Jessie's Pet Skunk: A Sordid Tale of Jealousy

My great-aunt used to tell me a story, when I was little, about her sister's pet skunk.

Jessie had adopted a baby skunk they had found in the woods. She feed it. She washed it daily, and it was generally a good little pet. During the summers, their father used to set up a cot on the porch to sleep on. He decided that he would let the skunk sleep with him.

Now my great grandfather had a little hound dog, who became jealous of the skunk. He'd sit on the front doorstep and stare at the skunk curled up next to my great grandfather.

One day, everyone left to go into town, and the skunk and little dog were left at home. When they got back, the skunk was gone and the little dog was sitting on the doorstep. Jessie went around the house looking for her pet skunk and finally came back to the front porch.

Jessie stared at the little dog. The little dog wouldn't look at Jessie.

I hate to say it . . .

But, Putin might have a point.

Asked about the Chinese test at a news conference in New Delhi after a meeting with Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, Putin avoided directly criticizing China, saying only that Russia was against putting any weapons in space.

Instead, Putin chose to issue a warning to the United States on the dangers of the militarization of space.

"At the same time, I would like to note that China was not the first country to conduct such a test," Putin said.

Quote from The Associated Press, via The Moscow Times

Not that Russia is perfectly innocent, but there is something a little wrong about the US attitude of, "we can have weapons, and we can create weapons, but you try to make your own weapons, we will consider you an aggressor."

Plurals formed with "-i" are just more fun.

Over the summer, my muse and I had moment that involved me stepping out of the shower one morning and promptly curling up on the bathmat waiting for a menstrual cramp to go away. I believe I muttered something to the effect of "It my uterus had any value I would sell it on the black market." Which, as anyone who knows me knows, wouldn't happen. As such a process would likely involve needles.

But the muse whispered in my ear: There's a story in that statement.

Having made in out of the bathroom floor to my computer, this obedient little slave of the muse hit the internet and discovered that uteri have no black market value. Rather upset at first, I soon began to consider other things characters could sell, like eggs. (This, by the way, resulted in a rather strange story.)

But now, perhaps, I can indeed pursue the black-market uterus story! It could be a fun sci-fiesque thing.

Although, my mind remains boggled, but to each her own.

Of music and martyrs...

My brain apparently links "Imitation of Life," by REM, with martyrdom, and particularly martyrdom as a physical imitation of Christ. Interesting, brain, interesting.

Seneca's theme song is now Soundgarden's "Blow off the Outside World." Because "nothing seems to kill him, no matter how hard he tries."

And, Mieke Bal tells me in Narratology that characters have no psychological reality. To Mieke Bal I say: Tell that to the voices in my head.

Listening to Russian sing about being smashed apart....or something like that.

I'm taking a class titled "The Redeemed Body" this semester. Title vague enough for you? The class is about martyrdom and asceticism. As a backdrop, we read some Seneca on the noble death, suicide, taking control of the end of one's life, rather than allowing it to be controlled by outside forces.

During class discussion the other day, I realized the opinion I hold -- that there can be situations in which it is rational to commit suicide -- is considered weird. The people -- in my class, at least -- automatically consider any suicide to be the result of depression or trauma. Suicide could not, regardless of context, be a rational decision. To me, that's flawed enough logic to apply to today's world and even worse logic to try to apply to Roman philosophers.

Later, as I continued to turn the discussion over in my head, I realized that our culture (United States of America, contemporary) doesn't really even consider the acceptance of death to be a rational mindset. So much energy is spent trying to stop death, to live just a little while longer, even when the chance of a treatment working is slim to nothing. If a person has a near-terminal illness and decides not to pursure treatment, they are considered to be unbalanced and perhaps even in violation of the law, if they happen to be younger than eighteen. A simple acceptance that death is the human fate is considered morbid, not realistic. Part of this is based on my own experience of how people respond when they find out that I have no interest in heroic efforts being made to save my life should I be gravely injured or fall ill. (The answer is not well, and sometimes they then ask me if I'm suicidal. Usually, they just insist that as a young person, I have no right to an opinion on such things.) Part of this is based on reading articles about attempts by the government to force teenagers to continue with chemotherapy, when they feel that the slim chance the treatment will cure them is not worth the pain cause by the treatment. Part of this is probably rage at a system that thinks allowing a person to starve over a week or so once her body has forgotten how to eat and drink is somehow more dignified or humane than an overdose of morphine.

I'm not sure what to make of it. Or me.

I'm not even cross-dressing today!

My roomie wanted to go shopping today. I tagged along with her to the mall, contemplating buying a jacket or a lightweight coat, as I managed to leave my coat in Middle Tennessee and Memphis is experiencing a cold snap.

