The Post in Which I Talk About Gay Marriage

So right now Minnesota's government is discussing a ban on gay marriage.

I, unfortunately, am not registered to vote in Minnesota, and so have confined my activities to getting entangled in a comment war on Facebook.  At least my friend who originally posted this is an ally.  A good ally. 

See, a recurring motif of the people who commented was "I have gay friends, but I don't think gay people should get married because the Bible says no."  I am not going to argue the religious aspect.  I do not care what you do in the privacy of your own home - and honestly, people with those opinions aren't going to change them unless they want to.  What bothers me is the hypocrisy. 

If you can look someone in the eye and tell them that you never want them to get married, are you truly their friend?  If you tell your friends that it's okay that they are gay, but you are trying to "change yourself for God," do you think they really believe that you are okay with the gay?  And if you say it's okay for people to be gay, as long as they don't get married, then are you really approving of the gay?

It also bugs me how people think they can just say anything, as long as they follow it with "But I have gay friends, so I'm not homophobic."  Do you think your gay friends approve of your favorite complaint being "That's so gay!"  Do you think a piece of their souls does not quietly wilt every time they hear that phrase? 

Back to marriage.

I think our society has progressed to the point where homophobia is for the most part frowned upon.  Most people will say they don't mind gay people in theory; what other people do in the privacy of their home is their own business.  But being gay is not confined to the privacy of one's own home.  You take it with you to school, to work, to parties, to the grocery store, to the dentist, to the voting booth.

Being married is not confined to the privacy of your own home.  You display the ring for the world to see.  Women go from Miss to Mrs.  In casual conversation, the second question after "How are you?" is "How is your significant other/family?"  You go together to neighborhood get-togethers and family obligations.  When you fill out forms and surveys, you check the box labelled "Married."

That is why gay marriage is frowned upon by apparent non-homophobes.  Gay is okay, as long as no one sees it.  Marriage is far too in your face.  Let's just go back to the subculture of the 1950's.

The problem with people who do not use logic to back up their arguments is that it is impossible to use logic to counter them.

And so now that I have a proverbial bruise from proverbially banging my head against the wall, I leave you with the reason more people should know German:

Lyrics and translation to follow in next post.

"Frostfire" - By Kai Meyer. Chapter 2, Part 3/4

[Dear Readers:  I apologize for the hiatus in translation.  My copy of the book was due at the library.  The good news is that I have been able to purchase a copy of "Frostfeuer" (secondhand and paperback; quite reasonable), so that the translations will not stop when I return to the States, even if it might take me a while to post them.]

            He grabbed her under her arms, lifted her effortlessly from the floor, and waited until she had stopped struggling. Her face was now level with his.

            “Mouse,” was all he said.  The way and manner with which he intoned her name suggested that her final hours were at hand.

            He was the watchman of the hotel.  Each night drew him alone on his rounds through the Aurora, just like Mouse, and no one knew what his real name was.

            He was big – almost twice as tall as Mouse – and his shoulders seemed to her to be as wide as the corridor.  His hands were like shovels, and seemed to have been made only to tear off the heads of thieves like her.  He had an enormous, flat face, whose cheekbones were so far apart from one another that from close up, Mouse could see them only out of the corners of her eyes:  His body, coarse as though it were carved out of solid rock, took up her entire field of vision.

            “Mouse,” he said again, and this time it sounded even more threatening.

            “Let me go!”  She tried to kick him with her feet, which despite her fear seemed a little ridiculous. A gnat would hardly have been more dangerous to him.

            In fact, after one more unfathomable look, he set her on the ground, but still held her arm fast with his left hand, while his right began to search her uniform.

            “The pockets,” he said.

            In fact, she was quite happy that he was holding on to her.  Who knew if her trembling knees could have held her of their own power?

            “Pockets,” he rumbled again.

            It took her a moment to realize what he wanted of her.  It was a little bit as though she were trying to decipher the gruntings of an animal.

            With shaking fingers, she turned out the insides of her pockets.  Out of one fell a hazelnut.  That was all.

            The Roundsman raised an eyebrow.

            “That’s hardly anything,” she said sharply, because she remembered that attack was supposed to be the best defense.  But whoever had come up with that saying had probably done so in the comfortable safety of an armchair, not in a moment of greatest danger.

            “Hmm?” he grunted, and bent forward threateningly.  She grew dizzy at the sight of this human tower.

            “I didn’t swipe anything,” she said doggedly.

