Babies and Rabies: Is There a Difference?

Some of you think that I don’t have maternal instinct. So? Why is it that after so much has been discussed and written about the issue, it is so hard for some people to accept that not all of the humans born with the ability to incubate other humans actually want to? Some do. Some do not. And don't tell me you wish you could, guys, 'cuz you have NO IDEA what you are talking about! It's all just fantasy talk. The real tragedy is for those who should be able to and want to, but can't. That sucks. For them. For me, it’s not that I have anything personally against any human being under the age of eight, I just don’t really have an interest in that AGE BRACKET. It's a numbers thing. Basically, I just don't GET IT. Why would you want to have your stomach extended beyond repair, have hemorrhoids, gastrointestinal difficulties, severe mood swings, back pain, and swollen extremities for several months so that you can scream in pain while your vagina is torn open by a human HEAD?And then, women say that babies smell good. Really? I think lilacs smell better. So does peanut butter. And they don’t ALWAYS smell good, anyways. Sometimes they smell just like the pooh that gets stuck in my dog’s butt hair. Or mine for that matter. And you can’t have any kind of meaningful conversation with a one or two year-old. Three on up? They're messy, sassy, and waaaaay too needy. Look, I am going to have to take care of my mother when she wears diapers and has to be restricted from using kitchen appliances…and I think that will be enough care taking for me, thank you. Besides, let's face it, if you know me then you know how hard it is for me to get myself fed and onto the right bus each day. It doesn't mean I don't enjoy my younger family members. I do - for short periods of time. I LOVE to play. So, it’s not like I don’t hold my nieces and nephews when I have to…and it’s not like I don’t enjoy playing four games in four minutes with them when I have to…and sure I think they are cute…it’s just that I would rather interact with them once they turn eight and can actually make me some french toast when I'm hungry and program my MP3 player for me.

Now, you may wonder what Babies and Rabies have to do with each other. Well, they rhyme now, don't they? But they also have something to do with my next comment about being back home. You see, my family, bless their little hearts, don't go anywhere. They all live within a two-hour radius from each other. They are true New Yorkers. Lifers. I, on the other hand, cannot seem to stay in one place for very long. I am always searching for a new experience, always looking for my next "home". They, on the other hand, ARE home and ARE content. They are more Buddhist-like than I will probably ever be. Ain't it ironic?

What I love about coming home from living or visiting someplace else is that they show absolutely NO interest whatsoever in any place I have ever been. They simply don't care. And while this bothers some of my friends (like you, Glandar), it doesn't bother me one bit. You see, it's reciprocal. I don't give a sheet what they did while I was gone, so why should they pretend to care about my life while I was gone? Like I said, I have no problem with that. We mutually accept and respect each other's apathy and indifference. From a cognitive perspective, if I am here, then they can understand and relate to my life...if I am gone, I have no life. In other words, they still think that if they close their eyes, I can't see them. Catch my drift?

Oh, so what does that all have to do with rabies? Well, case in point: I run into my father after two years and the first thing he says to me is that he recently got bit by a raccoon that had rabies. I waited for twenty minutes for him to tell me every last detail of the story while I poked myself repeatedly in the eye. That set the tone for the entire day's interaction. Now, my sister has three children - all funny, smart, and adorable (yes, I said that) - but all under the age of eight (the magic number) - so while she makes some attempts to engage me in conversation about my life, my responses ineluctably get interrupted by comments from her to her children. The initial conversation went something like this:

Sister: "So, how was Thailand?"
Me: "Oh, it was..."
Sister (in stern tone): "JAAAAKE. Hey, Jake. Look at me. Make the right choice, buddy! Okay?" She looks at him intently while holding my other nephew, Carter, as he chews on a bug. She looks back at me briefly, "Oh, I'm sorry, what?"
Me: "Oh, I was just going to say that..."
Sister: "Sadie! What did I tell you before we got out of the truck? No. No. What did I tell you?"(We wait for her to remember and respond appropriately.)"Where's your father? Miiiiike!" He hears her and comes to watch over the kids. She again turns to me as she takes the bug out of Carter's mouth. "I'm sorry. What did you say? Was the food good? I friggin' hate fish sauce, you know."
Me: "Speaking of fish sauce (sniff sniff)..."
Sister: "Oh, I'm sorry. Carter needs a diaper change. Can you hold on a minute?"

