My gosh, I've been getting busy lately, and we're just about to hit the apex ...
In recent weeks, I've seen King Crimson, Medeski, Martin & Wood, and the Chemical Brothers. Tonight, Great Big Sea (yay!). Then on May 4, my Man got us tickets for Rent and I'm as happy as a little girl! Yay, I'm turning into a dramafag or something!
*ahem*
Anyway, quickly following on the heels of that, Alanis Morrisette with Ryan Adams on May 7.
I'm going out something like twice a week. This is very unlike me.
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
Monday, April 29, 2002
In recent weeks, I've been thinking about what it means to be true to oneself, one's principles, etc., and I kept holding off because I didn't figure my ideas were well-formed enough to write at length. But then I figured, at the current rate, they may never be, so write now.
I've often reflected on the fact that we're very often defined more by what we hate or shun than by what we love and profess. It's an essential irony. It seems that what we hate and/or fear in others is almost invariably an aspect of ourselves that we don't want to look at, or is something we fear becoming, something we are separated from by the thinnest of barriers, self-control.
There was a folk singer in Phoenix (well, I'd assume he's still here, although I haven't heard much about him in at least 7 or 8 years) who was a rampaging crusader against the politics of groupthink. Committees and organizations had a tendency to deaden the process of promoting folk music, he reasoned. The groups became more about politicking and power-mongering and less about artistic expression and cultural preservation.
And yet everything he wrote and published, and indeed anywhere his name appeared in print, it was followed by a string of acronyms signifying all of the organizations of which he was a member.
Are these exceptions or hypocrisy?
I'd have to say both. I've come to understand that, to a certain extent, hypocrisy is a necessary part of human society. It seems impossible to adhere totally to one's principles and beliefs. Practicality and social interaction temper our beliefs. Students of psychology call this cognitive dissonance, at least when the disparity between belief and action are extreme and when a person can't adequately reconcile the two.
So, what to do? Say to hell with everyone else and go live in a cave? It worked for Thoreau, after a fashion and for a short time. But ultimately I don't think it does anyone much good. Principles are ideals, superlatives that can be approached and aimed for, but never reached, unless you're either a saint or a madman/fanatic. And since I don't know anyone possessing sufficient hubris to call him- or herself a saint, that leaves fanatics, madmen and hypocrites.
Sound like a horrible state of affairs? Maybe. But reflect on this.
Even Gandhi, at one point, voiced his opinion that the Palestinian people had a natural right to their fight for independence from Israel (although let me make it very clear here, by way of disclaimer, that I'm not claiming he ever said suicide bombers would make a great war strategy.
Daily life is a constant struggle, for those who think about it, to balance action and principle. And the best we can hope for is that we strike the right balance, and that those who seek to judge us pluck the splinters from their own eyes before pointing out the specks in ours.
I've often reflected on the fact that we're very often defined more by what we hate or shun than by what we love and profess. It's an essential irony. It seems that what we hate and/or fear in others is almost invariably an aspect of ourselves that we don't want to look at, or is something we fear becoming, something we are separated from by the thinnest of barriers, self-control.
There was a folk singer in Phoenix (well, I'd assume he's still here, although I haven't heard much about him in at least 7 or 8 years) who was a rampaging crusader against the politics of groupthink. Committees and organizations had a tendency to deaden the process of promoting folk music, he reasoned. The groups became more about politicking and power-mongering and less about artistic expression and cultural preservation.
And yet everything he wrote and published, and indeed anywhere his name appeared in print, it was followed by a string of acronyms signifying all of the organizations of which he was a member.
Are these exceptions or hypocrisy?
I'd have to say both. I've come to understand that, to a certain extent, hypocrisy is a necessary part of human society. It seems impossible to adhere totally to one's principles and beliefs. Practicality and social interaction temper our beliefs. Students of psychology call this cognitive dissonance, at least when the disparity between belief and action are extreme and when a person can't adequately reconcile the two.
So, what to do? Say to hell with everyone else and go live in a cave? It worked for Thoreau, after a fashion and for a short time. But ultimately I don't think it does anyone much good. Principles are ideals, superlatives that can be approached and aimed for, but never reached, unless you're either a saint or a madman/fanatic. And since I don't know anyone possessing sufficient hubris to call him- or herself a saint, that leaves fanatics, madmen and hypocrites.
Sound like a horrible state of affairs? Maybe. But reflect on this.
Even Gandhi, at one point, voiced his opinion that the Palestinian people had a natural right to their fight for independence from Israel (although let me make it very clear here, by way of disclaimer, that I'm not claiming he ever said suicide bombers would make a great war strategy.
