practical in a modern world, or even sensible, but you know what? These are the rules of the club, rules that have stood the test of time for centuries. You're either in or your not."
(That was a very loose paraphrasing of his remarks, by the way.)
I'm with him on that. With something as sacred as religion, you don't take it lightly, and you don't change it lightly; you can't add an amendment here or there every two, three hundred years if the Book that you're following, whose Word you are following, you believe to be divine. It is what it is; if you don't like those rules, if you think they don't apply to your life, fine -- choose another religion. Or none at all.
That's my take on it, anyways. As I said, I'm not a Catholic or a Christian, and I don't follow any particular faith. It's not my deal, at the present moment; it's not for me. (I could barely handle it when my high school teachers used to tell us to do chapter four, pages twelve to fifteen, because I always wondered why, who says we have to, and they would say we do, so just do the work, so organized enforcement of spiritual rules ain't my cup of tea.)
As a certified not-sure-what's-out-there kind of guy, then, to me, the big argument seems to centre upon: The church is not in step with modern mores and attitudes. To which I would answer: That's right, because that's the nature of the beast; it's an old, almost ancient religion -- if you think it's views are archaic and obsolete, well, they probably are, but rules are rules. (Other issues, like the effect these views have on attitudes towards AIDS and abortion are senstive and extremely relevant politically, emotionally, even spiritually, but again, this is the nature of religion itself -- interpretation of ancient texts, and we can't expect a religion that strives to maintain the sanctity of God's original intent to change with the same ease and grace as The Dukes of Hazzard did when switching their lead roles from Bo and Luke to Coy and Vance for a season or two. And if there was any time in life when I did believe in God, it was when the original Dukes, Bo and Luke, returned to their show after their extended hiatus --which was, I think, the result of a contract dispute, but that was in the real world, which had no logical or relevant boundaries on my immersion in that fuller, more plausible fictional one; at that point in time, my seven-year old self would have gladly, even enthusiastically accepted the notion of divine grace -- what other explanation could there be? Man, was I happy they came back to Hazzard. But don't get me started...)
It's like saying that the rules of basketball should be changed, because it's not fair that only really tall guys get all the breaks; short people should have an automatic in. Or declaring that playing hockey with skates is ridiculous because time has shown that this gives an advantage to fast skaters; slow skaters are left behind. The game should thus be played on grass, or even sand, but not ice. And who says that a 1500 metre running race has to be 1500 metres? That excludes those who are better at short distances, not to mention those who are disabled, or even just fat.
Silly comparisons, I know, but my point is, often adjustments are necesary in life; the rules are, occasionally, altered. But at a certain point you have to say: You know what, if we make any more changes, than this isn't the game we started with at all anymore. If we take skates away from hockey and change the surface from ice to sand, and make everyone wear wet t-shirts instead of shoulderpads, and pair the teams boy-girl boy-girl, at a certain point you're forced to declare: This ain't hockey. It's something different entirely -- maybe equally valid, equally entertaining, but not hockey. Call it something else.
Religion comes with rules. Religion comes with principles. I don't think it's the job of the religion itself -- whether it's a Catholic or Protestant or Jewish or Islamic one -- to change. There are many sects, many denominations, many possibilities, but they all come with certain guidelines and unbreachable barriers, based, in the end, on the essential uncertainty of faith itself. If you can handle the rules set down based on this faith, maybe it's for you. If not...
I was royally pissed off when I was a kid that both Marvel's Secret Wars II and DC's Crisis on Infinite Earths, the most entertaining comic book series I had ever read, had finite runs -- Marvel's book being nine issues, DC's being twelve. But I knew that going in; I knew they were limited series, not ongoing ones. I accepted the rules that the companies were playing by, and I played the rules, bought the books, and accepted the limitations, which largely centred around the sadness I would feel when both series ended. It wasn't fair; I didn't agree with it. But I bought the books because I wanted the experience.
The Catholic church is saying: If you want the experience, well, these are the rules. It's okay to not live up to them from time to time, or even often, because we're all sinners, but these are the rules. You either follow them or you don't. You're either a Catholic or you're not. If you come to a point where the rules don't match your own, personal, experienced view of the world, maybe it's time to question what you thought you believed in -- which could lead to a deeper, stronger faith, or an unexpected, painful exit.
