Dear Barack Obama,
I have enjoyed getting to know you-albeit via the media, and not face to face- over the past--how long has it been? 21 months? Wow. It's been a while! I feel like we could be best friends now! You are on my radio every night, and your pictures is everywhere, even on my neighbor's jack-o-lantern. That is how you know you have arrived. When you are the subject of a carved pumpkin. Congratulations!
Barack and Joe, I am glad that you are doing well in the polls and that you are trying to offer people hope and change. I love hope and change! But do you know what I don't love? Spam.
I do hope that you beat McCain/Palin on November 4. Unfortunately, I am not available, nor do I intend to be available, to call people in swing states, plaster DC with OBAMA posters, e-mail my friends, begin Facebook political debates, or donate money. Especially donate money. But your e-mails to me revolve around this topic! You mention hope and change a little, but mostly, youp lead with me to part with the money I just earned by watching a 3-year old for 4 hours. This constitutes a large sacrifice on my part.
Barack, I am a student. I do not have money except for beans, books, and coffee. I'm afraid that no matter how many e-mails you send me - nay, even if you up your quota to 3 e-mails per day! - I will not donate to your campaign. I'm sorry. Joe, if you send me e-mails, I will not donate. I will not donate no matter who sends me e-mails; I do not have any money.
I heard that you are in the millions of dollars now, and could even afford a 30-minute commercial during prime time the other day! How nice! I didn't get to see it, since I don't have a TV. But I'm pretty sure that this is a good indication that you don't need my $25, which will instead be spent on the previously mentioned beans and coffee.
Therefore, I have to ask you to stop sending me e-mails, Barack and Joe and David Plouffe and David Axelrod and Mrs. Obama (although I do like you, Mrs. Obama, and I think you have excellent taste in sheaths.) I will be watching you on election night, and I hope that you do well and that a victory does not make you stupid and that a loss does not make you depressed. I think you have done a good job over the past two years, and a lot of my friends feel the same. Hope is not as important as money, I know, but it is the mainstay of your campaign, so please accept my hope for your success instead of my $25.
Thank you, and say hi to Michelle for me!
Catherine
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
When I was a freshman or sophomore in college, I went to my dear (now-soon-to-be-a-mom!) friend Anne's house for Thanksgiving. Her mother had a personality test that we took for curiosity's sake. I buzzed through it and checked in heavily as an ISTJ: Intuitive, Sensing, Thinking, Judging. What does that mean? Well, in the explanation of this personality type, there were many useful nuggets. For instance:
ISTJs have tremendous respect for facts. They hold a tremendous store of facts within themselves, which they have gathered through their Sensing preference. They may have difficulty understanding a theory or idea which is different from their own perspective. However, if they are shown the importance or relevance of the idea to someone who they respect or care about, the idea becomes a fact, which the ISTJ will internalize and support.
So true! And this:
ISTJs tend to believe in laws and traditions, and expect the same from others. They're not comfortable with breaking laws or going against the rules. If they are able to see a good reason for stepping outside of the established mode of doing things, the ISTJ will support that effort. However, ISTJs more often tend to believe that things should be done according to procedures and plans. If an ISTJ has not developed their Intuitive side sufficiently, they may become overly obsessed with structure, and insist on doing everything "by the book".
Reading these descriptions assured me that I was not alone and in fact fit comfortably into a box, which was wonderful. I love boxes! More importantly, though, it taught me that...get ready...not everyone thinks like I do. I know. This was a revelation. I always thought that other people didn't follow rules and traditions just because they were, I don't know, rebellious. Or stupid. Or something. It never occurred to me that their relationship with rules and tradition was entirely different from mine. It, for instance, makes me extremely uncomfortable to vary from tradition, whether that means not celebrating Christmas the same way every year or not filling out the correct paperwork on time or using correct grammar. (Granted, this tendency has been mitigated by spending time in the Middle East where "by the book" has different...interpretations and consequences. Sometimes there is no book, and sometimes the book is flat out inefficient. I can appreciate that.)
This is perhaps one reason I have such a love for old things. I majored in history. I like old poetry with rhyme, meter, and patterns. I think old furniture is better made and prettier than that new stuff. I am always tut-tutting when I hear newfangled ideas. I am hopeful about progress but also believe that there is nothing new under the sun. Progress is a misleading idea. I prefer to think of this perspective as "realistic." Some prefer the word "pessimistic." Whatever.
So when I run across instances when history repeats itself or comments on our current struggles, I feel somehow vindicated, as if I could legitimately say, "I told you so!" Even though I didn't actually tell anybody so.
Here is an old thing which makes me feel particularly vindicated. It's another Kipling. And needless to say, I believe in the usefulness of copy book headings.
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
ISTJs have tremendous respect for facts. They hold a tremendous store of facts within themselves, which they have gathered through their Sensing preference. They may have difficulty understanding a theory or idea which is different from their own perspective. However, if they are shown the importance or relevance of the idea to someone who they respect or care about, the idea becomes a fact, which the ISTJ will internalize and support.
So true! And this:
ISTJs tend to believe in laws and traditions, and expect the same from others. They're not comfortable with breaking laws or going against the rules. If they are able to see a good reason for stepping outside of the established mode of doing things, the ISTJ will support that effort. However, ISTJs more often tend to believe that things should be done according to procedures and plans. If an ISTJ has not developed their Intuitive side sufficiently, they may become overly obsessed with structure, and insist on doing everything "by the book".
Reading these descriptions assured me that I was not alone and in fact fit comfortably into a box, which was wonderful. I love boxes! More importantly, though, it taught me that...get ready...not everyone thinks like I do. I know. This was a revelation. I always thought that other people didn't follow rules and traditions just because they were, I don't know, rebellious. Or stupid. Or something. It never occurred to me that their relationship with rules and tradition was entirely different from mine. It, for instance, makes me extremely uncomfortable to vary from tradition, whether that means not celebrating Christmas the same way every year or not filling out the correct paperwork on time or using correct grammar. (Granted, this tendency has been mitigated by spending time in the Middle East where "by the book" has different...interpretations and consequences. Sometimes there is no book, and sometimes the book is flat out inefficient. I can appreciate that.)
This is perhaps one reason I have such a love for old things. I majored in history. I like old poetry with rhyme, meter, and patterns. I think old furniture is better made and prettier than that new stuff. I am always tut-tutting when I hear newfangled ideas. I am hopeful about progress but also believe that there is nothing new under the sun. Progress is a misleading idea. I prefer to think of this perspective as "realistic." Some prefer the word "pessimistic." Whatever.
So when I run across instances when history repeats itself or comments on our current struggles, I feel somehow vindicated, as if I could legitimately say, "I told you so!" Even though I didn't actually tell anybody so.
Here is an old thing which makes me feel particularly vindicated. It's another Kipling. And needless to say, I believe in the usefulness of copy book headings.
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Monday, October 06, 2008
Cities and Thrones and Powers
Cities and Thrones and Powers
Stand in Time's eye,
Almost as long as flowers,
Which daily die:
But, as new buds put forth
To glad new men,
Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth
The Cities rise again.
This season's Daffodil,
She never hears
What change, what chance, what chill,
Cut down last year's;
But with bold countenance,
And knowledge small,
Esteems her seven days' continuance,
To be perpetual.
So Time that is o'er-kind
To all that be,
Ordains us e'en as blind,
As bold as she:
That in our very death,
And burial sure,
Shadow to shadow, well persuaded, saith,
"See how our works endure!"
Rudyard Kipling
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