Daily life is a constant struggle, for those who think about it, to balance action and principle. And the best we can hope for is that we strike the right balance, and that those who seek to judge us pluck the splinters from their own eyes before pointing out the specks in ours.
Sunday, April 28, 2002
Well, once again I find myself posting from the outside ...
In reference to this livejournal entry ...
I understand my comments may not be tremendously welcome, so I'll be brief and won't comment again on this thread, nor likely any others of his in the near future.
Setting aside the subject of drugs, I want to applaud his new-found flexibility. I think it's something I tried in the least effective possible way to show him for the longest time.
I also know his entry wasn't directed in any wise toward me. But what he wrote has great applicability to many of the discussions, arguments, fights, etc., we've had over the years, and they're words I've waited a long time to hear him say.
Compromising in one's dealings with other people doesn't necessarily equate with abandoning one's principles.
In reference to this livejournal entry ...
I understand my comments may not be tremendously welcome, so I'll be brief and won't comment again on this thread, nor likely any others of his in the near future.
Setting aside the subject of drugs, I want to applaud his new-found flexibility. I think it's something I tried in the least effective possible way to show him for the longest time.
I also know his entry wasn't directed in any wise toward me. But what he wrote has great applicability to many of the discussions, arguments, fights, etc., we've had over the years, and they're words I've waited a long time to hear him say.
Compromising in one's dealings with other people doesn't necessarily equate with abandoning one's principles.
Monday, April 22, 2002
I read a livejournal entry today that made me happy, nostalgic and angry all at once. Rather than respond there, mostly because the things I want to say are longer than I like to make my responses and also to minimize the likelihood of sanctimonious backlash, I'm going to reminisce here.
Back a couple of years ago now, I was about to graduate from college. My relationship with Joseph was stable and there was a long-standing offer from my father and stepmother for a Scottish terrier puppy if I ever decided I wanted one. Joseph and I talked it over, addressed their concerns, made sure we were ready, and I asked for one. He was my graduation present.
Joseph and I visited to pick out the puppy. We were both leaning toward one, but I vacillated. Joseph was more firm, so we chose him. I named him Monty, a compromise of sorts since Joseph wanted to name him Scotty (after Mr. Scott from Star Trek). Scotty's first name was Montgomery, and I'm also a big Monty Python and Simpson's fan, so Monty seemed like the natural name for him.
Monty is my first dog.
Joseph and I put a lot of effort into trying to raise him right; that is to say, Joseph put a lot of work in and I tried, but was often paralyzed by indecision and fear of doing the wrong thing. But in the end he ended up the sweetest dog I've ever had the pleasure of sharing time with. My bond with him was instant and enduring.
He doesn't bark much. Since puppyhood he's destroyed almost none of my or my house-/roommates' things. He likes to play, and can be pushy, but is usually satisfied with five or 10 minutes of concentrated play before lazing contentedly on some piece of furniture. He's very excitable when I come home, and always has been. When Joseph and I were together, he was similarly excitable around him. He liked us both a lot, it would seem.
When Joseph and I broke up for a time when I lived in California, I moved to a different part of town. I knew few people, and those I did lived an impractical distance away. I was emotionally distraught and geographically distant from any emotional support. Consequently, Monty filled that void. His love was unconditional, his tail-wag unfeigned. He liked to walk and liked to play, and liked to be lazy, too. When I was busy or sitting at the computer, he would lie curled up contentedly under my legs for hours.
It was during that time that I most came to appreciate Monty, and to bear the responsibility of caring for him almost exclusively myself -- the time-honored tale of a boy and his dog, only about 20 years later in life for me.
But I knew how special he was to Joseph, too. When he and I reestablished relations, I always made sure to bring Monty with me to see him. And Joseph was always delighted to see him, too. Playing with Monty was a bonding experience that always brought us closer, this puppy brought up in our household.
Eventually, Joseph decided he wanted a Scottie of his own, so we visited my dad and stepmother in Phoenix, and we picked out a puppy that would be Joseph's; a younger brother of Monty who we also would raise together.
Unfortunately, around this time, our relationship started to fall apart again, as did my professional life. Lacking a job, I was a stay-at-home dad to Crichton (Joseph's new puppy) and also to Monty. Crichton generally made more noise than Monty and was more apt to get into trouble, but was no less sweet or loveable. If anything, he was more eager to please and more energetic.
Joseph and Crichton never bonded the way Joseph and Monty did, which caused difficulty when our eventually final breakup came. Joseph strongly suggested that I should take Crichton and leave Monty for him. I did consider it briefly.
