The Blonde Philosopher

A Brief Pondering on Words

2009-03-03T12:41:00.000-08:00

I have decided that words torture me. They swim around in my head like little piranhas attacking each other. One simple word can uplift or sabotage. Not having them is just as bad as having too many. The idea of analyzing sentences as if they make up a looking glass is enough to drive one insane. Look at all the words with which we deal… e-mails, text messaging, blogging, twittering, facebooking… the more significant the printed word becomes is incredibly ironic; whereas technology once was deemed as an emotionless void, it has become the vehicle for all these personal sentiments… the more disconnected we become, the more connected we become through other means… words must be carefully woven not only to make sense, but to convey appropriate meaning, conjure emotion, and free the spirit from the chains within. Words are a responsibility, a privilege, a blessing and a curse. Words are so beautiful but can be so very ugly…

No wonder all the great writers went mad...

A Brief Pondering of Twain's Notion that Free Speech Does Not Exist Until You're Dead

2009-02-08T21:54:00.001-08:00

Words are quite paradoxical. They can be both powerful and meaningless, depending on the particular context in which they are delivered. Sometimes, they may even be both simultaneously. Mark Twain commented in his essay, “The Privilege of the Grave,” that “It’s occupant has one privilege which is not exercised by any living person: free speech. The living man is not really without this privilege- strictly speaking- but he possesses it merely as an empty formality, and knows better than to make use of it, it cannot be seriously regarded as an actual possession….We may exercise it if we are willing to take the consequences.” What more can I say? The master has spoken.

Too often I have witnessed people too meek and cowardly to stand up for their own convictions. The examples I can recall from the recent past were most often involved with a political or religious implication (Mama always said, “don’t talk politics and religion!”). I believe that this is one of the travesties of American culture. We boast all over the place about what a free nation it is in which we live, yet we don’t allow ourselves the luxury. I am a fan, however, of quality versus quantity when it comes to many things. “Empty vessels make the most noise” you know.

Too often voices that could make a difference do not rise to the occasion. These are the voices that fear retribution for themselves, their families, and their friends. While I would applaud their commendable efforts in what they think is an act of protecting their loved ones, I also think that the concepts of justice and righteousness are in great need of a few more outspoken supporters. Even these conceptions are not liberated from corruption.

As Twain suggests, is free speech really not an applicable right? If the direct result of it is vengeance, I feel I would be remiss if I did not agree. Free speech is indeed an optimistic concept, but any kind of freedom, ironically enough, comes with a price to pay. Twain compared the acts of murder and free speech by writing, “Murder is sometimes punished, free speech always- when committed. Which is seldom.”

What's Up With Wink?

2009-01-23T10:14:00.001-08:00

I am the frequent recipient of winks. Yes, the dubious act of batting one eyelid so quickly that it is uncertain whether it was an accidental twitch or an intentional expression. These winks come from ladies, gentlemen, young and old. Whenever someone winks at me, I spend the rest of the day wondering, "what did that mean?" It is as if the winker tries to signify "I know what you're thinking." For all you winkers out there, no. You do not know what I am thinking! Well, now I am thinking, what the heck is up with the wink? Before that, I can assure you- my mind was so far from you and your wink and now you've absolutely distracted me from that previous train of thought!

This is not to say that I do not like people winking at me. In fact, I am frequently amused by the gesture. I will even go so far as to say that sometimes I get warm fuzzies. It is as if the winkers are inviting me into their enigmatic winking club and this fleeting shutter of the one eye is their secret handshake ala cutesy Freemasons style. It is the intention behind the wink that leaves me bewildered. I have observed winks being thrown around all over the place. When one is cast across a crowded bar room, only an alien unfamiliar with our strange human mating calls does not understand what it means. There are, however, so many sorts of winks that are applicable in a myriad of different situations that one would need a winking dictionary in order to fully understand the oddity of it all.

I often contemplate if I should join the legion of winkers out there. The only benefit it holds for me at this point is the satisfaction of knowing that I have encouraged someone else to futiley ponder the origin of my wink. I think for now, though, I will stick with words.

Liberation

2009-01-15T19:17:00.001-08:00

Yes! The Blonde Philosopher has been liberated. As I walked through the market today (why are all my posts about the supermarket all of a sudden? I feel like I have become one of those old ladies to whom the activity of going to Stop and Shop is a significant social excursion...), I made my way through the fruit aisle to approach my banana dilemma once more. Having pondered for much too long over which species of apple I would like to eat this week (I decided on Fuji), I came face to face with a mountain of greenish and yellow bananas. I scanned my immediate area quickly and made a decision. I WOULD break the bunch. I WOULD go home with only three bananas because I knew I could never eat six before they turned brown and mushy.

