You'd think that Notre Dame linebacker Manti Te'o would be overjoyed to learn his internet girlfriend's death was a hoax, that the person with whom he spent days and nights on the phone is alive and well, even if her name isn't Lennay Kekua. If it's true the NFL hot-property had never met this posthumous paramour, but fell in love with her over the course of years on the phone, you'd think the bond would be super-ordinary and he'd be on the first plane to meet his miraculously restored Ophelia. The death "hoax" could have a fairytale ending! (Maybe I'm overestimating the emotional availability of a football player, but that exclamation could be a pun and a twist.) Evidently Manti Te'o presumes his fabled "Lennay Kekua" by any other name will not smell as sweet. That's certainly the conclusion a TV audience is meant to infer. The football star's sagging enthusiasm for his ex phone pal enamorada suggests he might already know her identity doesn't it? His business-of-football associates don't seem to show much curiosity either. Is it that Lennay Kekua's real identity and physical appearance have to be vetted by Notre Dame or by the NFL before they approve a re-engagement with the Manti entity integral to their business plan? No doubt American Football might also not ready for a gender switch, if the phone passed around the locker room in the persona of "Lennay" turns out to be Manti's "prankster" friend Ronaiah Tuiasosopo. Macho Manti Te'o is entitled to the private life of his choosing, but when the media money machine plumbs real-life drama to pull the nation's heartstrings, we're entitled to see what comes up at the end of the line, especially the more feverishly they try to cut it. Because isn't there a real chance here for something transformative? Imagine if Manti Te'o is revealed to be gay, what that could do for traditional divisive stereotypes, blessed by football. Reality television teases us with the charismatic potential of witnessing real life, but carefully scripts what we see to preclude an unpredictable outcome.
Tag: Love
a heart of stone
I found this rock in Costa Rica, wet with seawater and the color of red jade, on a miles-long stretch of sand. A heart-shaped message, freed from the somber rainforest, presented to me - I think - by Cupid himself!
Speaking of toilets
When I visited Southern California in the mid-eighties, I was bedazzled by my boyfriend's beachside neighborhood. Tiny stucco houses. Flowering vines crawling weatherworn trellises. Impossibly narrow streets. Sandy restaurants serving fish tacos. Cramped outdoor patios overlooking the ocean -- the vast inconceivable Pacific ocean. An exciting vista for a Colorado girl. As with all lovers' trysts, the visceral has faded to ephemera, and I am left with only a sense of place and time. However, one tangible relic remains from my visit, and it was recently brought to mind afresh. If it's yellow let it mellow; if it's brown flush it down. In case you've not heard this California incantation, it is a reference to pee and poo, number 1 and number 2, realities that, to my mind, are best left behind stall doors. In any case, they should not be fodder for a state mantra. Drought be damned! After many years of recklessly rejecting the admonition, I am prepared to pass California wisdom on to my Colorado offspring. Why? The Gazette reported this week that 1/3 of a typical household's water usage goes to flushing the toilet. 1/3! I have six Kool-aid swilling children so the flushing in our house, reinforced rigidly by prissy mother me, is nonstop. No more. New rule. If it's yellow let it mellow; if it's brown flush it down. I have yet to divine an apt consequence for willful disobedience.
Plant Biology
I have an aloe plant that has moved with me from girlfriend to girlfriend without arousing the suspicion that it carries such memories.
Lenten reflection
Love is impatient, love is unkind. It is full of envy and braggadocio. It is arrogant. It is rude. It is self-seeking and easily angered; it keeps a detailed record of wrongs. Love delights in evil and ignores the truth. It never protects, never trusts, never hopes, never perseveres. Love ever fails. Obviously I need some fresh air. Too much dust. Too many ashes. Pollyanna is hiding.