In the end, though, I realized how attached I was to the little overbred pile of black fur. I thought back to our time apart and thought how much Monty had meant to me then. I knew that Crichton was a good dog who, too, loved both Joseph and me and who would, in the absence of Monty and me, bond with Joseph in the way that Crichton and I had started to bond while I was home all the time. Had it been clear that Monty didn't like me, or that he clearly favored Joseph, I may have chosen differently.
But Monty is my first dog. And he likes me!
For a time after I moved, it did seem from reports that Crichton and Joseph were getting along well, although his care, it's my understanding, almost always fell to Charles, Joseph's ex and new roommate. But it was clear to me that Joseph still felt bitterness about me taking Monty. He looked at Crichton as the emblem of his failure, I think, to keep Monty there. He certainly treated Crichton well enough and with sufficient care, but it seems to me he never showed him the same love he showed Monty.
Eventually, he had to leave his apartment for a new one that would not accept pets and he took me up on my offer to take Crichton from him if that need ever arose. We had a good visit. I was pleased to see Crichton in such good health, but dismayed that he seemed to be almost permanently locked in some small area, be it the patio or a bathroom or a kennel. When Joseph wasn't around, which was a large part of the time, seemingly, Crichton had to be put away so he wouldn't damage things.
It became, I feel, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Terriers have a lot of energy and need a lot of playtime and attention. When they don't get it, they misbehave. It seems that the more he misbehaved, the more he was restrained. The more he was restrained, the more he misbehaved. And Joseph had a new and budding social life. Even had he stayed in that apartment, I doubt Joseph would have wanted to keep Crichton much longer.
Since I brought Crichton back to Phoenix, Joseph hasn't once asked after him. For the short time I had him, Crichton and I bonded anew. His behavior improved significantly after a couple of weeks. He enjoyed having Monty to play with and a back yard to play in at all times of the day.
I'm much better at caring for dogs now. And I'm glad I kept Monty; every day, I look at him and experience a sense of awe and wonder that such a wonderful beast should be entrusted to my care, and that I seem to be up to the task.
He's my first dog and I love him. We have a lot of good memories, even in just two years. And bad luck to anyone who tries to take him from me.
Back a couple of years ago now, I was about to graduate from college. My relationship with Joseph was stable and there was a long-standing offer from my father and stepmother for a Scottish terrier puppy if I ever decided I wanted one. Joseph and I talked it over, addressed their concerns, made sure we were ready, and I asked for one. He was my graduation present.
Joseph and I visited to pick out the puppy. We were both leaning toward one, but I vacillated. Joseph was more firm, so we chose him. I named him Monty, a compromise of sorts since Joseph wanted to name him Scotty (after Mr. Scott from Star Trek). Scotty's first name was Montgomery, and I'm also a big Monty Python and Simpson's fan, so Monty seemed like the natural name for him.
Monty is my first dog.
Joseph and I put a lot of effort into trying to raise him right; that is to say, Joseph put a lot of work in and I tried, but was often paralyzed by indecision and fear of doing the wrong thing. But in the end he ended up the sweetest dog I've ever had the pleasure of sharing time with. My bond with him was instant and enduring.
He doesn't bark much. Since puppyhood he's destroyed almost none of my or my house-/roommates' things. He likes to play, and can be pushy, but is usually satisfied with five or 10 minutes of concentrated play before lazing contentedly on some piece of furniture. He's very excitable when I come home, and always has been. When Joseph and I were together, he was similarly excitable around him. He liked us both a lot, it would seem.
When Joseph and I broke up for a time when I lived in California, I moved to a different part of town. I knew few people, and those I did lived an impractical distance away. I was emotionally distraught and geographically distant from any emotional support. Consequently, Monty filled that void. His love was unconditional, his tail-wag unfeigned. He liked to walk and liked to play, and liked to be lazy, too. When I was busy or sitting at the computer, he would lie curled up contentedly under my legs for hours.
It was during that time that I most came to appreciate Monty, and to bear the responsibility of caring for him almost exclusively myself -- the time-honored tale of a boy and his dog, only about 20 years later in life for me.
But I knew how special he was to Joseph, too. When he and I reestablished relations, I always made sure to bring Monty with me to see him. And Joseph was always delighted to see him, too. Playing with Monty was a bonding experience that always brought us closer, this puppy brought up in our household.
Eventually, Joseph decided he wanted a Scottie of his own, so we visited my dad and stepmother in Phoenix, and we picked out a puppy that would be Joseph's; a younger brother of Monty who we also would raise together.
Unfortunately, around this time, our relationship started to fall apart again, as did my professional life. Lacking a job, I was a stay-at-home dad to Crichton (Joseph's new puppy) and also to Monty. Crichton generally made more noise than Monty and was more apt to get into trouble, but was no less sweet or loveable. If anything, he was more eager to please and more energetic.
