not falling down

(Preface: Apparently a lot of people are concerned that the last entry somehow is somehow related to Object A, which it’s not–at least not directly. It’s just a phenomenon I’ve notedfrom long and repeated exposure. It happens. Girls will be girls.

Anyway, I started writing this yesterday and it kind of just kept going. I tried to keep it from getting speechy, butwhen I get started on an essay there’s no stopping me! Enjoy, if you want, or tell me if you don’t.)

From today’s issue of Newsweek:

“The hallmark of a free and democratic society is freedom of the press. Take it away, and you would leavepoliticians, financial hawks and whoever else has things to hide free to hoodwink the public. The very thought of agagged press sends chills down my spine.”

That’s a reader response to Anna Quindlen’s column of Feb. 18, called “A Conspiracy of Notebooks” (I’d link you tothat, but–ironically, as it turns out–there’s a subscription fee to view back issues). It’s a very true statement,and I sympathize. First Amendment rights are up there with abortion and death penalty issues, for me, and they compriseone of the reasons I voted for Dave Barry. The free press is an important thing. I only wish we had one.

This isn’t going to turn into a rant about the “liberal media”–there is a bias to the left in most of the press, butit’s easy enough to filter out once you know where to look. I wish the same could be said for the sheer right-wingstupidity of, say, MallardFillmore, but that’s another rant all by itself. What I’m trying to get to is this: our news sources may be mostlyfree of political ties, but they’re still very much in the thrall of sales concerns. And that’s what produces thingslike the current Newsweek cover story, from the same issue as the quote above: “Sex,Shame and the Catholic Church.”

What happened to those people as children is a horrible, horrible thing. John Geoghan is a sick man beyond thethreshhold of therapeutic help. Cardinal Law made the same mistake too many times when dealing with him, and it’s longpast time for Geoghan to be separated from the rest of society. These three sentences are the meat of a good newsstory, ready to be fleshed out with statistics and related accounts.

The article has these. Unfortunately, it also has a great deal more. Judging by the pictures in the article, allCatholics are grim-faced, white-haired men; after they grow up, they become lapsed Catholics, and thus normal people.Judging by the lead-ins, sex is a concept entirely alien to Catholic thought (reproducing, as we do, by mitosis). Thearticle alleges an “epidemic” of abuse, then goes on to examine exactly one case, lightly touching on two more.Apparently, this leads to conclusions like “secrecy and silence have always characterized the Catholic Church.”

There is nothing about my church that is secretive or silent, and there hasn’t been in my lifetime, and I have towonder if authors Lisa Miller and David France have been inside a Catholic church since 1963. My church, to me, meanssinging and laughter during baptisms and yes, ritual–the power and communion inherent in call and response. I’ve nevereven said the words “church secret,” and I’ve never heard anyone else say them, and I doubt I ever will.

I freely admit I’m reacting to this because the article is offensive to me. It implies false and insulting things abouta group to which I belong, and that upsets me, and I’m reacting where I might not, were it about another group–this isa human thing. But I’m also trying to illustrate the principles at work here, and the central irony of the issue ofNewsweek sitting next to me now.

Miller and France wrote the article the way they did–and the magazine produced it the same way–because it’s going toget good (controversial) response, and sell well. This, too, is a human thing. And a commercially driven presscannot, by its very nature, be entirely free.

“The liberal media” is an overused and mostly false phrase, and one to which Anna Quindlen doesn’t respond very well.It’s a reputation based on little fact and perpetuated by shortsighted people, but the same goes for the thingsNewsweek said about my church this week. And the only way to end stereotypes about you is to stop indulging instereotyping yourself.

I’ve been meaning to do this one for a while, and as my life is currently boring I will quote David Eddings: “Let’s define our terms.”

There is an ability unique, I believe, to certain people. It works like a switch. It has values of true and false, one and zero, on and off; it can be activated at a moment’s notice. It is a change in perception, originating in the viewer but immediately effective on the viewee. What it is, is this: It is the power pretty girls have to simply, quietly turn off an average boy’s status as fellow human being.

