Thoughts on Facebook

Dear Facebook,

You are a god. It must feel good to be you. Scratch that. It must feel GREAT to be you. Because, seriously, think about it, how many millions (billions?) of people are in love with you!? Seriously, so many of us are jealous of all the love you receive.

You are the new religion, binding us all together. Because of you, I can keep in touch with the friends and family that are oh, so far away. We can share pictures and connect/reconnect in almost any fashion we desire. Instead of calling Megan, to make a goofy comment on some picture she's recently been tagged in, I can just leave her a message for the entire world to see! It is as though you share your godly powers with me. And also her, because, you know, you've allowed that tagged picture to be seen by me and everyone else as well. Hell, in a lot of cases, people who may not even know her can see her! You are so awesome!

I remember this one time, I was mad at an old friend, but because of you, I was able to know everything she was up to, and had the ability to form a plan of attack. The feeling was indescribable. Of course, this has also been a tool used on me too. I mean, what goes around comes around, right? I deserved it when people spied on me and did hateful things. And that's only because I forgot I could set up my privacy settings. Boy I felt silly that day, I can tell you!

It is also because of you that I've witnessed people discover who their true friends are. Yes, that must make you feel all warm inside, knowing you can provide truths to people who reside in the dark. I know that sometimes, a comment might go un-deleted and the "wrong person" might see it. That's okay. Because of you, they don't even have to be pals anymore. And who would want to be friends anyway if so-and-so is going to say hateful things? So, friend A can delete friend B, and that should do the trick.

You're just so convenient. You're always the first to share with the world the scandals behind closed doors. You're the first to know about everything -- about break ups, (hey, sometimes even before the breakup-ee!), about farming, about birthdays, anniversaries, about, well, EVERYTHING! Sometimes you're even ahead the news -- while making the news, I might add.

Facebook, I am in awe of you. In awe of your grace, your ability to tell the truth, your almighty gift of connection. You are one of the only faiths left in this world.

I must admit that I for one, am in love with you. You are that extra mile of connective tissue that hold me together with those I love dear...and others admittedly, not so much, but we met that one time at some function, and now we can be friends -- all because of YOU.

Dearest Facebook, keep up the great work!

Thoughts on Fairy Tales, Nursery Rhymes, and other Fables

So, here I am, lying in bed with my four month old, reading a bunch of nursery rhymes. And she's smiling and kicking, and we're just having us a good 'ol time. And then we come upon Jack and Jill.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.

I don't dare tell my four month old what I'm thinking (not that she'll understand) but she seems so happy looking at these goofy illustrations. I'm slightly disturbed, to say the least. Little Jack, climbing up the hill with a pail, has a crown on his head. A crown. (Laugh here). Okay, I understand the need to make the rhyme more innocent than it actually is, but if I'm not mistaken, the "crown" is not the crown a prince might wear. But a crown has that double entendre. In other words, the crown can be the top of Jack's head. His skull. However, upon doing further research, it is rumored that Jack is a reference to King Louis XVI and Jill, Marie Antoinette. The loss of Jack's crown, referring to the King's beheading, and Marie Antoinette's beheading following after. Either way, the rhyme is disturbing, and the meaning is diluted far enough for our children to be pleasantly placed away from it's historical context. (http://www.rhymes.org.uk/jack_and_jill.htm)

And what about Humpty Dumpty? First off, where did we get this idea that Humpty is an egg? No where in the rhyme does it say Humpty is an egg...or a man, for that matter. And the rhyme doesn't seem quite that protected for children, either. It seems to suggest a mortality of some kind -- we may go to the doctor, but he or she might not be able to put us back together again, boys and girls. In fact, this rhyme comes from the 17th century, regarding a cannon that made it's home at the top of St Mary's at the Wall Church in Colchester. When the church was hit and the cannon destroyed, the King's cavalry could not put it back together. Yes, I see where the egg came from clearly now. (Sarcasm)