Joseph and Crichton never bonded the way Joseph and Monty did, which caused difficulty when our eventually final breakup came. Joseph strongly suggested that I should take Crichton and leave Monty for him. I did consider it briefly.
In the end, though, I realized how attached I was to the little overbred pile of black fur. I thought back to our time apart and thought how much Monty had meant to me then. I knew that Crichton was a good dog who, too, loved both Joseph and me and who would, in the absence of Monty and me, bond with Joseph in the way that Crichton and I had started to bond while I was home all the time. Had it been clear that Monty didn't like me, or that he clearly favored Joseph, I may have chosen differently.
But Monty is my first dog. And he likes me!
For a time after I moved, it did seem from reports that Crichton and Joseph were getting along well, although his care, it's my understanding, almost always fell to Charles, Joseph's ex and new roommate. But it was clear to me that Joseph still felt bitterness about me taking Monty. He looked at Crichton as the emblem of his failure, I think, to keep Monty there. He certainly treated Crichton well enough and with sufficient care, but it seems to me he never showed him the same love he showed Monty.
Eventually, he had to leave his apartment for a new one that would not accept pets and he took me up on my offer to take Crichton from him if that need ever arose. We had a good visit. I was pleased to see Crichton in such good health, but dismayed that he seemed to be almost permanently locked in some small area, be it the patio or a bathroom or a kennel. When Joseph wasn't around, which was a large part of the time, seemingly, Crichton had to be put away so he wouldn't damage things.
It became, I feel, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Terriers have a lot of energy and need a lot of playtime and attention. When they don't get it, they misbehave. It seems that the more he misbehaved, the more he was restrained. The more he was restrained, the more he misbehaved. And Joseph had a new and budding social life. Even had he stayed in that apartment, I doubt Joseph would have wanted to keep Crichton much longer.
Since I brought Crichton back to Phoenix, Joseph hasn't once asked after him. For the short time I had him, Crichton and I bonded anew. His behavior improved significantly after a couple of weeks. He enjoyed having Monty to play with and a back yard to play in at all times of the day.
I'm much better at caring for dogs now. And I'm glad I kept Monty; every day, I look at him and experience a sense of awe and wonder that such a wonderful beast should be entrusted to my care, and that I seem to be up to the task.
He's my first dog and I love him. We have a lot of good memories, even in just two years. And bad luck to anyone who tries to take him from me.
Thursday, April 18, 2002
Hm.
|
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
It's funny how having a dog/dogs changes your perspective on things, provided, that is, that you like dogs in the first place.
Driving with my sister the other day, we were fast approaching her house when we saw, walking down the street, a stray dog of the more-fur-than-dog, indeterminate ancestry variety. From the length and dirtiness of its coat, it seemed it had been away from its home for more than a few days.
Long story short, we actually didn't stop for the dog. We kept driving, got home, went in her house and generally didn't give him (or her, possibly) much more thought.
But I felt guilty.
In past times, I'd have looked on the dog with some annoyance ... with the owner(s) for having inadequately kept the dog and with someone for not having called the pound and had it picked up.
But I wanted to take the dog home, care for it, show it attention and try to find its home. It's apparent to me how Monty feels when I'm just away from home for too long. Life for a dog in the warmth of Phoenix without caring human companionship and shelter must be very hard indeed.
Maybe I'm just a sentimental sap. I don't know. And why I, in the end, didn't do anything for the poor thing after all is a subject for further consideration.
All I can say is that I love my dog, and he doesn't seem to mind having me around, either.
Now if I could just get him to stop peeing on things to claim territory (e.g., our apartment) ...
Driving with my sister the other day, we were fast approaching her house when we saw, walking down the street, a stray dog of the more-fur-than-dog, indeterminate ancestry variety. From the length and dirtiness of its coat, it seemed it had been away from its home for more than a few days.
Long story short, we actually didn't stop for the dog. We kept driving, got home, went in her house and generally didn't give him (or her, possibly) much more thought.
But I felt guilty.
In past times, I'd have looked on the dog with some annoyance ... with the owner(s) for having inadequately kept the dog and with someone for not having called the pound and had it picked up.
But I wanted to take the dog home, care for it, show it attention and try to find its home. It's apparent to me how Monty feels when I'm just away from home for too long. Life for a dog in the warmth of Phoenix without caring human companionship and shelter must be very hard indeed.
Maybe I'm just a sentimental sap. I don't know. And why I, in the end, didn't do anything for the poor thing after all is a subject for further consideration.
All I can say is that I love my dog, and he doesn't seem to mind having me around, either.
Now if I could just get him to stop peeing on things to claim territory (e.g., our apartment) ...
Tuesday, April 09, 2002
grow up to be receptionists. Gah, I ache.
