(I’ll bet this guy would agree with me…)

I was originally going to post the following as a comment on this post in the Fresno Beehive, but it got too long, so decided to sound off here in my private corner.

Mother Earth dying…

Um. Not really.

She goes through cooling and warming trends over the millenia, and what’s happening now is no different than what has been happening for millions of years.

When there weren’t as many people on the rock with all their huge cities and instant communications, these sorts of things weren’t globally noticed. But now we know instantly when there’s tidal surge on the other side of the world. This stuff happens.

Then Algore finishes “inventing the internet”, and decides to invent a new emotional global crisis as well. And gets awards he doesn’t deserve for something that isn’t accurate, when other people who have contributed far more to humankind (especially in peace AND entertainment) than he has are ignored.

And then people run around screaming “the sky is falling, the sky is falling”, and see portents of doom in natural climate changes. Because Algore ghost wrote a book and made a movie.

Mother Earth is not dying. She’s just doing what she does. She’s moving air and water and earth all over herself as she always has, in response to lunar and solar influence. Because those heavenly bodies move in cycles as well.

The puny humans crawling all over the earth just have to learn to deal with it. Adapt. That’s what we did to get where we are. But suddenly, now, we think we can halt the inevitable, and natural, shift of climate, and keep the climate right where we want it to stay.

And THAT is a bad idea, one… because it wouldn’t be healthy for “mother earth” to do that, and two… because it won’t work anyway. (I’m not saying that gives us leave to toss our styrofoam cups in the ocean. Don’t get me wrong.) We’re better off making efforts to find ways to adapt to what HAS happened and IS happening, and finding ways to reduce our petroleum dependence for fuel. Petroleum has many other uses that can’t be ignored, but when we have viable alternatives for fuel, why are we not using them where it makes sense?

The earth will not die. Various species might; and if people don’t figure out how to live efficiently, the human species might, but the earth… it will still be here (provided we don’t blow it up because of the inability for world leaders to get their heads out of their collective asses and realize THE PEOPLE don’t give a shit about global dominance… we just want to be able to feed our kids, and enjoy our lives).

Earth will still be here, moving air and water and dirt all over itself.

Mother Earth is not dying. But people are. Let’s focus on the people, hey?

(For the record, I do not see the planet as a female entity. It’s a planet. A rock in space with stuff on it. The whole “she” thing is just a response to the title of the Beehive post.)

Addendum:

Thanks for the link to that, Steve.

And where, oh where, is MY Charlton Heston?
Sigh.

So the local university newspaper did a little video asking students a question about the Rogue.

“Would the Rogue Festival be more popular if held on campus?”

I haven’t even got to the responses and I am already bewildered. What the hell kind of asinine question is THAT? A relevant question might be “Do you know about the Rogue Festival?” Or “Have you seen any Rogue Festival shows?” or even “What do you think of the Rogue Festival?”

But to ask if it would be more popular if held on campus smacks of a very insular viewpoint, and is really more than a little naive. It seems to stem from an assumption that the university campus is, or should be, the end-all, be-all of culture and arts in the community.

Still, for the sake of argument, let’s just assume that the person (or persons) who thought up the question didn’t put too much thought behind it and really meant it to be objective and merely thought-provoking.

Let’s get to some points brought up in students’ responses.

The Tower District, where a majority of Rogue activities are held, is not a safe place to be. At night. It’s… like… scary.

To paraphrase something a friend said when discussing this idea… “What… are you a pussy?”

I am a single, 38 year old woman. I have a 13 year old daughter. We walked several blocks of the Tower District last weekend going from one show to another. We were unescorted. It was dark. By the time we were done, it was quite late; well after 11 p.m. At no time did I feel uncomfortable. The only people I saw were fellow festival patrons waiting in line, walking from place to place, riding in pedicabs from one show to another. Everyone was friendly. No one appeared to be even remotely threatening.

I’m not a big girl. I’m not tough or intimidating. I had no problem walking all the way from the Starline down to Dianna’s South. Alright. I did have one problem. I wore the wrong shoes and ended up with an annoying blister on one heel.