These rhymes are fun, yes. And definitely something I remember from my childhood; the best of my memories. But it seems they are all lies, and some even scary. For instance, Ring around the Rosies. Holy hell, is this scary. No one told me this little song and dance referred to the black plague. And frankly, I'm not sure anyone in my family really knew. And who cared? I just enjoyed falling to the floor. And what about Santa Claus? I am quickly reminded of my first day in mythology class. We participated in the analysis of Burl Ives singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". Frankly, it's completely terrifying. A strange man is watching us. Yes, he has presents and blah, blah, blah. But seriously, listen to the lyrics. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tREXSViRohU) This is a Hansel and Gretyl-esque story. (You know, luring the children to the gingerbread house with candy...same thing, only done up with pretty ribbons)

And there are other stories as well that were blunt honest, which, should be appreciated, as these are the stories that should warn children of the outside world. Cinderella, for example. One of the step sisters cut her toes off to fit into the glass slippers and at the end of the story, the sisters' eyes are gauged out by birds. BUT, do we see that in the Disney-fied version? Hell no. And let's face it, a lot of things are altered in Disney's world, forming a kind of Utopia for children. Which, for me, I feel, is good and bad.

It seems that the meanings behind rhymes have been lost, and truth hidden, no matter what form society has chosen to hide it behind. And frankly, I find it disturbing...and scary in a lot of ways. What do we do about this? I don't know. I just don't know. As a parent, I understand wanting to keep safe a child. But when you think you're saving them, are you really?

Thoughts on Poison Ivy

I'm not sure where it came from. I am not one to frolic through the woods hunting for mushrooms and wild game such as the infamous Bear Grylls. I do not celebrate nature in the way that ferries and nymphs do, seen in fantastical literature. This is just not me. I am the type who plays with my child, reads, and publishes stupid posts online. So, how this has happened, I do not know. And I always believed in the depths of my soul that I embodied some sort of super-human powers due to my twenty-five year immunity to the stuff. Twenty-five years, people. And here I am today, professing the evils of this three-leaved jezebel. I remember elementary school. All my friends had come into contact with the plant at some point in their youths. Apparently, I was just lucky. Because today, with much grief, I must announce that I am infected.

I remember my first scratch. Sounds crazy, but it's true. One night last week sometime. I took my right hand to my left arm and scratched. I didn't think anything of it. Just an itch. But something crazy happened. I noticed this hickey-esque bruising just beneath my skin's surface. Initially, I just thought I had scratched a bit too hard.

No.

In fact, this blistering, acid faced protuberance appeared. That's when I knew. I have contracted poison ivy. And I'm trapped. There's this insanity in my skin, I just don't want to stop itching. However, being a novice at this infection, I've learned that if you scratch "too much" or "too hard", one just bleeds everywhere. And now, what started at the inside of my left arm, has since traveled to both ankles and I'm beginning to feel it where? Yes, you guessed it. My face. Holy hell, Batman!

So, before I dip myself in acid to rid myself of the itch, I begin a quest. A quest on destroying this three-leaved evil. Oh, and believe me, I've found some very interesting theories on the destruction of these blisters. Some suggest using a hair dryer and "blow" the itch away. Others say take tons of Vitamin C, or use rubbing alcohol. My theory? Moonshine until I pass out and can't remember that I ever itched at all.

Thoughts on Mascots and Whores

Because I spend countless hours in thought, it should be a duty that I write more often. After all, it is a goal dear to my heart that I at least make a mild career as an author of some capacity. (Although I highly doubt poetry will ever be an option.) My recent thoughts are seemingly disconnected aside from the fact that both subjects are running through my head . . .

I begin with mascots.

Recently, upon watching Saturday college football, a friend asked me what a 'Hoosier' is. I began to regale stories of Hoosierdom from my fourth grade text book. Stories of which, are unimportant to this current rant. I began thinking. Okay, so, 'Hoosier' is a nice term for people from Indiana, sure . . . it's tradition. But, in all reality, how scary of a mascot is a Hoosier? No offense to North Carolina natives, but it's like the Tar Heels. I find neither a Hoosier or a Tar Heel intimidating. Ooooooohhh, you've got tar on your heels, how frightening! Yes, these state pet names are lovely, but somewhat goofy when naming teams. And there are countless goofy mascots. Campbell Camels . . . um, okay. At Catawba College, we once played a team called Presbyterian. Their mascot? The mighty "Blue Hose". (Long blue socks, not panty hose) At IU East, we once played the Concordia Seminary "Preachers". Wow. Also, I've heard of teams with "Monarchs" as their mascots. Draw your own conclusions here.

