“You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it”
Paulo Coelho (@paulocoelho) just tweeted that horrific platitude this morning. I had to unfollow him the last time he tweeted something like that. I forgave and mostly forgot and started following him again. Now he comes up with that gem. I understand the allusion and may I just say that "you smell not by taking a dump, but by failing to wipe it!"
It's not that the platitude is offensive, but rather that my expectations were high.
Coelho is a wonderful author, surely such platitudes are beneath him. Or maybe not.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Being a goddess is not easy
My min pin Titus used to think I could make the sun shine. Truly he did. On a cloudy day he would stand where the sun usually shone in the house and beg me to turn it on. It makes sense, I made heat when he was cold, I made cold when he was hot, I provided water and food, I made pain go away, I scratched impossible to reach places, I soothed in times of stress, I produced dog biscuits on demand, I came home with a roasted chicken in a bag, I produced a blanket on winter nights, I could open the front door, why then should I not turn on the sun? He always seemed a little disappointed when I failed to give him sun on cloudy days, and I always felt like a lesser deity for that failure. Being a goddess has its drawbacks. People never ascribe limitations to their gods and apparently neither do dogs. The difference is that I’m more powerful and infinitely more benevolent than any man-made god. Has god ever scratched behind your ear? – I thought not.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Porto Alegre - what was that street name again?
Having lived all of my life in California, I now know my way around Porto Alegre instinctively. A sort of survival instinct I must have developed as a child in order to return home if ever I was lost. Save for perhaps a half dozen, I don’t know the names of any streets. This morning I had a doctor’s appointment at a building at the corner of Mostardeiro and Miguel Tostes, I took public transportation there. From my house it’s almost a straight line to my destination and these are streets familiar to me, I used to walk them as a child.
The problem is that I remember them as a child. “Miguel Tostes” is meaningless to me. I know that street as "the one with the Nacional supermarket where my grandmother used to shop". Or if you prefer as “that street where they kept the historic old house in front and erected a large modern building behind it”. My doctor’s office, by the way, is in that very building.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Human sausage in 1863 Porto Alegre (no, really! true story)
Porto Alegre has a tradition of anecdotes and storytelling, I think it stems from the cowboy heritage of sitting around a campfire in the evenings of cattle drives with little more to do than eat and tell stories. Since moving here last week I have felt an urge to tell the tale of one of its most gruesome and fantastic stories. The tale is not new it has been told countless times in newspapers and books, nor is it recent, it took place in 1863. If stripped of all details the story is as old as time: murder for profit. But this story has a twist: cannibalism.
In 1863 Porto Alegre was a small town, most of its streets were unpaved, the poor street lighting was provided by fish oil lanterns that generated soot and smelled bad. The streets a couple of blocks downhill from the noble part of town were dark, unpaved, lacking in plumbing and covered in filth. The crimes took place on one such street, Arvoredo Street.
A ne'er-do-well by the name of Jose Ramos lives in a small rented house on Arvoredo Street with a woman by the name of Catarina Palse. He is the son of a military deserter and as a child was fascinated by his father’s war stories, especially those involving the decapitation of enemies on the battlefield (a common practice in the War of the Farrapos). As a young man he stabs his drunken father to death in defense of his battered mother. He runs away to another city and is employed as a military police officer, until he is caught in the act of decapitating a prisoner in his cell. He is discharged and becomes a police informer in Porto Alegre. Catarina Palse is of German descent, born in Hungary. At the age of 12 she suffers atrocities at the hands of the invading Russian army and her family is murdered. At 15 she marries Peter Palse and they move to Brazil to escape abject poverty. Her husband hangs himself during the trip and she arrives in Porto Alegre alone. There these two damaged creatures come together and are joined the third accomplice, a butcher named Carlos Claussner.
Ramos has a penchant for living outside his means and music, he also finds a great deal of joy and satisfaction in killing people. He combines his passions and starts killing people for the money they carry. It was common at the time for people to carry most of their monetary worth in their pockets, especially when traveling for business. At first he is cautions, he cannot give in entirely to his passion for fear of being caught and hung. But Claussner, who owns a butcher shop, comes up with a brilliant plan for disposing of the bodies. He would make sausage out of Ramos’s victims and there would be no evidence left of the crime.
Given a method for impunity, Ramos goes on the hunt. One of his favorite hunting grounds is the area around the city’s public market, he looks for business travelers or wealthy women from out of town. He spends time charming his victim who is then invited to dinner at his house on Arvoredo St. The victim is served a sumptuous meal and plenty to drink. After dinner Ramos excuses himself momentarily and returns with a hatchet and a dagger. His modus operandi is to split the skull with the hatchet and decapitate with the dagger. Catarina cleans the blood stains, Claussner and an accomplice named Henrique cut the body into pieces and transport it in two wooden trunks to the butcher shop. The bodies were either transported on a hired cart or by two hired slaves.