If there is any time during the year that the Tower District is most safe, it’s probably during the Rogue Festival. There are always people out and about… good people. Nice people. People who like the arts. Show times are staggered such that there are ALWAYS people about on the sidewalks, smiling, chatting, recommending this or that to total strangers.

I think it is unfortunate that we have come to the point that people are afraid to go anywhere that doesn’t resemble Main Street USA in Disneyland. (Not that there’s anything wrong with Disneyland. I LOVE Disneyland for what it is. But I don’t want to live there.) A true, semi-urban environment is immediately suspect because it isn’t uniform and squeaky clean. And the Tower isn’t really all that urban. It’s more a ‘local neighborhood hot spot’.

The people and businesses of the Tower are real. The restaurants and nightspots are fun. They’re authentic, not pre-packaged (with the exception of Starbucks and Blockbuster, maybe.) There are alleys with dumpsters, people locking up their stores at the end of the day, and yes, sometimes Pops will come up and ask you for seventy-five cents so he can get a cup of coffee.

Oh. Horrors.

Interacting with real people in a real environment is scary.

Next point.

The Rogue Festival would be more popular, or well-known, if it were held on campus.

Um… JUST how insular is life on a college campus?

More popular or well-known? We ARE talking about the same Rogue Festival, right? You know, the largest fringe-style festival WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI??? That one that is LARGER THAN THE SAN FRANCISCO FRINGE? (And that’s not to discount the Frisco Fringe. It’s well-known and very cool, too.) The festival bigger than the BOULDER FRINGE? (Boulder. That’s in Colorado.)

We’re talking about the Rogue Festival that draws performers from all over the country… actually, from all over the world. It IS internationally known. Fresno is a destination listed on Frommer’s online, as well as British Airways, BECAUSE of the Rogue Festival.

Performers come to the Rogue because they find they have a decent turnout and appreciative audiences. They enjoy the atmosphere and the welcome they always receive. It’s actually getting quite the buzz on the “fringe circuit” as a good place to come.

Just because YOU don’t know about it doesn’t mean it isn’t already successful. But now you do know about it. Why don’t you check it out?

Oh. That’s right, I remember. That brings us to the next point.

It would be more convenient if it were on campus. You wouldn’t have to travel the few miles it takes to get there.

Let me ask this question. If you were a student at… say… NYU, would you refuse to attend cultural events in New York City because they weren’t held on campus? If you were a student at Stanford, would you never leave campus to catch shows, visit art galleries, find some great live music in San Francisco?

Is the typical college student now the sort of person that really just cannot be bothered to leave campus at all? How spoon-fed have we, as a society, become?

The point is valid, that it WOULD be more convenient for students to attend activities on campus. They’re already there, so it wouldn’t even require much thought to just stop in and check it out.

It would also be convenient if the local restaurant would just send a cook to my kitchen to cook for me when I’m hungry. It would be extremely convenient if an employer would just provide me with everything I needed to do the job in my home. I’d never have to go anywhere, for anything!

That would be GREAT!

Wait… this is real life. Or, at least, life outside of college is real life. We actually have to make an effort for things out here in the real world. Things don’t just show up outside our door for us to sample if we feel like getting around to it.

I’m not really complaining about the viewpoints of the individual students that answered the question posed to them. From their perspectives, their opinions are very valid. Unfortunately, their perspectives seem to be very narrow and somewhat uninformed.

It’s a glaring example of the disconnect between the local university culture and the greater local arts and entertainment culture of our community. There really does seem to be this attitude among university students that if it isn’t happening on campus, it isn’t worth caring about. It’s a crying shame. It really is. We have a very rich, diverse, vibrant arts community in this area. College students could both benefit greatly from being exposed to the many facets of local arts, not to mention the contributions they could make for the good of Fresno as a whole.

Whose fault is this? Why doesn’t the university care about the community’s arts contributions, when the community is expected to care so much about the university’s arts contributions? We should support university theatre and music, but… do they promote anything else?

It is interesting, and a little dismaying, when you consider that no less than HALF of the founders of the Rogue Performance Festival are CSUFresno alumni.