However, I think Florida has got it right. Florida GATORS. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm terrified of gators. They eat you. Why not have scary, super intimidating mascots? A shark is a good mascot, but why not be more specific? Why not the great whites? But the scariest mascot of all? Ohio State. Buckeyes. Ha, very funny, you say. But seriously, think about it. Yes, a buckeye is a traditional Hoosier-esque mascot. However, if you were ever to eat a buckeye . . . yes, you've just poisoned yourself. Deadly. One of those silent killers. Also, I think anthrax might be an intimidating mascot . . .

*****

Regarding my thoughts on the other topic -- Now, I don't know about my Northeastern High School buddies, but I find it incredibly interesting, this concept of "whoredom". The technical term for whore is someone who is paid to sleep around. Correct? Correct. I've studied enough to know this is true, and don't bother telling me I'm wrong. I'm not. However, the current loose term for a whore, I have since learned from someone near and dear is this: a person who sleeps around, having no self-worth. Also, I find it an easy term to use for we women who seem to threaten us in some fashion. Right, ladies? Anyway, I can "dig" the slang usage of the term. I guess. I do not remember the term being thrown around so heavily back home (correct me if I'm wrong, fellow Hoosiers). And perhaps that's because half of the Fountain City population is Amish. I do not know. Whatever the reason, I hear the term a great deal in the Rowan County/Davidson County area. Why is this? I do not know. It does not matter.

My argument is this: why does everyone assume ONLY women are whores? Never have I heard, "well, that so-and-so is a big whore. He sleeps with at least three women a night," or "that Jimmy guy has slept with so many women, he's got s*it, Ajax couldn't wash off!" No, never, and I mean NEVER have I heard a man dubbed "whore". It has come to my attention that any man with the capabilities to enjoy the pleasures of women, is in fact called a "pimp".

Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass if you consider yourself a pimp. If you're willing to give it to the willing, you're a whore. Man, woman, goat, or dandelion. It makes my skin crawl when I run into a person who is so quick to give out judgment to someone they believe to be a "whore". Don't be so quick to hand out names to people. It feels a lot like guilt, to me, oh guilty one.

Also, a recent acquaintance who will never be a friend of mine, was discussing this very topic with someone and mentioned that any woman who was out doing "whorish" things, should be beaten. Okay, buddy, you keep that in the back of your head when you're out "pimping".

Entrapment -- a new short story

Below is my newest short story. Enjoy and feel free to leave any feedback.

Entrapment

He doesn’t know I know he’s been seeing her for the past week. But he can’t hide the red remnants I see on his collar; he can’t betray the luscious crimson hiding in the corners of his mouth.

I wonder how they met. I wonder if he sees her at lunch everyday.

I am better than her, and today, I’ll make him choose.

My car is parked behind the second set of apartments – where he can’t see it.

I reside in the bathroom. Door shut. In front of the mirror. I’ve bathed. Doused myself in an ambrosial elixir of pheromones.

My lips pulse, dabbed with a goddess-gloss in pink. Failure is not an option.

Carefully, I liquefy black lashes and press them to my own. They mold to one another, bringing the lust of life to my irises dancing.

My skin glistens with the flawless dew of desire.

I let my hair rest on my bare chest, the long dark locks encapsulating the prize beneath.

I hear the lust of appetite jingling at the door. It’s him. The letch fumbles into the kitchen.

Pause.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he says.

My entire being feels like leaping out at him . . . but I must force myself to calm down.

I wait.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three.

Quietly, I open the bathroom door, my body taut and stunning in it’s nakedness. He hasn’t heard me. And I catch him with her.

Confrontation. I clear my throat so he will see me. So I can make him choose me over her.

But he just stares at me. Stunned.