“The butcher debones the meat and grinds it on a small machine. Seasons the meat with salt, pepper and other spices. Takes the dried whole intestine, ties one end with a string. In the open end he inserts a tube through which he inserts the minced meat. When the intestine is filled he ties the other end with a string. ” “The bones are incinerated in the butcher shop yard and the ashes discarded in the Guaiba river.” [from “O Maior Crime da Terra by Decio Freitas]
The sausages were mixed with bovine meat on a cart and sold around town. The butcher was instructed to offer the sausage at a reduced price at the homes of the president of the province, the chief of police, the bishop and other prominent citizens including wealthy merchants, the remainder was sold at the butcher’s shop. There was a high demand since not many places made sausages in town.
The night before the sausage is sold Claussner and Ramos have Catarina fry some for dinner. The rest is sold the following day. In all cases they sampled the sausage before it was sold. The butcher’s customers called it “special sausage” because they thought it was more flavorful than other sausages, and complained when none was available for sale. Sometimes Claussner would take orders for future batches.
After each murder Ramos follows an obsessive ritual. He recites a biblical psalm, eats heartily but alone, he shaves and takes a long bath. He then dresses meticulously in the finery his activities have afforded him and puts on an exaggerated amount of cologne to offset the stench of the streets. He was later called the “Perfumed Monster”. He orders a carriage and goes to the Sao Pedro theater a few blocks way. After the murders he always felt artistic and following this ritual would declare himself cleansed. The Sao Pedro theater is in the noblest part of town and there he hobnobs with the highest society. His manner of dress and address makes him welcome in that circle in spite of his low origins.
In September 1863 Claussner tells Ramos he has had enough. His customers keep commenting on the odd tasting sausage, even while finding it delicious. Claussner is afraid of getting caught and declares he will no longer participate and that he is moving to Montevideo. Ramos is afraid that once Claussner is safely tucked away in Uruguay he might rat him out with an incriminating letter to the police. So in a dark evening he goes to the Claussner’s apartment over the butcher shop and splits his skull with a hatchet while he sleeps. He chops the body into pieces and uses two of the victim’s trunks to transport it to his house on Arvoredo St. where Clausssner is buried in the yard. Ramos ransacks the butcher shop for valuables and tells everyone that he won the lottery and that Claussner moved to Uruguay and left him the butcher shop. His story becomes inconsistent and the police start to suspect foul play.
With his partner gone, Ramos is no longer able to properly dispose of his victims and the next few are buried in the yard or the basement of the house. Eventually a victim is seen entering the house and never leaving and an investigation finds Claussner and a few other bodies on his property. He is tried for those murders but escapes the noose. He is never tried for the murders of 1863 or for selling special sausage to the public. After years of incarceration he managed a sort of prison work furlough where he worked in the city’s public hospital as a nursing aid. He was known for sitting vigil with the dying. Both he and Catarina lived to be old and free and the case of the sausages was covered up by missing and poor documentation. Probably because the local elite did not want to be reminded that they had been unwitting cannibals.
Arvoredo St today is called Fernando Machado St. All of the information in this post is taken from a book called “O Maior Crime da Terra” (The Greatest Crime on Earth) written by Decio Freitas, published by Editora Sulina in 1998, out of print. Decio Freitas’ research is thorough and his book is filled with fascinating details and cultural references of the time.
This story fascinates me for a couple of reasons. It took place some four blocks from where I live and every morning I walk my dog past the same church Ramos attended every morning, and past the Sao Pedro theater he attended after each murder. Ramos, in his embittered and vengeful state preferred to sell the sausages to the upper classes of the city’s society, a very small group to which my great grandmother’s parents belonged at the time. Because their portraits have hung on a wall all of my life, their names and faces have always been familiar to me, and I was fortune to know my great grandmother personally, I feel close to them and cringe at the thought that they might have been Ramos’ unwitting clients. My great grandmother was such a proper lady… I wonder what her reaction would have been. I choose to think she never knew anything about the story.
In 1863 Porto Alegre was a small town, most of its streets were unpaved, the poor street lighting was provided by fish oil lanterns that generated soot and smelled bad. The streets a couple of blocks downhill from the noble part of town were dark, unpaved, lacking in plumbing and covered in filth. The crimes took place on one such street, Arvoredo Street.
