oppressed women

I thought of a good idea for non-fiction book today. Actually, I thought of it a while back when I watched Seven Brides For Seven Brothers at Brad and Allison's apartment (a hilarious movie that should prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that white men can dance).
I wondered if women were any more oppressed than men in the pre-1900's. The party line is that women had to toil and scrub at home while men got to go out and lead this exciting life. Men could be abusive to their wives without recrimination from society, and women had no way to escape a bad husband.
Is this real, or is it just a view exagerated in the movies and by authors like Kate Chopin. We often answer this question by looking at the plight of women, but I'd be interested to know the plight of most men. I don't know if there's any way to explore this topic. I do know that Mr. Murdstone in David Copperfield is obviously a villain for oppressing his wife and that Aunt Betsy is far stronger and freer than some of the male characters in that book like Mr. Micawber. Does society frown on Bathsheba Everdene for owning a large plantation and presiding over men in Far From the Madding Crowd? Of course, these books were written by men, but then there're the Brontes and Jane Austen. Anyway, I'm just wonderin'

NEXT: Are weapon's dealers really corrupt and evil?

The drawbacks of facial hair

So I've had very bad running experiences the last two days. My legs feel heavy, my lungs feel tight, and I just don't have any energy. Some might say that I am simply paying the price for all the cocaine I've orally ingested over the last several years, but I think it's this new beard I've grown.

Just as Sampson gained strength from his hair, I think my hair saps me of my vitality which makes me reverse Sampson. I've gotten many compliments from the ladies about my facial hair, however, so I guess I'll keep it and hope that I don't have to slay any armies with a jawbone or rip the doors off of any fortified cities.

...which makes me realize there're some really strange Sampson stories...but that can be for another post.

Ouch!

Well here I'm going to make yet another attempt to start blogging again. Hopefully, this will be more successful than my attempts to quit kicking puppies and robbing grannies.

In the past, I have often lamented the lack of a passion. Well, all that changed the other day when I bent over to pet the dog and bumped my head on a chair (I still suspect the dog may have intended this to happen!). Now, I have a scar on my head. If I'm lucky, I will be like Captain Ahab and the scar will turn white hot when I get angry. If I'm unlucky, I'll be like the Elephantman and have to wear a bag over my head to hide my ugliness from the world.

Back to my passion. My passion is to not bump my head any more. Of course the easy solution would be to cut off my head and put it in a safe, but I decided against that and turned to alternate solutions.
First I tried a headband with springs on it, but then I realized if I ever needed to head butt someone in a fight (which happens alot), he (or she) would bounce harmlessly backwards. Next I tied lots of stuffed animals to my head, but once again, this hampered my headbutting abilities (I want to be able to head butt in case that dog tries any more funny business). Finally, I settled on one of those old-timey diving suits. Sure it has its drawbacks...the saying,"He's about as popular as a fart in a diving helmet" means a lot more to me now. But at least I'll be saving face with the ladies. Think how dumb I'd look with a bag on my head!

Well, here I am posting again. I know, I know. In good writing you're not supposed to announce things like, "I'm going to write about..." or "In my opinion." However, my last post was back in June, so I didn't feel I could just waltz in and start another post like I had been doing it all this time. Probably more stuff has happened in the last five months than the previous four years, but that'll have to wait for another day (he said with a winsome smile and gleam in his eye).

Last night, I had to "work" until nine. I put it in quotation marks because I didn't really work; I just had to be here in case anyone needed help (and no one did). Anyway, I decided to watch RINGU, the Japanese movie which inspired The Ring. I have one thing to say: "THAT GIRL IS CREEPY!!!!!!" When I was a kid, I thought things I saw on TV would really happen. If those kids could shrink, I could shrink, too! If Gargamel could curse the smurfs, he could curse me too! Anyway, I thought I had gotten over all that, but last night, I had a really hard time sleeping, and this morning I was all alone in my parents house.... Let's just say I had the radio on a Christian station and didn't stay in the shower as long as I normally do.