Seductively, I approach him, long legged and glorious. I throw my right leg across his midsection and gracefully slide into his lap. Gently, I kiss his neck while running my fingers through his hair. The heat from his body seeps into my bare skin. I ignore the tramp beside me.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “Jess, I just wanna finish my cherry cheesecake.”

The Battle at Marathon

The Battle at Marathon

I stumble along Pepto walls

drunken

colliding with

ambitious blue collar workers while

fluffy obstacles

protruding from a

cellar act as

magnets for the weary.

My head spins in

a maze as the trumpet

seduces

a Varsity army.

Olympic gold

I race.

Vulgar swimmers compete

along the milky way

to claim a

totipotent monarchy.

Winner take all

I lock the vault.

In three weeks you’ll

wake up with

morning sickness.

Thoughts on Pre-Parenting

Let me just begin by saying that no, I have not written in a long time and yes, it is time to begin again. Life is an amazing thing. A month ago, my little girl was born . . . and before continuing into the meat of this blog, let me also add that there are absolutely no words to describe motherhood and my feelings toward my little girl. There is not a day that goes by when I don't spend countless minutes staring at her, wondering how something so miraculous could have been made by me. She is absolutely, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on. And until you have children of your own, it is impossible to know exactly how much you can love someone.

Now, having said all this, motherhood has only inspired my imagination. And it dawns on me, I have been primed to become a mother my entire life. And it's not just me . . . we all have in some fashion. Remember growing up? I remember baby dolls. I hated them. However, that is beside the point. Baby dolls. Most of my little girlfriends loved them. They got to play "mom". And as we got older, the dolls became increasingly life-like. What was once 100% plastic, soon became a plastic toy that became human when it wet it's diaper. But it didn't stop at baby dolls. Oh no. Not only were young girls targeted toward the idea of parenthood but prepubescent boys were as well. Take a look at the Giga pet. Oh yeah. Little pets of our choice . . . dogs, cats, monkeys . . . whatever. We were thrown into responsibility with a pet we had to feed and clean up, and play with. But unlike the less lifelike Cabbage Patch Kid dolls, the Giga pet threw us into a deeper reality--a scary reality. If we didn't feed our Giga pet, if we failed to take care of it, the pet died. And for many of us, this was the way with our actual pets (even though our parents typically did all the grunt work).

I find it interesting. We are preparing to become parents early on in our childhoods. And the funny thing is, I hear the media blaming the upcoming generations outrageous behaviors on the entertainment industry. I don't dare say that Giga pets cause pregnancy, no. I am merely stating that I find it interesting how the outside world primes us for whatever it feels we should be.

Thoughts on Adventure

I feel newly inspired. And perhaps I shouldn't share the idea just yet. But no matter, it all comes out soon anyway. Adventure. What is it? Who goes on adventures? Summing it up: aren't all stories about some sort of adventure? Perhaps not every person carries a whip or beats up villains, but it seems to me that an adventure is about achieving a goal; overcoming obstacles. For Indiana Jones, its the typical beat up the bad guys and save the day--like a medieval knight. Superman, Batman, Spongebob Squarepants, parents, professors, so on and so forth. Homer's epics are large stories of adventure but there are other, smaller stories that make the large one's possible. Due to a recent close to home happening, I recall a certain poem I wrote for a poetry class a year ago entitled "The Battle at Marathon". The poem regards a certain male entity who endures a near death experience in order to reach the ultimate goal. Fertility. And it's a small point, but I've been thinking about it. Doesn't the male reproductive DNA go on it's own journey to create larger journeys for everyone. It has to survive, much like Odysseus, who sails the seas running into foreign lands, barely escaping with his life. So, short, simple and sweet, this is an interesting idea I'm playing with for my next short story. An interview... something to ponder, TBA in story form.

Thoughts on Great Ideas

I think I was five when Disney's The Little Mermaid came to theaters everywhere. And I fell in love with the main character, Ariel. Because I thought I was her. No matter that I couldn't swim and that I was terrified of water. She was cool because she had red hair like me and could sing just like I imagined I sang at Bible School. I so loved that movie. And when The Lion King came out, I watched the movie with my mom and brother . . . and loved it because Jonathan Taylor Thomas did the voiceover work for Simba. (JTT was sooooo hot!) And even though Moufasa dies in the picture, it's Disney, and hey, what kid doesn't like Disney?