But… hey… just because THEY graduated and left the campus doesn’t mean anybody ELSE should leave the campus.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing… I’ve been saying I want to lose girth for months. (I haven’t really lost much ‘weight’ so much as ’roundness’.)

It’s just… well…

It seems a lot of things are shrinking, not just my waistline which seems to be reducing proportionally with the rest of me. This means I still do not resemble Sophia Loren OR Raquel Welch.

What it also means is… my feet are even smaller.

WHAT is going ON?

Either that, or shoe manufacturers are making smaller sizes larger… and my old shoes have REEEALLY stretched out.

And clothing is a problem. Now I’m wearing pants at least a full size smaller. Not complaining about that. Don’t mind that at all.

The PROBLEM lies in buying dresses. You see… my dress size has remained a full two sizes larger than my pants size. Why?

Because the one thing on me that is NOT shrinking is my chest. Ok, not really my chest, so much as my boobs. (No. I can’t really much complain about that either.) So… blouses must be larger, by at least two sizes, than my pants/skirts. I am now shaped like… um… a carrot. (And unless we’re using some sort of “dangle the carrot” metaphor… that’s not a good thing. Wait, even using that metaphor probably wouldn’t be a good thing. I don’t want to be dangled anywhere. Er… well… ok, no.)

Dress shopping is frustrating, because anything that fits the bust does NOT fit the waist. Everything looks like a tent. Anything meant to be form fitting results in all sorts of weird fabric baggage around the back, waist and hips, SOMEtimes while the buttonup bodice is STILL so tight that I have serious (and embarrassing) gappage at the placket.

Gappage at the placket. Scourge of the ladylike.

Now… these things could be dealt with by buying clothes and having them tailored, or just tailoring clothes to fit me.

‘cept… I don’t sew. And I’m broke, so I can’t pay someone to sew FOR me.

Woe to me.

I get what I wanted… and it’s ALSO a pain in the ass. And I’m still not skinny or curvy. Just… shrunken.

It is to sigh.

(The title is an homage to GQS)

Rant mode = on

Pet peeve #143

Women who cannot find it within themselves to behave in a dignified manner.

Imagine a woman walking through a parking lot shouting to her ‘friend’, calling that friend a whore and generally calling attention to herself. A woman who… really… shouldn’t want to call attention to herself.

I’m not talking about ‘acting out’ and being funny, or crazy, or whatever you call it, among friends. BE a loudmouth with your pals. Be the pushy broad, or the funny chick, or whatever.

But don’t subject ME to it in a setting that is inappropriate.

In fact, I know tough girls and larger-than-life personalities… who don’t take shit, and can dish it with the best. BUT… they still carry themselves with dignity in public. They don’t subject the entire world to “look at me, I’m so hardcore I can call my friends names from across a parking lot and they won’t do anything about it.”

They just ARE hardcore, because that’s who they are and they don’t feel the need to demonstrate it to strangers. (Unless said strangers decide to be offensive.)

A real woman, whether she is the quiet and reserved sort or the gregarious sort, does not need to broadcast and call attention to herself. If she deserves attention she will have it, and usually it will be because people notice her bearing, her self-assured behavior, and her ability to be appropriate to the setting.

You don’t need to call attention to yourself if you’re worthy of attention.

Meh. That goes for men, too, I guess.

Come ON people. It is NOT hard to be classy in everything you do. If *I* can walk around with a little integrity, why can’t you? I’m not so very special.

Oooh, let’s rant about superficial. Can’t abide that either. People who talk about celebrities, and avidly watch so-called celebrities who are celebrities NOT for talent or intelligence, but because they happened to have been in the right place at the right time and took their clothes off for the right person, or they once did something and got a ‘name’ and now to keep that ‘name’ out there they have to participate in some ridiculous charade, or something equally shallow. Seriously… you’re TALKING about this? You’re talking about the life someone else is leading, watching ‘reality’ with bated breath, because apparently it beats the shit out of YOUR reality? You want to be those people? You want to be that two dimensional? You make time to sit your ass down and stare at THEM prancing through the day being… whatever it is they are?

