Review Of "Peter Pan"

A Little Bit Of Dirt

"and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless." J.M. Barrie, at the end of his novel "Peter Pan"

I recently finished reading "Peter Pan" and was a little surprised at how murderous the children were or were represented to be. If I ever read it as a child, it must've been some cardboard Little Golden Book version. I've gotten so used, in this century, to seeing children in children's books represented with kid gloves or as sweet little lambs, this old-fashioned Peter Pan is bit of a relief. Of course, Peter Pan isn't represented as purely mean, but he and the other Lost Boys are cutthroat. The author doesn't worry about that, though, never getting very far from the idea that this is all a children's fantasy and that, in the minds of little boys, cutting off arms isn't very real and killing pirates by the boatload isn't anything very wicked. Neither Peter nor the Lost Boys care a whit if they should kill Captain Hook or if the alligator should chew and eat the Captain whole. They climb and they fall, they slaughter and they laugh, they get caught and barely escape, the worst bunch of little boys in all of Neverland!

I'm glad I read it; those memories of the bloodless sweet natured non-threatening almost purely good Disney version of Peter Pan and Wendy and the Boys lingering in my head were too antiseptic by far. The Disney version was funny and well drawn, but a little bit of dirt and grime and chopping off of heads is good for you—any boy will tell you.

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Tsunami Disaster In Asia

Ill-Starred Day

It was an ill-starred day, the day after Christmas, when a powerful wave of water hit the coastal areas of India, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and a host of smaller locations in Southeast Asia. The effect of that wave has not stopped yet in terms of damage and harm it will do. I have to think that everyone on the planet considers Asia's recent disaster as something horrible. It is horrible even from this great distance—my own location here in Texas being on the opposite side of the earth. But for those who are there, it must be like having a bad star hanging in the sky above them all the time these past several days. It will probably be much the same for days, weeks, and months to come. The population of ordinary citizens of this Pacific Rim area are uncertain if another quake and tsunami might follow, or how many survivors may die of disease to come and injuries already sustained.

Climbing Numbers

I remember hearing the numbers on TV. The first time someone said that Thailand had had over 200 deaths. Then they said it was 2,200. That was serious, though it was a large landmass, so I took it with a sigh. Next I heard the totals for all of the Asian countries—India around to Thailand, and down to Africa had gone up to 10,000 deaths. Then 20,000. Then each morning the totals grew worse until I heard today a figure of 75,000 dead. They expect that number to climb.

Everything about it is always "the worst of" or "the greatest of", according to somebody with a podium. There hasn't been a tsunami like this in 40 years, someone said. Within a hour of that, I heard someone—from the Red Cross, I think—make reference to their work during last year's earthquake in the city of Bam, Iran, when 26,000 people died. There is always a runner-up of some sort, I guess. Bam seemed terrible enough at the time, that's all I can recall of it only one year later. It too was the other side of the Earth for me.

The Children

Whatever this disaster lacks (and it doesn't lack much) in force of violence and horror and numbers of missing and dead, it seemed to leap ahead and make up for it all today when officials and the news media began to point out that one-third to one-half of the victims are children. So many strong adults perished in the powerful wave of water; it is hard on us just to think how much more difficult it was for the children. Many children survived, of course, and that seems to wrench one's heart, too. They look so stunned, even when apparently not seriously injured. The hurts are deeper than that. Lost parent or parents, lost siblings, even entire families lost. Orphans of all descriptions. I can look at the floating or beached bodies of the adult dead, but the sight of the children, alive or not, left me sitting alone in front of the TV yesterday afternoon trying to eat a piece of chocolate pie, my eyes leaking so much for the tormented and the dead that I could only halfway see the plate.

I could not eat just then, but I ate it later, after I'd turned the television off. It's bad when terrible things happen to people, but the world never ends because of it. Horribly enough, though, we go on. One can't escape the guilty sense of gladness one feels that the bad things did not happen to you.

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A New Toy

Her husband spent a good deal more time with her, of course, and that bothered me. For his part, he couldn't help being afraid that she was having more fun with me. He didn't particularly believe that I was anything special. He knew me, he liked me, but it was easy for him to see that it was the shine, the newness of me that held her. I was something novel for her. A brand-new toy.