My aunt and uncle, who aren't that much older than I am in years, have a home where I lived before I left for Korea and where I am living now. They view me as part of their home...like a pet. This time around, I'd been staying in their house for five days before my aunt actually came in to hug me and say welcome home. The first four days they just carried out their lives as if I'd been in my room with the door closed for the past year and half. I think it's related to the cognitive element I mentioned above. I feel a bit like a ghost they have just accepted and learned to live with and, to be honest, I don't mind.

The other reason I don't care that they don't care is that I am, by nature, more private than some people, particularly the 35 and under folks. They seem to have this narcissistic, exhibitionist attitude of "Look at me! Look at me!" that I often see played out in cyberspace and on reality TV shows. It makes me uncomfortable, but I know that it's a personal issue, one that I will have to address more fully at a later date (oh, and I will!).

For now, I am going to bed.

On a happy note: I am glad that raccoons and silkworm larvae are not staples of the American diet.

99,

Ima C. Sell

Love Thy Neighbor? Let's Not.

I really have been trying to be a more accepting and loving person, you know. Especially since I knew that I was going to be returning to the scene of the crime. So, I read several books that were designed to enlighten me and, according to the these books, I am supposed to be able to love everyone around me and know that we are all equal and connected as one great life force in the universe. And, despite my intial reaction to deface the books in retaliation for purporting such nonsense, I actually tried. And tried. And then tried some more. I have been trying ever since I got on the airplane back to the States. But as I look at the people around me at any given moment, I find that I am overwhelmed by only one recurring feeling - disgust. People tend to disgust me. I know, I know, I should probably bring it up in one of my group therapy sessions but, if I do, they will regretably ask me the inevitable question to which the inevitable answer will have to be, "Yes! Yes! You disgust me, too! In fact, collectively, I observe your movements and hear your conversations and I want to hurt you. I look at your bodies and I want to cry. I hear the sounds of your voices and my eardrums start to bleed. In fact, just knowing that I am supposed to share the planet with you, makes me suicidal." Now, I know that I can't just come right out and say that...although, I suppose I just did...but I can't help how I feel. And, of course, I am not talking about you, now, am I? Or am I? Needless to say, I am failing at this "love thy neighbor" concept at the moment. I just don't want to love everyone around me...let alone be "connected" to them (ewww)...and to be quite honest about it - you can't make me!

As I thought about this sicheeashun, I began to question whether or not I am simply disgusted with myself on some level, but after much thought on the subject I determined that "ah...nope...it's not me...it's definitely them!" I also questioned whether or not I'm a snob and, although I hate to say it, maybe I am. I don't think that we are all equal...but, at the same time, I don't think I'm better, just different. I mean, am I more talented? No. I can't put in a ceiling fan, build a boat dock, or knit purses. Am I more socially skilled? No. I think eye contact is overrated and the purpose of small talk eludes me; yet these folks can talk to anyone at anytime about nothing at all and everyone's happy (unless they are talking to me, in which case I usually have to keep sticking my finger in my eye). Are they less intelligent than I am? I think not. They can build transmissions, for heaven's sake. I can't do that and, let's face it, you probably can't either. And are they evil people? Not at all. Most of them are very sweet, enthusiastically plowing out your driveway in the winter and sharing their yellow squash with you in the summer. Yet, I wouldn't for one second ever want to be one of them NO MATTER how complicated and painful my life journey has been. I wouldn't want to be any one of them because, in reality, I actually have more respect for myself than I do for most other people. I actually like myself and my own company more than I generally like that of others. I actually find my struggles to be worthy and believe in their overall importance in the scheme of things. And, more importantly, I like the fact that I discriminate when it comes to whom I choose to love and befriend. So, maybe I am not a snob, perhaps I just like myself a whole hell of a lot. Is that really so bad?

