Once upon a time I was a part of a Bardic Circle (referred to as Bardic), that met every week to share the bardic arts with one another. It could be something we created, or not. It could be any format or genre, including prose, poetry, song, music, visual arts, crafts, etc. Technically speaking the crafts and visual arts are not bardic arts, but whatever. We met for over two years, and then circumstances changed and we petered out and quit meeting. There has been a lot of debate and discussion about why it petered out, everyone has their pet theory, but the reality is, it did and we all moved on to other creative projects, many of them very close to our hearts.
Now another community member (who was not a part of Bardic), has reopened the discussion of reestablishing the circle (it goes in cycles). This is where it gets interesting. Pet theories have been trotted back out about what went "wrong" or why we quit, and there is an email thread of various conditions and needs of various potential participants.
Bardic worked because the energy for it worked. We had one person who was unfailingly passionate about it and so did the poking about scheduling and venue each week. We had a default venue at that person's house, although if someone else wanted to host they were always welcome to, and we did change venues around. We had an informal food convention whereby there was food, sometimes dinner, sometimes more snacky. And when it was bedtime, the host would holler, "Get Out Of My House!" But really, it worked because it fed something in us, and so we kept coming back week after week.
I don't know if that hunger is still there, or, assuming it was satiated, if it has been reborn. The community is changing and has changed. Bardic was a big part of my seeing my peers about twice a week--once at Bardic and once or twice on the weekend. Now I see people maybe once a month. Some people I see three or four times a year. We are drifting apart, and the passion that has bound us seems to be fading.
Maybe it could be resurrected. Maybe it should be. Or maybe it is time for something new, instead of a rehash of something old. Something to ponder, anyway.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Friday, July 23, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Offensive Stereotypes in Toy Story 3
I already spoke a bit about what I liked and what I found to be a masterful guilt-trip in Toy Story 3. Here are some of the other things I find problematic:
The toys are basically slaves that glorify slavery. They can run away (at their great peril) or continue to serve at the whim of their owner (child) without the ability to ever express their needs, wants, or feelings. And yet, they are "Good Slaves" in that they are devoted to serving and all they really want is the chance to be loved as they are and played with. Their first loyalty is always to their owner, and though they notice most everything going on around them, they can comment only among themselves (except under rare and dangerous circumstances). Some owners are bad to them and dismember them, torture them, play with them inappropriately due to immaturity, and though the toys feel terror (and possibly pain), they are powerless to express themselves or change the situation.
The "Spanish Mode" Buzz Lightyear is a horrifically over-the-top stereotype. He becomes an ardent and devoted lover, dances the tango, speaks in a lower, more gravelly (sexy) voice, swivels his hips, and is so much his own cliche that a single rose appears from nowhere in order to be held in the teeth of his lady of choice.
Barbie and Ken: Though soppily emotional, Barbie is given some brains, which is nice. Her guile seems to come naturally, but her straight intelligence is seen only in a single moment when it comes across as comic. Barbie outwits Ken, which would be an encouraging turn of events if Ken weren't coded as so feminine (and possibly gay) that it upholds the social hierarchy whereby a feminine woman trumps a feminine man. At one point Ken is called a "pink-noser," he is very into clothes, and writes in a "girly" manner that is temporarily mistaken as Barbie's writing. I would have no problem with his alternative gender-presentation if it weren't also being held up to a certain amount of ridicule.
As for the rest of the gender dynamics, the co-alphas (or alpha and sub-alpha?) of the toys are both gendered masculine (Woody and Buzz), and the rest of the characters are either gendered masculine or neuter other than the sidekick cowgirl (I forget her name), and Mrs. Potato Head. Barbie is outside their group, but still responds to orders given by the alphas. Also, the alphas are the most strongly cis-gendered, while the rest of the toys are given more quirky/gender-transgressive (and enjoyable to me) personality traits, like the (masculine) T-Rex that is always afraid and worried.
And finally, I take issue with the fact that the big bad guy, the teddy bear, spoke in a southern accent, activating the set of southern stereotypes. Apparently if someone speaks with a southern accent, they are more friendly seeming to your face, more likely to betray you behind your back, more likely to say nasty things in a friendly tone of voice, and more likely to be power-mad or to have rigged the system with boss politics. I think they only left out ignorant, but they did include wrong-minded.
I know that stories work off a certain amount of stock material, but still. I have problems with the use of these stereotypes and find them offensive.