He probably knew early on what I did not: that there was time for me to bore her yet. That's the way it would happen. But for now, I was interesting, the shiny new toy. A steadfastly passionate boy. The handsome intelligent matron with children who now are older than I was then, the lady who loved my poetry, couldn't help but want to pet me.

That was me at 26. God rest his soul.

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The Disappearing Blog Act

Come Back, Black Sheep!

One of the silliest and yet one of the most efficient ways of "losing track of a blog post" happens when one is not quite paying attention. It has happened to me three or four times now and even now that I know to suspect it, it still mostly catches me by surprise.

What It Is, Is Butterfingers, Bubba!

Sometimes as I “publish” and exit the program, my fingers slip and seem to stumble and slide over an extra key. I’m never sure what I did! But when I “view” my blog, today's post isn’t there. Whatever happened, I have since learned the end result; today's post date has changed! I’ve learned to use the Search feature and hunt the title down. Sure enough, it turns up easily enough, except that instead of being at the top of the blog, the date has changed and now it’s on the page for some previous month, possibly even for some previous year. The post that doesn’t exist! That post is pretty thoroughly hidden, if you don’t know to look there for it!

The Simple Fix

So I edit the post again and correct the date. When I Publish this time, I’m more careful with my butterfingers. There’s today's post at the top of the blog, right where it’s supposed to be. You don’t have to be a genius to solve the Disappearing Blog Act, you just have to remember that the trick exists and how it works!

Christmas Day

Ladies’ Home Journals

I guess this is as good a day as any to introduce five new sites to the “Intelligent Blogs” list in my sidebar.

bored housewife
being jennifer garrett
Churp, Churp
Kim Procrastinates
The Zen Pretzel Trick

All five of these new Bloggers (new to me) are women. Some of them are a little similar—they all have a good bit of "piss and vinegar" in their character—and yet they are all rather distinct from one another. Some of them cuss. Some of them cuss a lot! If you want to learn about them, though, you’re going to have to read them for yourself. All my efforts to characterize them would just confuse you more. Besides, I’m still having trouble keeping all of them straight in my own head except while I have their blog in view. Most of you (you few of my readers) probably won’t read any of these Ladies’ Home Journals (it’ll be your loss), so I’m not going to make any long introductory do dah day about it.

In a nutshell: This is them, there they are, one or more might strike you as great good fun. If you don’t like them, there they go. Now go away yourself, it’s Christmas!

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Degrading Things

Overheard at the library exit

"Degrading things like that were always happening to me in the real world," he said glumly, glancing over his shoulder toward the woman to whom he'd been telling a long story. He couldn’t see it, but she was grinning at him tolerantly.

I wondered what world he was in, now that he was walking around with the rest of us. Didn’t anything degrading ever happen to him here?

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Icarus Again

Located at this site about poet W.H. Auden is a poem about a painting (also shown) of the mythic character Icarus who fell from the sky. You and I recently looked at a photo of a statue of same. Many media involved here! [A larger image of Breughel's Icarus.]

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Search Engine Hits

It's amazing how many hits have jumped out at me from search engines hunting down sites that mention Vioxx, Celebrex, and Aleve. People searching for clinical or legal data on the subject must be sorely aggravated to find me going off on a rant about it! I admire Sergeant Joe Friday for saying, "Just the facts, ma'am, we're only interested in the facts," but I myself am seldom in possession of any.

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Vioxx, Celebrex, Aleve

Don’t Worry, The FDA Will Save Us!

What about these bizarre turnings all of a sudden against all our painkillers? And while serious questions are being raised about the safety of them, one hears some doctors on TV shrugging and saying there was little reason for the existence and prominence of Vioxx and Celebrex to begin with, that Advil and Tylenol were effective enough against these pains for many people? Now what’s that about? They weren’t talking like that before. Have the pill-peddlers in fact promoted and advertised us into believing we can’t live without these medicines? Are we that stupid or controllable by ad agencies? I know that the pharmaceutical companies can trot out droves of well-paid (ahem) doctors who’ll testify to why we NEED fancy pain-killers and I know the reasons and ulterior motives why the companies would want them to say it, but why are these other doctors going on TV and saying, in effect, “Don’t ask me why they were developed or how we got so hooked on them, the others are just as good.” And why did the FDA scientists and desk jockeys fall like dominoes for this bullshit instead of doing their duty and warning the public about the risks?