Either way, we're the ones that have to change, not them.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
WEBSITES AND BLOGS THAT I READ THAT YOU MAY WANT TO, TOO (OR YOU MIGHT NOT, IT'S UP TO YOU, THERE'S NO PRESSURE, DO WHAT YOU WANT)
Because I'm too lazy to write a regular blog entry, I thought I'd just list some of the sites and blogs that I frequent on a daily/weekly/monthly/yearly/centennial or millenial basis. I don't read all of these blogs every day or even every week, but they hold my interest from time to time, and feel free to click on the links to check them out for yourself. (And if you don't like them, blame me. I'm serious. Send me emails and postings stating why you think these websites suck. I'll cry, but the truth hurts.)
Sites I sometimes read:
www.moviecitynews.com -- Compiles articles and interviews on anything and everything related to the film business.
www.peterdavid.net -- The website of comic-book writer Peter David. His daily observations on the industry and life.
www.artsandlettersdaily.com -- Compiles articles and interviews on anything and everything related to the world of arts and, um, letters. Kind of high-brow and intellectual stuff.
www.nytimes.com -- Always has interesting stuff. And a well-written Sports section. And a well-written Movies Section. And a well-written Books section. And a...
www.thestar.com -- Toronto's daily newspaper.
www.cnn.com -- International news. It also has transcripts of its programs, so I can read what happened on Larry King the night before without having to stare at his suspenders for extended periods of time. (Have you seen those things lately? The man is getting out of control.)
www.khmer440.com -- Discussion groups and articles on life in Cambodia. I know, I know -- you're tired of hearing about Cambodia on the news, in the classroom, at work, in your evening papers. But just in case you're not getting enough, there's lots of goofy discussions here for your entertainment pleasure.
www.japantimes.com -- One of Japan's daily English-language newspapers. In the 'Arts' section, check out Donald Richie's book reviews. He's an American who has lived in Tokyo for fifty years, and is an expert on Japanese cinema, and always writes well on all aspects of Japanese culture.
www.moviepoopshoot -- Irreverent articles on the movie industry. Owned and run by Kevin Smith of Clerks fame (or infamy).
www.newsarama.com -- I gave up collecting comics when I was twelve, thirteen years old, but glancing at this site every now and then has me itching to get back into it.
www.frankstallone.com -- The website of Stallone's musician/actor younger brother. (Don't try and tell me that you don't already frequent it whenever you can.) Churchillian in his intellect, Clintonian in his eloquence, Frostian in his poetic grace, Browkawian in his delivery, Romanoian in his humor, Albrightian in his seriousness, and, it almost goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, Stallonian in his Stalloneness. (Does 'Stallonian' have an 'e' or not? I always got that one wrong on school tests.)
www.christiansciencemonitor.com -- I'm not sure what 'christian science' actually is. I don't remember taking a course like that back in high school, though I might have. I'm also not exactly sure what they monitor, or why, or how much they get paid. But it's a good newspaper, regardless.
www.drudgereport.com -- Slightly tabloidy right-wing news agency from the States (run by a dude named Matt Druge). Always has a scoop, real or imagined.
www.rushlimbaugh.com -- Most Americans despise Rush or love him. I, being Canadian, am impartial. I thought he was a very entertaining radio host, not as rabid or delusional as his detractors claim. He's satirical, and satire requires distortion, and a lot of people don't get that. I disagree with most of what he says, but his website does a good job of highlighting his interesting opinions of the day, and, if nothing else, he's an apt critic of the American media establishment (while simultaneously being part of it.)
www.newyorker.com -- Sometimes snooty, but very well-written articles about arts and cultures and occasionally politics, too.
www.friendster.com -- This is the website where you can link up with everybody all over the world and exchange messages; it's always free, forever, and there are very few other things in life that kill an hour or two like this website does. Please feel free to drop me a line to add me as a 'friend' if you're already a member and so inclined, or post a comment on this blog if you want me to 'invite' you. (I think you have to have somebody 'invite' you to become a FRIENDSTER member. Not that I'm expecting an onslaught of willing participants, but you never know.)
Sites that are named after me:
www.scottspencer.com -- This has nothing to do with me, but it does offer 'creature and character design'. Make of that what you will.
www.scottspencer.net -- This also has nothing to do with me, but it does feature a Boisie, Idaho businessman who shares my humble little name, and it offers, and I quote, "North America's largest corporate ballooning operation." And hey, I've always said that if I could have my name associated with corporate ballooning, my life would be complete. And so now it is.
www.scottspencer.ca -- In the process of being built. For this Scott Spencer.
