johandp
This user hasn't shared any biographical information
Homepage: http://johandp.wordpress.com
The power of girls in groups
(What follows is some as yet unmatured generalisation about the nature of the sexes. Feel free to differ.)
Girls seem to flock together in a way that boys never do. At school, it always seemed like girls grouped together – impenetrable to any male influence. Chances are, if you were a boy, you wanted to have an opportunity to speak to some girl, alone. But girls were never alone and approaching an entire flock of girls is a bit like approaching a pride of lions. A group of boys seems like a pack of meerkats in comparison – entirely innocuous. I sometimes wonder if girls were surprised when boys didn’t approach them. They were unapproachable, except to the most brave (or the most stupid), or I suppose, the most popular.
It’s strange – girls seem to be both more false in their affections toward each other ( I remember girls always giving each other hugs at every opportunity and thinking that most of those hugs meant nothing) and have stronger group bonds. Boys seem unsophisticated by comparison, more honest, both more amicable and less gregarious.
I was thinking about this when I wrote the following poem (some years ago and after having left school):
Flocks of girls Packs of girls never Herds of girls – herds are controlled, led Clusters of girls not a Swarm – though girls do sting Coalitions Consortiums Gangs Teams Broods perhaps best to say a Charm of girls a Bevy a secret Cult to which no man or boy is admitted a girl alone is a ploy the giggle Covey is not far away hugs and kisses and smiles and furtive looks (never stares) beware the alpha female who tears off balls like cotton fluff every man is alone when faced by the reactive destructive alluring power of that social molecular structure all bonds between men are broken they are dissolved in calm ocean eyes trapped by the pack ravaged cast off as a brute saying “men are such cowards would that they would stand up and fight for us.”
Why I hate elevators
At work I prefer to climb ten flights of stairs rather than use the elevator. I arrive at my desk out of breath and my colleagues must be thinking: “he really hates elevators”. They would be right.
The perks of not using an elevator:
- No more awkward silences. Even people who know each other seem to feel awkward and run out of things to say the moment they’re in an elevator.
- No more having to tactically avert your eyes (staring at the numbers lighting up or some unseen corner of the elevator) to avoid eye contact with strangers.
- You’re not in a small metal container that could plummet you to your death.
- You’re not in a small metal container that might get stuck and cause you to spend hours and hours between floors with nothing to do.
- You’re not in a small metal container with people you don’t want to be stuck with for hours and hours with nothing to do.
- You’re not in a small metal container packed liked sardines, feeling claustrophic, trying desperately not to touch anyone with any part of your body, thinking, “please don’t let it get stuck today. Please don’t let it get stuck today.”
- You don’t have to wait for elevator to get to your floor and stand there looking insipid while you not talk to the strangers you won’t talk to once you’re in the elevator. You can just get on with it.
- You get some exercise for a change and you might live longer for it.
Admittedly, if I had to climb 20 flights of stairs, I might decide to brave the metal container. But I would not be happy about it.
Help me into that good night
Are there circumstances under which you would consider suicide?
I want to live forever, but there are circumstances in which I think I would rather die. I believe that should be my right.
The 2004 film “The Sea Inside” showcases (this is a true story) the life a quadriplegic man, Ramón, who fought for the right to be euthanized. His court cases failed and he eventually did manage to kill himself by procuring a solution of cyanide. Through his life (ironically) and his fight to die he inspired many, and later his death inspired more.
The writer Terry Pratchett is considering his own death, having been diagnosed with Alzheimers. He is featured in the documentary “Choosing to die”, which one can watch here (if this is not in fact a legal means of watching this please let me know. I was not sure).
I’m too much of a coward to try to kill myself unassisted, I think. I’d very much appreciate someone else to push the button, or at least hand me the final deadly tonic. Many people, like Ramón, need someone else to help them die – it’s hard to kill yourself if you can’t move.
If I find myself with an incurable disease that would destroy mind – that would either cause me to lose my memory, or my ability to think and reason – I would like to die before that happens, by my own hand if that is the only way. To have less than my full reason, to be anything less than me, that is a fate I cannot countenance. I would like to go to God (or nothingness) with all my mental faculties intact – I want to be me. I only hope I have the time and the opportunity to decide.
