QUOTE WORTH QUOTING

I saw a documentary about Joseph Merrick (The Elephant Man) several years ago, and recently remembered a poem he used at the end of his letters.  The poem was actually written by Isaac Watts.  I think I wrote it down in my personal journal, but decided it would be worth sharing on this public one.  I apologize, in advance; I can’t figure out how to post poems, single-spaced, without them coming out split.  But here’s the poem, you may be as moved by it as I was (and am):

Tis true my form is something odd,

But blaming me is blaming God.

Could I create myself anew,

I would not fail in pleasing you.

If I could reach from pole to pole,

Or grasp the ocean with a span,

I would be measured by the soul,

The mind’s the standard of the man. 

HOLLYWOOD’S GEOGRAPHICALLY CHALLENGED

If you’ve never seen Identity (2003), and you like mysteries–see it!  And you may want to buy it rather than rent it, because you’ll probably want to watch it at least twice!  This evening, I saw the film for the third time–it was better than I’d even remembered!

But there is one little annoyance, in one scene.  I watched a Siskel & Ebert special once on things editors overlooked.  Many very good films were featured, including Chinatown–an ATM in one scene before ATM’s existed.  There are alot of such oversights, in some of the best films ever made.  And Identity is definitely one of the best, at least in its genre.  This one error, unlike the aforementioned, has nothing to do with time setting, but location setting.  I might have even missed it had I not watched it so intently (I noticed it the first time).  I don’t think the following is a spoiler, but I’ll be careful with it–here’s the unmistakable mistake:  In Identity, there is one scene of an orange grove.  In the background, there are mountains–this scene was probably filmed in California.  But in the plot, it’s clearly stated that the orange grove is in Florida!    

This error doesn’t come close to ruining Identity–it’s still one of the coolest movies I’ve ever seen.  But either the filmmakers (particularly the editors) thought they could slip that by–or honestly thought there were mountains in Florida!

TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED

My financial situation is straightened out now, so I’m no longer broke.  And I wrote the draft of the music-impression poem using Katherine’s jazz CD tonight.  Took alot of tea and coffee, but I got through the whole thing in one sitting.  The draft is terrible, but that’s why I call it a draft–after I’ve edited it on the PC, it may seem like a masterpiece. 

Also, Cathy stood me up.  She was supposed to meet me for lunch Wednesday, but didn’t show.  When I called, asking what had happened, she claimed to have forgotten it.  She was really apologetic-sounding–but who knows if that’s real.  Anyway, she said she could meet me Monday, but I said no.  I invited her to join me and the Singletons for dinner next Friday, and she said she would. 

Still I’m suspicious for this reason: She told me that she never writes down lunchdates on her calendar, because it would be too confusing.  I write down meetings with anyone, for any reason, on my calendar.  Obviously I’m not important to her, or she’d write down a lunchdate with me.  But like a typical male fool, I called her tonight (I’d missed the Singletons dinner due to a bit of agoraphobia I’ve recently picked up), and left a message that I could see her Monday, after all.  I was forgiving when I called her the other day–told her I’d done that before too (actually I’ve only stood someone up one time, because of a severe panic attack, but I didn’t want her to think it mattered to me, since it probably didn’t matter to her). 

I still have her phone number.  I’m tempted to discard it.  It’s an OCD thing with me–when a woman does something like that, I generally trash her number to keep myself from crawling back to her (like I did).  But now I try not to do that, since it’s giving in to OCD–and how can I ever recover, if I keep giving in? 

Anyway, pardon my whining, and thanks for reading–it’s therapeutic for me!  When I tell people about my problems (I’m unusually expressive for a male–always have been), they get frustrated because they can’t solve them.  But they don’t understand–they aren’t expected to solve them.  Whenever someone confides in you, all you need to do is listen!  You can’t solve his/her problems, he/she has to solve them.  But listening acknowledges the person, and this is all anyone really needs from you–simply to be acknowledged!  So thanks for listening, you’ve acknowledged me!