It’s a defense mechanism, really. At the slightest hint that a funny but unfascinating guy is attempting to steer a conversation (awkwardly or not) into flirting territory, the shields go up and he is–like magic!–beneath notice. Upturned noses are unnecessary but common; cold eyes equally so. If the subject of the attack has a sensitive bone in his body, the effect is usually enough to freeze him in his tracks. Even in the event he’s able to keep being funny and momentarily pierce said shields, though, they return a moment later even fiercer than before.

In the vein of Adams and Lloyd, I hereby term this ability: the snorch.

I’m in kind of a quiet mood, but I was just getting ready to write when I let a fluffy and whoooo doggies what a smell.There goes introspection.

So I’m going to Alabama from the 6th to the 10th for my first ever SETC. This is normally where drama majors go to audition for summer stock or apply for tech jobsand stuff; I thought about it, but since I wasn’t ready for the qualifier auditions back in fall I didn’t try out. Iwouldn’t be going at all, actually, except I signed up for this new thing and somehow got in. I’mgoing to be an overnight ten-minute playwright.

I would be nervous about that, but when I think about it, I actually wrote all my scripts for playwriting class thenight before they were due anyway. This will probably be the same thing, only with snacks.

Standard update for the dozen or so people who ask me every day if anything new has happened with a certain someone:no. But it is terribly thoughtful of you to ask!

now if there’s a cure for this
we don’t want it; we run from it

Anyone have some Idiotcam© ideas? ‘Cause I’m running kind of low.

Running, in general, is not a pretty thing. Jogging isn’t bad, because you’re setting a steady pace, not pushing yourself, wearing your designer sweatclothes or whatever. But even when people goggle at runners in the Olympics, it’s about half admiration for their incredible smoothness of form and half fascination with the weird ugliness of any pro runner’s body. Let’s face it: nobody with that little body fat is really attractive (and yes, that includes supermodels).

Unfortunately, I have neither good form nor a body like a Slim Jim, and though I don’t exactly carry a mirror when I run, I’m fairly sure I’m more a sight to cause sore eyes than anything. I run in a loose white t-shirt and old black shorts. My hair (especially now that it’s getting long) flounces and flops where it’s not pasted to my forehead,so I appear to be wearing a particularly flamboyant hedgehog for a hat. And because my family genetically doesn’t get rid of heat well, my face goes piebald but for deep pits around my eyes, so I kind of look like I’m running toward the Battered Women’s Shelter.

This is something I’ve adjusted to. I do most of my route off-campus, so I don’t really run into anyone I know, and I usually go out in the early afternoon when everyone’s busy (these aren’t actually precautionary measures to keep people from seeing me, but they are convenient). Up until yesterday I hadn’t really given the subject of looking embarrassing much thought.

But it was yesterday when, around 5:30, I pounded up the last stretch toward Bingham–wheezing, zombie-faced, getting about six inches to a stride–and encountered, well, take three guesses who as she strolled down, puffing daintily on her cigarette.

She gave me a nice smile, in a “you know you look stupid” kind of way.

In other news, it’s just possible that because I’m “participating directly in the conference,” I could get free airfare and meal/hotel money from Centre for SETC. That would be a very nice thing. I wonder if I could get them to give it to me for Italy instead.

just as relaxed as the tower of Pisa
not ever missing that old Mona Lisa

Update 0757 hrs: In response to any questions you may have about the show, the answer is “yes.” Whoo.

Three entries in three days is almost unprecedented. Maybe I’m trying to make up for the fact that I’m heading home forthe weekend–again–and when I get back I’ll commence trying hastily to ink this week’s toon. Ah, the jet-setting lifeof an unpaid cartoonist! Ha ha! See you Sunday.

Update 1353 hrs: But before I go, I feel I should mention that my roommate has purchased his very firstprofessional team from Yahoo! Shopping. I mean, with prices like these, who can refuse?

Ian got Richard. I got Hastings. Here’s the thing: it’s going to be a very good play. My glands are telling me to befrustrated, but I’m trying to be clear-headed about it (or anyway I think I am). Tony is a show director, not anactor’s director, and putting Ian in the role will bring out a lot of things that would have required more work withme. I still think that I have the bigger range between us, but Ian’s limits fall squarely on either side of where mostpeople want to see Richard. He’s very strong there, and he’s going to do very, very well with it.