You and the rest of the sheep, I guess.

I shudder to think of it. I shudder more violently when I realize that people like ‘you’ (you who love that shit) are considered ‘cool’ and people like me are considered nerds, geeks, or dorks because we aren’t well-versed in the ways of the shallow. We are undesirables in the eyes of current society because we demand substance in our entertainment, in our conversations, in associates.

Perhaps you think I’m aloof and uninterested. Perhaps I require something other than the same thing, over and over and over. Perhaps I don’t have time to care about the daily artificial play-acting of life that some vapid dingbat displays for the camera.

I’d rather go live my own reality. It’s not always pleasant, but it does keep me busy.

I’m still working on it, but my goal is to live fully, conquer the day, and suck the marrow from its bones. EVERY day. How I conquer it may not be how someone else would, but I want to know that I lived that day, and not have it slide into the morass of all the days before and all the days after, each indistinguishable from the others.

Life is too damned short to waste on things I don’t need or care about. Focus on that which matters.

Ok… so let’s see. Carry myself with dignity. Check. Not make an ass of myself. Eh, usually. Avoid the shallow and superficial. Check. Live. No… REALLY live. Workin’ on that.

Right, then.

Rant mode = off

Jittery.

Unable to sit still.

Even more fractured attention span.

Can’t control thoughts or the directions they take.

And I have NOTHING compelling enough to capture all this energy and channel it until it’s spent.

I guess I’ll spend my day spiraling out of control.

Yeah. That’s all I need.

There’s still something sitting by my jewelry box that needs to be put into your hands. (And what better place for it to sit… something that represents one of the most priceless jewels ever to adorn the planet?)

Not nagging, by any means. I’m all about the busy myself. In fact, I seem to be managing to keep life busy enough that I’m avoiding the sad. Well, most of the time. Nights are worst. Not much I can do about it, though. I’m not the only woman forced to go forth into the world alone. Grandma did it. So can I. So I do what she did; stay busy. Yeah. I know. I’m avoiding the issue. What else can I do when the issue will never, EVER go away, but there doesn’t seem to be a satisfactory resolution? Find little happinesses in little things and keep moving.

I just want to make sure this important thing remains a part of the priority “to-do” list.

In fact, I think this reminder is more for me than anyone else. Part of me is afraid of forgetting… No, that’s not quite it. I’ll never forget. Maybe I’m just not quite ready to let go and move on.

Yeah. Real surprise there. I don’t let people go easily. I’m like a little wolverine that bites, latches on, and doesn’t want to let go of my prey.

It is to sigh.

What is it about a voice that can make me fall in love with it?

The thought crossed my mind just now. A strange thing happened. Well, maybe not so strange, but it gave me pause.

I was surfing through iTunes, checking out the audiobooks available. (Not that I can afford any, but I just wanted to see what was there, I suppose. More than I expected. Digression. Pardon.)

I came across “Shopgirl” by Steve Martin. I had seen the movie, and knowing it was a book BEFORE a movie, and since I tend to generally appreciate books even more than movies, I clicked the link and played the preview. To my delight, it was read by the author himself.

So there I was, listening to this excerpt of a clever story written by a clever man, and I found myself falling in love with Steve Martin’s voice. I did! I screwed my brows together when I realized this reaction, and pondered what could possibly make me feel so fond of a stranger.

Yes, the man is well-known; a celebrity. This is not an excuse. Celebrity doesn’t impress me. If anything, it makes me less likely to respect a person outright. I think one would actually have to work harder to gain any credibility in my eyes. (That’s probably unfair to any celebrities I may meet, but since it’s unlikely I’ll be meeting many in the course of my life, it won’t matter much.)

Oh, but I was so soothed, listening to the voice of this man, this stranger, this celebrity actor/comedian/author/playwrite/whatever-else-he-is. Even as I marveled at the ridiculousness of the feeling, still I was enraptured and listening.

How fascinating was the simple description of his Mirabelle, and how she walked, and how she wore her clothes, and how a stranger would admire her legs as she sat in a cafe.

