Suicide promotional literature for teens

I came into work an hour and a half early by accident today and since my car is currently indisposed that meant I was stuck here without a way back home. Thus I'm feeling tired, a tad cranky, and reading a lot of Hobo Teacher today mixed with the influx of idiotic customer calls has only increased my sarcasm level.

Anyhow, I just had a thought regarding the use of Romeo & Juliet in high school curriculum...

Who had the brilliant idea to promote a suicidal love story to large quantities of emotionally volatile teenagers?

My wonderment was sparked by Hobo Teacher's lamentation over the failure of students to sufficiently appreciate the... romance? passion? love? ...behind Romeo's choice to die rather then live without Juliet. And yet, if students don't immediately empathize with Romeo's extreme reaction to Juliet's death, if they actually feel it to be an unnatural overreaction, shouldn't we be kind of... well, glad? Are we actually supposed to be hoping that students will strongly identify with Romeo's decision to die rather then bear the pain of his loss? This with teenagers who are already often prone to emotional overreaction (hey, I know I was! possibly still am...) and are similarly going through all the turmoils of romantic love every day, often for the first times in their lives?

I mean, if suicide is romanticized and seemingly justified in Shakespeare... (Which is practically biblical, right? I mean, King James Bible/Shakespeare = practically interchangeable.)

There's no denying that R&J is a pretty darn attractive representation of death. There's even the whole "happy dagger" bit. I mean, R & J are right in there with the other ultimate pin-ups for star-crossed love: Heloise and Abelard, Antony and Cleopatra, Dante and Beatrice, Tristan and Isolde, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley... okay, that last one might be a stretch. I suppose teachers could always draw upon the sorrow that Romeo and Juliet's families experience to negate any justification for the double-suicide. (Not to mention perhaps adding a mini-lecture on the pitfalls of impetuous decision making - if Romeo had just waited one second longer!)

Anyways, I'm not by any means trying to start a campaign for pulling R&J from classrooms (although I wonder how successful said campaign might turn out to be). I love Shakespeare and I love R&J. Artists aestheticize death and killing all the time. And I mean, we read Macbeth in high school as well and I know that it doesn't immediately follow that teaching it will cause kids to go out on a murderous rampage of politicians. Right? (Now, A Clockwork Orange - maybe.)

But I do think having teachers lecture teens on a play which romanticizes the suicides of its specifically teenage heroes is just a tiny bit funny.


IMAGE: "Antique key and metal heart on open book, close-up" by David Muir

Sunday sermons:
A humorous passage from A Handful of Dust...

The vicar climbed, with some effort, into the pulpit. He was an elderly man who had served in India most of his life. Tony's father had given him the living. He had a noble and sonorous voice and was reckoned the best preacher for many miles around.

His sermons had been composed in his more active days for delivery at the garrison chapel; he had done nothing to adapt them to the changing conditions of his ministry and they mostly concluded with some reference to homes and dear ones far away. The villagers did not find this in any way surprising. Few of the things said in church seemed to have any particular reference to themselves. They enjoyed their vicar's sermons very much and they knew that when he began about their distant homes, it was time to be dusting their knees and feeling for their umbrellas.

"...And so as we stand here bareheaded at this solemn hour of the week," he read, his powerful old voice swelling up for peroration, "let us remember our Gracious Queen Empress in whose service we are here, and pray that she may long be spared to send us at her bidding to do our duty in the uttermost parts of the earth; and let us think of our dear ones far away and the homes we have left in her name, and remember that though miles of barren continent and leagues of ocean divide us, we are never so near to them as on these Sunday mornings, united with them across dune and mountain in our loyalty to our sovereign and thanksgiving for her welfare; one with them as proud subjects of her scepter and crown."

from Evelyn Waugh's A Handful of Dust

The hilariously hypochondriacal Mr. Woodhouse on the danger of open windows

She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended; and then, being quite new, farther representations were necessary to make it acceptable.

"No; he thought it very far from an improvement—a very bad plan—much worse than the other. A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous; never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they had better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the Crown in his life—did not know the people who kept it by sight.—Oh! no—a very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than any where."

"I was going to observe, sir," said Frank Churchill, "that one of the great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of any body's catching cold—so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls! Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else could."

"Sir," said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, "you are very much mistaken if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that sort of character. Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill. But I do not understand how the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father's house."

"From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all—not once the whole evening; and it is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief."

"Open the windows!—but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody would think of opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so imprudent! I never heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows!—I am sure, neither your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would suffer it."

"Ah! sir—but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected. I have often known it done myself."

"Have you indeed, sir?—Bless me! I never could have supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear. However, this does make a difference; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it over—but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration. One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done."

from Jane Austen's Emma
(Chapter 29)

It may be possible to do without dancing entirely...