So as I continue in my reading of Homer's Odyssey, I start getting a funny feeling . . . like I've heard some of the stories in this epic before. Oh yes . . . that's because I have. Famous lines and ideas begin to bombard me as I see they've only been reused in the tales I grew up with. For instance, I initially believed George Lucas to be a total genius when I thrived on watching over and over, the original Star Wars trilogy. "Luke, I am your father . . ." -- okay, this has to be one of the most famous lines in movie history. George Lucas, you plot twister, you. But no, I'm adventuring away with Odysseus and I come to a familiar line . . . Odysseus decides to reveal his true identity to his son, Telemachus and says, "Why confuse me with one who never dies? No, I am your father--" George Lucas, I must say, you are much like Will Smith. You take a great work by a great artist and alter it to be your own. Good job. But it's not just Lucas who does this. It is everywhere. For instance, let's take a look at Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Okay. A very similar theme takes place in The Odyssey. Athena. When she wants to disguise Odysseus, she simply changes him into an old, scary looking beggar. This scene is much like the Queen in Snow White. In order to "deceive" those around her, namely Snow White, she changes herself into an old beggarly woman, dressed in rags. Athena does the same with Odysseus. He goes from riches to rags and back. . . .again and again. Okay, now let's try The Little Mermaid. The sea witch, Ursula, in order to gain power over King Triton (a mixed up mythological image) uses her "cunning" to entrap Ariel. She tells her she will turn the mermaid into a human where she can be with her prince if Ariel gives the sea witch her voice. And Ariel gives it freely. The sea witch uses Ariel's voice to entrap Prince Eric and keep him from marrying Ariel. Ursula, becoming beautiful, in this sense, turns into The Odyssey's siren. She's irresistably beautiful and her singing voice is not to be turned down. And then there's The Lion King; the most obvious connection. When Odysseus leaves Ithaca, suitors from all over take over his home and eat his house out of food, destroying everything. When the Disney version remakes this story, the King dies. However, the hyenas take over the kingdom, destroying the land around them and eating everything they can find.

When Will Smith would steal tunes from Stevie Wonder and other artists, I was upset, thinking his work was unoriginal and I found it appauling. How could someone steal someone else's work? But as I continue, I see it's done everywhere. Animal Ant Farm redid Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal, etc., etc., etc. And it seems that everytime someone "borrows" an idea, it's still popular beyond belief. And I love all these Disney movies. And I love Star Wars. . . and it feels a tad odd--I don't want to support things that I feel are stolen but on the same hand, it seems that "borrowing" sometimes builds to bigger and better avenues or avenues that connect with the modern world. And as I'm discovering, it's not all bad to take a great idea and build on it, making more great ideas.

Thoughts on the Odyssey

Just thinking here . . . why is it that I've fallen head over heels in love with Homer's Iliad but I'm struggling to fall in love with the Odyssey? It's not that the story is uninteresting . . . The Odyssey tends to be the story children fall in love with. Odysseus goes on crazy adventures, running into the Cyclops, Polyphemus, his men are turned into pigs and he takes on challenges by the gods. And these were the stories I loved in the ninth grade when Mr. Berger told us all to pull out our English books and begin reading. We read at home and sometimes we read aloud in class. (Of course, I read the name "Nobody" as "Nobdy" . . . but, oh well). And I fell in love. However, today, it seems the other way around. Totally intimidated by the Iliad, I several times took on the task of reading this monster only to make it through book one (if I was persistent enough to even make it through that) And the Iliad was filled with blood pulp and other types of gore. Am I just that sick these days? I'm not for sure. However, in my quest to discover the meaning of "truth", I think I've discovered the reality in the Iliad. People can be very cruel. And although Homer's Iliad is fictional, the grotesque brutality of human nature is very real--it is a story about men backed into corners; men threatened. And although Odysseus is certainly threatened in the Odyssey, I do not see him as being threatened the same way as the characters in the Iliad. Not even Odysseus himself is threatened the same way in the Odyssey as he is in the Iliad. True, his life is threatened, but he puts himself there. It is as though he had such great success in Troy that his head has only grown bigger in the sequel. Much like many ball players I've known in my time, Odysseus is frankly, a cocky s.o.b. He overly believes in himself thinking himself almost invinsible. And perhaps that is why the story doesn't strike me as much. Not because the story isn't good. I still love the adventures Odysseus goes on, but he is nevertheless that cocky basketball player I knew in high school. Both stories are true to human nature no matter what magic the gods possess. And Odysseus' truth is, he's full of himself, making me understand why he's gone from Ithaca for 20 years. But Odysseus, I'm only your cheerleader in the Iliad; I don't mind that your cocky ass has trouble making it home.