            That was stupid, it occurred to her.  He had not even accused her of stealing something.  Now he knows that you have a bad conscience.

            The danger of the Roundsman was not so much his size and power.  It was more the fact that one underestimated him.  Sure, he was big, and could send you to the beyond any time with a single blow.  But at the same time his monosyllables make him appear clumsy as an overgrown child – and Mouse could not let go of the thought that he generated this impression entirely on purpose.  Secretly, she was convinced the Roundsman possessed a razor-sharp cunning.  When he wanted to, he could move noiselessly as a cat despite his colossal form.  Sometimes he unexpectedly stood right behind someone when they least expected him.  Not to forget each moment when he seemed to be in several places at once.   And even when he was not actually there himself, his eyes and ears were ever-present.

            In his eyes, she read the knowledge that she had stolen the brooch.  He knew it, like he did every time.

Deconstructions

I predict that within 10 years, Hollywood will have made a movie about Osama bin Laden's death.  It makes a great story, after all.  Those rugged, underdog, freedom-loving Americans taking down that evil warlord.

And now for something (almost) completely different.

We know the formulas.  We know what to expect from your typical action movie, romantic comedy, superhero movie, or fairy tale.  That is why "historical" based movies (as well as movies that come from books, or in fact any other source material) suffer so badly.  They have to be shoehorned into the mold, often distorted beyond recognition.

However, there has been a recent trend among moviemakers and novel writers of deconstructing the familiar motifs.  With varying degrees of success.  Superhero stories with a sympathetic villain, for instance.  Or fractured fairy tales.  These deconstructions fall into three types.

1)  Satirical deconstruction, in which the story is written using the formula in order to make fun of itself.  Slapstick comedy.

2)  Brutal Deconstruction, in which the story is shown to have a darker, often gorier side.  Keyword, ick.

3)  Practical Deconstruction, in which the story is played straight, but tries to act more realistic.  Focus on characters.

And if you don't want to take my word for it, I have a long list of examples.

The main culprits for the formula/deconstruction trap are variants of the Hero's Journey - namely, Superheroes, Fairy Tales, and fantasy literature.  For instance, a satirical deconstruction of the superhero genre would be...well take your pick.  I have not seen "Kick-Ass," but from the trailers I believe it one of these.  What I am familiar with is the film "Mystery Men."  A ragtag group of heroes with some awkward superpowers defeat a not very memorable villain.  Played for laughs.

A brutal deconstruction, on the other hand, is Watchmen, both the film and the graphic novel. No superpowers, just the silly costumes and crime-fighting.  The characters are set along a scale of pathetic idealist to villain who kind of has a point.

The closest thing to a practical deconstruction that I am familiar with is "The Incredibles."  Yes, it follows the typical superhero pattern, but it has a few deconstructive elements.  It might almost be considered a family drama. 

Now for Fairy Tales.  You know what I'm going to say.  Yep.  Shrek (Note that "Fairy Tale" in this sense is more of the Disneyfied version, rather than actual folk legends).  In fact, Shrek was created by a disgruntled former Disney employee and is essentially a declaration of war on the entire Disney franchise.  Need I say more?

A brutal deconstruction is, without a doubt, Gregory Maguire.  Author of Wicked.  No, not the musical - that got re-Disneyfied until it wasn't sure what it was supposed to be anymore and sucked.  Good music, though. 

A practical deconstruction is harder to pin down.  I have not seen "Enchanted," so cannot offer any opinion on that.  Perhaps "Ever After."  She marries the prince after talking and having an actual relationship with him, and becomes a princess to actually take care of the people in the kingdom.

And of course my passion, fantasy.  You may have gathered by now that as much as I love this genre, I love to hate it as well. 

Terry Pratchett is definitely the iconic satirical deconstructor.  I have only read one of his books, so I don't have much to say about it, but there isn't really that much to say.

Brutal deconstructions of fantasy have been gaining in popularity.  Terry Goodkind was the first one I have been aware of.  Before he went all crazy anti-socialist and still thought he was writing a fantasy epic.  Very...detailed battle scenes.  Other writers such as Mercedes Lackey sometimes attempt to do this, and heap misfortune and trauma upon their characters, but somehow at the end, all the important people get to ride away on their pretty white horse with seemingly no lasting psychological harm.  This is a case of Failed Deconstruction.

