Feline Warrior

Mood music for today’s post.

When do you stop thinking the childhood superhero thoughts? When do you let those ideas -ideals- go? When do you stop, drop and roll and say, upon standing and dusting oneself off, “Even though I felt for most of my life that I would be fabulous and amazing and make an impact of some kind, I now understand that those thoughts were foolish child’s play”?

I want to know.

This isn’t disappointment in life in general, I don’t think. It’s… melancholy. Once again the longing for the unknown, that sensation of near-greatness, near-goodness, a sparkle of perfection that was close enough to fingertips to have burnt. Close enough to send heat like a bullet through one’s core… and then -poof- gone.

Probably I never learned to grow up completely. I am still idealistic. I still think that I have the power to make people better (ah, my dysfunctional childhood), my inner four-year old still stomps her small foot, little hands firmly on little hips, tiny brows pulled together sternly, saying -to herself- “WHY can’t everyone get along??”

Oh, those tears… tears don’t age. There is no baby Franque (thank God, probably), so there’s no transference, no tiny girl upon whom I can place my misguided / misplaced / mistaken hopes and dreams. They don’t age, either, but I think they change form.

So listening to that song, I wonder, “Am I too scared to try?” Maybe so. Fear is incredible. More powerful than a thousand armies sometimes. More mysterious because there is often self-trickery involved. That self-sabotage “they” talk about. Setting oneself up for failure - all that stuff. Bah humbug.

And what’s to be scared of, anyway? (Here’s where I get all lofty, trying to pull on my intellectual boxing gloves and beat the crap out of societal meanings and words and expectations.) What is failure? Why do we just DO these things? I mean… why not pursue higher education until you feel educated enough? Why can’t we all be poets if that’s what we want to be? Dressmakers, painters, professional nappers, golf caddies, bookmark makers, cookie decorators… why not?

Think of how wonderfully rich the world would be if it was filled with the goodness of people doing what makes them happy. So much more authentic and organic. You want to be a fisherman or woman? Do it! La Gordita would be happiest with a baby on her hip, tending to gardens. Why can’t she do it?

The need to earn money is very disruptive.

And finally the truth: Why do we barricade ourselves behind STUFF -houses, cars, objects, metal and plastic and un-recyclable crap? Is it, as I fear, just more and more walls - separation not from others (for once I’m not blathering about that) but from ourSELVES? Or better yet, from myself?

I’m not complaining about my stuff - God knows I love my stuff. Hell, Kitten will tell you how much I love my pink hairdryer chair, circa 1950-something. All my long playing records, compact discs, art supplies, bits and snippet of paper and yarn and buttons and such… just in case… I might need to make something with that. Maybe it’s not a barricade just of stuff but of the value we -I- put into that stuff. If the house burned down (God forbid, knock on wood, and so on), how devastated would I be?

And then back to the start… How do you know if it’s a life well-lived, time well-spent? Does everyone have a lingering feeling that they were to have amounted to something much more than what they have? God tell me it’s not just me. It can’t be.

Trying on a brand new dress
But you haven’t worn the old one yet.
You’ve come too far, to turn around now.
Giving up a good fight.
You’re as strong as anyone.
You’re back when you started from,
I see you’re back where you started from.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are,
there’s nothing you can do,
if you’re too scared to try.
Drag your pretty head around
Swearing you’re gonna drown with a beautiful sigh and a river of lies.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are
there’s nothing you can do
if you’re too scared to try.
Why don’t you call me, I could save you.
Together we’ll find a god we can pray to that will take you by the hand.
I hate to see a friend of mine,
Laughing out loud when she’s crying inside,
but you’ve got your pride.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are
There’s nothing you could do, if you’re too scared to try.
You’re staring down the stars,
You stay where you are,
You’re jealous of the moon, but there’s nothing you could do
if you’re too scared to try,
If you’re too scared to try.

I had something on the sarcastic side to say and decided to find something deliciously heartwarming instead.

Just close your eyes and listen.

Story - Attack Survivor Dies in Cruise Ship Jump - AOL News

RIP: David Ritcheson

I don’t have the words to describe how sad this makes me. It drums up old anger about the violence done to David, but his ending is just… well, I have no words.

“David Ritcheson, 18, died after jumping from a cruise ship Sunday. The Mexican-American was beaten unconscious and sodomized in a 2006 attack that nearly killed him and forced him to endure two dozen painful surgeries.”

Here’s a bit from the article:

“Ritcheson, a Mexican-American, was beaten and sodomized with a patio umbrella pole. He also was stomped on and burned with cigarettes, and his attackers poured bleach on him before leaving.

“He was hospitalized for more than three months and endured some 30 operations. Two men were convicted of aggravated sexual assault in the attack.”

For those of you old enough (or just darned hip enough), that title will have you singing a Sex Pistols song for the next hour or so.

I looked up “anarchy” today because I keep using that as a descriptive when watching people completely disobey traffic laws. According to Wikipedia:

“Anarchy, has a popular meaning of disorder^[1]. However it has a more precise meaning in political philosophy to describe any human society which exists without a state:

• societies where an existing state has collapsed;
• societies where no state has ever existed;
• societies, whether real or speculative, where the state has been consciously abolished.”

That made me wonder about the state of our, well, state. We certainly have had a state. It hasn’t been consciously abolished, but perhaps it is in the state of collapse. So I think it’s fair to say that, at least for now, we do have a state. The fact that someone’s in charge and I’m not happy with that person lends more proof, if you will, that there is in fact a state.