A ne'er-do-well by the name of Jose Ramos lives in a small rented house on Arvoredo Street with a woman by the name of Catarina Palse. He is the son of a military deserter and as a child was fascinated by his father’s war stories, especially those involving the decapitation of enemies on the battlefield (a common practice in the War of the Farrapos). As a young man he stabs his drunken father to death in defense of his battered mother. He runs away to another city and is employed as a military police officer, until he is caught in the act of decapitating a prisoner in his cell. He is discharged and becomes a police informer in Porto Alegre. Catarina Palse is of German descent, born in Hungary. At the age of 12 she suffers atrocities at the hands of the invading Russian army and her family is murdered. At 15 she marries Peter Palse and they move to Brazil to escape abject poverty. Her husband hangs himself during the trip and she arrives in Porto Alegre alone. There these two damaged creatures come together and are joined the third accomplice, a butcher named Carlos Claussner.
Ramos has a penchant for living outside his means and music, he also finds a great deal of joy and satisfaction in killing people. He combines his passions and starts killing people for the money they carry. It was common at the time for people to carry most of their monetary worth in their pockets, especially when traveling for business. At first he is cautions, he cannot give in entirely to his passion for fear of being caught and hung. But Claussner, who owns a butcher shop, comes up with a brilliant plan for disposing of the bodies. He would make sausage out of Ramos’s victims and there would be no evidence left of the crime.
Given a method for impunity, Ramos goes on the hunt. One of his favorite hunting grounds is the area around the city’s public market, he looks for business travelers or wealthy women from out of town. He spends time charming his victim who is then invited to dinner at his house on Arvoredo St. The victim is served a sumptuous meal and plenty to drink. After dinner Ramos excuses himself momentarily and returns with a hatchet and a dagger. His modus operandi is to split the skull with the hatchet and decapitate with the dagger. Catarina cleans the blood stains, Claussner and an accomplice named Henrique cut the body into pieces and transport it in two wooden trunks to the butcher shop. The bodies were either transported on a hired cart or by two hired slaves.
“The butcher debones the meat and grinds it on a small machine. Seasons the meat with salt, pepper and other spices. Takes the dried whole intestine, ties one end with a string. In the open end he inserts a tube through which he inserts the minced meat. When the intestine is filled he ties the other end with a string. ” “The bones are incinerated in the butcher shop yard and the ashes discarded in the Guaiba river.” [from “O Maior Crime da Terra by Decio Freitas]
The sausages were mixed with bovine meat on a cart and sold around town. The butcher was instructed to offer the sausage at a reduced price at the homes of the president of the province, the chief of police, the bishop and other prominent citizens including wealthy merchants, the remainder was sold at the butcher’s shop. There was a high demand since not many places made sausages in town.
The night before the sausage is sold Claussner and Ramos have Catarina fry some for dinner. The rest is sold the following day. In all cases they sampled the sausage before it was sold. The butcher’s customers called it “special sausage” because they thought it was more flavorful than other sausages, and complained when none was available for sale. Sometimes Claussner would take orders for future batches.
After each murder Ramos follows an obsessive ritual. He recites a biblical psalm, eats heartily but alone, he shaves and takes a long bath. He then dresses meticulously in the finery his activities have afforded him and puts on an exaggerated amount of cologne to offset the stench of the streets. He was later called the “Perfumed Monster”. He orders a carriage and goes to the Sao Pedro theater a few blocks way. After the murders he always felt artistic and following this ritual would declare himself cleansed. The Sao Pedro theater is in the noblest part of town and there he hobnobs with the highest society. His manner of dress and address makes him welcome in that circle in spite of his low origins.
In September 1863 Claussner tells Ramos he has had enough. His customers keep commenting on the odd tasting sausage, even while finding it delicious. Claussner is afraid of getting caught and declares he will no longer participate and that he is moving to Montevideo. Ramos is afraid that once Claussner is safely tucked away in Uruguay he might rat him out with an incriminating letter to the police. So in a dark evening he goes to the Claussner’s apartment over the butcher shop and splits his skull with a hatchet while he sleeps. He chops the body into pieces and uses two of the victim’s trunks to transport it to his house on Arvoredo St. where Clausssner is buried in the yard. Ramos ransacks the butcher shop for valuables and tells everyone that he won the lottery and that Claussner moved to Uruguay and left him the butcher shop. His story becomes inconsistent and the police start to suspect foul play.
With his partner gone, Ramos is no longer able to properly dispose of his victims and the next few are buried in the yard or the basement of the house. Eventually a victim is seen entering the house and never leaving and an investigation finds Claussner and a few other bodies on his property. He is tried for those murders but escapes the noose. He is never tried for the murders of 1863 or for selling special sausage to the public. After years of incarceration he managed a sort of prison work furlough where he worked in the city’s public hospital as a nursing aid. He was known for sitting vigil with the dying. Both he and Catarina lived to be old and free and the case of the sausages was covered up by missing and poor documentation. Probably because the local elite did not want to be reminded that they had been unwitting cannibals.