As a fill-in-where-I'm-needed office assistant, I get to do all sorts of different jobs. Today I got to be the receptionist. Yesterday, too.
Between the constant ringing of the phones, the running through the office to find people, the paperwork, the filing, the sorting and everything else, I'm exhausted and my legs hurt. Remind me never to take a job as a receptionist.
Still, I get paid pretty well to do it.
Sleep beckons ...
As a fill-in-where-I'm-needed office assistant, I get to do all sorts of different jobs. Today I got to be the receptionist. Yesterday, too.
Between the constant ringing of the phones, the running through the office to find people, the paperwork, the filing, the sorting and everything else, I'm exhausted and my legs hurt. Remind me never to take a job as a receptionist.
Still, I get paid pretty well to do it.
Sleep beckons ...
Saturday, April 06, 2002
I'm finally giving up.
I've spent the last 6+ months of my life beating my head against a brick wall and trying (pardon the mixed metaphors) to keep the fraying thread of my friendship with Joseph from snapping. I finally realized it's never going to work until he wants to come to me. So that's it. Now I wait. Perhaps forever.
So what precipitated this final turnabout?
In a word, "its."
We'll move backward a few days. I was chatting with him on IRC and at some point, in the IRC channel, he once again, as he frequently does (as those of you who've read anything he types can attest) used "it's" to mean the possessive of '"it," which you may know is actually not punctuated at all and is hence spelled "its."
Now I know this is hardly an earth-shaking problem, but it's always been my number one language pet peeve. I've mentioned it to him on a number of occasions and always gotten brushed off, then ignored it for another few months before mentioning it again.
So I says to the guy, I says, "And for God's sake, PLEASE please please stop using 'it's' when you mean 'its.'" I followed on by saying it looked ignorant.
Oops.
Apparently I was mistaken when I thought that our relations had improved sufficiently that I could rib him a little.
To cut a long story short, no amount of abasing myself and apologizing for my rudeness (and I again acknowledge here I was a bit rude -- a bit of miscalculation on my part) have had any effect. He seems largely to be of the opinion that by offering this correction, I was proving, finally and incontrovertably, that I really do consider myself better than him.
What complete and utter bullshit. Maybe I shouldn't have corrected him, maybe I shouldn't have taken that particular moment for some mild ribbing. But let's get real. Do any of you guys out there think I was setting myself above him as a person, over some little matter of grammar? Because after much give and take, it became apparent that he was pointing to this as emblematic of an overinflated ego.
So then the other night (one or two days after the initial explosion) immediately following yet another bout of attempting to apologize via Yahoo! Messenger (as he had since completely cut off all communication with me on IRC [which brings up another interesting point ... not satisfied with a simple '/ignore', he's quite pleased with himself for having adapting a system of scripting that basically tosses out the window anything with my IRC nick in it before his client even comes into play]), some lines of our conversation get posted to the IRC channel.
Those of you familiar with IRC will know that it's quite common to misdirect communication intended for a private conversation into the public channel. And those of you who know me well, especially in an online context, know that the one thing I hate more than anything else in terms of online chatting is when private conversations I've had with others get quoted in public or to others in their conversations.
I also know that it is not uncommon for Joseph to vent his frustrations with me to his friends, either in chat or in restricted-access livejournal entries. While these irritate me because I have no idea what's being said about me and hence cannot defend myself against it (which incidentally is specifically why I have made the conscious decision to leave this post public), I really can't do anything about it.
Anyway, put these disparate threads together and you can see where I might suspect that he's quoting from our conversation to someone else and accidentally misdirecting his messages to the public channel.
Angered by the possibility, I call him on it by Yahoo! message.
When he finally gets his computer working the next day, he tells me that his computer decided to stop operating properly, and must have randomly spilled the buffer into the channel, that he spent the evening trying to fix it, and, in short, that my suspicion and accusation was untrue. He wasn't quite that polite, though. And he was much, much angrier even than before.
I doubt even an e-mail would get through to him now. I'm sure I'm on his mail server's spammer list or something else similar to keep my foul electrons from sullying his computer.
I felt bad for a few moments, and tried to apologize for making what was clearly an untrue accusation. I don't know if he ever read the apology or if he even cares to any longer.
But I'm sick and tired of it. I've always held him in the highest esteem. In the months since our breakup I've had to defend him countless times against people who feel he treated me unfairly in our relationship (a subject on which I remain neutral since it's pointless anymore). I've never counted myself above him. I've been polite, cheery and friendly for months in the face of his rudeness, gruffness and curtness and his insults. I've tried at every turn to be his friend.
We've had our arguments, even in the last few months, and some of them severe. But we recognized largely that they came about because two people who've been as close as we have know better than anyone else where those buttons are and how to push them. And we were so very, very close to finally being friends, I think.