Blogs I read:
www.amandaberlin.blogspot.com -- A well-written, sharp and witty take on one woman's life in New York City by a talented young writer. Honest, good-with-a-phrase, and including almost as many movie references as this blog, so it had-me-at-hello right there.
www.1ljenn.blogspot.com -- The random thoughts and musings of a funny, sometimes-stressed, artistic lawyer-in-the-making in D.C. (With nice postings of interesting pieces of art, paintings and photography, every week or so.)
www.oddmuse.blogspot.com -- Life in Thailand (soon to be the States, then Halifax) as seen from the perspective of a poetic and ribald young Canadian woman. (I think I used 'ribald' correctly.) Observant and unique.
www.shewhoeats.blogspot.com -- For something completely different, try this food blog written by an old friend in Japan; it was nominated for 'best-food blog' last year, and this site was what gave me the idea of starting a blog in the first place. (Not that this blog is food-related, but you can still blame Chika, not me, for the blog you're now reading -- direct all hate mail to her.) Interesting observations, well-written, and with photos of various kinds of delicious-looking food so clear and lifelike that you will feel stuffed just from reading it.
www.lexablog.blogspot.com -- One family, one small town, one writer in western Canada. Good stuff, like a Canadian Dave Barry.
www.jesterinjapan.blogspot.com -- Written by my old running buddy and member of the I-survived-Cookie-Jarvis's-jokes-support group, now (permanently?) ensconced somewhere in Japan. ('Ensconced' is another one of those words I'm not sure I've used correctly, because you never hear it out loud, but I thought I'd give it a shot.) Not updated frequently, but he's teaching the youth of Japan, and the children are our future, so I cut him some slack.
www.wilwheaton.net -- The writer from 'Stand By Me' is now, um, a writer. Interesting blog about family and acting and writing, and he gets about, like, 100 posts a day. (I'm aiming for 100 posts total in the next, oh, ten years.
(For anyone whose blogs I may have forgotten to list, my apologies; my brain is tired...)
Sites I sometimes read:
www.moviecitynews.com -- Compiles articles and interviews on anything and everything related to the film business.
www.peterdavid.net -- The website of comic-book writer Peter David. His daily observations on the industry and life.
www.artsandlettersdaily.com -- Compiles articles and interviews on anything and everything related to the world of arts and, um, letters. Kind of high-brow and intellectual stuff.
www.nytimes.com -- Always has interesting stuff. And a well-written Sports section. And a well-written Movies Section. And a well-written Books section. And a...
www.thestar.com -- Toronto's daily newspaper.
www.cnn.com -- International news. It also has transcripts of its programs, so I can read what happened on Larry King the night before without having to stare at his suspenders for extended periods of time. (Have you seen those things lately? The man is getting out of control.)
www.khmer440.com -- Discussion groups and articles on life in Cambodia. I know, I know -- you're tired of hearing about Cambodia on the news, in the classroom, at work, in your evening papers. But just in case you're not getting enough, there's lots of goofy discussions here for your entertainment pleasure.
www.japantimes.com -- One of Japan's daily English-language newspapers. In the 'Arts' section, check out Donald Richie's book reviews. He's an American who has lived in Tokyo for fifty years, and is an expert on Japanese cinema, and always writes well on all aspects of Japanese culture.
www.moviepoopshoot -- Irreverent articles on the movie industry. Owned and run by Kevin Smith of Clerks fame (or infamy).
www.newsarama.com -- I gave up collecting comics when I was twelve, thirteen years old, but glancing at this site every now and then has me itching to get back into it.
www.frankstallone.com -- The website of Stallone's musician/actor younger brother. (Don't try and tell me that you don't already frequent it whenever you can.) Churchillian in his intellect, Clintonian in his eloquence, Frostian in his poetic grace, Browkawian in his delivery, Romanoian in his humor, Albrightian in his seriousness, and, it almost goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, Stallonian in his Stalloneness. (Does 'Stallonian' have an 'e' or not? I always got that one wrong on school tests.)
www.christiansciencemonitor.com -- I'm not sure what 'christian science' actually is. I don't remember taking a course like that back in high school, though I might have. I'm also not exactly sure what they monitor, or why, or how much they get paid. But it's a good newspaper, regardless.
www.drudgereport.com -- Slightly tabloidy right-wing news agency from the States (run by a dude named Matt Druge). Always has a scoop, real or imagined.
www.rushlimbaugh.com -- Most Americans despise Rush or love him. I, being Canadian, am impartial. I thought he was a very entertaining radio host, not as rabid or delusional as his detractors claim. He's satirical, and satire requires distortion, and a lot of people don't get that. I disagree with most of what he says, but his website does a good job of highlighting his interesting opinions of the day, and, if nothing else, he's an apt critic of the American media establishment (while simultaneously being part of it.)
