centre of the universe - the dreaming

In general, I do not like yelling at people. I can be very good at it, and sometimes when I'm terribly upset and my hair is wild and spit is flying out of my mouth and my voice is cracking, well, those times, I feel like I should be weilding a broom or throwing a cat or speaking junkulese. Note: no actual cats have been thrown in the discussion of this topic.

There were an awful lot of people at my house who witnessed this. We had, throughout the summer, quite a few afternoons and evenings where we'd host our friends and our friends' families. This was fun, and sometimes stressful, but usually, it was pretty cool. This particular night, my friend Coyote said something or did something that made me Quite Upset. I haven't a clue what it was, but I got Very, Very Angry with him. I yelled at him and told him to leave. He thought I wasn't serious, of course, which made me Even More Angry.

Eventually, after much, much yelling and my insistence that he Just Leave, he realised (along with most of the other guests) that I was really Quite Upset, and he quietly took his things and left.

So this morning, I had to write him a note to apologise for what I said to him, and the way in which it was said to him, in my dream. Because none of this really happened in the really-and-truly. It was just a dream.

Labels: dreams

last night a golden, low slung
heavy-hipped moon peeked
through naked branches,
peeked at me and winked.
She had a secret
"it comes," she whispered
through the leaves.

the river snaked under her golden glow
long, dry grass chattered back:
"it comes"
the grass held no secrets,
but the river,
ah the glass river
hid a cipher beneath
the moon's perfect reflection.

stars too shy to shine
not a bird to whistle
before September's heavy-hipped moon
and her sister the glass river
and the silent secret song
they share.

Labels: fall, poems

Dear Diary:

Today I caused an Awkward Moment on the telephone. You see, a colleague of mine phoned me at work, and the usual pleasantries ensued: "Hello, cenobyte, this is so-and-so", the colleague opened with.

"Oh hi, so-and-so! How are you?" <-- standard opening. Unlike most folks, I actually care what the answer is.

"I'm well!" The colleague replied.

So I didn't say anything. Because I'd asked a question, and my colleague had answered it entirely. Usually, this is followed up with How are you? or Goodness, your children are fantastically brilliant, aren't they? or Please, will you remove the chains today? However, my colleague did not choose to follow up his reply with any of these.

An Awkward Moment ensued. I had no idea why my colleague was telephoning me, and I have learned over the years that asking "what the hell do you want?" is rude. Particularly at the office. So I chose to say nothing. Not as in, I then said to my colleague "Nothing", which is terribly funny, but not at all what I meant. Rather, I did not say anything.

You can usually tell an Awkward Moment by its ensuing Awkward Silence. Now, this silence was really only awkward from my colleague's point of view, as I had already elicited all the information from my colleague that was required. However, I can tell an Awkward Silence a mile away, and could tell that my colleague was, quite literally, at a loss for words.

"Um," he began, which is the proper way to end an Awkward Silence, "how...was...your...summer?" he asked, as if he was entirely unsure if this was the proper way to proceed.

It was. I commented that my summer, all five days of it, was wonderful, and that I am looking forward to a long, warm, and protracted autumn. At which point, I again did not say, "now what the hell do you want?" But the good news is, I didn't have to. That first Awkward Moment, followed by the requisite Awkward Silence, had jarred my colleague to his senses. He got Right To The Point after that.

Thus endeth the lesson.

The thing about being a superstitious flake is that you never really know where to draw the line on what's TOO flaky and what's just flaky enough.

Discuss.

Saskatchewan too backwards? Or just backwards enough?

Okay.

Gay marriage is legal in Saskatchewan. YAY!
A marriage commissioner who refused to marry a gay couple was fined $2500 for discrimination. Makes sense.
The marriage commissioner in question has launched an appeal with the Government of Saskatchewan, in essence saying that *he* is being discriminated against in terms of his religious beliefs. Okay.
Now, the Saskatchewan government is re-examining (see that link above, there) making an exception to the ruling of the previous court, that as a public official, he doesn't get to pick and choose which parts of the law he wishes to uphold. Right.