Thoughts on Numbers

These past two weeks I have begun to make the transition over from Homer's Iliad to the Odyssey. Wonderful works to be read. But as I'm transitioning, I begin to wonder if both works were really told by the same storyteller. Straight away, the Iliad teems with strong emotions...mostly rage as everyone does kill one another. But The Odyssey begins very calm and serene-like. And as I'm reading, I feel as though I'm on a cruise ship -- enjoying the meals, enjoying the entertainment; enjoying the ride. And then something strikes me. Numbers. They're all the same. Patroclus charged the wall three times. Odysseus was stuck on Calypso's island for seven years. The Trojans fought for nine years... Aside from the 40, 50, 90 long black ships, it seems to me that all the numbers in both texts are 3, 7, or 9. Why? Honestly, I have no idea. The number three is interesting because the Christian churches, I believe, use this number the most. The Holy Trinity. Three days and Jesus rose again. Etc. Outside of the church it seems that everything comes in threes for whatever reason. Take this summer for instance. Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died on the same day. But low and behold, just a few days later, Billy Mays bought the farm. All three big events lighting up the news and our television sets -- three being the prominent number. Perhaps Homer and the Greeks figured this out? Perhaps they recognized that for whatever reason, things (whatever they may be) come in threes. Seven. Okay, seven. Well, there's seven days in a week. That's easy enough. Biblically, seven days to create the universe. Seven is also used a lot in the book of Revelations. Perhaps that was really another thing the Greeks figured out before the Christians harbored it...? I don't know. I'm just told that the number seven represents completeness, which would make sense for Odysseus, seeing how he spends seven years on Ogygia with Calypso before he is released to return back to Ithaca. But why nine? And nine is the real reason this particular blog was spawned. While daydreaming one day, it occured to me, The Trojans fought for nine years before ending the war in the tenth. Okay. It takes Odysseus nine years before coming home in the tenth. (Making it all twenty years for the big guy.) But why nine? It's mentioned a healthy number of times (althought not as many as three or seven). What about the parallel to birth? When a woman conceives, the doctor gives her a due date -- nine months after conception. NINE. And it's funny...people typically believe a woman to be pregnant for nine months when in actuality she gives birth nine months after conception, equaling a grand total of TEN. Perhaps in both texts nine is a significant number because of what ten represents. It is a full circle. An even number. All of our fingers and toes are accounted for. Ten. After nine comes the birth. For the Greeks, it was to win over the Trojans. For Odysseus, it will be his respawning into his native land of Ithaca. As for me, it will take about three months to read The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Aeneid. Perhaps there is a little something in numbers...

Thoughts on Fortune and Glory

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is my utmost favorite Indiana Jones film. It's insanelyl abstract, as it deals with voodoo and magic, and depicts humans having their hearts ripped out after dining on snakes and chilled monkey brains. The story resides in India and brings forward gods like Shiva and Kali. A magic rock is stolen from a small village and our hero, Dr. Jones, is on a quest to retrieve the so-called magic rock. In discovering this rock, he can in turn, save the small village and achieve what he tells his sidekick, "fortune and glory". The rock will bring him fame among natives and will earn him a name in the archaeological world.