www.newyorker.com -- Sometimes snooty, but very well-written articles about arts and cultures and occasionally politics, too.
www.friendster.com -- This is the website where you can link up with everybody all over the world and exchange messages; it's always free, forever, and there are very few other things in life that kill an hour or two like this website does. Please feel free to drop me a line to add me as a 'friend' if you're already a member and so inclined, or post a comment on this blog if you want me to 'invite' you. (I think you have to have somebody 'invite' you to become a FRIENDSTER member. Not that I'm expecting an onslaught of willing participants, but you never know.)
Sites that are named after me:
www.scottspencer.com -- This has nothing to do with me, but it does offer 'creature and character design'. Make of that what you will.
www.scottspencer.net -- This also has nothing to do with me, but it does feature a Boisie, Idaho businessman who shares my humble little name, and it offers, and I quote, "North America's largest corporate ballooning operation." And hey, I've always said that if I could have my name associated with corporate ballooning, my life would be complete. And so now it is.
www.scottspencer.ca -- In the process of being built. For this Scott Spencer.
Blogs I read:
www.amandaberlin.blogspot.com -- A well-written, sharp and witty take on one woman's life in New York City by a talented young writer. Honest, good-with-a-phrase, and including almost as many movie references as this blog, so it had-me-at-hello right there.
www.1ljenn.blogspot.com -- The random thoughts and musings of a funny, sometimes-stressed, artistic lawyer-in-the-making in D.C. (With nice postings of interesting pieces of art, paintings and photography, every week or so.)
www.oddmuse.blogspot.com -- Life in Thailand (soon to be the States, then Halifax) as seen from the perspective of a poetic and ribald young Canadian woman. (I think I used 'ribald' correctly.) Observant and unique.
www.shewhoeats.blogspot.com -- For something completely different, try this food blog written by an old friend in Japan; it was nominated for 'best-food blog' last year, and this site was what gave me the idea of starting a blog in the first place. (Not that this blog is food-related, but you can still blame Chika, not me, for the blog you're now reading -- direct all hate mail to her.) Interesting observations, well-written, and with photos of various kinds of delicious-looking food so clear and lifelike that you will feel stuffed just from reading it.
www.lexablog.blogspot.com -- One family, one small town, one writer in western Canada. Good stuff, like a Canadian Dave Barry.
www.jesterinjapan.blogspot.com -- Written by my old running buddy and member of the I-survived-Cookie-Jarvis's-jokes-support group, now (permanently?) ensconced somewhere in Japan. ('Ensconced' is another one of those words I'm not sure I've used correctly, because you never hear it out loud, but I thought I'd give it a shot.) Not updated frequently, but he's teaching the youth of Japan, and the children are our future, so I cut him some slack.
www.wilwheaton.net -- The writer from 'Stand By Me' is now, um, a writer. Interesting blog about family and acting and writing, and he gets about, like, 100 posts a day. (I'm aiming for 100 posts total in the next, oh, ten years.
(For anyone whose blogs I may have forgotten to list, my apologies; my brain is tired...)
LET IT RAIN
Last night I awoke to a strange and surreal sound.
Rain.
I almost thought I was dreaming. So familiar a sound, and yet it had been almost six months since I had last heard drops hitting a roof, rain falling in erratic, slender sheets, puddles rapidly forming. Even the crackle of thunder had a familiar but foreign feel, as if it were not a memory but merely a remnant of one, dredged up from the basement of my subconscious.
Wonderful, to have the commonplace become mysterious and alluring.
The rainy season is about to begin, I guess, which is always ironic in Cambodia, because it happens to coincide with the hottest months of the year, April and May, months that scorch and slay any belligerent fool who opts to minimize what the merciless heat can and will do.
But last night, for a moment, hovering between the waking world and dreams-now-forgotten (though I wish I could remember, I do, I do) a modest form of majesty crept into my world, a natural cascade of water doing its rhythmic dance.
I fell in and out of sleep, waiting for the rain to stop, but it didn't, not until daybreak. Not until I'd been reminded of what had been lost for months on end and had now returned, unannounced, like a stray and forgotten pet finally finding its way home.
Rain.
