The Banal Chew

Finally

Yay!

Zoom, zoom

It's finally here.  I'm off to the U.S. for three weeks.

I will be blogging sporadically...hopefully.

I had a thought (ouch)

Three Penitential Paybacks of My Life (Thus Far)

1. Overseeing children's birthday parties is the penance we adults have to pay for sassing back to our mothers when we were kids.
2. A kidney stone is the price paid for enjoying tea while eating ice cream.
3. Having to take anti-anxiety medication is, currently, the result of nodding off too often during music theory class.

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In other news, I'm off in a minute to visit with Mykel and catch up before I fly off to the States in a few days.  I'm looking forward to finding out how the poi learning is going!

And the Ernie goes to...

I love Australia for many reasons.  Now there's one more: The Ernie Awards. 

These trenchant accolades are bestowed upon those men, women or organizations who are voted as having uttered the year's most sexist remark on public record. 

This year the Golden Ernie goes to Liberal senator Bill Heffernan for accusing Julia Gillard of being "deliberately barren," and therefore unsuitable for political office as she is out of touch with the reality of everyday life.

My favorite runner-up (simply because it is so reprehensible) is former celebrity chaffeur, Gordon Wood, who upon identifying his girlfriend's body at the morgue, asked the attendant if he could have a quick look at her tits. 

God, the world is full of horrible people.

Full story here.

Affable YouTube Monday

More CYE fun. 

Ever wish you could just go off like Susie?  It's probably terribly unhealthy, but talk about vicarious.

BTW: Rated scary for some really foul language. Headphones strongly recommended.

Now, to counter that, here's a bit of soothing balm for the frenzied soul.

Flashback Friday

Sometimes I think I'm naive.  Or stupid.  Or slow.  Something.

Part I

"God, you're such a fairy!"

This came from the red-headed kid with giant freckles who sat in front of me in my 7th-grade class.  It was one of those cinematic slow-motion moments.  His squeaky voice dropped two octaves as he spoke those words, the freckles on his face...freckles as big as your hand...scrunching and wrinkling as his mouth contorted to accommodate his insult. 

It didn't have to be that way.  We had been joking around before the bell rang, tossing paperwads at each other like so many other gangly teenagers.  We were horsing around and having fun, as we always had.  Then he threw one at my face, hitting me squarely in the eye.  I must have complained in a way he found objectionable, and out came the phrase. 

Then it got worse.  Holding a hand over my bruised eye, now pouring forth tears (although I wasn't crying, honest to God), I angrily asked him what the heck he was talking about.  What does complaining about someone nearly putting your eye out have to do with mythical winged creatures of the forest? 

He belly-laughed and yelled, "A fairy, stupid.  You know, a girly boy." 

My heart stopped.  Although I couldn't think of things in any logical sense at the moment, it was the first time in my life that I had borne the direct brunt of hate speech. 

The bell rang, and we all took our seats.  I sat stunned and quiet during the entire class.  From that day until the end of the year, I never looked at the back of his unkempt head the same as I had before.  And try as hard as I may, I just could not seem to will my eyes to become burning lasers that would drill right through his hateful skull.  I never spoke to him again.

Part II

As I approached my car in the Silver Spring grocery store parking lot, I noticed a man weaving his way on foot in my general direction.  He was carrying a brown paper bag.  I had just seen him exit the back of the adult bookstore adjacent to the oriental grocer I had just visited, and I began to speculate as to what type of videos he had rented.  From his mean, disheveled look and inebriated stagger, I imagined it probably wasn't an instructional video on tantric massage or a how-to program on bringing your wife to multiple orgasms. 

Based on the vibe I was receiving, I decided to alter my course through the parking lot ever so slightly to avoid the risk of ending up in this man's swerving path.  As we drew nearer to our respective vehicles, I realized he was headed toward the giant 1970s-model Buick parked next to my shiny, 2-month-old, samba green Honda del Sol.  It was my 30th birthday present to myself, and it was my pride and joy.

As we got closer to our cars, the man's eye caught mine and I noticed him scowl hatefully.  He reached his car first, unlocked the massive door and pulled it with drunken force into the side of my new Honda.  I stood shocked for a second, wondering if I should let it go or risk saying something. 

Little Angel Sandy on one shoulder whispered, "Just go home and make your sushi. It's not worth getting worked up over." 

Little Devil Sandy on the other side screamed, "Kill the bastard!"

The good Libra that I am, I compromised and walked over to the passenger side of my car to check out any damage.  Sure enough, there was a big ding and the paint had been severely scraped.  Looking at the damage, I felt my pulse quicken and blood rush to my head.  I looked over at the man in the Buick and knocked on his window.  He cranked it down and gave me a questioning glare.

"Excuse me, but do you realize what you just did to my car?  LOOK!"  I pointed at the desecration.

