My Little Girl

A few months ago I had a dream. I was in a room, a bedroom, a little girl's bedroom, sitting in a chair, and standing before me was a little girl, about seven/eight years old. She stood before me in her dress, her brown hair hanging straight almost to her waist. She was my daughter. I did not know her name, but I knew this fact without a doubt, that she was my child. Throughout the course of the dream we cried together, about what, I never knew, and laughed together, about stupid little stuff. The dream is as clear to me as any memory I have. In particular, one thing. I remember how heavy she was. I could feel the weight of her in my arms. I can not feel things in my dreams. I see, of course, and hear things, I think I can even smell things sometimes, but my sense of touch does not work in my dreams, it never has. Except for this one time. I have never experienced anything quite like this dream, before or since. When I awoke I was immediately disturbed, because she was gone, and I knew she did not exist, had never existed. For the entirety of that day I was in a funk, I was depressed. In a way I mourned. I missed her. I didn't even know her name, but I missed her.

I never wanted children. Since I was a kid myself, I always said I didn't want kids. I didn't relate to them then and I still don't know how to interact with my little cousins very well. But something has changed in the last year or two. Instead of cringing at a child's playful scream in the grocery store or restaurant, I actually smile a little now. A kid running around seemingly unattended used to make me seethe. Now seeing him or her happy makes me happy, too. Who is this person who no longer finds children to be alien-like monsters?

I find myself thinking more and more about the children who could or should have been, and children who might still be. I hope one day...

On Wednesday the Supreme Court ruled that executing a person for raping a child is unconstitutional. I'm against the death penalty. Death is supposed to be the severest punishment one can receive, but that has never made sense to me. To me death is a release, it brings the potential for something better than what we had on earth. That is, of course, my faith speaking, but still. I have always thought that life in prison was a greater punishment. Why let someone die when they can spend the entirety of their natural life in a small, plain cell, being denied the great benefits of this world?

I don't know if executing a person for raping a child should be considered constitutional. Which is the greater crime, rape or murder? Murder can be justified. Can rape? If murder and treason are still reasons for execution in this country, why exclude this particular crime? One that is arguably more heinous than any other.

I'm still against the death penalty. I don't think that a child rapist should be executed any more than a murderer or traitor should be executed. But... I think about that little girl with the long brown hair, and the way it felt to know that she was mine, and then to know that she was gone. Would I still feel the same way if she were here, if I could really feel the weight of her in my arms?

This is the best short story I've read in the last three days. Romantic and slightly creepy in the way all star crossed romances are at their core. Courtesy of mightygodking.com:

The multiverse moves. It moves around itself. Think of it as an enormous wheel - you can most easily travel to any point on the wheel by traveling to and from the center. Which just means you need a way to get to the center. That’s why I called my ship the Spoke. Of course, my metaphor is actually in reality completely inaccurate, and in retrospect, I should called it “the Axle.” But you get the gist.

Dr. Jonathan Dhir is a genius; a master of transdimensional physics, one of the very few to ever take that knowledge out of the realm of theory and into the practical. He’s likewise a good man, brave and smart. Maybe a bit obsessive, as some scientists tend to be. But not a bad man by any stretch.

His only problem is that his wife is dead.

Some have said there are fifty-two universes; this is thinking small. The megaverse roams in clusters of fifty-two universes at a time. Some are completely barren of all life. Some do not entirely conform to our concept of physics. One is made entirely out of jelly. No, I’m not joking about that last one. It’s really made out of jelly. Not edible jelly, mind you. But jelly.

Dhir and his wife - it was true love, the kind you only ever read about in storyscrolls. (They never really went to books in his universe, although they’ve long since computerized the process.) And Dhir was a genius, but not a universal one; he couldn’t cure the comaegulanara his wife contracted.

Ordinary people grieve and move on. But Dhir had other options most people don’t, and a certain sort of persistent quality that’s greatly magnified when you’re a brilliant scientist.

If anything can exist somewhere, that means it does. And that means if anyone can exist somewhere, that means they do.

He wasn’t sure if humans could safely traverse the boundaries of the multiverse, let alone the megaverse. When he launched the Spoke out of its orbit he calculated that there was a .7 percent chance it would blink into nothingness, and him along with it. He was willing to take the risk.

It took him a very long time, and he had many, many adventures along the way, becoming something of a hero in the process. He found universes where he and his wife both died as children, never even meeting. He found universes where his wife was alive, but unfortunately so was that universe’s version of himself, and he wasn’t the sort to intrude. He found universes where his wife was alive and he was dead, but unfortunately he was a dead woman and his wife and he were both gay. (That universe was awkward, but not so awkward as the universe where he and his wife were both arthropods.)

Of course it’s a moral act. Somewhere, there is a place where she is alone. She isn’t supposed to be alone.