There are other things, too, that I think I can see Tony doing (and that not everyone will). I’m being honest when Isay I have more friends in the department. Ian and I are both decent, friendly guys, but there are kids who think he’sarrogant (I don’t) and wanted me to have the role to keep him out of it. This casting is going to upset them, and thatwill draw out their venom toward him in a very realistic way. Instant Method.

I think I could steal this show; I’m not going to, because while it might be fun the play would lose out. Richard is an(the) antihero. Drawing focus from that would take something from the core of the play. So I’m going to be anensemble player, and I’m going to try to help David (who was also up for Richard, and who got Buckingham) do the same.There is this about performance: in the end we aren’t there for ourselves.

T-minus 9.5 hours.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! Everybody sing to the world’s saintliest lady today if, for some reason, you see her. I am ofcourse not going to mention how old is, except to say it rhymes with “nifty-two.”

In other news, I got callbacks for Richard III. In “Richard III.” But there is just one problem, inthat I am up against my friend Ian for the role, and Ian has more chops than your average cleaver store. Wish me brokenlegs for tonight.

(Note that the Ian above is not to be confused with the fearsome Evaporator of ARG!, who just happens to be my brother.)

Happy Hallmark Day in advance if I don’t put up an entry tomorrow. After all, I may be too enchanted to do much but gibber.

pacify problems
with kisses and cuddles

I am a seamster, which does not, as you might expect, refer to my actively seaming, so much as it does tomy cosmic, astonishing ability to sew. I can sew things. I am in fact “the man” at sewing things. I sew like theproverbial Stygian bat.

Actually I’m fairly awful at it by anyone’s standards but my own, but the fact remains that not only did I successfullyfix up three years-old rips in my favorite coat, I also made repairs on another shirt entirely. That’s four (count ‘em)different seams in two articles of clothing, for an average of two seams per article. At least three of thoseconsisted of itsy bitsy stitches, and two of those I actually did inside out for that nifty hidden-seameffect.

Too many italics. Next topic. My roommates got me a pirate monkey! Or possibly a monkey pirate! Either way I’m going tomarry them. Also, go hang loose in the new forums rightnow. They taste of delicate butters.

one look in her eyes
and I feel undressed

Less than a week until Anne makes herpresence known on the Centre campus. It’s an event we’ve been looking forward to all year. Ken stuck a little portraitof Ms. Murray on our markerboard in August, and it’s been saying horrible and profane things daily ever since; now thatthe countdown has begun, she’s taken on positively demonic aspects. It’s only a matter of time until we see her inconcert, and I fully expect some kind of pyrotechnic battle between good and evil when the curtain opens. Ph34r!

Heading home for the weekend. This has disadvantages, such as the fact that I won’t be able to hang out or play videogames; it also has advantages, in that I will miss at least a day and a half of Rush Week. Ah, those crazy fraternityboys!

and if I had a gun
there’d be no tomorrow

Well. I didn’t do much over the fateful winter break except read, get fatter, and fume about getting ripped off, but I did do a lot of thinking. What I concluded(among other things) is this: if given the choice between hot, frequent sex with Object B and a really good honey-baked turkey sandwich… well, I’m fairly sure thesandwich doesn’t have anything contagious.

Xorph is mostly up and at ‘em again, if only via straight ip. Deep Fried is so immensely much nicer, and not just because they offer a webcomic discount–there’sall kinds of services and extras that I didn’t think you could get on a budget. Also the tech help peopleactually exist, so that’s kind of nice. If and when I get the time, I’d like to start using those resources for Xorphextras, like a chat room (useless but fun) and an honestly database-driven site (much faster and cleaner). I’ve got anew design sketched out, too, which should be a challenge to put together but should also open up all kinds of newpossibilities.

Listen to me babbling about my website. Je suis le nerd. Speaking of which, hi Kim and Taylor.

I’ve officially been through one each of all my new classes, which promise to be interesting if not easy. At least I’vegot Becker twice a week to make up for the motherfucking 8:00 algorithms class with the one and only Dr. Christine Shannon.Snark-x-x. (That is a “snore” sound.)

I offered to trade Tycho my giantscary U2 poster (featured in many old idiotcams©) for a collector’s edition of the PA book. Don’t think he’s goingfor it. Ah well… I’ll just have to put up with the giant scary varicolored men invading my dreams.

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