So.
First of all, as everyone knows, many Christians pick and choose which parts of the bible they want to uphold, so why is anyone surprised that this marriage commissioner wants to pick and choose what parts of civil law he wants to obey?

Secondly, what's the big deal? So some marriage commissioners want to be 'specialists'. We don't get all up in arms when our GP refuses to do a colonoscopy, choosing instead to refer you to an arse doctor. We don't get all up in arms when our history professors refuse to teach particle physics.

We all get our knickers in a knot as soon as someone says the word 'discrimination'. We've turned that word into a kind of curse; a swear word. It's not quite as bad as the eff word or the cee word, to be sure, but if someone accuses you of 'discrimination', it's essentially a social (and sometimes legal) sentence. Discrimination doesn't have to be a bad thing, people.

I do discriminatory things *every day*. In addition to meaning "to treat differently" (which isn't always a bad thing...more on that later), Discriminate also means the ability to recognise differences, and distinguishing one thing from another. What's so wrong with treating people differently? This is something that has always blown my mind. I treat my family differently from the way I treat strangers (I don't *often* yell "GET YOUR GODDAMNED ELBOWS OFF THE GODDAMNED TABLE!" at people I don't know. Sometimes, but not often.

I'm going off the rails here.

My point is that professionals discriminate *all the time* in what they do. When you become an engineer, in, what, your second or third year, you have to discriminate "against" all the other disciplines. So what's wrong with allowing a civil servant to discriminate, to specialise?

Well, I guess you could argue that police officers don't get to choose which criminals to arrest. But they do. Every day. Sometimes, you don't get stopped and fined for jaywalking, f'rinstance. Granted, police officers who choose to arrest you or not to arrest you based on how unpink you are is kind of douchey (should that be douchy?).

I guess there's the argument that elected officials and their staff don't get to choose which parts of society they serve. But they do. Every day. My elected officials don't, for the most part, represent me *at all well* in their work. In fact, they kind of totally suck at it. They refuse to represent me, not because of my gender or my religious beliefs or whether I prefer innies or outies, but because we have differing opinions on what "they" should do with "my" money.

So, I mean, yes, it's terrible that someone refuses to perform gay marriages. Particularly a civil servant. To be honest, I think it's shameful that anyone still thinks "that way" (that backwards way). I am also of the opinion that until the church changes its position on what marriage is for, gay marriage should not be a religious ceremony. But THAT'S NOT THE ARGUMENT HERE. The argument is whether or not someone can refuse to perform a civil service because they have moral (or social, or religious, or whatever) objections to it.

In Canada, we uphold freedom of speech, freedom of expression, and freedom of religion. No matter how shameful and backwards someone's action is, as long as no harm is done, you should be able to uphold your own religious beliefs wherever and whenever you want. But let's think about this - the marriage commissioner who refused to perform gay marriages on religious grounds...what's he been doing all these years? Sneaking religion into civil services? Isn't that illegal? If I wanted a civil union and the Justice of the Peace started talking about prayer and God, I think I'd hit him/her with my matron of honour and take the jerk to court. Some people just don't want to invite God to their weddings and THAT'S FINE. You can't sneak Him in. People notice that kind of thing, you know.

In fact, if I had been married by this guy, after having read some of the stuff he's said about his other civil marriages, I might file a discrimination lawsuit against him too. If he's been offering prayers on my behalf when I don't want them offered (I am not an atheist, but let's just pretend for a moment that I am), he's being incredibly offensive.

Again, sorry. I'm derailed. My point is this as long as no one is harmed, there oughtn't be a problem. Actually, no, that's not my point. My point is the question. Which was:
What's wrong with allowing JPs or Marriage Commissioners to 'specialise'? Is it just a gay thing? Would it be worse/better if it was a race thing?