Then... I did it. I detached the bananas from their cluster. No one thought I was strange for doing so. I did not feel an impending sense of guilt about it. Only liberation from a wasteful society.

When I approached the self-checkout counter, my experience of banana liberation immediately went down hill. Why is it that one frequently requires MORE assistance at the self-checkout? Does that not defeat the purpose of having SELF checkout? I called on the clerk at least a half dozen times. Between the automated woman's voice nagging me not to place items on the belt and my yogurt not scanning due to the container's awkward rounded barcode, I made a vow to deal with human being cashiers from now on. Hell may be "other people" as Sartre remarked, but all of Dante's nine circles of it are surely comprised of automated systems.

The Blonde Philosopher Goes to the Market... Again...

2009-01-03T19:41:00.001-08:00

I was the open minded recipient of many decent anecdotes and antidotes for my banana dilemma. A friend suggested I might make banana bread. Several others remarked that it is not necessary to purchase all six bananas; it is perfectly legal to break off bananas from the greater bunch.

Today, during my escapade to the market, I strolled down the fruits and vegetables aisle. I saw a plethora of luscious leafy greens with questionable labels assorted above the display. Boston Lettuce? Is it imported from Boston? I have never heard of such a lettuce species. I am not even going to attempt to discover the mystery of how Iceberg Lettuce got its appelation. It does not resemble an iceberg, nor is it scientifically possible to harvest such a vegetable in the kind of climate that fosters icebergs. In any event, I shall ponder the lettuce mystery another day....

Excitedly, I thought I might go ahead and purchase some bananas with the recent knowledge that I am in fact not committing a moral wrong doing by breaking off bananas from the remainder of the bunch. I was shocked and dismayed to find when I reached the mountain of fruit, not one bunch of bananas looked edible in the least. They were all a sickly shade of pale yellow, in a jaundice sort of way.

What does this mean? The banana metaphor continues to imprison my thoughts in the little chambers of contemplation.

The Blonde Philosopher Goes Bananas

2008-12-22T21:06:00.000-08:00

Buying bananas always seems like a good idea. There they are in the fruit aisle, beckoning to me with their cheerful color and humorous shape. I usually stop short at this section of the supermarket and ponder the implications of a healthier lifestyle. Bananas seem to be at the forefront. Yet, it's really not the kind of fruit one should take seriously. It isn't like the apple, with its symbolic connotations of education, teaching and wisdom, coated in a regal shade of crimson. The banana is a fruit frequently disrespected. "He's gone bananas," so the adage goes. "Going bananas" does not necessarily constitute a good thing. Poor bananas. One a day doesn't keep the doctor away, either. It is the food of monkeys that snicker and guffaw obnoxiously as they hang upside down in trees. These creatures are the jesters of the mammalia class. I guess we really are what we eat...

All this thought process just from looking at the stack of bananas I bought last week. They went from speckled and ripe to shriveled, brown and remorseful in just a few days. I felt guilty that I even bought the bananas in the first place. I don't think my bunny likes bananas. She eats lettuce and apples. I am only one and I can't keep up. Should I not buy bananas anymore in their cluster of 6? Who breaks off bananas in the market from their cluster? Doesn't supermarket etiquette say you can't do that? It's like opening your bottle of soda and walking around the store drinking it before you paid for it. Maybe I should not buy bananas after all. They turn brown much too quickly and I cannot possibly eat two or three in a day. Of course, I could buy them when they are still green and wait a few days. By the time they turn yellow, however, it usually happens that I either forget I ever had them or don't really want them anymore. The banana novelty becomes lost.

I pondered the solutions to the banana quandary. I would either have to get a pet monkey to help me eat the bananas in a timely fashion before they turn brown, or not buy bananas at all. I guess that is why some ladies decide to get husbands. Not only can they remember to return past due library books and reach the ceiling to change the carbon monoxide detector batteries -they also help their wives eat the banana surplus. Hmm... maybe I will just stop buying bananas.

Where Did Our Role Models Go?

2008-12-14T11:32:00.000-08:00

These days, our media is not driven by honesty, righteousness and integrity. It is driven by what sells. Magazines, newspapers, television screens and the internet are plastered with teenage superstars clad in attire their mothers should not have let them out of the house wearing. They are doing what prostitutes do, in a more abstract sense, they are selling their bodies.