My very favorite books ever - The Last Rune series, by Mark Anthony - is a practical deconstruction of fantasy.  In fact, it is hardly a deconstruction at all.  The story is played completely straight, with the ordinary protagonist from the Real World becoming the prophecized Hero who has to save the Pseudo-Medieval European Fantasyland from a Dark Lord.  The reasons that this series is not cliche garbage are many and subtle, so I will only mention one:  Anthony treats his characters like real people.  All of them.  He also (okay, two) strikes a very delicate balance between "Good always wins," and "The world sucks."

What did any of this have to do with bin Laden? 

The key to a practical deconstruction is making the story realistic, which also has the effect of making the story complex.  But complex stories don't make money.  When we go see a movie for an afternoon's entertainment, we want to be entertained.  We don't want to think.  That is why formulas are so useful.  The audience already knows what is going to happen and can enjoy the movie without any major worries. 

Bin Laden's death changes nothing, and I don't have to know anything about politics to be certain of that.  Al-Qaeda is not going to fall apart like the army of orcs at the end of Lord of the Rings.  But America is so locked into our ideals/formulas/tropes/narratives that we fail to realize that.  Real life is a messy and boring deconstruction of fiction that nobody wants to read.

Writer's Angst (formerly Writer's Block)

Just because I haven't posted anything in a while, and it might help me get things in order.

I am very good at beginning stories.  Not so good at finishing them.  Usually I get about halfway through, then realize that a new plot development changes the way everything was from the beginning.  At this point, I can either a)  Keep writing and go back and fix it later, or b) start all over again. 

There is also what I term the Brick Wall, though the more conventional imagery is Writer's Block:  The story is going along just fine, until all of a sudden everything just stops.  The story is not over, and nothing is resolved, but you are just about to enter the third act, into the deeper machinations and eventual resolutions of things you haven't thought out clearly yet, but assumed you would cross that bridge when you came to it, and...wham.  No bridge, but a brick wall.

The sum of my major works to date, all ending in brick walls:

1)  (Untitled*) - probably my oldest story, which has existed in my head in some form or another since I was thirteenish.  Of course, what I have now hardly bears any resemblence to what I had then.  There are wizards, and one of the major character is an assassin, and that's about it.  This story is like a canvas that has been painted over and repainted so many times, it cannot help but be distorted by the colors and textures of what it once was.  I am considering peeling it all of, tossing it aside, and starting fresh.  Only I've tried that, and somehow, the story always comes back to me.  Maybe this time for real.  Until the next grand variation pops into my head, and I think, Maybe this time it will work.

2)  "Glass and Bone" - a sort of steampunky thing that may or may not also have magic in-universe.  That may or may not be in the same universe as story 1.  A man tries to bring his dead ex-lover back to life.  And succeeds, for the most part.  Only she never loved him as much as he loved her, and had honestly moved on before she died.  And then there's some sort of retribution for breaking the laws of nature, or magic, or both, but as soon as the woman appeared...wham.  Brick wall.

3) (Untitled) - A xenofic about griffins.  Who are in the Frankfurt Zoo.  And are sentient.  And of course, at some point someone realizes they are sentient, but then we hit the brick wall.  I haven't the faintest idea how to bring this about, or what to do about it afterwards, or if I should just leave it where it is and make it a tragedy.

4)  (Untitled) - I haven't even started a draft of this one, it's just a loosely connected set of ideas about psychic detectives, who do not solve supernatural mysteries but instead go to great length to conceal their powers and just use them to have an edge in solving normal mysteries.  Until something different happens, like a sudden slew of murders among espers, and probably some sort of conspiracy...because I haven't started writing it, there are still more doors than walls.

 
*Yes, most of these are untitled.  I'm worse with titles than I am with endings.

On Sickness and On Health

Call me crazy, but when one has the leisure to do nothing, plenty of soup, tea, and instant noodles, and internet or television access, being sick can actually be a rather pleasant experience.  Soothing, in fact.  If you are pushing yourself beyond your limits, sooner or later your body will step in and say:  Enough is enough.  You need to take a break.  And it will impose idleness on you through a complete lack of will to do anything productive.

I find it quite unfair that in our society, taking a day off because of stress is frowned upon, unless there is a tangible emergency or if one is physically ill.  After all, if one can be physically ill for a few days, but get better after lots of rest and fluids, why can't one be mentally ill for a few days and take a few days off to get over that?  I suppose it comes down to American (or perhaps not exclusively American) cynicism - if you claim to be depressed, you mght be faking, but if you claim to have a cold, I can see the snot coming out of your nose.  Also, it's contagious, and you are not wanted in your workplace or school.