The toys are basically slaves that glorify slavery. They can run away (at their great peril) or continue to serve at the whim of their owner (child) without the ability to ever express their needs, wants, or feelings. And yet, they are "Good Slaves" in that they are devoted to serving and all they really want is the chance to be loved as they are and played with. Their first loyalty is always to their owner, and though they notice most everything going on around them, they can comment only among themselves (except under rare and dangerous circumstances). Some owners are bad to them and dismember them, torture them, play with them inappropriately due to immaturity, and though the toys feel terror (and possibly pain), they are powerless to express themselves or change the situation.
The "Spanish Mode" Buzz Lightyear is a horrifically over-the-top stereotype. He becomes an ardent and devoted lover, dances the tango, speaks in a lower, more gravelly (sexy) voice, swivels his hips, and is so much his own cliche that a single rose appears from nowhere in order to be held in the teeth of his lady of choice.
Barbie and Ken: Though soppily emotional, Barbie is given some brains, which is nice. Her guile seems to come naturally, but her straight intelligence is seen only in a single moment when it comes across as comic. Barbie outwits Ken, which would be an encouraging turn of events if Ken weren't coded as so feminine (and possibly gay) that it upholds the social hierarchy whereby a feminine woman trumps a feminine man. At one point Ken is called a "pink-noser," he is very into clothes, and writes in a "girly" manner that is temporarily mistaken as Barbie's writing. I would have no problem with his alternative gender-presentation if it weren't also being held up to a certain amount of ridicule.
As for the rest of the gender dynamics, the co-alphas (or alpha and sub-alpha?) of the toys are both gendered masculine (Woody and Buzz), and the rest of the characters are either gendered masculine or neuter other than the sidekick cowgirl (I forget her name), and Mrs. Potato Head. Barbie is outside their group, but still responds to orders given by the alphas. Also, the alphas are the most strongly cis-gendered, while the rest of the toys are given more quirky/gender-transgressive (and enjoyable to me) personality traits, like the (masculine) T-Rex that is always afraid and worried.
And finally, I take issue with the fact that the big bad guy, the teddy bear, spoke in a southern accent, activating the set of southern stereotypes. Apparently if someone speaks with a southern accent, they are more friendly seeming to your face, more likely to betray you behind your back, more likely to say nasty things in a friendly tone of voice, and more likely to be power-mad or to have rigged the system with boss politics. I think they only left out ignorant, but they did include wrong-minded.
I know that stories work off a certain amount of stock material, but still. I have problems with the use of these stereotypes and find them offensive.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Your Stuff is Alive, So Feel Guilty: Toy Story 3
I went to see Toy Story 3 this week. Everyone had told me to go. It got something like a 99% approval rating on some site my partner checks to see if movies are worth seeing. And it was definitely cute. There were places I cheered, times I repeated lines in my partner's ear, and times when I felt close to inching forward on my seat. I am not someone who spends much effort trying to predict plotlines, but I found this one to be remarkably fresh in many ways, as were the previous two incarnations, truth be told.
That said, I take issue with some of the underlying Toy Mythos: toys are alive, they have vivid feelings including fear and insecurity, and it is up to their child to satisfy all their needs for love and affection by playing with them often and in an appropriate manner. However, toys are unable to express any of their needs and feelings to the child responsible for meeting them, and must sneak about in order to pursue any of their own ends.
I find this a formula guaranteed to engender worry and guilt in anyone who cares about their toys (like kids). Are your toys okay? Do they feel neglected? Are you ever allowed to get rid of old stuff without feeling like you are betraying your (possibly real) toys?
Toys are things. I have read that modern toys that come with their pre-determined story line are actually detrimental to kids and the development of their imagination and creativity. Toys are tools for learning, for thinking, and for imagining, all the things that are going on while a child is playing. As the child develops, new toys become the tools of the hour and it is appropriate to let go of the sorting by color and move on to the number and word puzzles when the time is right.
I think what I object to most is the popular acceptance of the idea that inanimate objects could be people, when as a society we are having a hard time recognizing the humanity in Muslims and Hispanic immigrants, among others. We treat them as the less-than-human "other", and yet how many of us will now hesitate to throw away broken old toys for fear of the terrible furnace that awaits them at the dump?
And now I am really getting het up, and so will have to do a second post about the racism, and other prejudice in the movie as well....
That said, I take issue with some of the underlying Toy Mythos: toys are alive, they have vivid feelings including fear and insecurity, and it is up to their child to satisfy all their needs for love and affection by playing with them often and in an appropriate manner. However, toys are unable to express any of their needs and feelings to the child responsible for meeting them, and must sneak about in order to pursue any of their own ends.
I find this a formula guaranteed to engender worry and guilt in anyone who cares about their toys (like kids). Are your toys okay? Do they feel neglected? Are you ever allowed to get rid of old stuff without feeling like you are betraying your (possibly real) toys?