"It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been known of young people passing many, many months successively, without being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrue either to body or mind;—but when a beginning is made—when the felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt—it must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more.

Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again; and the last half hour of an evening which Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to spend with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two young people in schemes on the subject..."

from Jane Austen's Emma

(Illustration artist unknown)

Eggs Benedict or Jesus?

WaiterRant has started doing some "Ask the Waiter" style blog entries. His latest is from a guy who writes:

"Dear Waiter,
Over the past year, my girlfriend and I have forsaken going to church in favor of the other American Sunday morning ritual—brunch..."

AHA! A Sunday morning ritual: brunch in lieu of church. Interesting...

Not that I go to church much anymore but when I did as a JW, it was quite an ordeal to get my sister and I out of bed. I'd much rather go in the evenings then in the mornings. So yes, brunch over church on Sunday mornings any day!

Nowadays, brunch on Sundays is probably one of the few "rituals" I have with my friends. (Although since one of the key players often doesn't get home until 5 am and another has a predilection for sleeping until 1 pm, the brunching usually doesn't happen in the mornings; so I guess its more like... lunner? dunch? Hmm.) We'll generally go to Stella's, but sometimes we mix it up with Baked Ex or Cora's or The Nook or The Pancake House. I've noticed that Winnipeg suffers from a deficit of quality all-day breakfast spots. I mean, Stella's has great atmosphere and their French toast and cinnamon buns are awesome but their omelettes aren't the greatest and their hash browns are awful (just ask Colin).

But anyways, go and read the Waiter's response to the letter - its pretty hilarious.

Special Greetings

Check out the postcard Jared got in the mail today!


P.S. Jared would like me to mention that he does not have a strange and unnatural obsession with Minnie Mouse and that he did not squeal with delight upon the reception of this card.

P.P.S. Made possible by the DIS and Geeks Like Me.

The Dwarf tells of Prince Caspian...

"When the night came, and his various strange subjects came stealing into the Lawn by ones and twos and threes or by sixes and sevens - the moon then shining almost at her full - his heart swelled as he saw their numbers and heard their greetings. All who he had met were there: Bulgy Bears and Red Dwarfs and Black Dwarfs, Moles and Badgers, Hares and Hedgehogs, and others whom he had not yet seen - five satyrs as red as foxes, the whole contingent of Talking Mice, armed to the teeth and following a shrill trumpet, some Owls, the Old Raven of Ravenscaur. Last of all (and this took Caspian's breath away), with the centaurs came a small but genuine Giant, Wimbleweather of Deadman's hill, carrying on his back a basketful of rather seasick Dwarfs who had accepted his offer of a lift and were now wishing they had walked instead.

The Bulgy Bears were very anxious to have the feast first and leave the council till afterwards; perhaps tomorrow. Reepicheep and his Mice said that councils and feasts could both wait, and proposed storming Miraz in his own castle that very night. Pattertwig and the other squirrels said they could talk and eat at the same time, so why not have the council and feast all at once? The Moles proposed throwing up entrenchments round the Lawn before they did anything else. The Fauns thought it would be better to begin with a solemn dance. The Old Raven, while agreeing with the Bears that it would take too long to have a full council before supper, begged to be allowed to give a brief address to the whole company. But Caspian and the Centaurs and the Dwarfs over-ruled all these suggestions and insisted on holding a real Council of War at once."

from Prince Caspian by C. S. LEWIS

(Narnia map image by way of Into the Wardrobe)

Self-indoctrination

I've been listening to this.

Reading this.

And watching this and this and this.

Guess I'll never lose that JW mentality, huh? [wink]


(I know, I know - its sad.)

So much for Women's Lib?

This is such a great post.*

You can't see my face right now but I'm blushing with a twinge of shame.

(J will know what I'm talking about. *sigh*)

I think almost every girl I know is guilty of relying on a guy to do what we historically (or just arbitrarily?) have classified to be "man's work" from time to time.

I generally like to justify it by saying that certain physical tasks are usually a bit easier for guys - like it or not, they do tend to have the extra muscle.

However, in the case of the mouse - I like to think that I'd scream a bit at first, yes, but then get over it and do the dirty work that had to be done. It was a mercy killing after all.

______________________
* All of the Waiter's posts are fantastic. You can spend many an enjoyable hour just going through his blog archives. (And he has an incredible voice, too. Wow.)

The Sparrow

Dear Diary,

Today a bird got into the apartment through a window that had been left open to ventilate the place from varnish fumes. I think it was a sparrow.

I was awakened in my bed due to the screaming and clamor. Well, that and Jared came to ask me to help in the search and rescue.

The bird was flying frantically from room to room, sometimes smacking into windows.

At first our strategy (mine and the children's) was to jump up and down shrieking while Jared ran from room to room with a small blue fuzzy blanket clasped to his chest for protection.

Or maybe that was to catch the bird with...