But fuck it.
No more screaming at the sky. No more pushing the rock up the hill, only to have it roll down again.
And no more apologies. Even if I do screw up, even if I am at fault. And especially no more apologies for being right.
I've spent the last 6+ months of my life beating my head against a brick wall and trying (pardon the mixed metaphors) to keep the fraying thread of my friendship with Joseph from snapping. I finally realized it's never going to work until he wants to come to me. So that's it. Now I wait. Perhaps forever.
So what precipitated this final turnabout?
In a word, "its."
We'll move backward a few days. I was chatting with him on IRC and at some point, in the IRC channel, he once again, as he frequently does (as those of you who've read anything he types can attest) used "it's" to mean the possessive of '"it," which you may know is actually not punctuated at all and is hence spelled "its."
Now I know this is hardly an earth-shaking problem, but it's always been my number one language pet peeve. I've mentioned it to him on a number of occasions and always gotten brushed off, then ignored it for another few months before mentioning it again.
So I says to the guy, I says, "And for God's sake, PLEASE please please stop using 'it's' when you mean 'its.'" I followed on by saying it looked ignorant.
Oops.
Apparently I was mistaken when I thought that our relations had improved sufficiently that I could rib him a little.
To cut a long story short, no amount of abasing myself and apologizing for my rudeness (and I again acknowledge here I was a bit rude -- a bit of miscalculation on my part) have had any effect. He seems largely to be of the opinion that by offering this correction, I was proving, finally and incontrovertably, that I really do consider myself better than him.
What complete and utter bullshit. Maybe I shouldn't have corrected him, maybe I shouldn't have taken that particular moment for some mild ribbing. But let's get real. Do any of you guys out there think I was setting myself above him as a person, over some little matter of grammar? Because after much give and take, it became apparent that he was pointing to this as emblematic of an overinflated ego.
So then the other night (one or two days after the initial explosion) immediately following yet another bout of attempting to apologize via Yahoo! Messenger (as he had since completely cut off all communication with me on IRC [which brings up another interesting point ... not satisfied with a simple '/ignore', he's quite pleased with himself for having adapting a system of scripting that basically tosses out the window anything with my IRC nick in it before his client even comes into play]), some lines of our conversation get posted to the IRC channel.
Those of you familiar with IRC will know that it's quite common to misdirect communication intended for a private conversation into the public channel. And those of you who know me well, especially in an online context, know that the one thing I hate more than anything else in terms of online chatting is when private conversations I've had with others get quoted in public or to others in their conversations.
I also know that it is not uncommon for Joseph to vent his frustrations with me to his friends, either in chat or in restricted-access livejournal entries. While these irritate me because I have no idea what's being said about me and hence cannot defend myself against it (which incidentally is specifically why I have made the conscious decision to leave this post public), I really can't do anything about it.
Anyway, put these disparate threads together and you can see where I might suspect that he's quoting from our conversation to someone else and accidentally misdirecting his messages to the public channel.
Angered by the possibility, I call him on it by Yahoo! message.
When he finally gets his computer working the next day, he tells me that his computer decided to stop operating properly, and must have randomly spilled the buffer into the channel, that he spent the evening trying to fix it, and, in short, that my suspicion and accusation was untrue. He wasn't quite that polite, though. And he was much, much angrier even than before.
I doubt even an e-mail would get through to him now. I'm sure I'm on his mail server's spammer list or something else similar to keep my foul electrons from sullying his computer.
I felt bad for a few moments, and tried to apologize for making what was clearly an untrue accusation. I don't know if he ever read the apology or if he even cares to any longer.
But I'm sick and tired of it. I've always held him in the highest esteem. In the months since our breakup I've had to defend him countless times against people who feel he treated me unfairly in our relationship (a subject on which I remain neutral since it's pointless anymore). I've never counted myself above him. I've been polite, cheery and friendly for months in the face of his rudeness, gruffness and curtness and his insults. I've tried at every turn to be his friend.
We've had our arguments, even in the last few months, and some of them severe. But we recognized largely that they came about because two people who've been as close as we have know better than anyone else where those buttons are and how to push them. And we were so very, very close to finally being friends, I think.
But fuck it.
No more screaming at the sky. No more pushing the rock up the hill, only to have it roll down again.
And no more apologies. Even if I do screw up, even if I am at fault. And especially no more apologies for being right.
Thursday, April 04, 2002
So I've been getting more and more angered by the whole Israel-Palestine thing. I haven't exactly been neutral on it for years and years, and I let out a little 'uh-oh' when Sharon was elected Prime Minister of Israel, but of course the latest events in the region have brought the whole subject, and the thoughts it engenders, even more into my mind.
