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.