Counterpoint duets in American musicals
A now Christmas classic has breathed new life into Frank Loesser's "Baby it's cold outside / I really must go." After burning out the household listening to all available recordings, I yearned for other counterpoint duets. Neither Broadway, nor the internet was very forthcoming, hence this post. For a duet with a similar whimsical wolf vs. mouse dynamic, there's "Small Talk" from Frank Loesser's Pajama Game. (Preferred duo Doris Day and John Raitt). "An old fashion wedding" from the 1966 revival of Irving Berlin's Annie Get Your Gun. (Ethel Merman and Bruce Yarnell). "I wonder why / You're just in love" from Irving Berlin's 1950 musical Call Me Madam. (Ethel Merman and Russel Nype or Donald O'Connor). Irving Berlin's earlier "Pack up your sins and go to the Devil" features syncopation on both parts. There's the "Will I Ever Tell You" counterpoint to "Lida Rose" in Meredith Wilson's The Music Man. And the combo of "Goodnight my someone" with "Seventy-six trombones" (Shirley Jones and Robert Preston). There's the infamous "Tonight Quintet" from West Side Story. (Best remake: South Park). The 1959 musical Little Mary Sunshine lampoons counterpoint with three parts: Playing Croquet, Swinging, and How Do You Do? Stephen Soundheim repeated the feat in A Little Night Music with "Now," "Later" and "Soon." Less romantic counterpoint could include "All for the best" from Godspell. Can you think of any other? (The best pairing for "Baby it's cold outside"? Physical performance: Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalban, best repartee: Margaret Whiting and Johnny Mercer, best contemporary match: Zooey Deschanel and Leon Redbone.)
She’s a real doll
Over the weekend I saw Lars and the Real Girl, a strange but funny movie about a mentally-ill introvert who, much to his concerned family's delight, finds a "girlfriend" on the internet. The girlfriend, Bianca, it turns out, is actually a Real Doll, a life-sized anatomically correct silicone woman, created by Abyss Creations in California and sold for upwards of $10,000. The entire community sweetly honors the "relationship" while Lars works through deep psychological issues resulting from his mother's death at his birth. The brilliance of the movie is that it causes us to gain an uneasy acceptance of something that would otherwise seem perverse and completely laughable. Yet Lars is not, by any stretch, a normal guy, so our acceptance is tenuous. What type of real man is satisfied substituting a silicone representation of a woman for an actual relationship? Abyss Creations has sold thousands of Real Dolls and have an order backlog even as we speak. So who is purchasing these things? Maybe the same man who leaves his wife sleeping upstairs while spending hours looking at internet pornography? The guy who can't handle the complexities of a real relationship with a flesh and blood female? At the core, Real Dolls and pornography appeal to the same man. Both give the illusion of love--a travesty of love--created for poorly mothered or often-rejected men. For once these men have control over the omnipotent feminine. The unattainable girl. The instrument of rejection. That intense and infantile vulnerability to the female is turned on its head. The female is now submissive, expendable, interchangeable. Performing for you! Wanting only you! Loving only you! Ryan Gosling, who plays Lars in the movie, is quite charitable in his assessment of the men who own Real Dolls. "There's a whole culture of guys out there who have these dolls, and they have very intimate relationships with them. Part of it is sexual, but a lot of it is emotional. One guy goes hang gliding, and he takes his doll to watch, so that he has someone to support him in the things that he likes to do. Some guys cook with them and have dinners; they're part of the fabric of their life. So, all of this is possible. … I think it's a romantic idea, that love's not a transaction. It's something you have to give, and you give it freely to whoever and whatever you want." Okay, I can't disagree. It's plenty romantic. Objectification of women is the epitome of romance. In fact, it's the definition of romance...an artistic work that deals with sexual love, especially in an idealized form...an idealized form like a silicone doll or a stylized airbrushed photograph.
US sadism
'This doesn't really hurt, now, does it?', Donald says with a gleam in his eye. Albert responds, 'No, I think he actually likes it.' Michael sez, 'Oh yes, let the judge decide! Have another drink of water now...' The Clown repeats, 'America does not torture you. America does not use torture. This is not torture.' And Dick, who is getting older, snores.
The most powerful transvestite in America’s history
Time to put a little perspective on Republican Party travails today. Just who was the most powerful transvestite in America's history? Was he a Republican, too? Certainly he was loved by many a Republican.