POET’S-BLOCKED

I begin seeing a new therapist on the 23rd.  It’s been years since I’ve seen a therapist, and I’m overdue for it.  And unlike the last three therapists I saw, this is an actual, licensed psychologist, with a Ph.D. in psychology (my most recent therapist had a Ph.D. in philosophy).  I look forward to it–she specializes in relationship issues, as well as personal ones.  And having a mild case of autistic spectrum disorder (which involves an inability to empathize with other people well), this should be quite helpful.

In the meantime, I can discuss problems here.  It’s more beneficial to share difficulties with strangers because they are more objective.  Of course, you’re not a complete stranger, but you’re distant enough not to judge and criticize me, as acquaintances and especially family members would.

It’s nothing major–just poet’s block.  There’s a huge difference between poetry and prose.  One must be far more clear-minded and relaxed to write poetry, probably because it’s more subliminal.  In the past several months, I’ve been writing music-impression poems.  Music is essential to my existence, I don’t think I could live without it.  And I listen to it every day, as much as I can.

To write a music-impression poem, I sit in my recliner, play a piece  of music, and write down all the images that occur in my mind.  I’ve always been this way–whenever I listen to music I automatically conjure all kinds of images.  I played music videos in my head long before MTV came along.  And though I’ve never had the patience or ability to master a musical instrument, I’ve always had a good ear for music (literally–my left ear has always been completely deaf). 

I first did this kind of poetry in 1992, while taking a music appreciation class.  Our instructor, Mrs. Youmans (one of the most beautiful, brilliant, endearing women I’ve ever known), assigned us to attend a performance of the Mobile Symphony Orchestra (free of charge for students), and write down everything we could about the performance–the instruments used, the tempo of the music, all the technical stuff.  I asked her if I could, instead, write down the images the music evoked.  She agreed, and I wrote a multi-page poem that had everything from a black panther lying on a branch at night to a businesswoman striding along a New York sidewalk.  And Mrs. Youmans loved it!

But this kind of poetry lay dormant until late last year, when I began writing it for my writers’ group.  The music can be any type, from anywhere.  It must be instrumental, unless the words are those of a language other than English ( if I can understand the words, I cannot write anything original, because the images are forced).

Last Tuesday, Katherine, a lovely lady from my primary writers’ group, gave me a CD of jazz.  Generally I don’t enjoy jazz (except Dixieland)–it’s too mathematical-sounding.  But this homemade CD is nice enough–I’m beginning to enjoy it.  Still, I can’t write a decent poem for it.  I get alot of images, but I can’t put them into words, in an original manner.

The primary cause is the medication I have to take.  The psychiatric drugs interfere with my creativity enough, but the added blood-pressure meds aggravate this (such interference is known as cognitive dysfunction).  Simply put, I would be literally smarter if I didn’t have to take these medications.  But I’d also be emotionally dysfunctional, without the former, and dead or stroke-struck without the latter.

If you take blood-pressure and/or psychiatric medications, you know what I’m talking about–their side-effects are almost as troublesome as the conditions for which they’re prescribed.  And virtually every kind of psychiatric or blood-pressure drug causes cognitive dysfunction, to some degree. 

Furthermore, my financial situation is bad right now–not because of anything I did, but because of something my insurance company did.  I once saw a bumper sticker which read: I’M SO BROKE I CAN’T EVEN PAY ATTENTION!  Quite funny, if you’re not broke!  But it is literally true, at the moment–I cannot focus enough to write what could be my best music-impression poem yet, because I’m obsessed with this problem.

Yet now that I’ve written this post–addressing my poet’s problem (the title of a great Blondie song, by the way), I’m eager to start the jazz disc, and try again.  The first step in solving a problem is addressing the problem.

THANK YOU, MR. SALINGER!

I’ve just learned that J.D. Salinger has died.  I’ve read Nine Stories and Franny and Zooey.  But my favorite is, of course, The Catcher in the Rye.  It was recommended to me by Dr. Duffy, one of my therapists, when I was in my early twenties.  I snubbed it, because it was about a teenager.  Dr. Duffy agreed, but said I ought to read it anyway, since I had practically missed my teenage years, and was still so much like a teenager. 