Why is it that we as a society continue to feed into this adolescent exploitation? The blame cannot be placed all on the likes of Britney and Lindsay. We, the consumers, must take some of it. We are purchasing these magazines. We are addicted to the TV shows. We click on the links and we peruse the tabloids while we’re on line at the supermarket.

What can we do? We can demand better role models- older, wiser role models for young women. Instead of incriminating Hilary and Condoleezza (and the Dixie Chicks…) for being powerful women, we should be showing our daughters that it is these women who are paving the way for a better future. No, they may not be young and gorgeous, but they have brains. They have gumption and they are educated and successful.

Why do our role models keep getting younger? The Blonde Philosopher can only ponder that it is due to the fear of aging and death in our society. The more modern medicine can do, there is still no magical Tuck Everlasting well. Would we really want one? Instead of running away from the grave, let us face age and the wisdom and wrinkles that it brings.

Astrology: New Age Nonsense or Scientifically Plausible?

2008-11-22T09:11:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, I began my quest into the dubious but fascinating domain of astrology in an effort to seek answers to the queries I had of my own life and the people in it. It seemed like a logical thing to do... If everything else on the planet could be scientifically explained, personalities should be, as well. In the middle ages, astrology and astronomy were essentially synonymous subjects. Although society has come a long way since the "flat world" pedagogy, there still must be something to the old ways for them to endure the test of time.

Regardless of daily horoscopes, many people claim to identify with their "sun signs." Whereas most reasonable people tend to squash the concepts of astrology and dismiss them as "new-age, imaginative fluff," The Blonde Philosopher has philosophized a great deal about the validity of astrology (disclaimer: The Blonde Philosopher does not claim to have any scientific background whatsoever, nor does she harbor any intense interest in many of the subtopics of that field). She has not yet reached a plausible conclusion, but found herself contemplating the following ideas with her fellow blonde philosopher, Abby....

If the sun has been scientifically classified as a "star" which both sustains and affects all life on this planet, why can other "stars" not serve similar functions? If the radiation emitted by the sun is what causes this sustenance, why can not other, less significant stars emit their own radiation like the sun (though their radiation power may not be as great as the sun) at the precise time of one's birth to affect humans by creating their personality and characteristics?

If the full moon reflects the radiation of the sun, causing insanity in humans and animals, why would not other stars' emissions of radiation act in the same way? Since the earth moves, we would therefore see different heavenly bodies at any given minute. The alignment of these heavenly bodies and the radiation they create together could possibly have an affect on human life.

If the moon can control something as all encompassing as the tides, then why can the heavens not influence the tides of our lives???

Has It All Been Done?

2008-11-16T23:01:00.000-08:00

The lyrics of the Barenaked Ladies song from the 90’s echoed through the cavity of my skull… “It’s all been done, whoo hoo hoo….!” I recall the simple refrain whenever I discover that the notion I had originally supposed a brilliant idea has already been thought out and implemented into the fibers of society.

I often comment that if I lived in yesteryear, I would be exceptional- revolutionary, in fact. I would throw myself into the jail cell of Susan B. Anthony. I would defy the role of my gender and adorn a coat of union blue. I would be like a Alice Roosevelt and smoke, drink and swear just because it wasn’t proper; I’d do it for spite. Nowadays, I can smoke, drink and swear without anyone batting an eyelid (well…some might twitch an eyelid...). The point is, socially, whereas we still have a lot of work to do in many spheres, “it’s all been done.” The wars have been fought. Have they been won?

“The songs have been sung, the books have been written, the paintings are hung,” I often console myself when the well of inspiration becomes a desert of artistic diminution. “It’s all been done!” The stigma of being a distraught, washed up and hung out to dry, suffering poet appeals to me. In one of my “philosophical upheavals,” as I call them, I grumbled my opinion about modernity’s threat to the integrity of art and creativity to my boss. “No,” she disagreed. “Everything is a continuation.”

Ah-hah! Could that be the answer? In my own ignorance, was I indulging in the bitter and unripened fruit hanging from low branches? I began to delve further into my own mind....After all, how many songs are written in response to others? How many songwriters and poets are influenced by their predecessors? How many writers allude to the “great works” in their own scribbling? Look at all the paintings that have spurred admirers to react with their own palette and brush. Think of all the inventions that have been improved. Without the impact of those who came before, art could not be created over and over by posterity. The wars may have been fought, but that doesn’t mean that they have been won just yet.