Child
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing. I want to fill it with color and ducks, The zoo of the new Whose names you meditate --- April snowdrop, Indian pipe, Little Stalk without wrinkle, Pool in which images Should be grand and classical Not this troublous Wringing of hands, this dark Ceiling without a star. Sylvia Plath
Nostalgia–playground of the emotionally distant
I checked myself in at 6 a.m. I was alone, wearing a fluid dress that hugged the contours of my round belly, overnight case in hand. I sensed that the woman behind the desk felt concern for me. She looked at me and showed visible relief that my left hand bore a diamond ring. "When will your husband arrive?" "Pardon me? Oh, I'm not sure. Soon, I imagine," was my bright reply. At 4 p.m., having walked the halls alone for hours, pushing my IV cart, I was finally ready to deliver. Dave showed up in the nick of time to witness the birth of his namesake, and promptly fell asleep in the father-to-be chair. The baby's umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around his neck. I watched my doctor's face as he strained to move the restrictive cord, to allow my little David James to fill his lungs. Ironically, the only sound in the room, as we held our collective breath, was the sound of Dave's snoring. After my sweet baby was safely delivered, the nurses woke Dave and asked him if he'd like to cut the cord. Groggily he replied, "Ah, no thanks. You can take care of that." More sympathetic looks my way. Well, you know what? I didn't care. I don't care. I experienced the joy and pain of bringing David into the world. I remember every minute of it. I was there, fully connected, acutely aware. I have no need to live it again. I'm happy he is here with me every day, playing his trumpet, running cross country, reading books, listening to his iPod, challenging me with his edgy sense of humor. If you ask Dave about his experience, he will relate to you a similar story. You'll hear about the endless hallways, the escape to the lunchroom, the scary epidural, the last-minute name change, the cord incident. He can probably tell you the Apgar scores...the struggle over the decision whether to circumcise or not. His face will likely be covered with tears as he "relives" the pain and beauty of David's birth. He wasn't there. My companions were the nurses, my doctor Fred Brown, my parents and siblings. Nostalgia is often synonymous with absence. With unknowing. A lost chance to experience life and love. But it most definitely makes the heart grow fonder.....
A voice across eight time zones
Thanks to internet streaming, adjusting for the 8-hour time difference, from 10am to noon every weekday in Colorado Springs you can hear this evening DJ duo on Debrecen's Radio FM95. Szilvia and I would frequent Antiquariat bookstores wherever we went, she hunting for literature, me for books with pictures since I couldn't read Hungarian. She would sit and read if I was not finished scouting the shelves. Once I looked down to see her reading HL Mencken in Hungarian. That was that. She introduced me to Thomas Hardy and Wilkie Collins.
I am my own muse
Opposites attract? Maybe if one feels a lack. When my husband and I were in our mid-twenties, we worked out at a hip club in Denver. We did aerobics for cardiovascular health and lifted weights to stave off osteoporosis. We had a group of friends, like-minded couples, who were our workout buddies. We went to the club several times a week for years. We were an integral square on the yuppie quilt. Once Dave and I had an unexpected encounter at the water fountain. Maybe it was my long wavy 80s hair, or my leg warmers and matching scrunchie, but Dave was overcome by passion and gave me a big smooch. I returned to my class and he to his weights. One of our friends said to him, "Did I just see you kiss your sister?" Dave, horrified, said, "That isn't my sister, that's my wife!" Hmmmm. Rather telling. Why did I choose Dave as a mate? Well, because he grew up here in Colorado Springs; we shared a common history. He was smart and funny, edgy and difficult, driven, athletic, competitive, decisive. He loved George Jones and Hank Williams, not Flock of Seagulls or Tears for Fears. He followed sports with a passion that defied rationality. He wanted a big family and a successful career. Or was that me? After many years of marriage, we divorced. We'd grown apart. We had irreconcilable differences. Simply put, he no longer resembled the me that I love. Now I have another. He is a writer, a musician, introspective, analytical, sensual, a world traveler. Intelligent, strong-willed. He has an outward focus and a knowledge of history and the arts. He has no interest in sports or money, but has an affinity for children and cares about the planet. He has sophisticated taste, and a distaste for the inequities between earth's inhabitants. Or is that me? Opposites don't attract. Like attracts like. I'd marry myself if I could.