Almost twenty years later, I bought The Catcher in the Rye, and read it.  And I did indeed regret that I hadn’t read it in my twenties.  Second only to The Friar’s Club Encyclopedia of Jokes, it is the funniest book I’ve ever read!  In fact, I had difficult putting it down, before finishing–which is very unusual for me.  And maybe it was better that I read it as an older adult.  Peers of mine say they read it in high school, and found it depressing.  I can understand why.  The Catcher in the Rye is not really a kid’s book.  Kids take it too seriously, because they take themselves too seriously.  As a grownup, I can relate to Holden Caulfield’s teenage experiences more objectively.  In other words, I am aware that such troubles as his are temporary, while a teenager might see them as permanent.

I’m grateful to Mr. Salinger for his books–especially The Catcher in the Rye.  My last post was about legacy, and his is an example of a most generous legacy.  Even in my late thirties, I found The Catcher in the Rye therapeutic reading, and will probably find it even more therapeutic the next time I read it.  If you’ve never read The Catcher in the Rye, I hope you will.  And it’s never too late–the older you are, the better!

INSIGHT-OUTSIGHT #6

The legacy you leave after death is as important as the life you lead before death.

WHY SARAH PALIN GETS HOTTER EVERY DAY

I can’t get enough of Sarah Palin, and obviously there are alot of other men who can’t either.  In fact, I recall reading that she is the most googled person in the world–primarily for her photographs.  I’ve always been especially attracted to powerful women, probably because they’re so beyond my reach!  And though she’s not as powerful as Margaret Thatcher was–or even Laura Bush or Hillary Clinton, she’s powerful enough.

It’s obvious why McCain chose her as his running-mate–she would have been the first woman Vice-President, had he been elected.  But she was too beautiful, a former beauty queen in fact.  And since the U.S. media is mostly Democratic–it tore into her like a wild boar.  Honestly, if Biden’s daughter would have been pregnant out-of-wedlock, and had decided to keep her baby, she would have been elevated to a saintly status.  But that was just the start.  The media used the old stereotype that beautiful women are stupid.  Also, it attacked everything about her record that it could find–and probably made-up some stuff that it couldn’t.  Does this mean she would have made a good Vice-President?  Not necessarily.  But how could any American know, since our sources of information (with the  exception of PBS and NPR) could not be trusted–and never can be?  Even Katie Couric’s interview of Sarah Palin was more like an interrogation.

But Sarah Palin is probably the best known American celebrity in the world now.  By targeting her, from the beginning, the media inadvertently made her a superstar.  She may even have a better chance, politically, in future elections.

Sarah Palin has done the same thing Michael Jackson did.  The American media has used her to such a degree, that she has turned the tables, and is now using the American media!  Thus she’s more powerful and influential than ever before!  I understand Oprah Winfrey (who has a ridiculously gullible following–she’s just a daytime talk show host, people) interviewed her.  Pretty soon Sarah Palin might be bigger than Oprah!

And I say, good for her!  When the Democrat-controlled mass media of the United States attacks any public figure to excess–that public figure becomes a martyr.  This is why Michael Jackson became so unbelievably popular, and why Sarah Palin is becoming the same.

Here’s a tip:  If you want reliable, truthful, reasonably unbiased news, watch PBS and listen to NPR.  Also, watch and/or listen to broadcasts of foreign nations–such as Deusche Welle (Germany), Radio Australia, and especially the BBC (Britain).

NOT EXACTLY WHAT WAS MEANT

I get alot of my news from AOL, simply because I see it every day.  Of course the important news is always presented in a manner biased toward the political left,  and almost everything else is just sensationalized tabloid talk.  So I read it with healthy scepticism.

Anyway, there’s a headline on AOL right now, which reads: Rapper Wants Mom to Delete Her Twitter (Now).  Is it just me, or does that come across as a bit sexual–thus hilarious–to anyone who reads it?  (Hey Dad, what’s a twitter?)  Reminds me of a billboard I once saw, here in Pensacola, advertising a concrete company: FIRST IT’S EASY, THEN IT’S HARD.  I only saw it once or twice–it was obviously replaced, for obvious reasons!  And my favorite is this: When Chevrolet advertised the Nova on billboards in Mexico, executives wondered why there was almost no response.  It took them a while to learn that No va, in Spanish, meant, It doesn’t go!     