Anyways, the bird flew into the bathroom and vanished behind the shower into the walled-off space behind it. There was no way we could reach into that space.

At this point in time, I voiced my belief (admittedly not in my calmest voice) that the bird would rot and die behind our shower and that we would have to smash down the walls to get its carcass out.

Jared looked at me with some disgust and then marched off.

He soon came back with our secret weapon: Chubby the Cat.

Chubby had raced away in terror as soon as the bird had entered the apartment.

Now Jared had him in his arms and planned on using him as a ballistic missile (in the sense of "going ballistic"). He held the squirming kitty over the open shower space and waited.

Soon there came a squawking and a flapping of wings.

The bird came soaring out of the bathroom, past our heads (fortunately I had covered mine protectively with my arms and a hood and was facing the wall screaming "I hate birds" in my most grown-up voice) and into the living room where it hit the living room window, did a 180 and flew back into the hallway and into the dining room where Jared quickly pursued.

Finally displaying a tad of common sense I proceeded to cover one of the entrances to the dining room with a huge blanket in the hopes of discouraging the bird from flying out that way. There I stood with my hood over my head, arms raised high, praying that a bird was not about to fly straight through the blanket and right into my face.

There was sound of a scuffle. Muffled shouting. Then a window opening.

Then Jared called out that the bird was gone!

Well, gone out of the apartment at least. The bird was now sitting just outside the window shaking like a leaf.

My heart filled with delayed pity and I suggested we give it something to eat. Unfortunately the only animal food we had was cat. I considered suggesting that we make a tiny bed out of a shoebox and a pillowcase and pieces of cotton and place the bed on the window sill so that the bird could take a recovery rest if it so desired but then had a mental image of the bird lying sleeping peacefully and a wind knocking the tiny bed off the sill and the box tumbling over and over to the ground with a smash.

So instead we just stood there staring at the bird. Eventually it recovered somewhat and flew away to a nearby tree.

And that was the end of our bird adventure.

Mr.Deity and the Evil

"So what do you..."

"Shhhh! Shhhh! Do you hear that? Is it supposed to sound like that?"

"Mr Deity, I think it sounds great."

"Larry... I...The whole thing is a trainwreck... its..." *sigh*

"Sir, you're being a perfectionist.

"Well, yeah!"

"You had six days for this project."

"Well... actually, I had seven. But there's no way I'm coming in tomorrow. I'm so depressed."

"Okaaay. Well, we really should wrap up this whole 'evil thing.' Sir? Mr. Deity? What you're allowing and what you're not allowing, sir?"


This is hysterical. Check it out.

You can get to the other 5 episodes here.

(By way of Diedre.)

Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face-paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong.

from THE PASSION by Jeanette Winterson

Sick of shopping? Feeling mauled at the mall? Consumed by consumerism? Board the "Burnout Bus!"

"While many of us don't do the shopping routine, we still have a heart for the people lost in the maze of the search for the perfect gift," said Enns, the Winnipeg-based founder and publisher of Geez magazine and former Adbusters staff member."We will have a couple of chairs to sit on, a church pew, a couple of ministers from the United Church of Canada on hand ready to talk with people who feel stressed out, who feel they've lost a sense of meaning in this season."

I Don't Wanna Grow Up...

When I’m lyin’ in my bed at night
I don’t wanna grow up
Nothing ever seems to turn out right
I don’t wanna grow up
How do you move in a world of fog that’s
always changing things
Makes me wish that I could be a dog
When I see the price that you pay
I don’t wanna grow up

I don’t ever want to be that way
I don’t wanna grow up
Seems that folks turn into things
that they never want
The only thing to live for is today…
I’m gonna put a hole in my T.V. set
I don’t wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
I don’t wanna grow up
I don’t wanna have to shout it out
I don’t want my hair to fall out
I don’t wanna be filled with doubt
I don’t wanna be a good boy scout
I don’t wanna have to learn to count
I don’t wanna have the biggest amount
I don’t wanna grow up
Well when I see my parents fight
I don’t wanna grow up
They all go out and drinkin all night
I don’t wanna grow up
I’d rather stay here in my room
Nothin’ out there but sad and gloom
I don’t wanna live in a big old tomb on grand street
When I see the 5 oclock news
I don’t wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don’t wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don’t wanna put no money down
I don’t wanna get a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don’t wanna float on a broom
Fall in love, get married then boom
How the hell did it get here so soon
I don’t wanna grow up


Lyrics by Tom Waits by way of Zota

If you wanna see Tom Waits sing it (although I like the version sung by Holly Cole better)

Stating the obvious

Did you like The Confessions of St Augustine? Well, then you'll probably hate Sherrilyn Kenyon's Night Pleasures. Is Immanuel Kant's The Critique of Pure Reason on your bookshelf? In that case, stay clear of Confessions of a Shopaholic!