So then, lest you are worrying that all I think about is the bamb dastards who drive with their heads placed firmly in their buttocks, I don’t. I think about those folks, true, but I also think about when in the heck can I eat something GOOD? (Besides applesauce and other mushy foods.)

The thing about people in cars doing whatever the heck makes them happy is merely a symptom of something bigger. I’m certain that I’ve told you about these concerns before, but what the heck, I am the Feline Warrior, it says Feline Warrior at the top of this page, so I can say whatever I want as often as I want!

Something bigger - you can almost feel it in the air. It’s that stuff I’ve talked about, the sensation of closeness and the convenience of not-so-closeness. It started with a hold button, then mute, then backspace, delete, web cams, buddy-block, email filters, voice mail, camera phones, caller ID, call-block… it just goes on and on. And no, none of those were in any particular order - just a random list.

The “sensation of closeness coupled with the convenience of not-so-closeness” [I invented that! You’re my witness, ‘case I need you for backup on Judge Judy!] - that is a duo. It is the Pisces of modern day relationships. It’s a theory based upon observation and candid -random- interviews.

It’s easy to enjoy the above-mentioned duality (now, perhaps, SCC-CNSC) on a regular day. Let’s look at this example: Sam is driving along, talking on his cell phone. Ah, the beauty of the cell phone, the handsome accompanying Bluetooth and all those roll-over minutes… As Sam approaches an intersection, he sees that the light is yellow and about to turn red. (Red means “STOP!” - just a review.) As he continues his conversation, he zooms around the cars preparing to stop (as they should) and speeds through the light.

In real life, the usual ending to the story is that the cars that start to travel through the intersection on the green light have to slam on their brakes to avoid hitting Sam, probably honking their horns. Sam, in turn, would shout through his open window some choice words towards the horn-blasters, then presumably would apologize to the person on the other end of the phone for hollering cuss words in his or her ear. (But maybe not, because Sam is a bamn dastard who only cares about himself.)
The end to the story I’d like to see is Sam getting pulled over and given a pricey ticket along with a stern talkin’-to by an officer of the law.

Okay, so the phenomenon is SCC-CNSC; symptoms are similar (but not limited) to the story above; and the cause… technology? Technology moving ahead faster than our culture can mature - a culture already sadly lacking in standards and values?

No, I don’t think that’s it. It might be part of the puzzle, but it’s not all of the pieces. People do have standards and values -we may not all agree with the other’s- but they are there. The SCC-CNSC thing -phenomenon or syndrome or whatever you want to call it- seems to be multi-layered. Like most of the stuff that fills my head and causes my headaches and insomnia, there’s a lot to it. Not just technology, not just selfishness, not just a slipping, perhaps, of social graces (if not standards and values) - but what?

I’m afraid that I will explore this until the day I die and may not ever fully understand it. But that won’t stop me from trying. Not me -I’m not just a warrior, I’m the Feline Warrior!

Well, of course, you knew it all along. You just didn’t know what I look like. Cute, huh?

Just another community of blogging women I have joined, all in my quest for fame. Or, um, something.

Bush Commutes Libby Prison Sentence - washingtonpost.com

The scoop:

“I respect the jury’s verdict,” Bush said in a statement. “But I have concluded that the prison sentence given to Mr. Libby is excessive. Therefore, I am commuting the portion of Mr. Libby’s sentence that required him to spend thirty months in prison.”

Libby still has to pay a $250,000 fine and will be on probation for a few years. Seems to be a good year for crime-committin’ people with silly names, huh?

One word:

Pffft!

Okay, the true headline is: Ex-astronaut’s lawyer says diaper tale is “big lie” - Yahoo! News

Even better than that, her attorney says the diaper story is hampering Nowak’s chances of a decent trial. Here, read it for yourself:

“The attorney for former NASA astronaut Lisa Nowak said on Friday his client’s right to a fair trial is being jeopardized by a “big lie” that she wore a diaper during a nonstop 950-mile (1,530-mile) drive to confront a romantic rival.”

Other favorite quotes:

“The media has repeated this preposterous and scandalous story that she drove from Houston to Orlando nonstop wearing a diaper,” attorney Donald Lykkebak told reporters outside an Orlando courtroom.

and:

“It holds my client up to ridicule. It jeopardizes our ability to pick a jury. It jeopardizes our ability to get a fair trial when the client is the butt of jokes.”

(Forgive My Beavis & Butthead-ishness, but I couldn’t resist.)

According to the Orlando Sentinel on February 6th: “Police seized two wet diapers from Nowak’s car which she said she used rather than stop on her 1,000 –mile drive to Orlando.”

Nowak also carried certain items necessary for carrying out her crime: “wig, trench coat, make-up, trash bags, knife and what appeared to be “ammo 9″ according to an arrest report.

Nowak was arrested on February 6 in Orlando, FL on charges of assaulting and trying to kidnap Air Force captain Colleen Shipman. Shipman was apparently the girlfriend of Space Shuttle pilot Bill Oefelein, with whom Nowak said she was (also) involved. This was indeed a bizarre love triangle, but not melodic and dance-able like the New Order song.

And by the way, according to NASA news at MSNBC, the Navy “expects to assign Oefelein to the Naval Network Warfare Command in Norfolk, Virginia” in June.

Here is the breakdown of the case, timeline and other details included. I just don’t see how the diaper part makes it any more embarrassing or ridiculous.