Reading tea leaves
Cultural commentators who warn against the most inocuous messages of “deviant” behavior in pop culture need to remember that parents themselves are not idiots and have the wealth of their experience to guide them. Reading too deeply into things can bring about the wildest of conclusions; the warning against which can be more harmful than the blissful ignorance of them.
Case in point, my sister described the turtles in Finding Nemo as part of the carefree, thrillseeking surfer culture. Then there are those who call them “stoners.” Would you tell your pre-teens that such vocal affectations were indicative of drug use? Or would you just tell them that some turtles—or people—just act differently? Would you, as a social commentator, raise the roof with all sorts of alarms for parents to warn their kids of behavior they should be at this point, blissfully ignorant of?
When a shark wants to dress up as a dolphin in a fish movie and the shark’s father expresses acceptance for his son, why focus on the apparent allegory to “deviant” behavior when the focus could be on the father’s ability to surmount such superficial worries? Too much ballyhoo, too much reading into tea leaves.
When aesthetes attack
This Washington Post article about a top secret Navy facility in the middle of a park in Washinton, D.C. is quite a good example of how the press, in its insatiable thirst for their deification, engages in irresponsible reporting of facts that are not covered by secrecy.
That they, unable to get what they wanted on the details of the facility’s actions itself, published the names of people who know of the projects in the facilty is irresponsible. That they, in a quest for “transparency” in matters of national security, would worry more about the aesthetics of the capitol at a time like this, is irresponsible. That they, under the guise of “accountability,” would incite the organizations that oversee normal park construction to dip their fingers in matters that they are not privy to, is irresponsible.
If certain government organizations are not privy to Secret to Top Secret information from other government bodies, what makes the press think they have all the right to this info? The people whose security the reporters at The Post have compromised are to be lauded for their steadfastness.
HT: Kathy Kinsley UPDATE: Regarding the title, I forgot to note that the writers were whining a lot about how the facility makes the capitol ugly. Talk about priorities. UPDATE2: I actually did. It was buried in the second coumpound sentence in the second graf. Haha.
Maternal strength
A photo of my mother, in a not so flattering situation. Taken on an afternoon spent clearing the yard of excess wood from deck work.
Licensing for use in Communist propaganda is not being offered.
Making peace with myself
When a story usually starts with “if you only knew,” usually there are just so many details that couldn’t be divulged in the public sphere that the story itself lacks substance.
So, if you all only knew, I used to hate the Christmas season. Well, that was after I liked it.
Earlier tonight, I joined my mother for a ride to her workplace. She brought with her some of the pancit that some of her co-workers have grown to like a lot. The food was for one of her teammates, a kindly black woman who brought with her delectable selections from her own Thanksgiving table. While waiting for the other half of this rendezvous, Celine Dion’s version of O Holy Night was playing at the lite rock station that my mom never dials out of. (For the entire holiday season they play Christmas tunes non-stop.)
For the first time in years I didn’t find myself tuning out, or even being irritated at the sound of a Christmas song. I even found myself singing along. And I realized that a big part of my history that I resented has basically fallen off my shoulders.
For three of my college years in the Philippines I spent Christmas eve alone. My cousin, who was my roomy, would go to his aunt’s on his dad’s side of the family, and celebrate it with familiar faces. I had a turbulent relationship with my brother, with who the holidays were unbearable, as I found out during my first year away from home. I had close friends who invited me to their places but I knew that, surrounded by their entire families, I would only feel bad about myself.
Christmas was a time for self-pity. I pride myself in being a good cook; I would cook three or four of my favorite dishes in small portions and have a small smorgasbord of them. I’d get some sparkling dry white wine to wash it down, and I would be asleep before midnight crept in. Christmas was the time when I felt the most alone. My mother and sister were here in the States, and after the usual phone call I would get about my way.
But I was so physically alone. And I hated it, and the season that reminded me of it so much. I didn’t “celebrate” Christmas, it was a storm I weathered.
I brought those scars with me to the USA, and the aloof attitude that I have fostered. But tonight, listening to Celine Dion (of ALL elevator-music acts, imagine that) with my mum in my car, I just realized something. She’s here. I’m here. My family is here.
It’s really late tonight, and I’m listening to Jewel’s Joy: A Holiday Collection. Outside the temps are set to freeze for the first time in two weeks. The brief late fall warmup is basically over; it looks like it may be a mild winter ahead. But no matter how the winter will be like, I know my shoulders feel light. It’s going to be Christmas for me for the first time in a while, and I’m feeling it all right.
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