A Star is Born
On June 29, 1930, Helen and Marie Smythe, my mother and aunt, were born in the Bronx, New York. Sixty-five years later it was Lara Elisabeth Walden's turn. Happy birthday to all my sweet girls!
Sartorial Elegance
Who can resist a Peruvian man exhibiting a sense of personal style and a proficiency with the pan flute? Not me. At least not at that moment.
Cynthia McKinney 2008, I think I love you!
As a powerful antidote against the nonsensical Juneteenth Day event here in Colorado Springs, thank you, Cynthia McKinney, woman in Green. This is a powerful speech, where she talks about COINTELPRO, the police, and how crappy America currently is now. Cynthia McKinney in Green, 2008. Oh, and LOVE.
Birth Mothers Exploited by Adoption
You've seen those horrid little shop fronts run by the Religious Right. You know, the ones that offer 'counselling' to pregnant women. They say that they are there to help save women from the trauma they would undergo if they were to terminate their pregnancy by having an abortion. It's all pure bullshit though! The real trauma for a young woman is not so much from having an abortion, as these zealous creeps suggest, but rather is the trauma that would occur if the pregnant woman was to go on with her pregnancy and then give it up for adoption. It is about the worst trauma that a woman can undergo in her life, and yet the Religious Right 'counsellors' will pretend that giving their baby away will actually be less traumatic to the young woman than having an abortion would be. They are liars. Yes, the Religious Right are like snakes in the grass of the Garden of Eden offering up a sweet apple to the innocent and inexperienced younger women of America. I personally despise these people with all my heart, and can only hope that their syrupy lies will never effect the lives of any young women that live around me as friends, family, and neighbors. Unfortunately, I know that many young women in our society will be bullied by the obnoxious and inconsiderate religious rhetoric of the Christian Right. The Christian Right thrives on child abuse, and their favorite targets are young child/ women in their early teens. Especially those that have gotten pregnant due to being denied access to appropriate birth control and appropriate education about their own bodies and their own psyches. There are several national organizations that help battle the propaganda of the Religious Right about adoption supposedly being the best way to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. Birth Mothers Exploited by Adoption is one of those. They struggle to help themselves, to help also to tell the truth to young pregnant women and their friends, and to also help those adopted children that want to find their birth parents, since the laws often make it next to impossible for adopted children to do this, even when they become adults! Here are some of the tales of tragedy and trauma coming to those women that were coerced into giving away their children. This is where the real trauma is, and it is not from having an abortion. Birth Mothers Exploited by Adoption could just as well named themselves 'Young Women Bullied, Brutalized, and Exploited by Right Wing Religion'. That would be even more to the point.
Falwell lives!
It appears that Jerry Falwell died and went to neither Hell nor Heaven. He went to Poland, where he is now once again outing Tinky Winky from the closet. More intolerance of this sort can also be found in Moscow, too. Thank God we live in Colorado Springs, where people and dogs of all types tolerate and respect each other! My dog sez Moo to Y'all. And she says that we all need each other, so don't make life hard for others. It's pretty damn simple., isn't it?