Arvoredo St today is called Fernando Machado St. All of the information in this post is taken from a book called “O Maior Crime da Terra” (The Greatest Crime on Earth) written by Decio Freitas, published by Editora Sulina in 1998, out of print. Decio Freitas’ research is thorough and his book is filled with fascinating details and cultural references of the time.
This story fascinates me for a couple of reasons. It took place some four blocks from where I live and every morning I walk my dog past the same church Ramos attended every morning, and past the Sao Pedro theater he attended after each murder. Ramos, in his embittered and vengeful state preferred to sell the sausages to the upper classes of the city’s society, a very small group to which my great grandmother’s parents belonged at the time. Because their portraits have hung on a wall all of my life, their names and faces have always been familiar to me, and I was fortune to know my great grandmother personally, I feel close to them and cringe at the thought that they might have been Ramos’ unwitting clients. My great grandmother was such a proper lady… I wonder what her reaction would have been. I choose to think she never knew anything about the story.
 |
| Andradas st. one of the wealthy parts of town |
 |
| Arvoredo st. a few years after the crimes |
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| The newly build jail house, where Ramos was first sent |
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| Porto Alegre Public Market, one of his hunting grounds. |
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| Matriz sq. the noblest section of town with government buildings the cathedral |
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| Sao Pedro theater in those days (also on Matriz sq.) |
Sunday, August 22, 2010
can we win if no one loses?
Can we win if no one else loses? In our commercial, free-market capitalist society we are brought up to win and our victories are always measured against someone else’s loss. We have been brain washed to win when playing games, taking tests, practicing sports and other such activities that keep numerical scores. Once we’ve learned how to keep score we apply the concept to other activities in our lives that have no visible score: dating, dressing, driving, religion, jobs are all activities in which we compare ourselves to others in order to determine our obvious superiority. Thinner, fatter, more expensive, better label, pricier store, newer car, trendy, latest fashion, our society is based on comparisons that determine a winner. But there are enormous victories to be had at nobody’s expense, victories that require no comparison to others. A beach side sunset is just as splendorous when admired from the hood of a 15 year old clunker as from the deck of a Malibu beach house. The ability to enjoy the sunset and take pleasure in the moment is the victory not the Malibu deck.
You are not better than anyone else, your religion is not better than all others and your child is not the culmination of human evolution! But if you are happy, your religion brings you peace and your child is the love of your life, then your victory is all encompassing and permanent. All the comparisons and scores in the world could not take it from you.
Treasure the victories in your life that have no losers or comparisons, they are true and real.
You are not better than anyone else, your religion is not better than all others and your child is not the culmination of human evolution! But if you are happy, your religion brings you peace and your child is the love of your life, then your victory is all encompassing and permanent. All the comparisons and scores in the world could not take it from you.
Treasure the victories in your life that have no losers or comparisons, they are true and real.
Does anyone know what this is? Peruvian pottery
I have often wondered what this item might be. I was told it’s Peruvian, but I would love more information about which culture and time period it might belong to. Does anyone out there know?
It may be a reproduction, but of what?
It may be a reproduction, but of what?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Death and Windows Vista
A middle-aged woman sitting on the beach watching the sun set. The beach is completely deserted on a windy winter day. Seemingly out of nowhere a dark figure appears and sits next to her. She is not startled, only people who feel hope and have something to lose are startled, that was not her case.
She glances at the new arrival and immediately recognizes him. His presence annoys her, he's early. She breaks the silence: "Seriously, a black cloak and a sickle? In this day and age isn't the sickle a bit much?"
"Well, perhaps... but I've had it so long I've grown accustomed to it."
This annoys her even further ""Accustomed to it?" What are you Henry Higgins now?"
Death is a bit flustered by her annoyance, he could handle fear and terror but he had never been merely annoying. "It's tradition you know, and It makes a handy toothpick and backscratcher, er...you have to be careful with that though."
In full blown annoyance mode the woman demands "what are you doing here?"
A little more defensively than he would have liked death explains "well, you were planning to walk into the ocean and swim until you drowned..."
"I was, but I haven't yet! Aren't you supposed to wait until I'm dead? Fetch me in the middle of the ocean or something?"
"The water is cold, and my work order says that in just a few meters out you get dragged under by an undertow and drown. I figured I would be saving time if you came right now."
Her annoyance had reached new levels and she was almost yelling now: " Saving time? You can't save time, what's wrong with you? You're death, time is meaningless to you!"
"Well, I'm just a reaper... I work for death"
"I don't care what you are!" She paused pensively, "did you say you have a work order?"
"Yes, I do." He replied as he held out a single sheet of printed paper, which flapped in the wind. "I have a quota to meet, I have to fill three more work orders by the end of the night, so can we move this along?"
