SoapBox

Decision Trees

When did changing your mind become a crime? 

Or, put another way, when one makes a decision, begins to act upon that decision, and finds that their original conclusions were wrong, how is not changing your actions based on that new knowledge become even remotely acceptable? We are adaptable creatures; when it comes to choices, you make the best you can at the time with the information given; if later that information changes, why shouldn't the solution? 

I simply don't understand the rational required to leap to the conclusion that once made a decision is set in stone, fixed, unchangeable forever lest we admit we made a mistake, or, even worse, didn't have the needed experience, background, or raw data to make the decision in the first place. 

Personally, if a solution of mine doesn't work i basically chuck it and move on; hopefully i learned something in the process and can adapt my future solutions accordingly. If someone comes along who knows more than i do, i don't run away from showing them my solutions, i flat beg them to look - because maybe i missed something, maybe they know more than me; or maybe i was right, but either way, constantly testing a solution for holes, flaws, or success is a good thing. I want the strongest solution; I want to have considered every possibility; and honestly, if i missed something, please stand up and tell me, i promise to not cry a river about it. 

(Now, of course, that comes with a grain of salt; i might decide the person offering the advice is wrong, or biased, but that doesn't mitigate the fact that any advice gives me more information than i had before - regardless of whether i accept it; i have another data point for consideration. The solution becomes stronger.)

Isn't that what we want? The best solution? One that can grow, shrink, or go away as needed? 

Whether in politics or work (which, let's face it, is still politics,) we need to be in a position where we can acknowledge that we don't know everything; we in fact can't know everything. That isn't a slight against any one person or any one group - in fact, it's usually not at all personal. No one is implying a lack of skill or trust or talent by suggesting one person might not be right, or complete, in a solution. 

We just want to do the right thing; or, the best thing for the moment. What someone said in 2004 might lend insight or color onto the current problem, but it shouldn't be taken as their current stance or something; how could it? That was four years ago; and i'm guessing, they were looking at a very different situation, with a very different problem space. Holding them to those comments as their stance isn't only ill-conceived, it's misleading, and quite frankly, dangerous. 

Bit, again

I'm going to rant again.

I should say, before i do though, that while this rant applies to many people i know, and even many of my friends, i have quite a few friends who this does not apply to at all; i hope you know who you are - if you don't, i'll send my apologies as quickly as possible.

Ok, here goes.

When anyone i know (and like) is sick, my general response goes something like this: "Oh no! Can i get you anything?" then, regardless of the answer, "feel better" follows. If they say "yes, thank you, i need ___" i go get it; if they say "no, thank you, i'm good" i make sure they know they can call me if they need anything and then i move on with my day. [Please note the response "Feel better! i'm going to go do {insert activity they desperately wanted to do but now can't here}! It's gonna be awesome!" is nowhere to be found here.]

So, when i am sick, i hope that my friends will respond in kind; i hope that saying "i feel terrible" will produce the "can i get you anything?" response because - here's the thing - i don't want to have to flat cold call someone and ask for help. I would like them to offer. Because i offer.

Of course, they almost never offer, and i'm left annoyed and disappointed and in a position of either saying "let me clarify, i need your help" (which i never say) or finding a way to drag my butt into my car to go get the medicine / oj / whatever it is i need myself, which, usually? when I'm sick enough to not be at work and actually contemplate needing help, driving, is a very very stupid idea.

So far i've survived, but that's not the point. The point is, it's common courtesy to offer your friends help when they're sick; 9 times out of 10 you know they won't take you up on it - but that one time? The time when they do? That's the one that matters; that's the reason you offer.

... One day i will learn to stop hoping that certain friends will just step up to the plate of their own accord and offer me what i offer them. I don't mean to imply that i expect one-for-one reciprocity with everything i do for my friends - if i randomly bring you a cookie today i don't need or want one tomorrow; but i would like to believe that my friends are there for me at the very least to offer to bring me some damn orange juice when i can barely move. The alternative is just... too depressing to consider.

All Together, Now

The United States government is not an absolute or pure democracy. According to our Constitution, we have a Representative Democratic Republic.

What's the difference? According to my Merriam-Webster:

Democracy — Government by the people; government in which the supreme power is retained by the people and exercised either directly (Ablsolute, or pure), or indirectly (representative).

Republic — A state in which the sovereign power resides in a certain body of the people (the electorate), and is exercised by representatives elected by, and responsible to, them.

-- Frank Laughter

I quote because i'm busy and the man shares my point: the United States of America is not and was never designed to be a pure democracy. We aren't one, we are a Representative Democratic Republic; and while, yes, that takes longer to say, it is more accurate, and, to my point, correct.