How could I be so enchanted by almost nothing at all? Is it the skill of the writer combined with the skill of the reader, and realizing they belong to the same person?

The little sample of this audiobook ended and I began to think. (Careful there, Joy. Don’t strain anything.)

I haven’t often “fallen for” a voice. Usually fondness for a person’s voice comes over time, and familiarity. I appreciate and enjoy the voices of friends. As I know a person better, I am more attuned to the subtle changes in tone that come with varying moods.

I am a mother. I am keenly aware of the sounds my daughter makes, sometimes annoyed to distraction by whining, other times completely smitten by the joy and eagerness of adolescent enthusiasm.

But that, too, is something I learned from proximity, from familiarity.

So why, then, every so often, do I come across a voice that absolutely endears me to the owner? I’ve never been so struck by the voice of Steve Martin before… why now?

IS it the content and context as well as the sound?

But the last time I heard a voice that nearly made me swoon, I’m fairly sure the content wasn’t earth-shattering. The context might have been significant. This, too, was another brilliant mind that had already proved it could produce wonders.

I fell madly, completely, irrevocably, tragically, adoringly in love with that one. It hasn’t gone away.

After some thought, THAT voice and Steve Martin’s voice really aren’t all that alike… except… there IS some quality that they share. I’m not sure what it is. Pitch and tone aren’t really the same. Inflection, maybe? The precision with which words are produced and slip off the tongue? Maybe I’m just a sucker for someone who isn’t a mush-mouth like most of society seems to be these days.

Good lord. Does this mean I’m going to fall in love with Steve Martin?!?

Nah.

Although… the man IS tall. And brilliant…

But back to this voice thing, because it’s the voice issue that perplexes me.

So I didn’t fall in love with Steve Martin, but I did feel an odd fondness for him as he was reading his book to me.

It was like hearing my Dad… who is no vocal virtuoso by any stretch of the imagination… read to me as a child. That was familiar, and comfortable, no matter that he stumbled over words, or didn’t always pronounce things properly.

Same general feeling.

Just like the voice I DID fall in love with. Comfortable, evoking trust. Hmmm… maybe I should ask THAT voice to read some of its owner’s work to me.

But what is it about certain voices that trigger these responses? Are we hardwired to respond to certain kinds of sounds, depending on our own genetic code and that of the other person?

Or is it that we become attuned to certain speech patterns, accents, pitch, tone, timbre, turn of phrase… throughout the course of our lives? Maybe something that happened, or someone I met once impressed upon me a longing for a certain kind of voice.

Nature, or nurture?

Maybe a bit of both? It seems to me that I HAVE tended to respond to the voices of certain “types”. That is hardly definitive, though.

Ohhh, the question begs research.

What IS it about a voice?

I don’t care anymore.

No amount of effort or trying gets me anywhere.

No amount of caring results in anything good.

I’m copping out.

I’m giving in.

You have been notified.

Please to make a contribution through the little “donate” button.

Thank you,

And have nice day.

Supposedly… people are leaving me voicemail that I never get.

This is confirmed by the fact that someone who does NOT have reason to lie to me has said they left me a voicemail that NEVER came through.

It’s a conspiracy by AT&T to ruin my life.

It must be. Either that or they just want me to come into the store to complain so I’ll see the iPhones and lose my head and buy one, while extending my contract for another million years…

hmmm…

Yesss…. conspiracy indeed.

Anyway… if you’ve called me and left a message… and I haven’t responded, it’s not because I don’t love you. It’s because I don’t know you did. I suggest email. It’s slightly more reliable. (But not by much.)

Whomever you may be…

Just how many times are you gonna look at this blog?

Check out the map thingy over there in the sidebar at the right. Do you SEE how many times it flashes “Hunstville, AL” compared to EVERYwhere else?

So… either there is some weird glitch in that map that makes it REALLY like Huntsville, AL… OR… there is some weird person that REALLY likes to look at this utterly boring blog…

But seriously… identify yourself.

Who are you?

I’m getting paranoid.

Don’t toy with me.

BTW… I have a gun.

And a REALLY big boyfriend.

And stuff.

I’m just sayin’.