The stories are all the same, throughout history. And it may come as a shock, but Steven Spielberg was not the first man to come up with the selfish thoughts of achieving "fortune and glory". In fact, the idea of grasping this concept is very evident in Homer's Iliad. In book 6, when Hector returns to Troy, his wife, Andromache, begs and pleads with him not to go into battle for a slew of reasons -- they have a son together who needs a father figure, Andromache loves him; her entire family has been slaughtered, and Andromache doesn't want to become a slave to some Argive captain. But Hector, without thinking of Andromache's feelings tells her that if he dies in battle, too bad so sad...for her. She'll just have to slave away so he can achieve his own glory.

"But I would die of shame to face the men of Troy
and the Trojan women trailing their long robes
if I would shrink from battle now, a coward.
Nor does the spirit urge me on that way.
I've learned it all too well. To stand up bravely,
always to fight in the front ranks of Trojan soldiers,
winning my father great glory, glory for myself."
(Book Six)

King Agamemnon would do anything to get Achilles to fight in the war when his troops are being gravely slaughtered by the Trojans. So, what does he do? He offers the same thing to Achilles. Gifts are to be given of all kinds. Tripods, citadels, the finest women of Lesbos...and although all those things are lovely, Achilles has his own ideas regarding "fortune and glory". Before avenging his best friends' death, Achilles chooses to fight in the war at Troy, believing his name will live on for thousands of years. He knows he will die in Troy -- his mother told him that would be the price he would have to pay in going to fight. Even with this thought in the back of his mind, Achilles will win his glory. . . . and his fortune as well. . .although The Iliad is public domain now, so I don't believe he'll be receiving any sort of compensation. And, there's the fact that he did die.

But what about the gods? They're all selfish shits too. It's like a sporting event. The gods seperate into their own little "cliques" and cheer on their favorite team. (Goooooo TROJANS!) And why? It all started because of selfishness. So Paris chose Aphrodite as the most beautiful goddess. Okay, whoopty-doo. Is it really necessary to start an entire war over someone's beauty? Athena, Hera...get real. But no, they're feelings are hurt and so they join the Argives in order to get some sort of revenge. And what is it about Zeus? Perhaps the war is his way to take down the growing mortal population? Sounds a little Biblical to me, but instead of a flood, an "old testament" Zeus lets people kill people for nine years, going on ten.

Whatever the reasons, it seems to me that the biggest connection from person to person is fortune and glory. Everyone wants success. Recognition. Acceptance. Hera and Athena both wanted to be the most beautiful. (Paybacks are Hell, Trojans). And in some way, it saddens me. The Iliad, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and the story of contemporary people is all the same. We all seem to be selfish; only looking out for ourselves. Yes, it makes for interesting stories but is the lifelong stress really worth it?

Thoughts on “Father Zeus” and “Father Jim ”

Seven years ago The Biography Channel made a visit to a five bedroom, three bath home in Richmond, Indiana. Their quest: to interview a Mr. Bill Townsend, classmate of the famed People’s Temple leader, Jim Jones. Up until this particular day, I had no idea who Jim Jones was, or why my grandfather was being interviewed about him. My imagination led me to believe that this man was some famed NFL player – probably played for the Bengals. Thankfully, I was privy to sit in on the high-tech interview. An interview that would air in November, following the tragedy’s 20th anniversary.

I listened to my grandfather regale stories of the young Jim’s upbringing. His father had fought in the Second World War, had his lungs seared by mustard gas and could not provide for the family. Jim’s mother became the bread winner. Grandpa explained to the cameramen that Jim’s house was in shambles – a single chair, a single bulb hanging from a wire in the living room; nothing but a bare existence. And while Jim’s family was struggling to survive, he found solace in a neighbor lady who began taking Jim to a Holy Roller church. Grandpa explained that eventually, he could hear Jim preaching animal funerals for all the local kids – this would be the beginning of the end.

Later, I learned that Jim found power in “faith” and with this tool, could weaken even strong willed people. Eventually, a drug induced and paranoid Jones, began believing himself to be “God”. He slept with followers and practiced other forms of mind control in order to maintain power in his growing church, The People’s Temple . . . and followers signed over their homes and gave Jim their paychecks. Fearing a government coup, Jones took his followers to Guyana where he ultimately convinced his supporters to commit suicide by drinking a cyanide laced Kool-Aid. 913 perished.