Raul Castro’s daughter blasts homophobia
I thought that this news item was of note, so here it is in full. Walter Lippmann's website is worth visiting, too. See below... Tony Raul Castro's daughter blasts homophobia Havana, May 21 (EFE).- The daughter of acting Cuban President Raul Castro spoke out in favor of tolerance and against gay-bashing on the occasion of the International Day against Homophobia. "The communications media have a big responsibility in the education of the public, in developing a culture of respect for people due to their sexual identity and sexual orientation," said Mariela Castro, the head of the National Sex Education Center, in remarks broadcast Sunday by state television. Castro attended an unusual film-debate held in the "23 y 12" hall in Havana, where organizers showed the U.S. film "Boys Don't Cry," which tells a story based on real events of the difficulties, discrimination and violence to which a young transsexual woman was subjected. "Starting with the advances we have had on these matters in our country, it's that we (are) trying to better visualize the goal of this international - and in this case national - day," said the sexologist. Castro said that "homophobia and transphobia still exist in the world in a very strong, very cruel, very distriminatory way against homosexual, transsexual and transgender people in a general sense and, above all, as a result of ignorance." The government of Fidel Castro, who provisionally handed over power to younger brother Raul last July after undergoing major surgery, has in the past displayed marked intolerance for homosexuals, imprisoning gays and quarantining AIDS sufferers. The National Sex Education Center, a teaching, research and assistance institution created in 1989, has proposed in the Cuban legislature a bill to legally recognize the sex changes undergone by transsexuals, at the same time it has been pushing for some time an awareness campaign in the state-controlled media. The International Day against Homophobia was begun on May 17, 2005, a decade after the World Health Organization removed homosexuality from its list of mental illnesses. Thirteen years after its first showing in movie theaters on the island, on May 5, Cubans watched the first broadcast on local television of the 1993 film "Fresa y chocolate" (Strawberry and Chocolate), an allegory against intolerance and discrimination against homosexuals. Recently, Cuban TV also showed "La mujer de mi hermano" (My Brother's Wife), which also deals with the theme of homosexuality. EFE ============================= WALTER LIPPMANN Editor-in-Chief, CubaNews writer - photographer - activist http://www.walterlippmann.com =============================
What next, a required chador and veil for Jewish women in Israel?
This BBC item about the backwardness of many Jewish people in Israel has its humorous side I think. See the article Israel's 'modesty buses' draw fire. One might note, also, that Israel is quite advanced in its traffic in prostitutes from around the globe. Go figure? Israel kind of has a certain Dubai flavor of sorts it seems. Except more Jewish, of course. Probably more and better tasting felafel's, too, and more kickbuttzim? We're definitely living in a funny world. Oh, and they have more efficient Jewish terrorists than do the Arab communities. The Jewish people of Israel are bulldozers ahead in that department! Nuclear people. More organized. More money from the US, and the US loves their terrorism.
Zulu here, Beam me in Scotty, directly into Tim Hardaway’s ass
Due to basketball player, Tim Hardway's recent confession that he hates gay people, there have been some eXtraterrestial responses. Star Trek's mission has always been to deliver a message of justice and peace to all alien peoples, and Zulu is out front and out of the closet with this message now. Here's his message of love and harmony to all sports fans regarding tiny Tim.
Nature Deficit Disorder
There is a book out that postulates that children today are being deprived of any real contact with nature and any real contact with a certain childhood independence, too. In fact, Salon carries an interview with the author, Richard Louv, titled 'Do today's kid's have nature-deficit disorder?' The answer is an obvious... YES they do. And it can only get much worse, too. Everybody is concerned about 'genocide', but hardly any attention is turned to speciecide where habitat destruction is eliminating the wild in life worldwide. We can expect that nature-deficit disorder will become the normal state of mankind as a result. What a sad world we are leaving our kids and all future generations.
Win one for the Man(ning)!