There has been a lot of talk this election cycle about our "democracy" and how people don't understand, for example, the difference between the popular vote and the electoral vote, or what exactly the primary election means, or where the line between party policy and national elections are drawn; most of these talks result in some form of "but in a democracy, that seems wrong." All together now: we don't live in a democracy, at least not the pure sense of one-man-one-vote-every-issue. As Mr. Adams said, "There was never a democracy that did not commit suicide," and for good reason: it isn't sustainable.

“Democracy... while it lasts is more bloody than either [aristocracy or monarchy]. Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There was never a democracy that did not commit suicide.”
--John Adams.

Do i think there are problems with how our current system is executed? Yes, but i don't generally fault the system of government laid out by our Constitution, i fault the lazy (and allowed) corruption of our elected officials and their care for their comfort over the reality and duty of their jobs. I fault the gerrymandering of voting districts that has had over 90% of incumbents maintaining their seats in congress or state assemblies, all but bringing actual change and governance to a stand still. I fault the rediculous amount of power special interest groups of all kinds (from corporate to religious) are given. I fault the lack of follow through when it comes to investigating spending run amok, and the continued cover up of qui tam cases which expose fraudulent use of government funds.

I could go on, but i won't.

My point is, Civics 101 shouldn't be a casualty of No Child Left Behind; and the mass media shouldn't continue to let the talking heads get away with passing our system of government off as a "democracy" when the implication is misleading and incorrect.

There is a proper name for our government; we should use it.

Too Negative?

You might have noticed that i haven't posted on the Soapbox as actively as i've posted on Vanity's Fair; that isn't because i haven't had things to complain about, yell about, scream into the void at... it's, well, because i'm worried of only using the Soapbox as a ranting board. The thing is, i find (and believe me, i've been told), that i tend to talk about the things that bother me rather than the things i like (large issue with my boyfriend in college). Generally i don't notice that i'm doing it - i'll snark "did you read that, isn't it rediculous," light years before sharing "did you read that? wasn't it just wonderful?"

Generally. I have no problem sharing the things i love or like or found amusing with the people i love, the people i'm comfortable with; actually, come to think of it, the best way for me to determine my actual feelings about someone is what i'm willing to talk about with them. Now, granted, this is probably the scariest of my defense mechanisms; how can i possibly truely meet and get to know new people if i'm not comfortable enough to share myself - but - i know this about myself. Actually, the same boyfriend who commented on my negativity in describing my day also noticed that i choose my words very carefully - a comment that is both true and obnoxious; he was and is right. I don't like lying but i also don't like sharing either (see: product of my time), which means that i pick my words with care (golly, maybe i should be a politician).

I guess i'm trying to say that i wanted my next post on the Soapbox to be about something i liked, rather than something that drove me crazy. So... here we go.

Finally, there is a movie theater in the Silly-Valley that i like.

Amazing, i know - especially if you know about my feelings on theaters, and especially the California-style ones that freckle the landscape around where i live. Theaters here tend to be: older, no stadium seating, midling to bad snack stands, poorly organized with bad staffs, on the dirty side, with uncomfortable seating. And expensive, but i can't really help that. See, i worked at a movie theater for a few summers, and i'm picky about where and how i experience the movies. Call me a snob, call my expectations rediculous, but there you go.

So while i've been in the area i've tried - as much as possible - to see movies in the newer theaters, that have a greater chance of at least comfortable chairs and stadium seating. Basically this left me with... two theaters i liked seeing movies in; and sadly, those theaters are geared more toward independant (yeay!) movies, but i like to see the blockbusters as well, so i'd be forced back to the scary / sad dome shapped monsters (that actually resemble breasts from a distance - not kidding).

But! Friday i was taken to see the Devil Wears Prada at an honest to goodness 20 screen east-coast style movie theater. Down the street from my apartment. That serves pretzel bites and diet coke. That shows blockbusters and a few independants. With theaters that showcase stadium seating, roomy velvet seats, and THX sound (and the moo-cow demo before movies). In the middle of a mall that has a borders, a target, pf changs, and plenty of parking.

!!

It's clean. It's close. I feel comfortable going by myself. A happy girl am I.

How's that for positive?

I'm Doing What? When?

My fabulous Mother has this habit of signing me up for things, saying i'll be at this dinner or this class or that bbq; only when she knows where i'm going to be and that i'm generally up for whatever it is she thinks i need to do. I happen to love that she does this - it used to drive me batty, but i quickly realized that i don't actually want to call fifteen different family-like people and tell them that i'm coming home and maybe we should do something - i love that my mom is my scheduler in those situations. She even makes sure i get to the dentist, get my oil changed, sent in my registration, and as much as i had to call her my personal assistant, but she certainly spoiled me with her organizational skills when i lived at home. In fact, i miss those reminders; i need them.