Ultimately, I don't even know what *I* think about the whole thing - I mean, I think it was shameful for the Commissioner to turn away a gay couple from his services. I think it was good that he stood up for his religious beliefs. I think that maybe being a marriage commissioner was not the right vocation for this guy, and that maybe he ought to have gone into the clergy. I think that the question of whether or not gay folks should be able to marry each other is ludicrous. I think the marriage commissioner gets to feel that his religious freedom has been tramped upon. I think that his religious freedom oughtn't have come in to the equation at all, because he was supposed to have been performing a God-free service. But, you know, conscience and all. I think it's unfortunate that the couple wanting to get married were affronted (after all, just because something's legal doesn't mean folks have to like it - it's legal to own handguns in this country, but you'll never force me to like them). I think a lot of things, and could probably argue myself in to and out of either point of view.

Labels: Canadian politics, equal rights, gay marriage

Tonight, I found a picture
of a rocket ship from grade two.
I worked really hard on this
was written at the bottom.

This was the rocket ship
we were going to paint on his bedroom wall, but
my hands were full with the new baby
and then there was always more work
things got ...faster, somehow.
I could make excuses all night
and all day and for the rest of time,
but that will never be enough.
How long would it have taken to just paint
a goddamned rocket ship on his wall?
I worked really hard on this

Now I must weigh that question against this one:
How long will it take before he doesn't think
rocket ships are cool anymore,
before he doesn't want me painting anything
on his wall, before he doesn't want me
helping at all?

I need to work really hard on this
and I'm afraid it will be
too late.

Labels: Bad Mojo, kids, The Captain

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm a little pissed off.
Why am I a little pissed off? I'll tell you.



On the same day that a Canadian soldier was killed in Afghanistan, a big-name star died of cancer. Lucy the freaking elephant got higher billing than a bombing that killed a man and injured four other people.

Sure, I don't agree with war. I hate war. I would much rather we all just sit around and talk out our differences and bake cookies together and yes I know that's a ridiculous pipe dream I got from watching Too Much Star Trek, but seriously people, as that really famous person said, "give Peace a chance. If we don't like it, we can always go back to fighting." Don't even start with asking me "what would you do if someone wearing a towel on their head broke in to your house and started raping your children?" because you know damned well my answer isn't going to be "ask him/her to stay and bake some cookies." I KNOW that most people think war and armed conflict is necessary. I don't KNOW what the alternatives are. I just know that in my heart, in my warm, hippie heart, I know killing each other is wrong.

It's really wrong.

In fact, it's so wrong, superstitious people who believe in all kinds of ghosties and miracles and magic smoke all over the world have heard this from their Head Heebie Jeebie: "Thou Shalt Not Kill". That's pretty self-explanatory. And I was a hippie before I was religious, so I'm using that argument to back myself up, here. YES, circular arguments! I'm good at those.

Even atheists, for God's sake (heh), who are moral, Good People will tell you that killing each other is wrong. At least, the atheists I know will. Sure, some will have caveats to that ("well if someone broke in to my house and started raping my children..."), but what can be more self-explanatory?

Survival of the fittest? You don't get to use this argument if you're superstitious, right? You can't use a Darwinian argument to support your religious war? I don' t know. This could just be the pissiness talking. So sure, the best way to ensure your religious belief/land claims/cultural group/dinner menu is the only one left on the planet is to kill everyone who doesn't think like you do. That'd get pretty lonely and pretty boring pretty fast, IMO.

Anyway, yeah. Killing each other is Bad. And Wrong. There are no buts. There are no ifs. There is just the one And so far...So...can we just stop doing it? Please? There's enough stuff out there that will kill us - viruses, taxi cabs, particularly hungry bears, insects ....clowns. We don't need to add "each other" to the list. Really. It's been done before. "Oh MAN. That is SO Roman. Cha."