I want to make a similar argument to the one I presented with regard to abortion . Whether assisted suicide or euthanasia is right or wrong is not the issue. I do not agree with Ramón’s decision to end his life. I think he had much to offer the world even in his paralysed state and that his life did have meaning. But I also believe that it was his right to decide to die and that he should have been allowed the assistance he needed to make it so.
We’re willing to put horses, dogs, and cats out of their misery, without their consent. Why will we not do the same for people who beg us to give them this mercy? Perhaps we put out dogs and cats for our ourselves – to cut the costs, to put an end to the troubles we must endure in having a debilitatingly sick pet. But our religious dogma or our (selfish) love will not allow us to do the same for a human being. These are cynical statements, I know, but they are accusations we must face.
before your name is lost from my lips help me into that good night before I cannot form words help me into that good night before your face is just another face help me into that good night before the beauty and mystery of numbers become unintelligible help me into that good night before I lose all that I am and become some lesser thing help me into that good night before you look into my eyes and see not me staring back help me into that good night if you love me, you will help me before I leave you help me into that good night
Why I don’t drink
Posted in thoughts on 04/01/2013
It somehow happened that I effectively became a teetotaller. Except for an occasional sip of wine (usually proffered by someone else), I consume no alcohol. I have no religious reason for such abstinence – Jesus famously turned water into wine, after all. My choice is a (possibly exaggerated) reaction to the countless people who consider getting wasted a sensible way to pass the time.
Reasons I don’t drink
- my liver loves me for it (yes, yes, I know a small amount of alcohol is good for you, but see the next point).
- I am staging a protest – the one who doesn’t drink gets noticed, possibly ridiculed, or complimented, or perhaps just curiously probed as to his motives. All this is good and makes it known that I support a more sensible way of life.
- Drunk people are not funny or interesting. They’re pathetic and disgusting.
- Being drunk makes you a danger to yourself and others. (Surely I do not need to elaborate)
- Drunk people do stupid things like dance on tables and hooking up with strangers.
- I have a bad enough memory as it is; I don’t need to wake up with a hangover wondering what I did the night before.
- I can feel honourable, misunderstood and superior, and relish every moment of it.
- Drinking in excess is vulgar, uncultured, and childish.
- Alcohol is expensive. Copious amounts of alcohol are more expensive.
These reasons are all well and good, but the number one reason that I do not drink is this:
10. I am absolutely terrified of not being in complete control of my every action.
I do not understand why people seek the release of drugs and alcohol. I do not see why they want to give control of their life, even if temporarily, to the intoxicating influence of these substances. From an economic perspective I cannot judge them, of course – let them do what brings them the most satisfaction.
I have been under the influence of valium (or something similar) once or twice in my life when I had to undergo operations. I hated every second of it. I was aware of my mind numbing, of my will to control myself subsiding, burying itself somewhere, going to sleep and refusing to wake up. It was an artificial calm that came upon me – a calm caused by the inability of my fearful, jittery self to communicate with the rest of me. It was horrible.
I admit that there is nothing inherently immoral about being drunk or stoned (Go lock yourself in a padded room where you can’t do anyone any harm when you want a smoke). But to me it seems that seeking this release from your life, from your responsibilities, is just setting aside, temporarily, things you need to deal with in any case. Go watch a movie – that seems a far more sensible means of temporary distraction.
To always be present, to always be responsible for everything you do, this seems to me a far nobler way to live. I cannot hope to convince anyone else of this – but neither can anyone else convince me otherwise.
Arguments I have heard:
- Aren’t you curious? Yes, I am very curious. I’m also curious as to how dying feels. Not going to try that any time soon.
- I only drink until I’m tipsy, just to be more sociable. If you need alcohol to loosen your tongue – perhaps you should go see a psychologist rather than say stupid things to other drunk people.
- It’s fun, for everyone. Good for you. Go have “fun”.