So I'm going to try to outline where I stand, perhaps explain what I think is going on, and expound on why it is I've turned so squarely against the Israeli government. Where my facts are wrong, please correct me. Where my opinions are wrong, argue ... sensibly. In other words, make good points, don't just call me a traitorous terrorist-lover; few things could be further from the truth.
Going back to 1948, we see the state of Israel carved out of most of the up-to-them British colony of Palestine. For giving up most of their country, the Palestinians got to keep a little bit of land and got the British government's hands of its affairs. Not exactly the greatest deal in history, but not the worst, either. Understandably, there were a number of Palestinian people, and Arabic neighbors of the new country, who were none too pleased about the new arrangement. The Israeli government needed to defend itself, and fast.
Consequently, they turned themselves into a bit of a military state, and had to defend themselves pretty fiercely for a number of years, with the help of the UN, the US and other (mostly Western) allies. Then comes 1967. Feeling threatened by Palestinian nationalism and continuing feelings by their Arab neighbors that pretty much everyone got shafted in the deal except the mostly-immigrant Jews, Israel decides on a little war. A short one.
They decided that the rest of the real estate, that the Palestinians got, they wanted, too. Realistically, they felt that there was a continued threat of revolution and terrorism emanating from those areas (and southern Lebanon, too, where Palestinian nationalists were taking advantage of the civil unrest and anarchy to shield themselves from the Israeli government) and so they invaded. Nice.
Rather than making plans to clean house, so to speak, and hand the land back to the people to whom it belonged, they started to set up shop there, populating towns and settlements in an effort basically to claim a homeland stake that wasn't theirs to seize in the first place. I'm reminded of similarities in Irish history that led to the past and present conflicts in Northern Ireland; maybe I'll get into those another time.
Suspending judgment for a moment, place yourselves in the shoes of your average Palestinian citizen. You feel at least some identification with others of your race, nationality and faith. You were promised something in return for letting the new guy move in next door. The new guy moves in and takes it away from you. What do you feel?
You feel like you want your stuff back, and possibly even the house you let the guy move into in the first place, just cos you kinda feel like their end of the bargain wasn't upheld.
So you yell, scream, point fingers, cry for help. The guy bashes your face into the floor and the people who asked you to do this in the first place say that it's his right, since he belongs here now.
That's a breeding ground for desperate acts. I do not support terrorism in any fashion, and I think there are almost always alternatives to even more 'civilized' kinds of armed conflict. But I see where it came from. When you have no avenue for the redress of your grievances, you resort to more desperate means.
So let's fast forward to a few years ago. Yasser Arafat, leader of his people in their fight to regain their lands, makes unpopular compromises in the interest of peace, to put the Palestinians back on the road to independence; a lot of his people can't look forward far enough to appreciate anything other than immediate independence.
So Arafat makes a calculated risk, using his political capital to pull his people in a direction they aren't fully ready to go, thinking that in the end he'll be vindicated as the visionary who brought about the Palestinian state.
As several more years go by, each Palestinian step is met by an Israeli half-step. Palestinians lose patience, Arafat's stock plummets, and eventually things are on the brink of unravelling.
Enter Sharon. Former general and confirmed hawk, this is bad news. But he seems willing to consider peace and stability and, if not a Palestinian state, then at least some limited form of Palestinian self-determination.
Then comes the last few weeks. To sum up, Sharon ties Arafat's hands behind his back, then blames him for not doing anything when idiotically radical Palestinians start striking again in their desperate and wholly reprehensible way. They tell him to make them stop, not realizing that even among mainstream Palestinians he has only the thinnest thread of credibility left, and absolutely none left with the radical fringe. They will do him no more favors because they are convinced the Israelis cannot be trusted to live up to their end of any bargain (not to mention the ones who want to obliterate the state of Israel utterly).
And still everyone blames him for not stopping it. No one is listening to him. He's locked up in a little room. And he's supposed to magically make everyone play nice and listen to what the reasonable Israelis have to say.
The Israelis who mow down crowds of Palestinian civilians. The Israelis who view every Palestinian as a terrorist. The Israelis who deny passage to ambulances sent to bear the wounded, and even the run-of-the-mill sick Palestinians, to medical care. The Israelis who block aid workers and clergymen from delivering food, medicine and care to the innocent who are caught up in the struggle.
Frankly, I think it's time for the US to pull its money out of funding the Israeli government and military and put it into a UN mission to eject Israel from the West Bank and Gaza Strip and disarm Palestinian terrorists, work with the Palestinians to set up a functioning national government and help the Israelis move their settlements back to Israeli land.