Her annoyance, now subsided is replaced by curiosity. "Why do you feel you need to save time?"
The reaper sighs deeply: " The system is slow, it was down for two hours and now it's just crawling along. All the jobs are late."
"The system?" she asked now in a calm voice.
With a sense of urgency in his voice the reaper explains "we used to have a manual system, you got a booklet of vouchers and filled in the name and situation on the fly, during the job. It was easy, we had plagues, famine, natural disasters and the job ran smoothly. In China they still use the voucher system, lucky bastards."
"What system are you using?"
"Well, we are still running Vista... There was a request for an upgrade to Windows 7, but there isn't much money in death... it's just not in the budget."
The woman was feeling much better now. "I've changed my mind"
"What?"
"I've changed my mind, I'm not walking into the ocean."
"You can't change your mind, I've already issued the work order! I'll drag you in if I have to!"
"Does your work order say I was dragged into the ocean and drowned?"
"No, I would have to change that in the system... Shit, that would take all night"
The woman reaches over and slowly grabs the work order out of the reaper's hand, he watches with a depressed look on his face. She tears the paper in four and tosses the bits into the wind and smiles at them as they fly away.
The reaper is almost in tears now "I'll have to cancel the work order, it will take days!"
"You can tell them that the system froze while you were generating the work order and you only got a partial print, and that you need a new work order."
The reaper now has tears in his eyes: "Are you sure... couldn't you... I mean, it would really help me out..." as he points to the water.
The woman stands up "Sorry, no! I'm going home. At least I have Windows 7... that's something. Not much, but it's something."
The reaper gets up and slowly walks towards the water.
She glances at the new arrival and immediately recognizes him. His presence annoys her, he's early. She breaks the silence: "Seriously, a black cloak and a sickle? In this day and age isn't the sickle a bit much?"
"Well, perhaps... but I've had it so long I've grown accustomed to it."
This annoys her even further ""Accustomed to it?" What are you Henry Higgins now?"
Death is a bit flustered by her annoyance, he could handle fear and terror but he had never been merely annoying. "It's tradition you know, and It makes a handy toothpick and backscratcher, er...you have to be careful with that though."
In full blown annoyance mode the woman demands "what are you doing here?"
A little more defensively than he would have liked death explains "well, you were planning to walk into the ocean and swim until you drowned..."
"I was, but I haven't yet! Aren't you supposed to wait until I'm dead? Fetch me in the middle of the ocean or something?"
"The water is cold, and my work order says that in just a few meters out you get dragged under by an undertow and drown. I figured I would be saving time if you came right now."
Her annoyance had reached new levels and she was almost yelling now: " Saving time? You can't save time, what's wrong with you? You're death, time is meaningless to you!"
"Well, I'm just a reaper... I work for death"
"I don't care what you are!" She paused pensively, "did you say you have a work order?"
"Yes, I do." He replied as he held out a single sheet of printed paper, which flapped in the wind. "I have a quota to meet, I have to fill three more work orders by the end of the night, so can we move this along?"
Her annoyance, now subsided is replaced by curiosity. "Why do you feel you need to save time?"
The reaper sighs deeply: " The system is slow, it was down for two hours and now it's just crawling along. All the jobs are late."
"The system?" she asked now in a calm voice.
With a sense of urgency in his voice the reaper explains "we used to have a manual system, you got a booklet of vouchers and filled in the name and situation on the fly, during the job. It was easy, we had plagues, famine, natural disasters and the job ran smoothly. In China they still use the voucher system, lucky bastards."
"What system are you using?"
"Well, we are still running Vista... There was a request for an upgrade to Windows 7, but there isn't much money in death... it's just not in the budget."
The woman was feeling much better now. "I've changed my mind"
"What?"
"I've changed my mind, I'm not walking into the ocean."
"You can't change your mind, I've already issued the work order! I'll drag you in if I have to!"
"Does your work order say I was dragged into the ocean and drowned?"
"No, I would have to change that in the system... Shit, that would take all night"
The woman reaches over and slowly grabs the work order out of the reaper's hand, he watches with a depressed look on his face. She tears the paper in four and tosses the bits into the wind and smiles at them as they fly away.
The reaper is almost in tears now "I'll have to cancel the work order, it will take days!"
"You can tell them that the system froze while you were generating the work order and you only got a partial print, and that you need a new work order."
The reaper now has tears in his eyes: "Are you sure... couldn't you... I mean, it would really help me out..." as he points to the water.
The woman stands up "Sorry, no! I'm going home. At least I have Windows 7... that's something. Not much, but it's something."
The reaper gets up and slowly walks towards the water.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
a modern problem
"The wedding is off!"
"What?"
"The wedding is off!"
"You can't be serious, the guests are sitting in the pews!"