For more or less the same reasons as mentioned above, I will not do drugs and I will not allow myself to be hypnotised. I seriously do not understand why hypnotists get any volunteers. What on Earth are they thinking? (The only experience they get out of it is people telling them after the fact how stupid they looked. Who wants that?) As for all those people who sensibly use alcohol, that is to say, in moderation, I have no quarrel with you.
Tank, angel, hitler
I question the idea that people know themselves best. I think our perception of ourselves is probably as skewed as our perception of others, not least because we have an intrinsic incentive to view ourselves in the way that allows us to feel most comfortable. You are stuck in your own little head. You can see your face in the bathroom mirror – there is no mirror for your soul. I hit on this idea many years ago and wrote a poem using the metaphor of a tank. It’s exaggerated, but it illustrates the basic idea – we live in semi-darkness regarding ourselves, because we cannot distance ourselves from ourselves.
tank? angel? hitler? I wish I could see myself, I cannot figure who I am so close: Like sitting in an armour plated tank with little slits and you can’t quite see through them and you cannot see the tank because you’re inside it and because it’s dark inside How would you know if there’s a bird on the hatch; you’re painted black; you’re not even a tank, you’re an angel or maybe you’re Hitler himself I wish I could see myself through the eyes of others other tanks, Angels, hitlers, then maybe I would know who I am whether I am painted black if I shoot bombs or cupid arrows
Lives lost
Posted in thoughts on 28/12/2012
When people die, they lose their lives. But their lives are also lost, not all at once, but slowly, as the memory of them is erased. Perhaps the life of Nelson Mandela will never completely be lost, immortalised in history, in books, in the memory of one generation and the regard of those that follow. But most people are not so fortunate.
With your death, your own memories die with you. Your particular experience of the world is gone. The memory others have of you remains, until they too die, leaving behind only second and third hand tales. Some people keep diaries. Only the diaries of the “great” are read. For most, having kept no record, nothing but official documents and records, which get lost with every change of administration, remain.
It seems sad to me that the lives of most people on this planet are completely forgotten. Our “history” is but a biased selection of encounters deemed important. This forgetfulness vexes me because I have a peculiarly bad memory. My life is a vague blur just a few weeks into the past, as if that part of my life has already partly died.
The lives of my parents and grandparents will be lost too. Some families have a tradition of relating the tales of their forebears. Mine does not. I know little of the lives of my grandparents, nothing of my great-grandparents. On the one hand I understand the shackles of the past – that the world renews itself, a living thing, unburdened with its own history. But today, I mourn the loss of every little story that never gets told.
Bookish temptation
Posted in poetry on 27/12/2012
Do your books ever call out to you? Well, I recently bought some books at the wrong time, just before a period of exams. The little temptresses would not leave me alone.
This is what happened:
Temptresses My books are winking at me baring their supple covers, saying, “place your hands along my spine stroke my elegant, smooth, cover feel the weight of my ample pages pull apart my covers and admire my naked pages plunge yourself into my depths lose yourself in otherworldly pleasure read me now”
Let’s talk about abstinence
Posted in Christianity, thoughts on 06/12/2012
Here follows a gratuitous (and poorly gimped) picture in a shameless attempt to capture your attention:
Now for some serious life-thoughts. The 40-year-old virgin , I am led to believe, is a movie about a man in his forties who is still a virgin. I have so far refused to watch the movie – mainly because the title seems suggest being a 40-year old virgin is somehow shameful. This post is, however, not about the movie. It is about this: people are taking longer and longer to get married, and if they’re Christian (in a more-or-less traditional sense that is) they are taking longer and longer to have sex.
These Christians (at least in the Western world) live in a society in which the average age of losing one’s virginity is probably below 20. To be 30 or 40, single, still waiting for mr(s) right, can feel shameful. It is not the same as a taking a vow of celibacy (as Catholic priests do) because the intention was never to abstain from sex completely: it was to wait for marriage. And there is perhaps only cold comfort in the knowledge that you have acted according to your highly cherished beliefs.