However, since I'm pretty sure nobody's going to stop killing anybody because I asked them to (this is my crackpot theory: the bigger a group gets, the more it acts, on the whole, like a four-year-old...then a teenager...and ultimately, by the time that group attains wisdom and grace, it dies off of old age), I recognise that there will be armed conflict. I recognise that Canada is trying to provide security, protection, and hope to people all over the world. I recognise that we can NEVER do enough. There are far more people hating out there than there are Canadian soldiers able to talk sense into them. So I recognise that we have a military, and that we trust our elected officials and the Department of National Defense to choose the best ways for our military to help the world (and sometimes I really, REALLY question that judgement). I do, however, respect and honour the decision that Canadians make when they enter in the police force, Emergency Services, the RCMP, and the Military. I respect these folks an awful lot. First of all, because that's a sacrifice I was never willing to (and will never be willing to) make. Secondly, because ...well... you know what? There doesn't even NEED to be a "secondly".

And I'm pissy. I'm pissy because a Canadian had to die doing what he was passionate about. He had to die trying to help other people stop getting dead. He died in the love of and in the service of Canada. He sacrified his *own* life trying to make someone else's life better. He, in more archaic terms, shed his blood for them.

So I think Private Patrick Lormand from the 2nd Battalion, Royal 22e Régiment based in Valcartier, Quebec deserves better than third billing after a washed-up movie star and a geriatric fucking elephant. And those other four Canadian soldiers who were injured in the same blast, they do too. I know someone will say: "But that washed up actor and that geriatric elephant provided so much laughter and entertainment; doesn't that count for something?"

Sure. That counts for sixth and seventh billing.

Labels: canadians, the right thing

That September is going to be a crazy, bizarre month with lots of crazy, bizarre things happening. His Nibs and I were in Mexico, and we were staying at the same resort-on-the-sea. This time, though, the second time we'd been for a vacation, there were other folks there who went with us. We'd talked about that after we got back, about how we thought it would be quite a lot of fun to head to Mexico with a few other folks. There were good things and not so good things.

F'rinstance, when you travel with a group, there's always the concern that you have to stay with the group. At least, that's the concern that His Nibs had. We spent most of our time just hanging out at the condos or on the beach, which was fine...going for dinner and drinks...doing a few touristy things...but there's this pressure, you see, that if you want to lie on a beach and read, you'll be somehow being rude to the folks you've been travelling with.

Things like GenCon are great because there's so much to do, no matter what your buddies are doing. But...well...okay, that's a bad example, because there are always lots of things to do when you're Away. The trick is, you have to be willing to go off and do something on your own. Yours Truly is pretty used to doing things on her own, and so it's not such a big deal to split from the group and sleep on the beach all day. I don't think I insulted anyone, but it's difficult to know.

So anyway, I kind of decided to split from the group and hang out on the beach all day (have I mentioned how much I love beaches?), and then go for a walk in town. But when I went for a walk in town, I was suddenly reminded of the UofS campus. Mostly because that's where I was. It seems I'd decided to take a few classes, and the UofS handily had become some kind of centralised location with transporter or portal that Very Few People knew about (like, His Nibs and I and two of the four people we were with. Maybe it's only UofS alumni who can use the portal.

But, as often happens, the campus was wonky. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. In fact, it was really more like the University of Manitoba, which is a gorgeous campus. I was toodling around in the religious studies department, and found a Strange Thing - some windows built into a hill that looked in on a hall in the building. Cool, actually. I wondered if those were some of the tunnels.

Around the back (or front?) of the building, I remembered a dream I'd had where I'd spoken to someone who'd worked on the landscaping. He'd told me that there were religious symbols on every brick in the walk, religious imagery in every tree and shrub planted, and even the design of the path was in fact part of a mandala that could only be seen from the third-floor landing. I took note of the bricks; I was trying to figure out what symbols were on which bricks and what religious tradition they originated from. Then I heard shouting.