"The - wedding - is - off!"
"John! Helen is in the next room getting ready to walk down the isle, are you insane?"
"I'm perfectly sane and the wedding is off!"
"You love her, you've been planning this for over a year, it cost her father over 40 thousand dollars! Stop joking around. Buck up, let's do this!"
"I got a note from Helen a few minutes ago. She wrote it on perfumed paper... she says she loves me... "
"Of course she loves you, your parents love her, her parent love you, everybody loves everybody, let's get out there!"
"You didn't see the note... you don't understand!"
"Let me see it - It's a lovely note, what's wrong with you? I understand that you are insane! Her father will kill you if you're late."
"She had never written anything to me before... you see? In the five years we've known each other, this is the first thing she wrote me. Did you see it?'
"John, buddy what are you talking about? Did I see what?"
"Do you remember Kathy Conner from high school? Remember why I broke up with her?
"Well, she was annoying and whinny as hell!"
"Yes she was! I broke up with her because she kept drawing smiley faces on my notebook!"
"Smiley faces?
"Yes, didn't you see the yearbook?"
"John, are you insane?"
"I mean, we've texted and emailed, we posted on Facebook, she keeps a blog! Did you read about the wedding plans on her blog?"
"I did, she writes very well, the note is beautiful, what are you talking about?"
"She never wrote me anything by hand...I mean, everything was typed, or posted or e-mailed!"
"You're scaring me John!"
"The 'i's!!! Did you see the letter i's on the note?"
"John, get a grip, sit down! Stop pacing around the room!"
"She dots her i's with little hearts, I never knew that about her! I can't marry a woman who dots her i's with hearts! The wedding is off!"
"What?"
"The wedding is off!"
"You can't be serious, the guests are sitting in the pews!"
"The - wedding - is - off!"
"John! Helen is in the next room getting ready to walk down the isle, are you insane?"
"I'm perfectly sane and the wedding is off!"
"You love her, you've been planning this for over a year, it cost her father over 40 thousand dollars! Stop joking around. Buck up, let's do this!"
"I got a note from Helen a few minutes ago. She wrote it on perfumed paper... she says she loves me... "
"Of course she loves you, your parents love her, her parent love you, everybody loves everybody, let's get out there!"
"You didn't see the note... you don't understand!"
"Let me see it - It's a lovely note, what's wrong with you? I understand that you are insane! Her father will kill you if you're late."
"She had never written anything to me before... you see? In the five years we've known each other, this is the first thing she wrote me. Did you see it?'
"John, buddy what are you talking about? Did I see what?"
"Do you remember Kathy Conner from high school? Remember why I broke up with her?
"Well, she was annoying and whinny as hell!"
"Yes she was! I broke up with her because she kept drawing smiley faces on my notebook!"
"Smiley faces?
"Yes, didn't you see the yearbook?"
"John, are you insane?"
"I mean, we've texted and emailed, we posted on Facebook, she keeps a blog! Did you read about the wedding plans on her blog?"
"I did, she writes very well, the note is beautiful, what are you talking about?"
"She never wrote me anything by hand...I mean, everything was typed, or posted or e-mailed!"
"You're scaring me John!"
"The 'i's!!! Did you see the letter i's on the note?"
"John, get a grip, sit down! Stop pacing around the room!"
"She dots her i's with little hearts, I never knew that about her! I can't marry a woman who dots her i's with hearts! The wedding is off!"
Saturday, August 7, 2010
It could be worse
I was reading a magazine the other day and I saw a picture of a park bench. It was a Parisian park bench. It looked so elegant. I could have been a Parisian park bench... but no. Well when I say I was reading a magazine, I wasn't really reading it, I can't read, but I caught a glimpse of it on the counter, and there was that park bench, glistening in the Parisian sun with the Seine in the background.
It was a black and white photograph and in front of the bench there was a woman wearing a silk scarf that fluttered in the wind. It was so beautiful. I could have been a silk scarf... but no. Well maybe not silk, I'm not sure what silk is... but it sure was pretty.
There's the stethoscope looking all smug. I can't stand stethoscopes! They hang around the doctor's neck and brag about how important they are. Ha! I saw a pearl necklace on a patient the other day, now that was important.
Well it could be worse; I could be a stethoscope... or a tongue depressor, ugh. Here we go, it's my turn. I suppose there are worse things than being a speculum... I just don't know what.
It was a black and white photograph and in front of the bench there was a woman wearing a silk scarf that fluttered in the wind. It was so beautiful. I could have been a silk scarf... but no. Well maybe not silk, I'm not sure what silk is... but it sure was pretty.
There's the stethoscope looking all smug. I can't stand stethoscopes! They hang around the doctor's neck and brag about how important they are. Ha! I saw a pearl necklace on a patient the other day, now that was important.