Yeehaw, Peyton won the Superbowl! Lots of articles this week. Is football America's religion? Unless you go to New Life Church, hell yeah! We worship. We sing. We dance. We praise. We repent. We are slain in the aisles. We are redeemed. We are brothers and sisters. We sit at the right hand of God. NO DOUBT. I have to admit to being a rabid sports fan. I don't know why. I can't explain. But last night, when it became apparent that Peyton was gonna bring it home, I cried and cried. My kids gathered silently around me in an adorable show of compassion, not completely understanding but knowing that my tears were not tears of sadness. I guess it's about connection. I think it's about dreams. Drama. Victory. Superiority. I honestly don't know. My ex-hub is a maniacal Northwestern University fan. He attended both undergrad and Med School there. Unfortunately, NW is an egghead school. No one, except Fisher DeBerry, wants to talk about what that means. It means NOT GOOD FOOTBALL. I'll go no further. In 1999, Northwestern won the Big Ten championship. I cannot tell you what an astounding feat this was with the likes of Michigan and Ohio State as competitors. It's like Vandy winning the SEC. Dave and I, of course, went to Pasadena to see the Rose Bowl Parade (amazing) and the game against the USC (the University of Spoiled Children....better, the University of Low Class Jerks where OJ Simpson was an idol). Never a ruder crowd have we seen. No appreciation for the history. No appreciation for the record books. Just masses running around drinking beer being assholes. The next year Northwestern barely missed another Big Ten Championship. They, instead, went to the Citrus Bowl. Again, Dave and I went. NW played the University of Tennessee, clad in unbelievably garish orange, speaking with heavy Southern drawls. Because the game was in Orlando, not too far from Tennessee, the crowd was comprised mainly of Vols fans. A pep rally was held on the eve of the big game, thousands of people clad in orange celebrating, partying, laughing. Peyton Manning, at the tender age of 22, stood at the podium and admonished the Vols fans to acknowledge NW's accomplishments and to invite us to participate. It was a much different experience than we'd had at the Rose Bowl. Real people. Kind people. A classy Peyton Manning understanding the greater significance of football and history. I am the same age as John Elway. So is Dave. We spent much of our married life loving the Broncos, living and dying by John's performances and his screw ups. I remember Craig Morton. A great man but unable to move well. Enter John Elway.
Another weeping pastor
What is it with these gays? You think that they would stop marrying and having babies? But they are just so full of sin they can't seem to help themselves! Another Right Wing Protestant pastor has come out weeping once again. I'm talking about Denver's, Rev. Paul Barnes. You think by now these purple perverts would know that the Catholic Church is the one and only true Christian denomination, wouldn't you? BONUS! With the Catholics, gays don't have to get married and can continue a gay lifestyle unimpeded by having the kids around late at night. It's kind of like the YMCA. So why are so many gays confused and flocking to these Protestant evangelical denominations? Guys, no need to flagellate yourselves in this sort of manner. Turn to Papa (the Pope, to those Anglophones) instead. OK, seriously now. If Grace Chapel had any grace about it, they'd leave Rev. Paul (good Christian name) at their helm. For all they know, the original Big Bad Christian Paul was gay himself. There wouldn't even have been a Christian Chuch without him. Though he didn't sin by getting married, it seems. So why does Grace Chapel force gays to live in matrimonial sin in order to preach? Pastor Barnes, I hope that you and your family will learn from this, and maybe at least transfer to the Metropolitan Church congregation? It's just not worth it to stay with the ignorant bigots. There are better churches out there.
The Democrats’ masochistic bondage games with Dubya and Dick
All the press is gaga about the conclusions of the Iran Study Group Report, but what is this thing? It is more than just Republican James Baker the the Third pronouncing his so very esteemed judgements about the fighting. What we have here is the most climaxic portion of the Democratic Party's bondage game with the Bush Adminstration, where Hillary and Nancy Pelosi get to play their masochistic roles to the hilt! .... Yes! Hit them harder, Dub! Oh.... Whip it quick, Dick! Wimp Howard Dean and DP head announced pre-election that this Democratic Party bondage game would be continued to be played no matter what, but nobody liberal believed him. But then Nancy Pelosi came along and appointed Silvestre Reyes to be top dog of the House Intelligence Committee. Within a day or two, Silvestre the Cat was calling for not a withdrawal of US troops from Iraq, but yet more to be sent in. Whip them Dubya. Whip them Dick. Pelosi is loving you hard. To add to this extreme level of masochism by the Democratic Party, they agreed to sit in with Baker the Third and cochair the Iran Study Thing with Republican pirate, Baker the Third. Conclusion? We need to stay in there longer. Ouch! But it is such a controversial form of masochism for the Democrats to say that, too. I have never seen such a tolerance for punishment! The report also called with getting buddy buddy with Iran and Syria to soothe the perversion in Iraq down just a bit, but Dick and Dubya want to flail those two countries apart, too. Masochists like the Democratic Party leadership can never top well from down below, it seems. Plus, Nancy and Hillary are playing with these sadist savages, Dick and Dubya, without seemingly ever having decided on a 'safe' word like, Out Now! Guys! It Hurts too much!