Glancing up, I saw a huge grey dog loping toward the Administration building. Someone screamed. I jogged up the steps and realised it wasn't a dog at all. it was a wolf. I ran across the lawn, to the landing in front of the building. Women were screaming as the wolf tore around the campus and sniffed and growled and bared its teeth. I stood on the concrete landing, watching. The wolf approached. A girl who used to date a good friend of mine told me to stay calm, that the animal protection people were coming. But the wolf wasn't aggressive, just determined.

I touched its shoulder. It turned around, licked my hand, whined, then put its paw in my hand. It looked at me with green and yellow eyes. Then, as strangely as it had come, it loped off again toward the field house.

I looked around, saw frightened and astonished faces. Suddenly, I was on the patio of the pub, and Neuba was there, and I knelt down beside her and sobbed, because I knew what the wolf had said to me. He'd come to tell me that His Nibs was dead. My phone rang, but I wouldn't answer it. I knelt there on the patio, and let Neuba hold me, because even had I wanted to, I could not do anything else.

Didn't much like this dream, to be honest. Nothing like waking up sobbing to set the tone for a day.

Labels: Bad Mojo, dreams, His Nibs

Toe Ring: 1
Nose Ring: 1
Earrings: Too many to count
Ring Made From A Spoon: Despite several attempts at 'ekscape', the Ring Made From A Spoon is still in my possession. Nay, ON MY FINGER!

I miss that toe ring, though. It was verra nice. I found it in Ottawa, at O'Shea's Irish Market, and *sniff*, it was the first toe ring that didn't feel weird. That's what I get for not taking off all my jewelry before farting around at the beach. I very nearly lost my Ring Made From A Spoon at the beach, too, but I knew where it fell off in the water, and dove around looking for it.

Anyway, yeah. If you happen to have an underwater toe ring detector, I'm sure my precioussssss is near the shore by the showers at Regina Beach beach. **sigh**

Labels: ring made from a spoon

Okay, I think I may have mentioned that the awesome wedding we went to this weekend was a Pride and Prejudice (and zombies!) wedding. The period was Regency; the theme was Jane Austen. I'm not sure if you know this or not...but Jane Austen and I had a falling out. She wanted more out of the relationship than I was willing to give, and in the end...well...

You see, there was this brief but torrid affair we called Northanger Abbey, and that was Very Good. Why was it good? Because Jane Austen saw the inherent silliness in the intense appetite people had for Gothic novels and so she wrote a parody...in the way only a well-bred woman of a certain social class could in the early part of the nineteenth century. When men were men and novels were exclusively the domain of women...Yes, our time with Northanger Abbey was enjoyable, partly because Jane didn't take herself too seriously. How could she? How could anyone who wrote NOVELS be taken seriously? The thing with Northanger Abbey was that Jane took her *audience* seriously. Probably too seriously.

She was needy, you know. Oh yes, Jane Austen was needy. Needy like a needy thing that needs. Northanger Abbey wasn't good enough for Jane. The short, but passionate affair we had...she wanted more. "I daresay," she said to me once, as we were discussing the finer points of applying needlework directly to someone's face, "isn't it dreadful that's the only thing I've had published? You must see my other work; it's far superior."

"Jane," I replied, "Northanger Abbey is wonderful! Look at what you've done! You've made a case for the novel being accepted as more than solipsistic sensationalism. And I dare you...I double DOG dare you to say that three times fast."

She sighed. She *actually SIGHED* at me. That's the thing with all those Regency authors. They were always sighing all over the place.

"Look," I continued. "Half the people who read your book won't even GET it. That's the BEAUTY of it."

"No, that's terrible," she said, and sighed again. "They don't understand."

"Well, you're up against rather a lot here. I mean, first, you have to admit, you're a woman."

"Yes, I AM a woman," she said testily.

"Well, that's the thing. All these folks, these society folks...you could be writing the Declaration of Independence, and they'd still sniff and balk and roll their eyes. You not only have to fight against commonly held (albeit mostly WRONG) ideas about literature and art, but you have to fight against the very notion that the "unfortunate fact of your gender" is going to be a hindrance. But that doesn't mean you should quit!"