Zeus, an Old Testament-like god thrived in the minds of men thousands of years ago among the Greeks . . . and people of all manners saw the god of the gods as their leader. He was a god everyone showed respect to. At least, they were supposed to show respect to. And during the Trojan War, no matter what any other god or goddess chose to do, Zeus had the ultimate authority. Like Jones, Zeus slept with whoever he wanted whenever he wanted and in this way, gained power. He brought to the world countless heroes.

Like Jones, Zeus held in his might the fates of many. And although Hera and Athena fought for the Greeks to prosper, no goddess could trump Zeus. No matter what anyone believed, Zeus was the ultimate pedestrian; always seizing the right of way. With whatever mood Zeus was in, like the lightning he carried, a flash could change everything if he so chose: the outcome of the war, his hair color, you name it.

I find it interesting that in all their greatness, ultimately, both Zeus and Jones are incredibly susceptible to flaw. People look at Jones or the god of thunder and see the greatest strength. One is a god and the other claims to be God – both dubbed “Father”. But it is because of their flaws that make their stories so incredibly interesting and memorable. Many followed them both. Many believed in their power, even when their decisions mark the deaths of the plenty.

Thoughts on The Iliad, Horses, and Lions -- Oh my!

And so, I’m reading Books 1-8 of Homer's Iliad and aside from constant slaughter, certain images continue to reappear throughout the text. At first it’s horses. Okay, that’s lovely – my favorite animal growing up as a child. And then it’s lions. Okay, I’m a big cat lover too; always thought it would be nifty to have a domesticated lion in my home one day. And as I’m trekking along in the reading, I’m overwhelmed by long black ships in Book Two, a self-proclaimed “whore” in Book Three, and more slaughter in . . . well, all of the books. Needless to say, the horse and lion imagery stands out as something interesting. And I begin to piece the puzzle together.

I remember as a young girl watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with a slew of other young and eager minds at my babysitter's abode. And although I grasped that Jesus, or God, or whomever was actually the lion in the story, the symbolism never dawned on me. However, with age comes growth (hopefully) and I seem to have discovered a link. Typically, the lion takes on a pseudonym. Aka: "King of the Jungle". Alright, we have "King". God in turn becomes associated with the lion in that aspect. God is King. Great. Got it. The lion also represents power. And we've all seen it on Discovery -- a lion with the mass of a small oil rig takes down an unsuspecting zebra. In the Christian Bible, we learn that God is all powerful and can smite anyone he so chooses. Okay. I get that too. And it would make sense that the Greeks would use such a powerful image. (And just a side note, this image should be understood as HUGE foreshadowing -- if you didn't already know the Trojans are taken down by the Greeks...after all, a riderless horse should be easy for a lion to take down). And now the Trojans. Their image? A horse of course. You have Prince Hector, breaker of horses. Hell, the land of Troy is known as the land of stallions. And although horses are powerful, fast, and elegantly beautiful, they are really nothing compared to lions. Horses are herbivorous. Lions, carnivorous. And although lions may be captured and caged, they are not much for being domesticated. Horses are meant to be broken. They're meant to serve mankind. Hello...yet another hint toward the outcome of the Trojan War. The Greeks will also use the horse symbol against their own will -- to penetrate their own walls. Another form of breaking.

And as I continue to read (although I already know the outcome of the war) I am continuously saddened. It feels like reading "Romeo and Juliet" all over again -- you know the couple dies in the end but all the while, you hope that somehow, magically, the text will change and everything will turn out happy and frilly. But frankly, that's just not the way life works. There is no Hollywood ending. There is no cheating. And whether I like it or not (or anyone else for that matter) the Trojans will lose. And had I not known they would lose before reading, I should be able to at least pick up on the animal imagery and what side each corresponds to. And with death surrounding the text, I grasped onto hopefully happy imagery. Horses. Lions. ...Only to be saddened again by it all.