So these misunderstandings are often unintentional, but occasionally they’re not.  The best example I can remember is this:  According to Guinness, the top-selling postcard of all time was published in the 1920’s (postcards were as popular as letters in those days, and they weren’t just for vacation spots).  On this postcard was this cartoon: A young man sits at the base of a tree, reading a book, while a young woman looks on, admiringly.  He glances at her, and asks, “Do you like Kipling?”  She replies, “I don’t know, you naughty boy, I’ve never kippled!”

Corny to us, of course.  But obviously hilarious to our ancestors!

ADDENDUM

Out of curiosity, I just googled Singletons and Millers Ale House.  For the latter, it came right up.  For the former, nothing even remotely resembling it did.  So here’s the Singletons website (click on the town nearest you): http://www.singletons.us.

A DRUNKEN POST

Seems that a drunken post is a rite of passage for bloggers–at least those who drink.  So here’s mine.  I don’t drink daily, nor do I ever drink alone.  So when I drink, I make up for lost time.  I missed my singles group’s dinner last night, because of my still-twisted sleep cycle.  But tonight I called Delbert–my only friend in  Singletons, and we went to Millers Ale House.  It was my choice–I’ve been pursuing a twenty-something gal there named Tara, a hostess, for over two years. 

Tonight, I asked that she stop by our table.  She did, and I was amazed–she was cute, though not nearly as gorgeous as I remembered.  But isn’t this typical of guys–to put gals on a ridiculously high pedestal?   Anyway, we went ahead and ate, and then stayed till after 2 am, just talking.  Delbert doesn’t drink, but I just put down one Foster’s (Australia) after another–I must have had at least ten, good thing he was driving.

Delbert is the only member of my singles group who’s an intellectual, like me–who enjoys deep discussions, and very intelligent conversation.  Only difference is that he is primarily left-brained, while I’m primarily right-brained.  His best subjects in school were math and science–while mine were English and history.  Still, we get along well–it’s so damned good to have someone with whom I can really talk.  I even told him once that I wish I could find a woman like him.  Maybe I have.  Cathy, the woman I mentioned in a previous post, has agreed to meet me for another lunchdate, on February 3rd.  And she is also primarily left-brained (most men are primarily left-brained, most women are primarily right-brained–so she is an exception, like me).

I did most of the talking–centering mainly on politics and religion.  Yes, Delbert is the only person with whom I can discuss the two most taboo subjects.  He claims he’s not intellectual, because he doesn’t read as much as I.  But he listens, and learns–and this is every bit as intellectual.  In fact, one’s desire to learn is far more important than his/her level of intelligence.  Intelligence is just a prerequisite–the desire to learn is the key to gaining knowledge.  And he enjoys learning, just as I do.

Anyway, I just sent an email to Tara, once again asking for her phone number.  Odds are she won’t respond, but that will be nothing new.  Still, I remain undaunted.  That’s one area in which I wish women were a little more like men, if I may be politically incorrect.  Most women get rejected by men once or twice, and distrust men the rest of their lives–while most men get rejected by women, over and over, and still keep trying.  Reminds me of My Fair Lady, and Higgins’ song, Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man?  In fairness, however, I’m sure women often wish a man could be more like a woman.

The fact is that, even though men and women differ genetically by only three percent, they are quite different from one another.  My friend, Joseph, who (though somewhat shallow) brought me out of my shell, as a teenager, once said, “Girls want us because we have something they don’t have, we want girls because they have something we don’ t have.”  And that’s one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard in my life.  

Still, I often wish we weren’t so profoundly different.  And the Creator might laugh, and reply “No, you don’t–the amount of difference is precisely what you want!”

Well I’ve got a headache, of course (the Janie Fricke song, Jose Quervo, You Are a Friend of Mine is going through my mind)– and must cease writing, and sleep this off.

I may decide to delete this post, but probably not–since a blog is about the real blogger, naked, without pretense.  And if I’ve misspelled anything, gimme a break. 

P.S.–If you want to google Singletons and/or Millers Ale House, feel free–I’m not bothering to conceal them.  U.S. Singletons is an interesting group, and Millers Ale House an outstanding restaurant, so you can tell either entity Scott recommended it.