Toys are things. I have read that modern toys that come with their pre-determined story line are actually detrimental to kids and the development of their imagination and creativity. Toys are tools for learning, for thinking, and for imagining, all the things that are going on while a child is playing. As the child develops, new toys become the tools of the hour and it is appropriate to let go of the sorting by color and move on to the number and word puzzles when the time is right.
I think what I object to most is the popular acceptance of the idea that inanimate objects could be people, when as a society we are having a hard time recognizing the humanity in Muslims and Hispanic immigrants, among others. We treat them as the less-than-human "other", and yet how many of us will now hesitate to throw away broken old toys for fear of the terrible furnace that awaits them at the dump?
And now I am really getting het up, and so will have to do a second post about the racism, and other prejudice in the movie as well....
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Where's My Butter?
One thought that I come back to over and over again in my weaker moments involves how many experiments I have run in my life, especially in the last 2 years, and how very many of them failed. I declared 2008 the Year of the Failure. In 2009, I upgraded to the Year of the Fiasco. My frustration levels have had a tendency to run rather high.
But then I just read a bit from Rob Brezsney that included the phrase "turning up our curiosity full blast" [Facebook link] and was struck by the thought that maybe I should reframe my failures as indulgences of my curiosity. Isn't that what an experiment is? A curious thought, and then action to satisfy that curiosity? I often think of myself as "constantly churning" as a way to describe my restless urges to try new things and see if they can be successful. (There are powerful connections between "churning" and the "mouse that fell into a bucket of cream", btw.) Perhaps I should also see my "churning" action as a measure of the blast of my curiosity, that it is so close to "full blast" that I end up "churning."
It makes for a nice shift in language. Being curious has all kinds of positive connotations, excepting what happened to that poor cat, whereas failed experiments and the continuous monotonous motion of churning come off rather poorly.
The only problem with shifting to a curious-based frame from an experimental or churning frame is results. Satisfying curiosity doesn't tend to imply any kind of result other than a bit of knowledge gained, whereas experiments create tangible results and churning makes for either butter or very frothy oceans and/or hurricanes.
So then really the full blast curiosity is what I have been exercising, gaining bits of knowledge and experience as I go. I can't say that I have butter or a hurricane yet, though. Would like them, but I haven't managed to produce them yet. I guess I will just keep sticking my whiskered nose into interesting new places and see if I find the secret passage to the Underbed (unfamiliar with the mystical magical realm of Underbed? Ask your cat.) or at least the magical formula for seeding hurricanes lost under the couch.
But then I just read a bit from Rob Brezsney that included the phrase "turning up our curiosity full blast" [Facebook link] and was struck by the thought that maybe I should reframe my failures as indulgences of my curiosity. Isn't that what an experiment is? A curious thought, and then action to satisfy that curiosity? I often think of myself as "constantly churning" as a way to describe my restless urges to try new things and see if they can be successful. (There are powerful connections between "churning" and the "mouse that fell into a bucket of cream", btw.) Perhaps I should also see my "churning" action as a measure of the blast of my curiosity, that it is so close to "full blast" that I end up "churning."
It makes for a nice shift in language. Being curious has all kinds of positive connotations, excepting what happened to that poor cat, whereas failed experiments and the continuous monotonous motion of churning come off rather poorly.
The only problem with shifting to a curious-based frame from an experimental or churning frame is results. Satisfying curiosity doesn't tend to imply any kind of result other than a bit of knowledge gained, whereas experiments create tangible results and churning makes for either butter or very frothy oceans and/or hurricanes.
So then really the full blast curiosity is what I have been exercising, gaining bits of knowledge and experience as I go. I can't say that I have butter or a hurricane yet, though. Would like them, but I haven't managed to produce them yet. I guess I will just keep sticking my whiskered nose into interesting new places and see if I find the secret passage to the Underbed (unfamiliar with the mystical magical realm of Underbed? Ask your cat.) or at least the magical formula for seeding hurricanes lost under the couch.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Holding Hope with an Open Hand
Well, we're not pregnant this go around, so we have collapsed the probability wave of Shrodinger Pregnancy 1.0. Can't say the redo is any great hardship (that much pleasure is great for stress relief!), though the story of conceiving right away was quite tidy and appealing. However, we have had a magical "Perfect Timing" on the whole kids thing for years now, and just because the story would have been tidy does not mean it was perfect timing. Ego makes way for spirit, and that is the way I prefer it, honestly.