His foul breath slapped me in the face as he spat, "Yeah?  Well get some fuckin' side-body molding, buddy!"  He angrily rolled up his window and reached to put his car in gear.

I stood for a brief moment, bewildered, and quickly rapped on his window again.

"Sorry?"  I asked.  "What is side-body molding?"

He gave me an incredulous look, his face slackening for a second.  Then the nastiness returned and he screamed as he sped off, "Look it up in a fuckin' dictionary!"

When I got home, I did just that.

Something new, different, unusual...

I've started a new feature on The Banal Chew. 

It's a daily (or so) gabcast called "Critter Matters."

Look in the left-hand panel to find it, but first dig out the No-Doz.

To this we've come

The height of anthropocentrism:

Poor jockey injures his leg, then his horse was murdered before thousands of people.

Sport, big business or legalized animal abuse?  You tell me.

Affable YouTube Monday

Jesus, do I ever need this today.

A couple of things from Kate Bush's Aerial, one of my favorite recordings...ever.

Songs of life

Isn't it strange how people can sometimes make you feel less than worthwhile?  Or that what you do for a living or avocation is substandard?  That happened to me recently while I was telling a few people about some work I was doing with the director of the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Chorus to prepare the group for a fairly challenging upcoming concert. 

I'm an artist, as in a musical artist.  Primarily, however, I feel like a craftsperson.  I live for my art, but I'd like to think I am far from a diva.  The way I see it, I like to use my skills to craft a product that makes people feel better about the world, to appreciate art forms (on whatever level), to hear some interesting music.  I try not to subject my aesthetics on others.  I program items that I feel suit a particular purpose and leave it up to the listener to derive the beauty...or not. 

As I mentioned earlier, I have been assisting the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Chorus with preparations for their upcoming World AIDS Day Concert.  Admittedly, I've never been much into the G/L choir scene, other than a few appearances as a guest soloist.  Some of the literature performed may not necessarily be my cuppa, but that's my own issue.  Overall, it is the art that is crafted and the resulting experience that I am interested in.  That's the beauty of art.  The diversity of forms and styles means that everyone is able to enjoy something. 

I've been to many concerts by G/L choirs, and I've always walked away amazed at the overwhelming sense of community spirit they foster...as well as the joy they bring their audiences.  There's much to be learned from that.

The Sydney Gay & Lesbian Chorus are a beautiful bunch of people.  Their warm welcomes, openness to learning in new ways, and beaming smiles have been invigorating and reconfirming.  I have thoroughly enjoyed working with them over the past month.  Unfortunately, I will be in America when their concert takes place, but I am certain they will shine brightly, as well as do Lauridsen and Tavener good justice. 

So let the person who looked down his nose at me and my recent work stew in his own superciliousness.  At the end of the day, I'm a better person for knowing these people and for helping share the joy of music with them and, in the long run, others.

Hero du jour

I watched an episode of Heroes with Mark last night and, as usual, found it mildly entertaining.

I think most of us feel an underlying craving to have a supernatural power.  For example, whenever I'm driving in this pathetic Sydney traffic, I always reach a point where I wish I could fly.  I'd leave the car stopped at the traffic light, nut-to-butt with whomever is tailgating me, lift my arms over my head and proudly...but very slowly so all could see...shoot upward through the sunroof of our Subaru.  Hovering for a moment, I would look down upon the high-visibility-color Falcon ute that had been riding my ass for blocks and grin masterfully at its slack-jawed driver.  Then I'd unleash my true power.  I'd plant that golden seed of self-doubt and poor self-confidence in his brain.  And it would grow.  Oh, yes, it would grow like kudzu.

But that would be mean.

This morning I was pondering what makes someone a real hero.  Then I stumbled upon the following and I realized that heroes, like Mr. Albert Snyder, are all around us.

A lawyer for the Rev. Fred Phelps says that Phelps will appeal the nearly $11 million verdict awarded to the father of a dead marine whose funeral was picketed by fundamentalists who claim the war in Iraq is a punishment for the nation's tolerance of homosexuality.

Albert Snyder of York, Pa., sued the Westboro Baptist Church, of Topeka, Kansas for unspecified damages after members demonstrated at the March 2006 funeral of his son, Lance Cpl. Matthew Snyder, who was killed in Iraq.

Appearing on NBC's "Today" show Thursday, Sndyer said that while his son was fighting for freedom for Iraqis, "my son did not fight for hate speech.

"And that's basically what it is," he said of the church's protest. "Everybody's under the impression that the First Amendment gives them the right to do anything, say anything any where, any time. And along with the First Amendment also comes responsibility." Read the full story...

It's no secret to those who know me that I'm not a fan of war, and particularly this one, but that's not what this is about.  It is about a man standing up and speaking out against a very personal affront, but also against something he knows is intrinsically wrong, disgraceful and, to paraphrase his words, irresponsible.  He's my hero today.

Now where's my cape?  I'm sure they still have a phonebooth or two in Topeka.