I still become irked when I have a great idea and “google” it, only to find that such an idea already exists. However, my mind can only become stronger and my vision sharper, as I continue to strive for the originality that is becoming lost in this big, wide world. In that trying, I continue to learn, contemplate, and realize that the 21st century mind does not have to resign itself to being an empty vessel which has given up the pursuit of enriching endeavors. Instead, it can be a powerhouse of knowledge, wisdom and flourishing.

Feminist or Womanist?

2008-11-15T06:20:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me a most thought provoking question the other day: “Are you a feminist or a womanist?” Having graduated from a very liberal, intellectually stimulating all women’s college, I had always beamed with pride as I proclaimed myself a feminist. “In my heart, I feel a woman has two choices: either she’s a feminist or a masochist.” Gloria Steinem’s words became my mantra. She did not suggest “womanist” as being an option, so would that mean a “womanist” identifies with the “masochist?”

I still expect men to hold the door. I think it polite when a feller offers his seat to a lady on a crowded train. I believe that men, if in a financial position to do so, should pay for a first date. These are topics associated with the practice of good etiquette. In our society, if a man acts in a compliant manner to any of the situations listed above, he is labeled as a gentleman- a respectful and well brought up human being. After all, no woman wants to date or marry a cad, and simple gestures such as those mentioned above suggest that the man in question is probably not one (it is, however, entirely possible that a man may very well be a cad and still conduct himself within the arena of what would be called “good etiquette.”). A man might also not exemplify himself as a “gentleman” in the afore mentioned situations and yet, he may still actually be a decent human being or a good catch (it may be more likely that the author of this blog is being much too charitable). Do my expectations of men mean that I am an anti-feminist since it seems that I am advocating gender roles? No, it simply means that I am in favor of good manners (I, after all, have held the door for hundreds of men thus far in my life and expect the gesture to be reciprocated by laws of common decency in the very least.).

Do feminism and womanism have to compete as separate philosophies? A feminist, for certain, is also a womanist. Is a womanist, however, a feminist? Not necessarily so. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary (http://www.merriam-webster.com/), “feminism” is defined as “1. the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes; 2. organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests.” Whereas, “womanism" (which, by the way, is not a word recognized by spell-check... could this possibly be a reflection of our technology driven, male dominated society?!) is defined by Dictionary.com as “believing in and respecting the abilities and talents of women; acknowledging women's contributions to society.” The definitions are therefore separated by sociological implications. A man can be a “womanist” if he believes that women are just as capable and talented as men, but does not support the political aspects of the matter, even if he maintains the philosophical. It is important to remember that both terms should not be strictly limited to women, as the practice of feminism encourages respect of both genders and dissuades animosity toward either (no matter how hard that seems at times!)

Despite conflicting ideologies, there is no one way to be a feminist. Feminists come into battle adorned with the armor of many different opinions, faiths, political ideas, etc. The common ground they share is the desire for the betterment of women. Feminists simply have different ideas about what is "best" for the gender. For example, there are feminists who are pro-life, as contradictory as that may sound to pro-choice feminists. In a lesser known branch of feminism known as “Eco Feminism,” those who follow the theories constantly find themselves at odds with each other in the case of this issue. “Eco-Feminists” (very briefly) view the planet as a female entity and see the “rape” of the land, Mother Earth, as the symbolic rape of themselves. They view females as being particularly responsible for the welfare of the earth, as they are the vehicles of creation.

There is not a right or wrong way to be a womanist. Man or woman, a womanist welcomes and encourages women to participate at the forefront of the many facets in our society. Therefore, I believe that a feminist is just as much a womanist.

Many people today may view the "Feminist" quest as outdated- something associated with spinsters and Friedan's 1960's society-changing work, The Feminist Mystique. Even many women, I am flabbergasted to report, seem to take little interest in feminism in its modern form. They either do not see the matter as integral in their lives, or no longer relevant. They feel we have achieved the ultimate goal of women's rights in procuring suffrage. Ah, we have not only achieved- but we are still achieving. I recognize that the idea of "feminism" is a work in progress every time I am privy to my male friends' conversations. I am frequently the sole female entity among my circle of companions, and being such, I am offered a candid view into the male psyche which I find quite valuable for my own informal research. Many men (not all... it is paramount that you, dear reader, realize I am not stereotyping all men- but let's face it- the stereotype is out there for a reason. So, if you do not want to be lumped together with the uncouth, unevolved, cavemen-like, bottom feeders of your gender, join the revolution!) view women as a sexual conquest and little or nothing more. It is often difficult for women to rise above the stigma that men as an unidentified whole have created for them. It is everywhere- magazines, movies, media. Adolescent girls are brainwashed into thinking that they must fit some kind of mold created by society and they try to conform to it throughout their lives. It begins with Barbie in the early years (this notion will be continued in a future edition of The Blonde Philosopher). For me, this is the stuff feminism is made out of; subjects so frequently overlooked that are still mountains of relevance despite the amount of progress we have made.