On a similar, yet totally different note,I was trying to find something to read around the relatives' house today and I knew I probably wouldn't find a book, unless you count "Weight Watchers", so I set out to find a magazine. Everyone has magazines. Unfortunately, the magazines all had names like, "Wood", "Woodworking", and "Working with Wood" and none of them had ANYTHING to do with penises. There was also a magazine called, "Gardening" (which, ironically, was all about penises). So, I went to the local store, but the selection didn't improve much. There were basically five categories of mags: Current Hollywood Gossip; Guns; Home Maintenance and Repair; a Million and One Ways to Wear Your Hair; and Sudoku. I was about to leave (after reading about a series of fights that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are apparently having; seriously, folks, things look pretty rocky for the dynamic duo, don't they?) when I couldn't help but notice one magazine that really stuck out from the rest. No, it wasn't The New Yorker, Mother Jones, Z Magazine, or the UTNE Reader, it was a juicy, thick, glossy hunk of a mag about PLASTIC SURGERY. Ooooh, I was mesmerized. Now, I know better than to get all excited, but I just...can't...help it.

My take on plastic surgery? It's an acceptable form of violence and mutilation done for the good of the individual as well as society at large. Unlike the violence done to a woman's body when babies distort and rip their way out...this kind of violence has a rewarding and necessary outcome: ugly people stop being so ugly. I don't see what's wrong with this. I really don't?!! Don't you want to be in an aesthetically pleasing environment? I say, if the unattractive want to be attractive, it's oppressive to hold them back. I personally think that it's the naturally attractive people that are behind the plastic surgery backlash. It's not the feminists - it's the pretty feminists! They don't want the competition! THEY are the ones that always preach, "You should love yourself the way Ghod made you," or facetiously purr, "You aaaaarrreee pretty," and then offer you that maniacal, conspiratorial grin which is code for, "Stay off my turf, bitch!" Now, I am not a beauty queen, so I totally support the invasive use of sharp instruments to make the world a prettier place. Would I do it? Hell yes. I wouldn't trade my mind or my soul or my personality for anything in the world, but would I trade in my nose and my inner thighs for a newer, sexier model? "Yes, gosh darn it. Yes, I would. And you can't stop me." And further more, if I had a large sum of money to give away after making sure that all the children in the world had food and clean water and a safe place to live, I would use that money to offer free tummy tucks, hair implants (for women), liposuction, eye lifts, and permanent back and facial hair, mole, and hairy mole removal to every resident in this town and the ten neighboring towns, as well. I would, damn it. And you couldn't stop me. [Note: I do NOT, I repeat, I do NOT recommend getting breast enlargement surgery for men or women...I have recently seen the aftermath of a few years of wear of tear and going from 'big' to 'long' is not hot. Big -> Long. Big -> Long. :) -> 0:]

By the way, I tried to give my aunt and uncle a mini lesson on the basic grammatical concepts I mentioned in the previous blog and they received the input just as I had expected. They mocked me and then told me that I could stick that information in a dark, dirty place in my body. Then they bought me a new cell phone and gave me some ice cream. I just knew they were going to react like that. Do you want my new cell phone number? I bet you do!

On an even happier note: I am pretty thankful that everyone in the house isn't expected to sleep in the same bed.

That's all for tonight.

99,

Ima B. Lever

Reverse Culture Shock - I Think Not

You know, so many people have blogs about the countries they are in – some are wittier than others –some more adolescent – some both - but they all provide a similar feeling and information which is useful when you are considering whether to go abroad. However, given that my own hometown is much like a foreign country to me, I thought, hell, I might as well write my own blog about what it’s like living in a rural part of New York. That way, people from Korea or Japan who are considering a move to my town can get a feel for what it might be like for them as well. This isn’t to say that I am anything like a Korean or Japanese person (except for the same desire to not have my kinesphere invaded –note: this only seems to be true in Japan when not on crowded trains in which case any part of your body could be invaded, so wear protection). Still, the information may prove to be useful to any person not familiar with the great small town ambience of the good ole U.S. of A. Also, people use their blogs, not just to show off and feed their egos, but also to let their friends and family know what they are experiencing. So, if I write this blog, this will help my friends and family know what I am experiencing: Some call it “reverse culture shock”, but, let’s face it, it has always been a shock to me and unless I get run over by an 18-wheeler and lose the functions of both hemispheres, it will always be a shock to me.