Finally he found it, a universe where his wife was human (more or less), and not dead, and that universe’s version of himself died young in a war some time previous, never even meeting her. And she was lonely, and she couldn’t quite figure out how not to be lonely. She’d even joined this team of young heroes wearing gaudy costumes, trying to make the universe a better place, and he was amazed - if his wife had ever had superpowers, she would have done exactly that. He was sure of it.

Of course, now he’d have to convince her he wasn’t insane or psychotic - not to mention make her fall in love with him - and yes, that would probably be difficult. But Dr. Dhir is, if anything, a remarkably methodical and patient man.

I’ve seen the birth of species, the death of galaxies and the universe from the outside looking in. I’d trade all of those memories away for five minutes of her time - because to me, she is the universe. And I think I could be hers.

and now for something completely different...

I have decided to go back to school. When I tell people this, their first response is always, "already?". I say yes... and then they say "oh the job hunt's not going very well then, huh?"... and I say no....
Then they ask what I want to do... and then I tell them... and then... they laugh....
....
Breathe in, breathe out... breathe in, breathe out....
I am going back to pursue a second Bachelor's degree in Biology so I can go to grad school to become a Marine Biologist...

....

Now, to understand why people laugh at such a commendable career choice... one must also know that it is a fairly well known fact that I have been working to over come a very severe phobia... of .... fish....
....

Over the last 7 years I have slowly begun to over come this totally irrational fear. It's not important to know when or how or why I am so frightened by them. The truth is, I don't know. What is important is that I am taking steps to get over it.
When I was 18 and living in the dorms... I bought a blue Beta fish and named him Zeebo. The first day I had him I watched him for hours on end.... not out of fascination... but out of anxiety. I called my mother several times that day... the conversation always went something like this...
"Hello!"
"Hi mom..."
"What's wrong?"
"He's looking at me"
"Ok"
"He's looking at me... watching me move across the room... I think he wants to eat me!"
"I don't think so"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
"Ok.... bye..."
...

Now, I would like to note that I have come a very long way since then. My fear used to be so bad that, when I was in high school, I couldn't eat in Chinese resturants because they always have fish tanks in them. Zeebo, once I decided that he was far too small to want to eat me, opened the door to recovery. He was a very special fish and lived with me for several years before old age got to him. He used to wave one fin faster than the other whenever someone new walked into the room, waving at the passers by. When he died, I bought Shinji, another beta, this time bright red with long flowing fins... more beautiful perhaps, than Zeebo, but not nearly as friendly. Shinji was skiddish and hid in the sunken pirate ship in his tank most of the time. I don't remember when or how he died. I think I might have actually given him to an old room mate.
...
Since Zeebo and Shinji, I have had other fish in my life and before long, I started going to Aquariums and aquatic exhibits at the state fair. I stare, until my eyes feel like they are going to bleed, endlessly fascinated, at the giant fresh water fish tanks in Cabella's as my boyfriend shops for fishing or camping gear. I watch nature documentaries on the darkest, most remote and terrifying depths of the ocean. I want to go to Sea World!
I have discovered that the more I learn about these creatures, the less afraid I am. I am exhilarated by them! The thought of studying whales and great white sharks, tiny, but deadly, irakanji jellyfish, and thousands of other marine species, gets my heart pumping so fast that I can barely contain my excitement.
....
So, as bizarre as it may sound, this is something that I have wanted to do for a long time. I never said it out loud. Not even to myself. I never thought I could actually do it. But now, looking ahead at my life, working in an office trying to suppliment my writing career with mundane data entry and coffee breaks, makes me want to curl up and die. I realized that if I am going to be happy and stop living my life in fear, I need to take risks. I need to follow my passions, no matter how strange they seem. I need to swim with sharks. This is my life aquatic. I need to be the next Steve Zeesou!

The Hunt

Growing up they, meaning your parents, teachers, advisors, and mentors, tell you that you can be whatever you want to be. All you need is personal drive and a college education, any degree will do. Well, it turns out, they were wrong. It seems that you need a little more than that. Job experience, for one, seems to be the most important asset a job hunter can have... which is ironic considering if you had a job, you wouldn't really need another. As for a non-specific degree, that seems to be total bunk as well. I have finally finished my degree in Sociology which seems to be about as useful in the real world as memorizing the answers to Trivial Pursuit, 1957 edition.
So what is it they are looking for out there? Since I have graduated and have been actively looking for work, I have discovered that I am over qualified for the jobs I am used to having (retail and receptionist work) and underqualified for anything else. Even "entry-level" positions require experience and in some cases, a specific degree like Finance or Accounting.
I foolishly thought that if I dedicated myself to my education for a certain number of years, by the time I earned my degree, I would somehow have the tools and know how to find a good job. Instead of working, I attended classes full time. It turns out I would have been better off taking classes only a few times a week and either held down a full time job or pursued unpaid internships. At least, if I had done that, I would have some experience to bulk up my resume. Obviously I can't just hop into my time machine and do things differently. I can't go back and tell my 19 year old self to step away from the anime and video games and go find an internship. All I can do now is keep on keepin' on.
It's hard to keep a positive attitude, which is so vital to a successful job hunt, when getting shot down for lack of experience (for entry-level positions!) feels not at all unlike going to bars to meet new people and being rejected over and over because you don't look cool enough to hang. But my advice, from one of the educated unemployed to another, try to see the silver lining. Yes, we may be stuck waiting tables or serving coffee for a little while longer, but at least we have a little more time to hang out in college land before heading out on the road into the real world. And at least now we don't have any classes or exams to study for.