Well it could be worse; I could be a stethoscope... or a tongue depressor, ugh. Here we go, it's my turn. I suppose there are worse things than being a speculum... I just don't know what.
Friday, August 6, 2010
A forgotten aspect of privacy
Privacy is extinct. I don't think anyone will disagree with that statement. In today's digital world it is almost impossible to maintain privacy. Every time you use a credit card, an ATM card, your mobile, your GPS, make an online purchase, or apply for anything, your information is being tracked and recorded somewhere. Every time you enter a store, walk down the street, drive down the freeway you are being video taped. What you buy, where you go, your preferences, ethnicity, income, everything about you is public. But there is a minor aspect of privacy, a nuance that is never considered. This fragile aspect of privacy was the first to die and its demised paved the way for the complete obliteration of privacy: etiquette in a social context.
What does etiquette have to do with privacy, you may ask. They have an ancient and unintentional association. Their relationship is subtle, but historically etiquette and social norm have served to protect the privacy of individuals in society. The interaction exists but we have never given it a name, there is no noun that describes this phenomenon and so I will attempt to exemplify it.
For most of human history social norm has dictated public behavior in minute details. This was not done with the intent of protecting individual privacy, but it had that consequence. In Roman times (for a while at least) baths were actually co-ed, men and women bathed communally the same spaces. This might have been the ultimate lack of privacy and invitation to lascivious and salacious behavior on the part of all concerned, but it was not. Etiquette saved the day. There were strict norms for decorum and behavior in public baths and the first rule was that you should always act as though you, and everyone else, were fully dressed. If a man ran into his neighbor's wife, you know, the one he had been coveting for months now, he was to greet her politely, inquire about her health and family, send his regards to her husband and walk away in a dignified manner. Another strict rule, of course, was no staring. He had to do all of this while looking her straight in the eye. If you broke the rules you were tossed out on your fanny and banned from the bath. To quote Obelix 'They're crazy these Romans'. But the point is, even if lack of privacy reached the extreme of being naked in public, etiquette compensated for the intrusion and mortification could be completely avoided. The behavior of the public persona was completely regulated by manners and etiquette, which conspired to protect one's privacy even under extreme conditions.
This continued in different forms over the ages. Through the centuries in Europe's upper echelons, etiquette ruled society and unwittingly protected the individual's privacy. Etiquette demanded that an individual of a certain social standing present a very specific public image. You couldn't leave the house without wearing your public persona. You were expected to dress according to the specific trends, speak of certain subjects and in a contemporary style, behave fashionably and follow social protocol. This resulted in a uniform society of public personas, everyone endeavored to present the same image.
Your manners and behavior determined how society judged you. That public persona was not necessarily who the individual was in the privacy of his home. His private persona was protected by the façade of the public persona he was expected to portray. Take the play Les Liaisons Dangereuses (or movie if you prefer, Dangerous Liaisons), the characters' behavior went against socially acceptable norms. The public persona they were supposed to present became tainted by the private persona they failed to conceal, an enormous breach of etiquette. Again, etiquette operating to conceal one's reality and thus preserve privacy.
Once our numbers increased and our societies became more complex, such strict etiquette became difficult to maintain. It lingered though as a diluted version of itself. In a 1953 episode of I Love Lucy, Ethel and Lucy agreed to go on an errand downtown:
Lucy: Sure, come on let's get downtown and buy all the paper and stuff
Ethel: Ok, I'll get dressed.
Lucy: Ok hurry up
This is what Ethel (left) was wearing when she announced she had to go get dressed in order to go out:
A perfectly good and presentable dress by today's standards. In 1953 there was still some vestige of the public persona, etiquette at the time still demanded that the public persona presented downtown be somehow superior to the private persona in the house. The requirement was "to be presentable" - i.e. the same as everyone else - the unintentional result was the concealment of the expressions that made a person an individual: etiquette preserving privacy.
The artifice of presenting a public persona in order to maintain privacy is still often used today. Star Trek TNG actors for example will answer thousands of questions from fans at ST conventions every year, but will never respond to a question about their private lives. The persona they offer to the public is different from the people who go home after the convention, and if they were to comment on their private lives the two personas would merge and their privacy would be obliterated. This is a conscious decision by people in the public eye; they present a public persona in order to maintain their privacy. It is not dictated by etiquette and it does not apply to society at large. It is a tool rather than a social obligation and so it is different from the extinct concept I'm trying to exemplify.
Some time after 1953 etiquette died. People behaved, dressed, spoke and addressed each other in public exactly as they would in the privacy of their homes. The public and the private persona merged and etiquette died out completely, and with it died that aspect of privacy that was dependent on etiquette and social norm. Privacy, in its broadest terms still endured until the advent of the internet, but the demise of the nuance of privacy that was shrouded in etiquette, a nuance that had endured over millennia, was the first step in our willingness to forgo privacy completely.