When poised the initial question, I began to wonder if my own self declaration of feminist was the result of the pressures of my educational institution. Then, I thought, no. I was a feminist by choice from an early age. I chose the institution because I believe in the works of Alice Paul, Susan B. Anthony, thousands of nameless women who fought for suffrage and maybe even my own unborn daughters. I chose feminist because I want to live in a world in which I can thrive, not just symbolically- despite my gender. I chose feminist because I want my unborn daughters to live in a world in which they can be leaders, without being subject to the anti-feminist idioms of “bitch,” “slut,” or “fragile” and will instead be replaced by “strong,” “powerful” and “determined.”

Why Blog...?

2008-11-07T20:56:00.000-08:00

There’s little more exciting than a great thought. To capture that thought in written form somehow solidifies it…photographs it, if you will, or maybe even legitimizes it for the more insecure thinkers…it appeases our own humanitarianly narcissistic need to make ourselves known in this paradoxical world. Paradoxical it surely is as the larger it becomes, the more it shrinks- the smaller it gets, the larger it grows.

Perhaps many choose to use blogging as a window into their own lives. As the world turns faster every day, humans are left screaming at the top of their lungs in the midst of the tornado that we ourselves, ironically, create. The internet and its holdings provide a safe haven in which many feel like their voices, no matter how meek or mild, can be heard. It is a way of staying afloat in the ocean of the years that we endure on this planet. More crudely put, we all just need some attention.

I have often felt that modern society and all of its components, namely, the internet, threatens the legitimacy of, and exploits the evocation of feelings induced by art. I often ponder if one can feel the same overwhelming and sometimes unexplainable passions when their eyes are plastered to a glaring computer screen, as opposed to participating in the act of art by standing five feet from Picasso’s Guernica, or holding tangibly, Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome. I certainly couldn’t, but perhaps I am what some might call “old-fashioned.” The devil’s advocate, however, might call the internet, and the vehicle it creates for society, art in itself. The devil’s advocate may also say that without technology, art could not thrive. For example, records, followed by cassettes, proceeded by compact discs, and now Itunes, have made thousands of songs, voices, emotions, opinions and pleasures, available to those who otherwise would not be able to hear them. Thousands of museums and other cultural institutions might not be discovered if they were not readily found by the clicking fingertips that graze the keyboard.

Two hundred years ago, in order to see one’s neighbor, one might need to travel a considerable distance. If a friend or family member decided to relocate to another state, country, maybe merely another county, they might never be seen again. It is this distance, I propose, that created closeness- a strong bond of humanity that was unshaken by miles, time zones or the elements. Fond memories and letters as physical evidence of sentiment helped maintain nearness. Today, the distance factor has been breached, yet humans have become more and more detached from one another. Or do we? Is it possible to feel the same excitement when a long awaited, quill pen written letter arrives in the hands of the mailman, as when the e-mail inbox sounds “bing” (and alerts its possessor of a typed-in-a-generic-font, paragraph deficient, with a sometimes misconstrued-tone e-mail)? Maybe it’s just different. Diverse, in the same way that blogging might be compared to journal writing, or “Facebooking” might take the place of a phone call.

Who will be the Ralph Waldo Emersons, the Virginia Woolfs and the Jack Kerouacs of tomorrow? Will they be the “bloggers” of today? With the effects of the internet, such as “YouTube,” any ordinary person can become famous. In Blogland, anyone can feel empowered, as if they have made an everlasting mark in the world by somehow sharing themselves with friends, family, acquaintances, even strangers. Then again, one might say that bloggers or “YouTubers” are lazy- insufficient of pulling up their socks to accomplish what they would like on a larger scale. Or, maybe they are contently participating in society by sharing themselves through the apparatus that connects the world.

In conclusion, why blog? Blog because this world is a paradox. Why this blog (besides the fact that I am a former English Major suffering withdrawals and would like to give my friends something to do when they are bored at their desk jobs)? To open a window, to capture a thought, to participate in art… to make myself and those who read it feel a little less alone in the wilderness that is this world.

(On a side note, I have found it utterly hilarious that my spell check device does not recognize the verb “blogging” or the noun “blogger.” How ironic that even computers cannot keep up with these times.)