I almost thought I was dreaming. So familiar a sound, and yet it had been almost six months since I had last heard drops hitting a roof, rain falling in erratic, slender sheets, puddles rapidly forming. Even the crackle of thunder had a familiar but foreign feel, as if it were not a memory but merely a remnant of one, dredged up from the basement of my subconscious.
Wonderful, to have the commonplace become mysterious and alluring.
The rainy season is about to begin, I guess, which is always ironic in Cambodia, because it happens to coincide with the hottest months of the year, April and May, months that scorch and slay any belligerent fool who opts to minimize what the merciless heat can and will do.
But last night, for a moment, hovering between the waking world and dreams-now-forgotten (though I wish I could remember, I do, I do) a modest form of majesty crept into my world, a natural cascade of water doing its rhythmic dance.
I fell in and out of sleep, waiting for the rain to stop, but it didn't, not until daybreak. Not until I'd been reminded of what had been lost for months on end and had now returned, unannounced, like a stray and forgotten pet finally finding its way home.
Monday, April 04, 2005
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?
Think about it: When you were fourteen, fifteen years old, you didn't know shit.
And when you actually were fourteen, fifteen years old, you looked at four and five year olds and thought: They don't know shit. Thinking hopscotch is cool. (Do kids still play that game?) Thinking running around in circles until you crash to the ground from dizziness is a good time. Finding whoopee cushions funny. (Wait. I still do find whoopee cushions funny. Bad example.)
And you were right. They didn't know how silly, uninformed, altogether ignorant they were.
And now I'm pushing (big gulp, and not the 7-11 kind) thirty, and I look at twenty year olds, and I think: They don't know shit.
Fine. We grow as we get older, we mature, our thinking-processes change, yada yada yada, pass the remote. I get all this.
But someone who is forty is looking at me and thinking: He has no idea what he's in store for.
And they're right. I don't. And if you told me, I probably wouldn't believe you, or I'd dismiss you with the wave of a hand, as I tend to, and think: Well, it ain't happening to me, buddy.
And my grandfather, who's eighty-five, must look at people who are fifty and think: They are so clueless.
Where does it end, is what I'm getting at.
We acquire wisdom as we get old; we fu-- up, make mistakes, piss people off and choose roads less traveled, which leaves us sometimes -- not always -- wondering whether that made all the difference.
And yet, paradoxically (a word I love using, by the way, and try to sneak into play whenever I can), we have convictions. We have certainties. We tend to believe that what we believe right now will be our sum and total conception of the universe forever and ever, the power and the glory, amen.
It's inevitable that our thought processes change; in fact, it's almost mandatory that they do so. You shift, evolve, live on the planet and formulate thoughts -- and the thoughts you have at forty will rarely, if ever, resemble those you had at fifteen. (Unless you're super-duper religious, and even in that case, changes, over millenia, are accepted into the doctrine; even the pope, so I've heard, believed in evolution. (I didn't until the early nineties, when I came across Pauly Shore and realized that he was, in fact, the 'missing link'.)
That's what makes me mad at all those people who view their opinions of films and books as firm, almost sacred entitlements. They like something, it's genius. They hate it, it's garbage. If you have a differing opinion, well, you're wrong. Plain and simple.
The reality is, we change, and the movies and books change with us. Read a book you loved at twenty-two, and read it again at twenty-nine, and it will not be the same book, of this I am sure. This does not preclude you from loving it -- but I'm betting that you love it in a different way. A more subtle, reasoned way.
The thing is, it has to stop, this process. That's what I'm suggesting. Maybe I can get some kind of amendment going; I won't petition the Canadian government, no, I'll take it directly to whatever religious deity is on-watch tonight. (Then again, I lean towards agnosticism, so this could get tricky.)
In any event, it's too tiring, this whole decade-by-decade reevaluation that I (begrudingly) admit we all must go through to qualify for our Thinking-And-Evolving-Human-Card that gives us certification as a rational adult and a free Double Whopper with large fries and a Coke. (Sidenote: No western franchises in Cambodia. None. No KFC, no Mickey Dees, no Wendy's. They have their own version called BB World, and they recently had to change the logo because McDonald's somehow found out about this place and noticed that the 'w' in 'World' looked a little too much like the golden arches. Funny how McDonald's can penetrate Phnom Penh fast-food franchises, but Paramount and Universal haven't noticed that their movies are available on bootleg DVDs the same day they come out back home. Not sure how that works.)
I know what I know (or at least I know what I'm not sure of, in any case), and I would like these simple, self-held truths to be durable, lasting, even eternal, like a parent's love for a child, or the Ten Commandments, or Geraldo's moustache. (Think what would happen if he shaved that thing right off. Pandemonium, people.)