Honestly, if not for the fact that I was sick, spending a day eating instant noodles and watching old cartoons would make me bored out of my mind.  I would also feel guilty about doing that instead of something productive like reading the book for my class, or writing one of the papers, or planning what I'm going to do next semester/the rest of my life.

When you come right down to it, sickness is justified misery, and I find the worst part of misery is the guilt.  People in my situations simply are not allowed to be miserable.

On a last note, being sick makes you appreciate being healthy and being able to function.  This earthly flesh is in fact a delicate instrument, and one needs to take care of it.  It could so easily go wrong.  But it hasn't.  This is probably the easiest problem to solve in anyone's life.  You know what to do, and it works every time. 

Appreciate the simple problems in life.

Was ist Literatur?

What is Literature?

What kind of stupid question is that? 

This is why I do not like literature classes.  I do like reading, and analyzing, and asking questions about texts.  The problem is that sometimes people get a bit carried away with regards to asking questions.  You are only supposed to ask them when you actually want an answer - and when you have something to gain from the answer.

Literature is just a word; and like every word, it has several meanings and shades of meaning.  For instance, it is often thought of as 1) what pretentious old academics call their favorite books (or the books they want you to think are their favorites), but anyone who works with it in depth usually takes the broader definition of 2) any and all written art.  A colloquial meaning, and the technical meaning.  No need for a philosopher; this is a job for a linguist.

I do not care if "a book is the ax for the frozen sea inside us" (Kafka).  I do not care if the goal of art is "to capture this world in such a way as to show how it is, but as though it had its source in human freedom" (Sartre).  All I know is that I need books the way I need food, and that if I don't write, I will die.  And that is enough of an answer for me.

Scheisse! - Ich bin eine Ausländerin.

It is difficult to be a foreigner.  If I have gained one useful thing from this whole experience, I will at least have a better understanding of non-native English speakers in America.

I am one of those people for whom looking stupid is one of the worst fates in the world.  I am terribly self-conscious about my speaking when I am around real Germans.  I know I screw up just about every ending, and that my vocabulary is not that great, and don't get me started on my accent.  However, I take offense when people assume that because I am from America, I am at a certain level of German.  That is to say, not able to pass the DSH 2 exam that allows me to study like a regular student at a German university.  Which I have.  Yes, I'm bragging; I think I deserve it.

I can write very well in German.  I also read German books.  The problem is, that doesn't show when you talk.  People only judge your language proficiency by speech.  Worse, mental capacity is often judged based on oratorial proficiency.  So for instance, if you attempt to make a joke/pun/play on words/clever converstaion piece that worked last week, you might end up with a German kindly explaining a grammar rule to you. 

I do not need the Germans to explain their language to me, considering that I am the one who has made a study of the grammar and rules and probably know the mechanics better than most native speakers.  I need experience.  I need to decipher the Hessian accent, and function in the back-and-forth of normal conversation.  I need to get the courage to make mistakes in front of native speakers, and the reassurance that at least I am understood.  If I need something explained, I will ask - and please explain in German.  Do not immediately grope after the English translation.  I am not some kind of linguistic invalid that needs to be coddled.

The point is:  When confronted by a non-native speaker of your native language, handle yourself thus:
1)  Ignore mistakes, unless you really cannot understand.
2)  If I ask you what you mean, repeat what you said just a little bit slower and clearer.  There are some things the classroom does not prepare one for.  Like regional accents and normal conversation.
3)  If I want a word clarified, look for synonyms or explanations in your language.  Don't fall back on translation.
4)  Assume that I know all the grammar theory already.
5)  Tell me I speak well, or have a good accent, or something.  Even if it's a lie.  I like the reassurance.  And I'm not going to believe you, even if you are telling the truth, so you may as well lie.
6)  Do not patronize.  I can think, you know.  In fact, many people consider me smart.  If you get over the fact that I am a non-native speaker and actually got to know me, you would find out that I have a whole lifetime of experiences, some of which might even be interesting.  A foreigner is not a tabula rasa.
7)  And remember:  My English is better than yours.

Because I am handling a language that is not native to me, I lack the shading and inflection that comes naturally to you. That does not mean I lack emotion or opinion.  Because I have a hard time expressing myself, that does not mean that there is nothing going on inside me.  Seriously people - don't judge.  This is a case of putting yourself in someone else's shoes.  Personally, I think everyone needs to experience being a stupid foreigner (being a tourist doesn't count; you're already stupid) at least once in their life.