Why would a 25 year old be scared of a movie? There's a part of me that thinks because I'm afraid of demons or a ghost that God might send them to test me. I know this "magical thinking," but I wonder how many people think this way. "I like this car too much, so God's going to test me by wrecking it" or "I like this person too much, God's going to take him/her away."

I'm not going to draw any conclusions from this. Just an observation.

Last Sat'dy evenin' me and m'friend Jessup went over to enjoy the comp'ny of two lady critters. Well sir, we set out on the porch swing a'drinkin' lemonade an' a'listenin' to a show on the radio come all the way in from Charlotte. By the time the night'd finished, seems I near got the vapors from so much a'swingin and a'chitchattin'. En't had s'much fun since Jessup 'n' me went to watch Clay and Calhoun fight over the last chicken leg.

Alright, I'll quit talking (typing?) like that, now. Another fun thing we did Saturday night besides sit on a swing and listen to the radio was read Winnie the Pooh. I know it's not wise to live so fast and loose, but by jingo, I'm still a young man! Anyway, I've tried to figure out what makes Pooh so transcendent (as opposed to other popular children's icons like Captain Underpants and Rover Dangerfield.)

I think that, like Peanuts, the charm comes from contrasting the seriousness with which these
simple, raggedy stuffed animals regard themselves with the actual silliness of the situation. For example, in the story we read on Saturday, Rabbit is very upset about the arrival of a new animal who (gasp) keeps her baby in her pocket. Of course, this must be dealt with, and Rabbit comes up with an intricate plot for driving Kanga and Roo from the Wood. Of course, to the animals all this is very important business and handled with the utmost gravity. There are fears, jealousies, and bruised egos. Pooh is initially hurt when he thinks he is less important than Piglet. Piglet does not want to be alone when he faces a fierce kangaroo. Rabbit, although he has no real reason to dislike Kanga, easily wins the other animals to his cause because, well, he's rabbit and he talks the loudest. How very human.

However, I don't think the point of the stories is that the animals are like us; we are like the animals. I'm sure that if we could pull back and witness ourselves from the third person all our rivalries, hurt feelings, and fears would seem as silly as Milne's subjects'. Silly as they might be, however, Milne never mocks or scorns the animal's feelings. He is always gentle.

I think Pooh keeps us humble by reminding us how very small and silly we are in the great scheme of things.

The Ramblings of a Madman

Well, the last time I blogged, we didn't have the "internet." It was more like we had to write our blogs on whatever we could find...trees, rocks, random bottles. One time I had to write my criticisms of the Harding administration on a patch of mange on a dachsund's back.

So where did the title come from? As some of you may know, my last blog was called "The Dirty Diaper" mainly because diapers are funny. Not only do they look funny and smell funny. The word "diaper" is just funny. Diaper would probably never cut it as a curse word or the name of a thriving internet startup.

I think this fascination with diapers originated my senior year at Belhaven when Danny and I thought it would be funny if one of us stood up angrily in the cafeteria and shouted, "Well, you wear diapers!" As is often the case with such jokes, this is probably not funny to anyone else. The same goes for the phrases "Out, vile jelly," and "Hey! This isn't apple juice!"
This mild obsession also resulted in a story about a fierce barbarian who can never be king because of his fickle bladder.

That aside, I think I'm dealing with a more sophisticated clientelle on blogger, so I ditched the diaper. "This Side of Paradise" is the name of F. Scott Fitzgerald's first novel, but I actually found it in a list of old "Star Trek" episodes (perhaps I can discuss my unfortunate love for pop culture in another post). Much like the show itself, ST episode titles managed a good mixture of melodrama metaphysics: "For the World is Hollow, and I Have Touched the Sky," "Who Mourns for Adonais," "Mudd's Women."

In the end, it was a tossup between "This Side of Paradise" and "Operation: Annihilate!" "This Side of Paradise" won because it represented the perfect marriage between high and low culture, so I can be pretentious and snooty and eat my pork right off the pig!