Let’s take today, for example. I checked out the local paper tonight to find that the weekend line up at the local fair includes a Tractor Pull, a Demolition Derby, and Bull Riding. At least they don’t have the Wet T-Shirt contests anymore and the Moped Toss has long lost its allure. Now such exotic events don’t occur in everyone’s hometowns out there, do they? I highly doubt that in Oaxaca, Mexico they are planning for the big Tractor Pull Event. I dare say that in Takamatsu, Japan they probably aren’t preparing for Bull Riding, either. And did I ever see a Demolition Derby advertised in Paju, South Korea? Anniyo No! But is this my idea of good time? I dare say, no. It’s a good time if you make fun of it, though. Where’s my overalls?

Being an English teacher makes it particularly easy for me to understand and cringe at the natives of this area. Since when has, “You don’t got to,” been acceptable English? Did publishers of grammar books start taking acid? And people...THIRD PERSON SINGULAR!!!!!!! He/She DOESN’T, not “he/she don’t!” And, I know this is hard for a lot of you, but we do things WELL, not GOOD. We are good doers and we do well. Okay? Got it? And “So don’t I” as a form of agreement is not acceptable. I know, I know, I have been saying it my whole life, too, but IT DOESN’T (note the 3rd person singular) MAKE SENSE. No one outside of 60 miles in any direction will know what is wrong with you if you use this phrase Trust me. I have been there. It wasn’t pretty.

Since, being an English teacher, I have also learned the importance of form as well as meaning, I should comment on the shape of the peoples of this region. Since most of them are middle aged – I would have to say that the men all look pregnant and their high school sweethearts have turned out to resemble football quarterbacks with cellulite. The younger generation, which you can still find at the Mall, all resemble archaic barbie dolls. The girls have bleach blond hair with horrific highlights, and they wear tight jeans and too much make-up. The boys all wear jeans, Ts and baseball caps. Nothing new to report here after 20 years, I’m afraid. Oh wait, that’s not true. The girls have fake boobies now. I swear they just get smarter! Did you want to read something about meaning? There is no meaning. These people live meaningless lives for the most part. They are merely consumers. The rest are addicted to Crystal Meth…and will rob you blind and eat you silly.

Oh yeah, and how come I leave the country for a little over a year to find that I can’t even buy Sudafed without an I.D? They literally have to track the frequency of my pseudo ephedrine purchases? My ghod, people, just how much Crystal Meth were you making while I was gone? And how easy was it? I probably could have made a fortune! And today, to make it worse, I wanted to go Jet Skiing at the Lake and they told me I now need a license and have to take a safety course just to ride a JET SKI! Apparently, while I was gone, a bunch of people on Crystal Meth were riding their Wave Runners over small children and into various sized boats and maiming people. So now we all have to pay the price. I suppose I will have to take a safety course and get a license to float in an inner tube and buy an ice cream cone at the corner store. I mean, Jesus, people, why do you have to ruin everything FOR ME? I can’t leave you alone for a year!

Now, I hate to do this to you, but it’s time for a trip to Walmart. Don’t worry, this will be short. The first word that comes to mind when I think of the people shopping at Walmart is simply ENORMOUS. ENORMOUS. I just had to say it twice. It’s not entirely their fault for being so big because as I looked around, I found it difficult to locate sidewalks. Where the hell did you guys put the sidewalks? Without sidewalks, people can’t walk off their disgusting rolls of fat now, can they? Naturally, these Walmart shoppers are politically and socially incorrect by MY standards, but I have to admit that I am going there tomorrow. Not to do more research on how obese the people are, but to get my prescription filled. Somehow Walmart bullied someone somewhere to make my medicine for cheaper. I don’t know what’s missing from it or how many four-year olds it took to make it, but I am buying it and taking it. I am, afterall, just as real and full of contradictions as the rest of you. And really, I probably am much less of a hypocrite than most of you on any given day, so let it go. Just (Inhale)… let it gooo (exhale).

On a high note, I was thinking about how it’s awfully nice that we don’t park our cars in the living room.

Nighty-night, or as my non-English-speaking luvuh used to say, “ninety-nine”!

Fondly,

Ima T. Bagger