This etiquette dependent aspect of privacy never had a name, we never created a word for it, and so when it deteriorated no one complained. It died completely unrecognized. An unknown species that went extinct before anyone knew it existed. I wish we had a noun of some kind to place on the gravestone.
What does etiquette have to do with privacy, you may ask. They have an ancient and unintentional association. Their relationship is subtle, but historically etiquette and social norm have served to protect the privacy of individuals in society. The interaction exists but we have never given it a name, there is no noun that describes this phenomenon and so I will attempt to exemplify it.
For most of human history social norm has dictated public behavior in minute details. This was not done with the intent of protecting individual privacy, but it had that consequence. In Roman times (for a while at least) baths were actually co-ed, men and women bathed communally the same spaces. This might have been the ultimate lack of privacy and invitation to lascivious and salacious behavior on the part of all concerned, but it was not. Etiquette saved the day. There were strict norms for decorum and behavior in public baths and the first rule was that you should always act as though you, and everyone else, were fully dressed. If a man ran into his neighbor's wife, you know, the one he had been coveting for months now, he was to greet her politely, inquire about her health and family, send his regards to her husband and walk away in a dignified manner. Another strict rule, of course, was no staring. He had to do all of this while looking her straight in the eye. If you broke the rules you were tossed out on your fanny and banned from the bath. To quote Obelix 'They're crazy these Romans'. But the point is, even if lack of privacy reached the extreme of being naked in public, etiquette compensated for the intrusion and mortification could be completely avoided. The behavior of the public persona was completely regulated by manners and etiquette, which conspired to protect one's privacy even under extreme conditions.
This continued in different forms over the ages. Through the centuries in Europe's upper echelons, etiquette ruled society and unwittingly protected the individual's privacy. Etiquette demanded that an individual of a certain social standing present a very specific public image. You couldn't leave the house without wearing your public persona. You were expected to dress according to the specific trends, speak of certain subjects and in a contemporary style, behave fashionably and follow social protocol. This resulted in a uniform society of public personas, everyone endeavored to present the same image.
Your manners and behavior determined how society judged you. That public persona was not necessarily who the individual was in the privacy of his home. His private persona was protected by the façade of the public persona he was expected to portray. Take the play Les Liaisons Dangereuses (or movie if you prefer, Dangerous Liaisons), the characters' behavior went against socially acceptable norms. The public persona they were supposed to present became tainted by the private persona they failed to conceal, an enormous breach of etiquette. Again, etiquette operating to conceal one's reality and thus preserve privacy.
Once our numbers increased and our societies became more complex, such strict etiquette became difficult to maintain. It lingered though as a diluted version of itself. In a 1953 episode of I Love Lucy, Ethel and Lucy agreed to go on an errand downtown:
Lucy: Sure, come on let's get downtown and buy all the paper and stuff
Ethel: Ok, I'll get dressed.
Lucy: Ok hurry up
This is what Ethel (left) was wearing when she announced she had to go get dressed in order to go out:
A perfectly good and presentable dress by today's standards. In 1953 there was still some vestige of the public persona, etiquette at the time still demanded that the public persona presented downtown be somehow superior to the private persona in the house. The requirement was "to be presentable" - i.e. the same as everyone else - the unintentional result was the concealment of the expressions that made a person an individual: etiquette preserving privacy.
The artifice of presenting a public persona in order to maintain privacy is still often used today. Star Trek TNG actors for example will answer thousands of questions from fans at ST conventions every year, but will never respond to a question about their private lives. The persona they offer to the public is different from the people who go home after the convention, and if they were to comment on their private lives the two personas would merge and their privacy would be obliterated. This is a conscious decision by people in the public eye; they present a public persona in order to maintain their privacy. It is not dictated by etiquette and it does not apply to society at large. It is a tool rather than a social obligation and so it is different from the extinct concept I'm trying to exemplify.
Some time after 1953 etiquette died. People behaved, dressed, spoke and addressed each other in public exactly as they would in the privacy of their homes. The public and the private persona merged and etiquette died out completely, and with it died that aspect of privacy that was dependent on etiquette and social norm. Privacy, in its broadest terms still endured until the advent of the internet, but the demise of the nuance of privacy that was shrouded in etiquette, a nuance that had endured over millennia, was the first step in our willingness to forgo privacy completely.
This etiquette dependent aspect of privacy never had a name, we never created a word for it, and so when it deteriorated no one complained. It died completely unrecognized. An unknown species that went extinct before anyone knew it existed. I wish we had a noun of some kind to place on the gravestone.