However.

What i don't like? Randomly getting signed up for stuff without my knowing about it, then hearing later i'm expected somewhere, or, even better, "so here's the list of people who said they were coming". Even if i want to - and will - go. I like being asked. I like having a moment to consult my schedule, or, at least have the option (no matter how imaginary) to say No. Because, honestly, only my Mother is allowed to co-opt my time and inform me of it later. She has that right because she is fabulous, generally knows better, and, well, she gave birth to me so she has rights no one else does.

Let's face it, being invited somewhere is a compliment; it's also polite. Even if it's a round about "Person A asked me, Person B, to ask you if..." i'm fine with that. I like getting invitations - so much better doing the asking myself.

So, please: unless you're my Mom, don't speak for me unless you've asked me first. Thanks.

He Calls Me Casper

Lunch yesterday was supposed to be a quick salad at Quiznos before a Target run and an afternoon matinee; nice, light, filling, and fast. Lunch didn't turn out the way i expected.

It was hot outside - tipping 100 - and the only table inside the shop was between a couple of older ladies, and an another older lady who, i supposed was a bag lady. Though she had a small cell phone on the table, she had a shopping cart full of items carefully wrapped in plastic bags, a very bad wig, and cuts on her face. I hesitated for a moment, but wanting to eat and not wanting to go back out in the heat right away, i sat down and pulled out the new Wired, hoping for a quick and peaceful meal.

Of course, that didn't happen.

The Lady - to my left - asked what i was eating, because it looked better than her soup. I thought it was odd she was eating soup on such a hot day, then realized it was the cheapest thing on the menu and she probably didn't have any more money. She kept speaking, and i couldn't not answer. Our conversation started slowly, i was dragging my feet, i felt uncomfortable humoring this woman, who i figured would hit me up for money or a ride, neither of which i wanted to give.

This was the first time that lunch i felt like a jackass. It wouldn't be the last. If she doesn't have money for food and i can spare some, how dare i not help her?

She commented on a woman who passed, sure she was pregnant, and as i humored her, listening to her speak, she became more animated. She spoke of being treated badly by various men, church leaders who just wanted to say they had helped an old woman for political reasons. She spoke of being captured and indentured and kept on a leash by the man who gave her the cell phone to always find her; who gave her the money for the soup, just enough that she would still need him. She spoke of how should wouldn't give him her blessing for helping her, she would give it to me. She said i needed a tender, loving husband, who would be my partner; how i would have three children, a girl and two boys, how i was special and nice - an angel. She said that she was an artist. She said that she was a scientist. She said that David Murdoch would help her, that she held the copyright to the house of the future, and that was why people were trying to kill her; she was positive that was why she had been hit by a truck a year ago, a truck that had broken her knees and made her stay in a hospital that shackeled her to her bed. She feared everything, but loved buying toys for children who needed her. She said she needed to write a book - The Bloody Coffin - about a girl at church, a nice, quiet girl, who had been killed having rough sex with a man from the church, and how the girl disappeared. She said people would give her food, but not money for a motel that had a tub where should could soak her swollen legs. She told me her cart held her books which she didn't want anyone to find; she had to protect them from the coming storm, and from the invading Indians and Chineese people who were taking over the area in a staged and quiet takeover of the country.

As she spoke, i offered her my copy of The Devil Wears Prada to read; she said no, thank you. I offered her my salad that she had been interested in (i hadn't taken more than two bites and had lost my appetite); she declined, saying i always needed to take my food so i could stay strong. I had money in my pokets; at first i was only going to offer her the change from my salad - $4 - then i realized how unhelpful that would be. I had $40 in my back pocket. I had wanted that money to last me through today at least, but as she spoke, i couldn't imagine keeping the money. I finally offered it to her; and she clutched at it, thanked me, and called me an angel again.

I felt horrible.

Though i desperately wanted to go, i stayed for almost an hour. Because, more than anything, she just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to tell her - jumbled - story to. Someone who would listen and not try to use her. Someone who could help her write her story, spread her message, without the man she was scared of knowing.

"He calls me Caspar," she said, "like the ghost. Because i don't exist. I'm dead."

She spoke of sitting inside a starbucks watching the children play and feeling dehydrated, and thinking she was going to die she went outside so she wouldn't upset them.