It’s my opinion that we ought to cut to the chase—just burn the FDA to the ground in broad daylight and then shoot the sonsabitches as they come running out with their hair on fire. The same goes for the facilities and CEO’s of the pharmaceutical companies. Kill them, dammit! They are clearly murderous and incompetent bastards if this is the kind of science they’re practicing for the good of the American consumer. In brief, they should be eliminated from the face of the earth, and the next crowd of greedy bastards who comes along will have a little something practical to MAKE their shriveled consciences stay alive. I’m no expert about chemistry or science, but I know what a good kick in the ass or a bullet whizzing past their ear will do for jerkoffs who’ve never been held accountable. I’m sorry to say that our country, particularly within our government, has forgotten how far a few executions might go toward making bureaucrats and business executives stop acting as if nothing matters. You can tell me I’m crude, but I haven’t killed or injured anyone like the pill-peddlers have.

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Okay, I lied about shorter posts. I meant to do it, but I just got mad about this particular thing!

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" If you don't know where you are going, any road will take you there.." — Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

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Christmas Ennui

Season’s Greetings

Christmas Ennui has arrived. Now increasingly there are people as unoccupied as I am. Except that they have been shopping (I have not.) They are planning parties (I am not.) They will be going out of town (I will not).

From today until who knows when, my posts will become shorter, more utterly frivolous, or more depressive. Therefore, if you miss them, you won’t miss much. But I won’t shut down. Those of you not sure whether to call the Suicide Line might need me. Call me first. I’ll be your reassurance that you have made the right decision. Or that you can instead get drunk and think about it again next year. Truth is, I don’t mind if you barf or bleed, as long as you don’t scare the children. Or me.

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Bored Housewife

The bored housewife was a shapely matron
And wouldn't talk to me much as a rule,
But she met me today by the frozen meats

And said,
"Let's go somewhere warm,
Let's set up a farm and get milk,

I'll be the girl, you be the farmer,
Or I'll be the boy,
and you be the farmer's wife.

You can be strong, I don't mind being weak,
But don't squeeze too hard
Or I'll knock you down with my strong right arm!

Just love me as much as you can
And I'll roll out my tongue and lick you and kiss you
Till you squeal like a left-handed pig.

rcs. — 12/20/04

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Asking Carole Out — Part Two

He Takes His Second Shot

Even as he spoke to distract her, his senses tracked another course in his body. He continued to experience the unreasoning physical attraction he'd been feeling for her for so many weeks now. He wanted to ask her out, but he was afraid to. Afraid she’d say no, afraid she’d say yes. What if she was too serious? What if he was?

“Now, now!” some voice screamed at him silently. He needed to ask her now!

The time and place were right, more or less. The Hardee’s fast food place was about as private as he’d been with her so far, so it’d have to do. He'd made up his mind to ask her out days ago, and still he couldn't. He felt a stirring in his pants now, and then a terrible sense of panic. The stirring was why he wanted to ask her and at the same time the reason why he was so afraid. He knew it didn't make much sense, but he hadn't felt that utterly involuntary stirring in his penis for so long, it scared him. He liked it, of course, but somehow it made his heart beat too fast. Would it do all his thinking for him? Was he too old for this?

She was thirty, he was forty. Her frequent talk of bad health put him off slightly. He worried that she might be a woman who had too many problems, too many nameless illnesses. Maybe she was a hypochondriac. Maybe her problems were real. Either way, that could be a problem.

“Goddammit, everybody's a problem and everybody talks about health problems too much,” he told himself angrily. “You can't have relationships without problems and people who chatter too much!”

But on and on they went, talking about her symptoms and whether the doctors would call her with the test results. He wanted to snap at her, “Go get well so I can ask you out!” But that wasn’t it.

He stood there, feeling foolish, speaking sympathetically, still discerning that slight stirring. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss her small straight mouth! He wanted to take her hand. It felt like he'd been standing there forever. Only three or four minutes had passed, in fact. Soon he was telling her goodbye, that he'd see her on Monday.

Did she hear what he meant or only what he said? He expected a lot of her. He prayed she was able to sense his cowardice and his hope, that she'd find some reason to excuse him and not to lose all interest in him. For some stupid reason, although he was acting so brainless, he felt that she was still interested.

“It'll keep me from feeling dead this weekend to imagine that, anyway,” he thought.

Big deal. Once again he’d failed to ask Carole out.

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