Allegory of life

I just watched the finale of the first series of "Lost" and I have to say I'm impressed. I realize that half the authors of this blog are mocking me for getting into this so late and only realizing how good it is just now (and only having been indoctrinated by M and d/a, again, thanks guys!) but better late than never, right?

Again, I do not want to write something profound about this series now, I don't have anything profound to say anyway, and it is too early for it, but I have to say this: for anyone that loves allegory and symbolism (two related but not identical notions-often frowned upon) "Lost" IS the thing to watch. And given that allegories and symbolisms can be simplistic and tiring, it is this what makes the series so great: it takes a basic idea and executes in a way that it is simple but not simplistic. The simple premise of the series is, in my opinion, the premise of an archetypical society where the science vs. faith dilemma (as it has been explicitly mentioned in the series finale by Jack and Locke, who represent the two) can be played to the extremes.

The island with the magic powers, the stranded group of people, the hatch that according to Locke has 'hope' inside it (what a wonderful modern allegory of Pandora's box), the Others, the archetypical couple (Sun and Kim) and so much more form this mini-universe, a miniature version of society where everything, all the issues that have troubled literature, theatre, philosophy and religion for the last 2000 years or so can be laid out and explored.

Nothing short of genius, truly.
Series 2, here I come!

I grow old, I grow old

I was just reading stuff on the net and then, bang, I had to be rudely reminded how old I am. In an article about Roxette being reunited, the journalist saw fit to tell us that they have been around for 20 years. Well, this makes me old enough, right, since, I do clearly remember 'the look' as an LP featuring prominently in some of my earliest parties. What to say apart from to quote T.S.Elliot, appropriately as always:

I grow old, I grow old
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

Tsitata (mottos)

'When the rapist approaches his victim, he whispers sweet words.
The person who loves you mumbles and doesn't know what to say.
Who will you trust?'
(S.T.)

My teenage years (that I seem to dwell on a lot these days - 'I grow old, I grow old...') have been deeply affected by this line, which featured prominently on my wall for years. I loved it so much because it seemed to excuse the inadequacy of the people I loved to exress their feelings to me. I felt that the less they said, the bigger their love was. But I am not sure anymore. Love can be expressed, not with cheap sweet words perhaps, but it can be. I am sure of it now.

Yesterday, when talking with d/a I came up with the following profound statement: 'The issue is not to love your people, turning the blind eye at their inadeqacies. The issue is to love them, in spite of their inadequacies.' Profound, huh? What I mean, I guess is that I have no patience for people who say, 'oh I loved so and so a lot, so I didn't see their faults'. I mean how stupid is that? Youkali said to me that it is the faults of the other person that will make your heart skip beats more than the good things. This is when you know you love them truly: when even their shitty traits seem sweet.

How often does THIS happen though...?... On verra...

Kinds

When I was young(er) I used to make sharp statements. I thought I was great and that my friends were great. Also I was deeply elitist: if you read such and such books you were great, if you listen to this and this music you were great and if you wore so and so clothes you were also great. Anything else was not going to cut it. I think I am over this by now, although sometimes I surprise myself with my harshness.

Another favourite past-time of my younger days was putting people into categories. I remember I used to say: there are two kinds of people, clever ones and stupid ones. I was actually going around saying this thing, thinking that I was so clever for saying it. I also thought I was so clever because my categorization was one of cleverness and not one of goodness, as so many other people did. Goodness, pif! Who cares about THAT?

I still think people can be clever and stupid, but I also think that this is not so crucial. It is crucial, don't get me wrong, but it is also so insufficient. When you're an academic, you are constantly surrounded with relatively clever people. If this was all that mattered, then our lives would be so easy. But they're not. I am surrounded by clever people, some of which are fine. But there are also so many that are not fine, there are so many that are tiring, self-absorbed, needy, assholes, arrogant, uniterested, insulting, strssful etc. So, I can only gather that being clever is not enough for happiness. Happiness for oneself and for the other people.

So if cleverness is not it, the question is: is there a characteristic that defines people? Is there a characteristic that fundamentally runs through the human psyche, essentilly putting people in categories?