"You're right!" She exclaimed. "I should write novels about what women do all day long!"

Hence, the staggering amount of needlepoint, watercolour painting, and sitting around on chaises in all of Jane's other work. At that point, I knew it wasn't going to work. I really tried, though. All through Pride and Prejudice, and all through Sense and Sensibility and Emma and Mansfield Park...all through those books, I was hoping to see the spark I'd first seen. I was waiting to see Jane, her face outlined in the light of a warm parlour fireplace, and I was waiting for her words to fill my head again as they had when we shared Northanger Abbey.

It didn't happen. Jane and I were out walking in some overgrown rugby field she called a 'garden' and she started telling me about Persuasion. I stopped her right there. "Jane," I said, "I can't go on like this. I'm tired of everyone pining about something but not doing anything. I wish your characters would stand up, like you did. I know you want more, but I can't give it to you. Not this time, Jane Austen. Maybe not ever again."

She was a little heartbroken, and we haven't really spoken since then. Then I found the work she collaborated on with that zombie guy, and we're starting to talk again. Slowly, of course, because she knows she's on thin ice.

Anyway, enough about my relationship with Jane Austen. The wedding was awesome.

Labels: Books, wedding

And so it came to pass that a number of folks were sitting around the table, after milling about for bottles of wine which had not been drunk (unlike some of the wedding guests), and one of the people at the table (J.D.; fittingly, his initials) mentioned how stupid cows are. As there were no fewer than three people at the table who'd had to herd the "sped" (as Rummy Jenn would say) animals on more than one occasion, we agreed heartily with J.D.. There was Something We Did Not Expect, of course, and that Something was for our friend's girlfriend to say:

"Have you seen me? Did you notice that my skin is BROWN!? Did you know that my PEOPLE hold cows to be sacred animals?"

To which J.D. replied, "the only animal stupider than a cow is a chicken".

Three of us nodded sagely.

"But my PEOPLE," she said emphatically, "my PEOPLE believe cows are holy."

"My people believe cows are DELICIOUS!" I said, "Holy or not!"

That pretty much is an accurate representation of The JfA wedding which was wonderful.

Congrabulations to Snoozy and Chair-OO-bee, who are now all legally hitched up together and whatnot. If one does a romantical dream wedding, one ought to do it in the manner in which those two did it, because it was kind of magical. With zombies.

Labels: wedding

The day of the Pee and Pee and Zed wedding has arrived. The horde (that being His Nibs and The Nipper and The Captain and me) are staying at The Castle on the rverbank. Last night, the couple-to-be had a prenuptual shindig, and I swear this is the worst interface by which to make a bournal post I have ever encountered. I'm using the TeeVee. Apparently one can only type approximately twenty words per minute on The TeeVee, or else it cannot like your letters.

Anyhow, the shindig was tres fun, primarily because of all the folks w don't often see al in one place anymore. Note I have given up on correcting the TEEVEE's reticence with some letters.

More later - now, last minute costume aterations. *SIGH* aLterations.

Labels: wedding

A while back, Smarty Pants and his buddy the Mammarian helped me make a soundtrack for the LARP game I've been hosting for the last year or so. They did this cool layering thing, with a whole bunch of cool sound effects and music and such. It was incredibly cool.

Had I known that the sun was in the business of making soundtracks that sound like Dead Can Dance and Really Terribly Serious Wolves hanging out with some Horny Whales and maybe a handful of those crazy throat-singing monks thrown in for good measure, I'd have asked them to incorporate this. Like, layered over and over and over and over. Because this is the only thing I want to listen to right now.

Voltaire said something like : "Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd". I rather like Voltaire. I rather dig the fact that we are constantly learning. I mean, if we're doing it right, we're always learning new things. And this, this music, these beautiful sounds ...well. They're a mystery. I used to watch the northern lights and I imagined I could hear them singing to me. This is how I imagined them sounding, strangely enough.

Labels: mysteries