I stayed because i imagined that if either of my Grandmother's were - Heaven forbid - ever in that situation, i'd want someone to sit there and listen to their stories. This thought did not cheer me, though, i only felt - feel - horribly guilty. Because my Grandparents are alive and i don't talk to them nearly enough. I don't listen to their stories. And i should.

So i gave this lady everything i had that she would take - including my brand new, just opened and still very much unread Wired magazine, and my money, and i said i was so sorry, i had to go. She didn't want me to leave, but understood - she asked if i was going to see my parents, and i said it was my father's birthday (truth) and i didn't want to be late (lie). She asked for my name and phone number, asked me to write them down so she could call me on the phone the man gave her as a leash, that she was there to charge. She thought it was providence we met. She pulled a pen out of her little purse, and napkins, and i wrote down a fake name and a fake number, with the suggestion that she write down her story. She said she would call me on Tuesday so we could talk again.

When i left, i took my salad with me, as she asked.

And i felt horrible. Guilty i couldn't help more, guilty i had lied, guilty that i don't want to go back to Quiznos for a long time so i don't run in to her again. While i didn't know what else to do while it was happening, and while i know i did helped a bit in a small way... nothing i did feels like enough; because, one way or the other, i ran away as soon and as fast as i could. I could have done more. She had asked me how she could escape her servitude and i didn't have an answer for her. She asked how people could treat her so badly, and again, there was nothing i could say.

People told me they would have lied too. People were amazed i listened to her at all. People were appaled i gave her my money.

I still don't know what else i would have done. That doesn't help this feeling in the pit of my stomach, though.

...I need to call my Grandmothers....

Wicked. Sweet.

Wicked the Musical opened on Broadway October 30th, 2003, appropriately enough. By mid-November i had the album and was completely enthralled by Stephen Schwartz's beautifully complicated score and the fun take on such a classic story (obviously Mr. McGuire's Wicked).

I loved it.
I raved about it.
I sent songs to all of my friend's so they, too, could be addicted.
Barb and i saw it on Broadway, it was a ton of fun, and i continued to talk it up.
I mentioned the soundtrack on my blog all the time.
At my going away party before i came out to Cali, the them was "So, if you care to find me, look to the Western Skies."

Basically i'm saying i have a pretty solid track record for liking (and knowing) Wicked. No one was surprised, since i tend to have a fairly extensive knowledge of all things Broadway. My parents (and siblings) basically got tired of my talking about how they really needed to go see the show.

Why am i mentioning this?

I just got off the phone with my parents who (finally) saw Wicked at the Masonic Temple last week. And they LOVED it. With capital letters. This last week my Dad has been scouring You Tube for any and all clips from wicked and now even has detailed critiques on all Wicked casts - i'm not kidding. And my Mom was "Oh, Annie"-ing me about how much fun the show is, how wonderful the music, how beautiful the sets, how entertaining, how she's had the soundtrack looping all week... and i was trying not to die laughing.

"No wonder it's such a cult hit," she said, "but it just came out of no where!"
"...But, Mommy, i told you about this like two years ago...."
"I know, but, we didn't realize that we'd like it... it took Ellen forcing us to go to realize how fabulous the show is!"

*groan*

I feel like i'm screaming at the rain, but, if i recommend a play or a book or a film or a cd for you, generally the reason is because i think you'll really like that play, book, movie, musical. Not because i'm trying to torture you, not because i don't know what i'm talking about and i'm just spouting what I like not what you like, but because i know your tastes and think you'll be entertained.

... that's all....

Mumble Mumble

I have a request to make from my friends:

If we're hanging out (ie. have mutually decided to spend time together doing something), please, please, please, please, speak. When i say something, respond. Then you can say something, and i'll respond. This form of communication is generally called "conversation" or "chit-chat" and tends to be more informative that moody shruggings and mumblings.

I really hate to say this, but a good number of people i know have been down lately, quiet, mumbling and shrugging and not caring about where we go or what we eat or who we do whatever with. Here's the problem: any time people act like that, i feel the need to fill the silence, which makes me feel like i'm the evening's entertainment which generally doesn't equate to "relaxing" in my book. Or "enjoyable." If you want to hang out, and i want to hang out, then let's talk about something (assuming we're not in a theater where we're supposed to be quiet): be it movies or family or bitching about work or people, just talk to me - talk with me.

Please.
Or say you aren't in the mood to be social tonight.

Because evenings i spend trying to jump start conversations or guessing why you're in a bad mood or playing twenty questions to draw what's bugging you out into the open makes me completely insane (to quote French Kiss).

"No," is a great word.
"No," is a perfectly acceptable answer to any question of the form "Would you like to...."