Conan O'Brien Went to Harvard?

Conan O'Brien hasn't been this funny in about... oh, i don't know... eight years?

Kavalier, Clay, and Escape!

Tonight I finished the Pulitzer Prize Winning book by Pulitzer Prize Winning novelist Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. So I decided to do a little mini-review and critique. Now to start off some quick statements: This is the first Chabon I've read, but I have a passing familiarity with Wonderboys because I've seen, like, five minutes of the movie, and know a little about his background having read a few interviews with the man. So any statements I make in the following about his themes needs to be taken with that grain of salt.

Now, on to the main review. The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is a superbly crafted piece of work. Chabon is able to put words together in ways that ways that make you aware of the size of Chabon's vocabulary while avoiding the sense that Chabon sleeps with a thesaurus and by God you will appreciate his pretty words. Chabon frames his sentences in a way that his obvious love of language draws readers in, instead of leaving them scratching their head trying to figure out what the sentence is saying. Chabon's command of language is always used in service of presenting the characters and themes of the work, and making that presentation as engaging as possible.

Beyond the obvious skill of Chabon's sentence construction, Kavalier and Clay presents Chabon's loves and themes, bouncing them against life in New York in the 1930's. Chabon has written extensively about both his love of comic books(which is how I found him), and his disdain for literary critics division of literary and genre fiction. Both ideas are at play in Kavalier and Clay, with the two protagonists building their careers around comics and genre fiction. Chabon even stacks the deck against the critics through his protagonists: Sammy Clay, a closeted homosexual who spends the entire book in denial about himself, his desires, and constantly thwarts his own ambitions, frequently calls comics "crap" and "for kids." His partner Joe Kavalier, a combination of Houdini and Steranko's escape artistry and Will Eisner and Jack Kirby's comic book experimentation, is forever arguing that there is no such thing as a debased medium. Just because comics haven't produced work worthy of adults does not mean they cannot. Beyond the literary merits of comics, though, is Chabon's continual defense of escapism itself as a worthwhile endeavor.

Which brings us the the truly clever part of the book. Escape. It's the overarching motivator of the piece. Hell, it's right there in the name of their character. The Escapist. Kavalier and Clay's answer to Superman, the impossible man no chain can hold, no barrier stop. I'd hit you over the head with this, but Chabon has already gotten there. Throughout the book Kavalier and Clay, and to a lesser extent Kavalier's girlfriend Rosa Saks are all trying to escape from their lives across the years of the novel. Klay's need to escape from first his ghetto life, then ultimately the fake life he has built around himself to hide from his homosexuality fuels the creation of the character, while Kavalier's needs soon find expression through the Escapist. Kavalier first uses the comics to gain the money he needs to free his family from the oppression of the Nazis, then comics from the denigrated ghetto the rest of the world desires to leave them in. As the needs of the two creators change, so to does the Escapist, becoming a reflection of the two boys as they are changed by the world around them. It's an easy hit on young writers to write about writing, how writer's block is kicking their ass or the problems with getting their genius novel published, or other intensely navel gazing endeavors. Chabon avoids that problem in Kavalier and Clay, by using the character to comment on the creators. He first is simply a reflection of Kavalier's training in escapistry, then later an outlet for his rage against the Nazis'. The novel ends with the death in litigation of the Escapist character at the exact moment both Kavalier and Clay are able to escape the traps of their own pasts; the Escapist is no longer needed, as his creators have outgrown their need for him.

I could go on about the historical details Chabon presents, and whether they line up. It was strange for me seeing figures from the early comics period, people whose works I've read and enjoyed alongside the fictional career of Sammy and Joe. Their use gives the project a verisimilitude that whole fictional stand-ins would lack, but it is still strange to see Stan Lee and Joe Simon show up, or read about Sammy's testimony during the Wertham hearings, the transcripts of which are readily available. It further clashes when The Escapist stories start to mirror Eisner's formal experiments in his Spirit strip. All of these are easily forgiven, as I don't expect most people to be as utterly nerdy as I am.

All told, there's a good reason The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay was awarded the Pulitzer. Chabon's love of the period and his obvious talent make for compelling reading, with just enough formal trickery to engage readers critical faculties in addition to their emotional investment.

The Future of This Blog

From Wired Magazine:

Numb-Wha?

Love & Solitude

A short but fascinating post about being alone before you can love.

Hat-tip to Andrew Sullivan