Chris steps down from his soapbox and waits for the stoning to commence.
So I'm going to try to outline where I stand, perhaps explain what I think is going on, and expound on why it is I've turned so squarely against the Israeli government. Where my facts are wrong, please correct me. Where my opinions are wrong, argue ... sensibly. In other words, make good points, don't just call me a traitorous terrorist-lover; few things could be further from the truth.
Going back to 1948, we see the state of Israel carved out of most of the up-to-them British colony of Palestine. For giving up most of their country, the Palestinians got to keep a little bit of land and got the British government's hands of its affairs. Not exactly the greatest deal in history, but not the worst, either. Understandably, there were a number of Palestinian people, and Arabic neighbors of the new country, who were none too pleased about the new arrangement. The Israeli government needed to defend itself, and fast.
Consequently, they turned themselves into a bit of a military state, and had to defend themselves pretty fiercely for a number of years, with the help of the UN, the US and other (mostly Western) allies. Then comes 1967. Feeling threatened by Palestinian nationalism and continuing feelings by their Arab neighbors that pretty much everyone got shafted in the deal except the mostly-immigrant Jews, Israel decides on a little war. A short one.
They decided that the rest of the real estate, that the Palestinians got, they wanted, too. Realistically, they felt that there was a continued threat of revolution and terrorism emanating from those areas (and southern Lebanon, too, where Palestinian nationalists were taking advantage of the civil unrest and anarchy to shield themselves from the Israeli government) and so they invaded. Nice.
Rather than making plans to clean house, so to speak, and hand the land back to the people to whom it belonged, they started to set up shop there, populating towns and settlements in an effort basically to claim a homeland stake that wasn't theirs to seize in the first place. I'm reminded of similarities in Irish history that led to the past and present conflicts in Northern Ireland; maybe I'll get into those another time.
Suspending judgment for a moment, place yourselves in the shoes of your average Palestinian citizen. You feel at least some identification with others of your race, nationality and faith. You were promised something in return for letting the new guy move in next door. The new guy moves in and takes it away from you. What do you feel?
You feel like you want your stuff back, and possibly even the house you let the guy move into in the first place, just cos you kinda feel like their end of the bargain wasn't upheld.
So you yell, scream, point fingers, cry for help. The guy bashes your face into the floor and the people who asked you to do this in the first place say that it's his right, since he belongs here now.
That's a breeding ground for desperate acts. I do not support terrorism in any fashion, and I think there are almost always alternatives to even more 'civilized' kinds of armed conflict. But I see where it came from. When you have no avenue for the redress of your grievances, you resort to more desperate means.
So let's fast forward to a few years ago. Yasser Arafat, leader of his people in their fight to regain their lands, makes unpopular compromises in the interest of peace, to put the Palestinians back on the road to independence; a lot of his people can't look forward far enough to appreciate anything other than immediate independence.
So Arafat makes a calculated risk, using his political capital to pull his people in a direction they aren't fully ready to go, thinking that in the end he'll be vindicated as the visionary who brought about the Palestinian state.
As several more years go by, each Palestinian step is met by an Israeli half-step. Palestinians lose patience, Arafat's stock plummets, and eventually things are on the brink of unravelling.
Enter Sharon. Former general and confirmed hawk, this is bad news. But he seems willing to consider peace and stability and, if not a Palestinian state, then at least some limited form of Palestinian self-determination.
Then comes the last few weeks. To sum up, Sharon ties Arafat's hands behind his back, then blames him for not doing anything when idiotically radical Palestinians start striking again in their desperate and wholly reprehensible way. They tell him to make them stop, not realizing that even among mainstream Palestinians he has only the thinnest thread of credibility left, and absolutely none left with the radical fringe. They will do him no more favors because they are convinced the Israelis cannot be trusted to live up to their end of any bargain (not to mention the ones who want to obliterate the state of Israel utterly).
And still everyone blames him for not stopping it. No one is listening to him. He's locked up in a little room. And he's supposed to magically make everyone play nice and listen to what the reasonable Israelis have to say.
The Israelis who mow down crowds of Palestinian civilians. The Israelis who view every Palestinian as a terrorist. The Israelis who deny passage to ambulances sent to bear the wounded, and even the run-of-the-mill sick Palestinians, to medical care. The Israelis who block aid workers and clergymen from delivering food, medicine and care to the innocent who are caught up in the struggle.
Frankly, I think it's time for the US to pull its money out of funding the Israeli government and military and put it into a UN mission to eject Israel from the West Bank and Gaza Strip and disarm Palestinian terrorists, work with the Palestinians to set up a functioning national government and help the Israelis move their settlements back to Israeli land.
Chris steps down from his soapbox and waits for the stoning to commence.
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