And sometimes? Saying "No" means that we can be friends longer - and believe me, i need to, and would honestly like to - keep all the friends i have at the moment. So, please, i beg you, either speak up about your bad mood and try to correct it, or just say that you'd like to stay in that night.

Because i have enough stress and drama running around right now to find that my supposedly relaxing evening with friends has turned into a whiny, stress inducing, nightmare.

Lecture or Discussion? Lecture Then Discussion

"Some of those covers not only deserve to be roundly mocked, they NEED to be, because my God, if nobody made fun of them, the artists might persist in the delusion that they’re actually GOOD." Huh. The same could be said for the oh-so-clever bloggers, eh?
-- Snarking the Snarky on SmartBitchesTrashyBooks

Well then. Bloggers aren't clever and romance novel covers are all grotesque. There. Everybody happy?

No? How am i not surprised.

Before i wade into this mess, a disclaimer (since it appears that one is needed):

I think the covers in question are, in fact, horrible. Far from inspiring, they are ugly and offensive, not as much for their content but the craptastic 3D renderings of pseudo-humans. So off-putting that the reaction they prompt from me is to turn and run away from the publishing house that produced them and never looking back. I also think that attacking a reviewer of your books for a negative perspective amounts to nothing more than a viral marketing campaign - one which makes me loathe to comment on the arguments in the first place. I also understand authors and artists having hurt feelings over people making fun of their work; however, consumers and reviewers have the right to their opinions. Engaging in this you-make-fun-of-me-i'll-make-fun-of-you nonsense is just childish. Grow up. Oh, and, Bloggers? Snarky != Bitchy, so tread carefully, because one is amusing, and one is not.

Ok. Now that that is off my chest....

... Isn't the medium that is the weblog interesting. More of a world of its own meta-personalities than simple diaries. Sometimes they resemble lectures, sometimes discussions, sometimes a lecture followed by a guided discussion, this quasi-land of "i can say what i want and you can't stop me" seems to draw the best and worst out of people. Often times, those sites which allow comments look like nothing more than the kindergarten playground with sides drawn over who is responsible for dropping the juice. Generally the good and positive statements are overlooked for the deliberately mean, the explicitly bitchy, and the downright wrong.

Who would have guessed that after a decade of use, the net would still be a fledgling frontier trying to define the morals and mores of it's society, still pushing the boundaries of what is and is not appropriate, having the same old fights with the guesto and temperment of the first time we circled by this tree.

*sigh*

I just find it interesting how much people are willing to say things to each other online that they never would to that same person's face.

Because I'm Not Loud Enough As It Is

Definition: Offensive:
In fashion (etiquette), an unfashionable thought, emotion, action or other behaviour.

It seems to me that we have reached a point in our society when the glorious state of being offended gives the offendee inalienable rights: to complain, to become irrationally violent, to claim grievances out of proportion with the offense itself. Being offended is the golden ticket, the blank check that allows the holder to call all the shots, to scream from the rooftops that they have been wronged and that wrong must be rewarded: preferably with cash, humiliation, television time, or blood.

Excuse me if i have a problem with this.

Now, I have never bought into the politically correct game that became popular when i was in middle school. Politeness is one thing, but actively tripping over yourself to make sure that any word that leaves your mouth (or keyboard) won't offend a single soul who might stumble upon them at some point makes me, for lack of a better phrase, heave.

That being said, I'm not a provocative person, in general. While i have many (many) opinions and will freely offer them upon request (like references), i don't like offering them up for such a varied audience. Why? Because i don't want people to feel uncomfortable, or threatened, in what should be a conversationally plesant environment. And, honestly, because i have many friend's who I know a) disagree with my viewpoints and b) don't enjoy debating them. While I both welcome and seek out varying view points, and i adore a good argument (and if you change my mind, bully for you, bully for me), but i understand that not everyone does. Hence this interesting balance arrives where i both crave debate but hide from engaging in it due to my concern for others feelings (i suppose i'm more a product of my time than i'd like to admit).

So how can i resolve wanting to talk about more provocative topics on my blog with the fact the Vanity's Fair is the place friends and family and anyone with a search engine to find out what i'm doing in my life - what i'm reading, listening to, doing, visiting - and not My Personal Editorial Page?

That's where Vanity's Soapbox comes in: acknowledged and linked to by my main blog, but a separate area for me to rant in without overly worrying about my audience. This blog's purpose? My Very Own Editorial Page. And if my friends and family want to read my ramblings, i'm thrilled. But i also consider this change of space a disclaimer that we're not in the land of "make everyone happy" anymore.

Sound good? I hope it does - i certainly like the idea. We'll see how it goes.