By the secular one may be viewed as pitiable for being unable to “get laid”, or as stupid for not making use of (or finding) opportunities to engage in a clearly pleasurable activity. Within the church community you may be surrounded by younger couples (some even with Children), churchgoers who pity you (behind your back) for still being unmarried, and well-meant comments such as “I can’t believe some guy/girl has snatched you yet” or “I can’t believe you’re still single” probably don’t help.
I take the above comments from the blog I kissed my date goodnight1. in which a 32-year old woman reflects on her experience with Christian dating. With Christianity in decline in the Western world, the pool of eligible partners for these long-time singles shrinks (unless they are willing to consider inter-religious relationships). The Christian dating process (if you consider Christian dating to be viable at all) seems to have additional complexities. The common way dating is portrayed on television and in movies (that is American television and movies) in which dating seems to go hand-in-hand (so to speak) with sex can put off devout Christian singles. Indeed there is even a book I kissed dating goodbye (which I have not read), which outlines an alternative closer to traditional courting for Christians.
I know little about dating, so don’t read my blog for dating advice. The truth is, though, dating is probably the best way for these singles to meet potential partners. And indeed, Christians seem to have found ways to adapt the secular dating methods. I often find, on biblegateway.com that I am presented with advertisements for Christian dating sites, none of which I have used, at least not yet. However, I am single, and I may be single for a while still. I may yet turn to dating sites, speed dating, or some other nifty dating gimmick.
One “solution” to the problem of “40-year-old virgins” is, of course, to just change your opinion about pre-marital sex and join the world – date like you’re in the movies. Better yet, date like you’re in Grey’s Anatomy (those doctors have a lot of sex). One could even try to justify it Biblically (the outrage). But I don’t think this is the way to go.
I am a single man, waiting for that one special person. The idea of uncommitted sex fills me with dread. (The book SuperFreakonomics informs me that in 1930s America 20% of men lost their virginity to prostitutes , which is horrifying. Now 70% of men have sex before they marry, which is not much better). For now at least, I am committed to the lifestyle I have chosen. If you are waiting too, you are not alone.
1. Disclaimer: the I kissed my date goodnight blog is about dating, not about sex. I do not presume to know anything about anyone’s sex life other than my own
Grumpy cat
Posted in Memes on 02/12/2012
I really enjoy the grumpy cat meme that’s been doing the rounds on the net and I thought I would try my hand at it too. So here are some grumpy cats captioned by me. (Pictures found on the internet – I hope no one minds their use).
P.S. I made these with Word and Paint (isn’t that horrifying?)
P.P.S. These will also be placed on Facebook.
How to be a man
Posted in thoughts on 25/11/2012
I was fortunate enough to see the documentary “Searching for sugar man” this weekend, a film which has the somewhat rare distinction of being both profoundly sad and uplifting at the same time. I want to mention one thing that struck me more than any other about this film. (There may be some spoilers below, though I shall attempt to limit them, so if you want to avoid those, go watch the documentary, then come back to this post.)
Rodriguez, a failed American singer from 70’s, became terribly popular in South Africa, but did not know about it. The documentary portrays him as a man who shrugged off the failure of his two albums with a stoicism that would impress the Greeks. He did manual labour to support his family – and apparently he took his job very seriously (even showed up in a suit). His spirit, his sense of duty, his commitment to life, were intact. And they remained intact when he many years later found out about his fame in a remote country. He was a man who did not measure his worth in terms of fame or fortune.
I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the portrayal. But I am inspired by it. I believe the men who truly give their lives to their families, men who accept the hardness of life because they live by ideals (faith, love, commitment) that transcend circumstances are worthy of the recognition they seldom get. No, these men are not martyrs – their lives are often unnoticed. It is a rare man who has his story told in a documentary. If Rodriguez had sold not a single record, he would have been the same man, without fame, forgotten by all but his family.
I know another such man personally, my own father. I am a fiercely ambitious man – but my father’s example has kept me grounded. When I die, if I have done nothing but succeed in being a man such as I have described, I would have done enough.
Meditations of Lambchop 