As usual, shopping for clothing put me in a bad mood.

We went to Aeropostale first. I like a lot of the clothing in Aeropostale. The look appeals to me: not frilly, simple lines, basic clothing. In fact, as I walk in, I see a denim jacket that I like. When I note that the top jacket, which from a distance I would have pegged for an extra-small, is actually a medium, my heart falls a bit. But I flip through the rack until I find an extra-large. (When stores have clothing that fits me, I alternate between large and extra-large, occassionally a medium.) The extra-large, of course, is just a bit too small on my large shoulders. Oh well, by this point I'm used to clothing from stores and departments aimed at my age group not fitting me. (By the way, I find it ironic that a clothing brand called Self-Esteem doesn't make shirts that will fit me.) I see a couple of shirts that I like in the girl's section, but a quick holding up of the shirt to my shoulders indicates that a correct fit is not to be found in the store. While my roomie is trying on some pants and shirts that she found I did a quick survey of the jeans section. Most of the jeans in the store were between sizes 0-5. I located about four, maybe five pairs of 11/12 jeans and a grand total of two pairs of pants in the 13/14 size. I spared myself the pain of bothering to try on the 11/12s that were in a style and wash I liked (I'm a twelve in some brands). I doubt they would have fit me. The 13/14s were in a hideously light wash. My suspicions that Aeropostale was being paid off by whoever profits from driving girls who like me are caught between regular and plus sizes to thoughts of becoming a nudist confirmed, I became bored and wandared to the boys side of the store.

I regretted my decision to stop wearing mens clothing. Boys clothing appeals to me for some reason. I have a tendency to go shopping for my little brother and come home with clothing for me. Plaid shirts, baggy cargo pants, proportions that aren't overwhelmed by a large bone structure, (for those of you hearing excuses, I did order a larger class ring than the marjority of the guys in my class), plaid shirts again, boys have all the good clothing. The comfortable clothing, the clothing I like. I looked with longing at the cargo pants hanging on the wall. So many pockets. I love pockets! And there would be pants that would fit me. Not a fashionable fit, of course, but they would fit. 34x34 or maybe even a 32x34. (It's been a while since I bought boys jeans. My last, beloved pair, beautifully broken in pair became capris over the summer.) Futhermore, why do manufacturers give boys a more logical and consistent sizing system? I overcame temptation. But then the plaid shirts began to call my name. They were such a pretty blue. A good blue for me. And I don't have to worry about the fitting being designed for breasts larger than mine! But again, I preserved.

And I don't know why I did. Because I really liked those pants.

So, I don't understand a couple of things. First, why in god's name can't the fashion industry manufacture jeans for slightly larger girls? (I'm always finding lots of tiny jeans 0-7 and lots of larger jeans 16-24. This suggests to me that either the gods of clothing hate me, or there are a lot of young women out there who share a body size with me 11-14ish and consistently beat me to the stores.) Secondly, why do guys get the decent clothes? Damn binary gender construction! Futhermore, why did I decide to stop wearing boys clothing?

Assume away, disgusted ones!

Just in case you, along with the rest of the United States was hypnotized by the liberal media into thinking that the Shrub had claimed, as justification for invading, that Iraq had Weapons of Mass Destruction, he's here to explain that in addition to spreading freedom (which is, as dish best served via AK-47) invading Iraq with prevent 'instability' in the region. From the Washington Post, which conveniently shows up in my inbox around 5 am most mornings.

In the "60 Minutes" interview, Bush said that although Iraq has descended into instability since the U.S. invasion in March 2003, the removal of Saddam Hussein nonetheless was worthwhile. Hussein's remaining in power, he asserted, would have only led to a potential nuclear arms race between Iran and Iraq, which would have created even greater instability.

Now, I assume a lot of things in life. I assume that I exist and an not a voice in someone's head. I assume that the visible world is more real than the voices in my head. I assume that I possess free will. I assume that no single human can ever know the totality of the Divine and therefore can not claim to know the will of God.

Anyone of these assumptions could be wrong, so perhaps I shouldn't come down too hard on the Shrub for assuming that Hussein had WMDs or that Iran and Iraq were going to become engaged in a nuclear arms race, or that his actions (invading some countries, giving the finger to other countries, etc) wouldn't result in other countries feeling a bit worried about their national security and deciding to shore up their defenses by pursuing nuclear weapons.

But then, as a typical rule, mass numbers of people don't die from my assumptions. Unless, of course, the voices in my head who have dissappeared due to gross neglect were indeed more real than the visible world.