Friday, November 13, 2009
And NOW a RANT...
Did you ever notice that ART and Drama are both in the same department at most schools?
It seems that ART breeds DRAMA and frankly, to quote Noel Coward, I am Weary of it all.
Somehow it seems to me that the people who are drawn to ART are also drawn to the personality types that love to create chaos, snipe at each other and finally crash and burn in a mess that has to be untangled like the Gordian knot…
I may be being a bit too obtuse for some-people in art love DRAMA…
For a group with damaged egos and low self esteem it seems all too easy for the big emotional scenes to start in the first act and continue on and on without respite all the way to the not so final curtain…seems most of these tragedies feature an Olio where things go round again and end up where we started OR with the wounded and bloody exit stage right of one or more of the players.
One says this and another disagrees or takes offense and off we go…
The thing I dislike most about communicating via email and blog posts and forum quips, twitters and squeaks is we are communicating but not conversing and there is no inflection, no facial expression, nothing human to be read and digested to catch the subtleties inherent in the turn of a phrase.
OMG! Is like aloha it can mean everything and anything depending on where it lays in the sentence or fragment of a sentence twitted in some text message.
We need to drag ourselves out of the safety of our 2 dimensional virtual words rampant with state of the art graphics technology into the good old world of sweaty palms and nervous giggles where someone might have garlic breath but at least we hear them speak and see their expression and don’t EVEN talk to me about the stilted video conferencing stuff that passes for interaction-not the same, never will be…people need to touch, experience and interact in ways other than via the internet.
Don’t misunderstand, I am daily grateful for the wonders of email and face book-it does keep me connected and cognoscente of what’s going on where and with whom-on the other hand I pay for extended phone service so I could put someone on speaker phone and chat away all day as if we were in the same room so why TYPE it?
I am a dreadful typist and only in a world where spell checkers reign can my punch and peck versions of communication be deciphered…at least without some degree of annoyance.
This rant comes to you sponsored by someone who decided to be BITCHY in the worst sense…and though I agreed to disagree they made it into one of the more spectacular of the Punic Wars and damaged many relationships in the process.
This then would be the DRAMA part that I began this entire diatribe with.
I suspect because I am a male is a sea of estrogen, one tiny drop of testosterone fighting to exist in a world where everyone is referred to as “LADIES”.
Occasionally someone will say Ladies AND Rick but often enough it is a matter of who cares what HE thinks or feels we didn’t invite him in the first place.
I have been fortunate to be in the privy council of many women…and the only male within that thin and heady air that floats within those sacred chambers…NORMAL males can’t or won’t breathe there but I who knows a peplum from a dolman sleeve am allowed on my best behavior to be included.
I have actually been welcomed and courted on occasion to join in and be one of the girls.
A friend from high school says I was (in many ways) her best girlfriend…meaning there was a relationship there that defied the sexes and achieved the intimacy that two women might have as chums.
It is quite an honor to be thus described though I wonder how many men would actually acknowledge such accolades.
I, who prefer the company of women, have no problem with it-you can feel free to discuss virtually anything from feminine hygiene to how miserable men are in front of me and I will be fascinated and probably conversant with the topic.
I agree, most men ARE pigs-however, that does not automatically put the swine mark on ME because I have male plumbing…nor do I have Vagina envy-I do not now nor do I ever want to be a woman or give birth and urination in the standing position is overrated-I actually often sit.
Having balls is not fun-ask anyone who has had a sweaty day in mid-august while wearing too tight jeans and having rumpled jockey shorts (see JOCK ITCH) or fed the apparatus down one leg and forgetting where they were swung there leg over a picket fence in an oh so masculine gesture only to have said picket collide with the sensitive bits (see KNEE TO GROIN).
Internal genitalia are decidedly superior the odd yeast infection aside.
A lady friend tried to explain to me once how it felt to itch behind her belly button due to said yeast infection-this to a man is exactly like trying to explain how to see out of our elbow-it can’t be done---as you probably know when it itches we generally scratch it.
Just a short bit here about Lesbians...
I totally understand the lipstick Lesbian, this makes sense to me, women are beautiful creatures meant to be fleshy and pink, Rubenesque in my world is a good thing.
What I don’t understand is the bad Wayne Newton impersonation that some women do in the quest to be BUTCH.
This is less prevalent now since the double knit leisure suit has, thankfully, gone the way of bell bottoms but there is an equivalent version that takes all the worst parts of maleness and distills them into the scratching flatulent, belching caricature of a man that is exactly like a bad drag queen amongst males.
It goes too far---when you are wonderful by virtue of being female, lavish yourself in things I cannot.
I have said for some time that the divine superpower was very smart to have not made me either female or a drag queen (although I did once go to a costume ball as Madame Pompadour).
If I had been female I would have probably been a hooker and as a drag queen I would have been just too much of everything and would have achieved whatever the male version of the Wayne Newton Lesbian is---one endless Judy/Bette impersonation with an occasional nod to Liza or Tina.
Now how did I get here from where I was?
OH I was defending myself for being male in what is traditionally a female enclave…
Having done that let me say that those who know me-and know me well-also know that I am the kind, nurturing pussycat that my Mother made me.
She bragged throughout her life that she had managed to raise a gentleman in a world of cannibals.
I was also raised to avoid drama.
Somehow I seem too often to wind up in the sphere of drama where I found myself recently and I do feel somewhat victimized by it…interesting because I have had enough therapy to take responsibility and not be the victim in most cases.
I don’t think I had much choice in the genes and chromosomes business although a past life reader or two have told me that I am after nine or ten incarnations as a woman playing male for a change and being forced to learn to deal with males from a male perspective---karma and all that stuff.
My sensibilities are somewhat more feminine than masculine-I am and always have been modest and avoided public nudity…have to rethink that hooker reference up above there.
Anyway all I am saying is please stop if you are able encouraging those who think that life is not worth living without some random drama occurring about them---often too many random dramas and often self induced or abetted.
I am weary of it but I love the ART stuff but not so much with the boys…ART males have egos the size of Alaska and are too often ham handed swaggering things enswathed in cigarette smoke…no me gusta!
I just want to go to lunch, do a little shopping and enjoy my girlfriends without having to apologize for intruding to someone who finds my presence offensive by virtue of my glands.
I don’t think that is too much to ask considering my contributions to the support of the feminist movement...not to mention how much I genuinely enjoy my female friends
who have all too often put up with my brand of bitchiness with good humor.