I think not. I no longer think such distinctions are necessary, feasible or even useful. Who gives a fuck if people are either clever or stupid? Only elitist teenagers like my former self, who clearly knew fuck all about life, happiness and other exotic animals.

Caution: sexually explicit lyrics (remove children from the vicinity of this post)

Oh, he treats me with respect, He says he loves me all the time,
He calls me 15 times a day, He likes to make sure that im fine,
You know I've never met a man, Whose made me feel quite so secure,
He's not like all them other boys, They're all so dumb and immature.

There's just one thing, That's getting in the way,
When we go up to bed your just no good,
its such a shame!
I look into your eyes, I want to get to know you,
And then you make this noise, and its apparently its all over

Its not fair, And i think your really mean,
I think your really mean, I think your really mean.

Oh your supposed to care, But you never make me scream, You never make me scream,

Oh it's not fair, And it's really not ok, It's really not ok, It's really not ok,

Oh your supposed to care, But all you do is take, Yeah, all you do is take.

I lay here in this wet patch in the middle of the bed,
i'm feeling pretty damn hard done by i spent ages giving head.

Then i remember all the nice things that you've ever said to me,
maybe i'm just over reacting maybe your the one for me.

There's just one thing, That's getting in the way,
When we go up to bed your just no good,
its such a shame!
I look into your eyes, I want to get to know you,
And then you make this noise, and its apparently its all over

Its not fair, And i think your really mean,
I think your really mean, I think your really mean.

Oh your supposed to care, But you never make me scream, You never make me scream,

Oh it's not fair, And it's really not ok, It's really not ok, It's really not ok,

Oh your supposed to care, But all you do is take, Yeah, all you do is take.

I am finding so many female songwriters writing sexually explicit lyrics, these days (see my earlier post on Lady Gaga). The question (apart from whether women are really sexually liberated these days) is whether these are parallelisms with other things and they do not just talk about sex. So, although this song is clearly a 'spaghetti western ode to the premature', when Lily sings "you're supposed to care, but all you do is take" perhaps she means something more. Perhaps? Perhaps, men who 'never make you scream' are also egotistical idiots?

If this reading is correct, it really takes away all the sexual liberation bit from women and is thus deeply unfeministic. I remember when I saw 'y tu mama tambien' when I realized that this sexually liberated woman was only willing to have a threesome with those guys because she had cancer and was dieing, I became so upset. I mean, can women never be sexually liberated for the hell of it? Does there always need to be some other hidden, deep reason for their liberatedness? I sure hope not...

Nurse vs Hero (=Lost?)

I am hooked on Lost, have I mentioned that?

D/a and her man got me totally addicted and now I am on four a day (episodes that is). I want to write about this series properly at some point, but now is not the time. Now is the time to just make a minor comment about Jack.

If you know anything at all about the series in question, this is Jack. Jack is this doctor guy, who is very good and heroic. Basically he goes around and saves people. He even tells them so in advance: 'I am going to save you' he said to a poor guy that died half an episode later (which is an unfortunate example, since he often succeeds). In the flashbacks that the series makes, we also see that he has even saved his wife, she was his patient, who he saved and then married. How appropriate, don't you find? Anyway, let me get to the point, instead of digressing cynically.

Men like Jack, a.k.a. the 'hero' types, remind me of another familiar female stereotype: the nurse. Apparently, a lot of women suffer from the 'nurse syndrome', that is women who are always on the lookout for someone to save. The interesting thing about this female version of the 'man-hero' is the way of salvation: a woman nurtures and cares for, while a man simply saves. The female stereotype requires time and commitment, while the male one simply requires heroic behaviour, usually in a flash. I think this is a telling difference between the sexes, a difference that is so self-explanatory that I do not need to expand on it here any longer, I think.

People

People have various lives. Sometimes they are in procession, you live a life for some years then it's over and another one begins. Some other times, we have a lot of lives at once. One where we work, one with the people we love, one with our parents and so on and so forth. It is interesting when our various lives intertwine, it is interesting when people from one life come in another one, it is interesting to see how that works out.

I can tell the people that are important to me, if they come from one of my lives and they fit in all of them. If they come into this new life, like parachutists but they don't look alien there, they look as if they fit.

People were walking the streets of Belfast this weekend and they were my friends. And they fit and that made me happy.