But I keep thinking of myself at age 32, and 37, and 46; I keep thinking of the man who will look back on these blogs, and wonder: What was he thinking?
Well, the answer is this, I'm afraid. This blog. At this moment in my identity, it's all I've got. It may be wrong; it may not be enough. But it's mine, and it's here, and it's what I believe. Maybe that's enough.
But, you know, check back with me around ten or eleven tonight.
Things change, after all.
And when you actually were fourteen, fifteen years old, you looked at four and five year olds and thought: They don't know shit. Thinking hopscotch is cool. (Do kids still play that game?) Thinking running around in circles until you crash to the ground from dizziness is a good time. Finding whoopee cushions funny. (Wait. I still do find whoopee cushions funny. Bad example.)
And you were right. They didn't know how silly, uninformed, altogether ignorant they were.
And now I'm pushing (big gulp, and not the 7-11 kind) thirty, and I look at twenty year olds, and I think: They don't know shit.
Fine. We grow as we get older, we mature, our thinking-processes change, yada yada yada, pass the remote. I get all this.
But someone who is forty is looking at me and thinking: He has no idea what he's in store for.
And they're right. I don't. And if you told me, I probably wouldn't believe you, or I'd dismiss you with the wave of a hand, as I tend to, and think: Well, it ain't happening to me, buddy.
And my grandfather, who's eighty-five, must look at people who are fifty and think: They are so clueless.
Where does it end, is what I'm getting at.
We acquire wisdom as we get old; we fu-- up, make mistakes, piss people off and choose roads less traveled, which leaves us sometimes -- not always -- wondering whether that made all the difference.
And yet, paradoxically (a word I love using, by the way, and try to sneak into play whenever I can), we have convictions. We have certainties. We tend to believe that what we believe right now will be our sum and total conception of the universe forever and ever, the power and the glory, amen.
It's inevitable that our thought processes change; in fact, it's almost mandatory that they do so. You shift, evolve, live on the planet and formulate thoughts -- and the thoughts you have at forty will rarely, if ever, resemble those you had at fifteen. (Unless you're super-duper religious, and even in that case, changes, over millenia, are accepted into the doctrine; even the pope, so I've heard, believed in evolution. (I didn't until the early nineties, when I came across Pauly Shore and realized that he was, in fact, the 'missing link'.)
That's what makes me mad at all those people who view their opinions of films and books as firm, almost sacred entitlements. They like something, it's genius. They hate it, it's garbage. If you have a differing opinion, well, you're wrong. Plain and simple.
The reality is, we change, and the movies and books change with us. Read a book you loved at twenty-two, and read it again at twenty-nine, and it will not be the same book, of this I am sure. This does not preclude you from loving it -- but I'm betting that you love it in a different way. A more subtle, reasoned way.
The thing is, it has to stop, this process. That's what I'm suggesting. Maybe I can get some kind of amendment going; I won't petition the Canadian government, no, I'll take it directly to whatever religious deity is on-watch tonight. (Then again, I lean towards agnosticism, so this could get tricky.)
In any event, it's too tiring, this whole decade-by-decade reevaluation that I (begrudingly) admit we all must go through to qualify for our Thinking-And-Evolving-Human-Card that gives us certification as a rational adult and a free Double Whopper with large fries and a Coke. (Sidenote: No western franchises in Cambodia. None. No KFC, no Mickey Dees, no Wendy's. They have their own version called BB World, and they recently had to change the logo because McDonald's somehow found out about this place and noticed that the 'w' in 'World' looked a little too much like the golden arches. Funny how McDonald's can penetrate Phnom Penh fast-food franchises, but Paramount and Universal haven't noticed that their movies are available on bootleg DVDs the same day they come out back home. Not sure how that works.)
I know what I know (or at least I know what I'm not sure of, in any case), and I would like these simple, self-held truths to be durable, lasting, even eternal, like a parent's love for a child, or the Ten Commandments, or Geraldo's moustache. (Think what would happen if he shaved that thing right off. Pandemonium, people.)
But I keep thinking of myself at age 32, and 37, and 46; I keep thinking of the man who will look back on these blogs, and wonder: What was he thinking?
Well, the answer is this, I'm afraid. This blog. At this moment in my identity, it's all I've got. It may be wrong; it may not be enough. But it's mine, and it's here, and it's what I believe. Maybe that's enough.
But, you know, check back with me around ten or eleven tonight.
Things change, after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)