I am a little surprised how quickly the disappointment wore off. Yes, it was keenly felt for a few hours, but come morning life just seemed to go on. I feel calmer now that I have a longer perspective on this. I also now understand the cultural norm of keeping pregnancy tries private until everyone is "sure" it took. It is just too difficult to have that many hopeful conversations and then have to give disappointing news. I have never been all that great at keeping my trap shut, though, so we will see exactly how private I manage to stay. I am blogging about it, after all.
It can also be fitting that we conceive after the fertility ritual of the flinging of birdseed at the feast, too. A symbol of community support for our family is highly appropriate. But this time I will hold my attachment to an immediate conception after birdseed flinging loosely, in an open hand, so that it will not be so hard to let go of it if that is divine will. There is, of course, also the issue of the astrological sign of our offspring, and I cannot know nor truly predict what that should be (even if I do amuse myself with calculating sun signs speculatively). Again, Perfect Timing is invoked, and I will trust my spellwork to be effective.
I am a little surprised how quickly the disappointment wore off. Yes, it was keenly felt for a few hours, but come morning life just seemed to go on. I feel calmer now that I have a longer perspective on this. I also now understand the cultural norm of keeping pregnancy tries private until everyone is "sure" it took. It is just too difficult to have that many hopeful conversations and then have to give disappointing news. I have never been all that great at keeping my trap shut, though, so we will see exactly how private I manage to stay. I am blogging about it, after all.
It can also be fitting that we conceive after the fertility ritual of the flinging of birdseed at the feast, too. A symbol of community support for our family is highly appropriate. But this time I will hold my attachment to an immediate conception after birdseed flinging loosely, in an open hand, so that it will not be so hard to let go of it if that is divine will. There is, of course, also the issue of the astrological sign of our offspring, and I cannot know nor truly predict what that should be (even if I do amuse myself with calculating sun signs speculatively). Again, Perfect Timing is invoked, and I will trust my spellwork to be effective.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Story is Powerful Enough to Transform
The power of story is amazing to me. I have been upset about the way the wedding turned out: that it wasn't what I had envisioned, that everything will now need to be rescheduled, feeling disappointed, and just having trouble getting over the magical snap-back of having put so much into its manifestation only to have it not work.
But when I sat down to write the previous blog post, it came out different. Instead of angst, out came a story that made things okay. Instead of all the worries and complaints and emotional bruises that I had been nursing for a few days, I wrote a story about miracles. And that story, summed up by the title Doomed with a Chance of Miracles, changed my story about the wedding. It took some of those seeds of hope that I was afraid to sprout and sent them shooting up into beanstalks of story and truth.
Slowly, the wedding is changing in my head. I hardly lament the original dream anymore, but spend more time beginning to ponder the implications of what we learned for our married life together. I know I was highly emotional, but now that emotion is beginning to flow into perspective like chiaroscuro, highlighting, dramatizing, and creating intriguing mystery to run throughout our lives together.
I have learned from one of my housemates that stories have a life of their own. I am often annoyed at how events and facts warp inside his gravitational field, becoming new things that say sometimes nice (and sometimes highly unflattering) things about those of us in his life. Corrections for factuality are never welcomed, because the story has been woven around the truth he wants to think.
In this case, though, I think the story came first, and wrapped within it like a present was the truth I needed. Now, instead of the false bravado of jokes, I can have an easy peace with the story of our wedding day. It feels...warm. And now we can move on to the next step of figuring out what on earth to do about rescheduling.
But when I sat down to write the previous blog post, it came out different. Instead of angst, out came a story that made things okay. Instead of all the worries and complaints and emotional bruises that I had been nursing for a few days, I wrote a story about miracles. And that story, summed up by the title Doomed with a Chance of Miracles, changed my story about the wedding. It took some of those seeds of hope that I was afraid to sprout and sent them shooting up into beanstalks of story and truth.
Slowly, the wedding is changing in my head. I hardly lament the original dream anymore, but spend more time beginning to ponder the implications of what we learned for our married life together. I know I was highly emotional, but now that emotion is beginning to flow into perspective like chiaroscuro, highlighting, dramatizing, and creating intriguing mystery to run throughout our lives together.
I have learned from one of my housemates that stories have a life of their own. I am often annoyed at how events and facts warp inside his gravitational field, becoming new things that say sometimes nice (and sometimes highly unflattering) things about those of us in his life. Corrections for factuality are never welcomed, because the story has been woven around the truth he wants to think.
In this case, though, I think the story came first, and wrapped within it like a present was the truth I needed. Now, instead of the false bravado of jokes, I can have an easy peace with the story of our wedding day. It feels...warm. And now we can move on to the next step of figuring out what on earth to do about rescheduling.
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