The Unsuggester safeguards you from book you may be foolish enough to think you'd like... but won't.

Of course, its not by any means foolproof! I happen to think a person might enjoy Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns and still find Little Women a good read, too!

And yes, before you ask. Yes.

The strains of "O Canada" being sung in a shrill female voice can be heard emanating from our living room. In the kitchen Colin stands pounding t-bone steaks with a hammer. J and A relax on our new couch with beer in hand.

That's right - its Grey Cup Sunday.

The biggest hockey night in the world, or so I'm told.

And once my baked ziti has finished... baking, I'm taking off for a Social Justice/Buy-Nothing-Day- potluck-party-meeting.

Perfect timing if you ask me...

A quote for my sister...

"I am grieved for your clerk. But it is all in the day's work. It's part of the battle of life."

"A man who had money," she repeated, "has less, owing to us. Under these circumstances I do not consider 'the battle of life' a happy expression."

"Oh, come, come!" he protested pleasantly. "You're not to blame. No one's to blame."

"Is no one to blame for anything?"

"I wouldn't say that, but you're taking it far too seriously. Who is this fellow?"

"We have told you about the fellow twice already," said Helen. "You have even met the fellow. He is very poor and his wife is an extravagant imbecile. He is capable of better things. We - we, the upper classes - thought we would help him from the height of our superior knowledge - and here's the result!"

He raised his finger. "Now, a word of advice."

"I require no more advice."

"A word of advice. Don't take up that sentimental attitude over the poor. See that she doesn't, Margaret. The poor are poor, and one's sorry for them, but there it is. As civilization moves forward, the shoe is bound to pinch in places, and it's absurd to pretend that anyone is responsible personally. Neither you, nor I, nor my informant, nor the man who informed him, nor the directors of the Porphyrion, are to blame for this clerk's loss of salary. It's just the shoe pinching - no one can help it; and it might easily have been worse."

Helen quivered with indignation.

"By all means subscribe to charities - subscribe to them largely - but don't get carried away by absurd schemes of Social Reform. I see a good deal behind the scenes, and you can take it from me that there is no Social Question - except for a few journalists who try to get a living out of the phrase. There are just rich and poor, as there always have been and always will be. Point me out a time when men have been equal - "

"I didn't say - "

"Point me out a time when desire for equality has made them happier. No, no. You can't. There have always been rich and poor. I'm not fatalist. Heaven forbid! But our civilization is molded by great impersonal forces" (his voice grew complacent, it always did when he eliminated the personal) "and there always will be rich and poor. You can't deny it" (and now it was a respectful voice) "and you can't deny that, in spite of all, the tendency of civilization has on the whole been upward."

"Owing to God, I suppose," flashed Helen.

HOWARD'S END by E.M. FORSTER (pg. 151, 152)

Ban organized religion, says Elton John.

Now, the question is - do I send this to my parents?

They could add it to their "Peace & Security!" pile of clippings!*



___________________________
(*This isn't going to make much sense to any of you non XJWs.)

Book bargains are wonderful!

Two recent trips to McNally have resulted in the following:

- The Borrowers Afloat, The Borrowers Aloft, The Borrowers Avenged - all for just $3 each, thus completing my collection of the series

- The Cider House Rules by John Irving ($7 - I like Irving even though he seems to incorporate the same odditities into each of his books over and over again, leading me to conclude that he has a serious fascination with prostitutes - particularly those from the Red Light District in Amsterdam; but he does write about other things and he's a very good story teller.)

- The Sad Truth About Happiness by Anne Giardini ($7 - this was my risky purchase as I know nothing about the book)

- The Knight by Gene Wolfe ($7)

- Dragon's Blood by Jane Yolen ($4 - another risky purchase; I mistook it for a book that I'd read and loved back in junior high; sadly, this is not the book I was thinking of nor did I find it at all intriguing when I picked it up last night and attempted to get into it. It seems Jane Yolen is a hit-and-miss author at best and in my experience usually a miss.)

* * *

Conversation with the bookstore guy (B.G.) when I went to pay for The Borrowers Avenged and Gene Wolfe's The Knight:

B.G. "Oh, Gene Wolfe! He's great."

Me: "Yep, I know! My favorite by him is... the Long Sun... no, wait the New Sun... well, whichever one has Severian in it."

B.G. "I don't think I've read that one..."

Me: "Have you read this one?" [pointing to The Knight]

B.G. "Oh, yeah!"

Me: "And is it... fairly comprehensible?" [laughing]

B.G. "Well, you know Gene Wolfe - every sentence he writes is deep." [Pause] "Its definitely not a beach read."

Schwarzenegger signs landmark global warming bill

"We will create a whole new industry that will pump up our economy."

(Of course, I'd be all over that statement if it wasn't such happy news! Especially in contrast to this - argh!)