You And The NSNRP

I was furthest from passing through what I call the Never Say Never Right of Passage (NSNRP) when in college. Maybe you were too, and whoa to those of us who took a Liberal Arts track, which delayed passage by making us think we were smarter than everyone in the whole world.

My own NSNRP commenced at the desk of a professor at a private liberal arts school. I majored in Political Science, choosing it for the simple reason that I was in love with my professor's mind. I found him to be deep and complex, and I was SUPER deep and complex, so he understood me. Except that he was fifty something and happily married with kids and regarded me as an ordinary student.

Lingering after class one day I mistook his exasperation as a match to my passionate attraction. He looked intently into my eyes, and as he had so many times before in lectures to the many, ran his hands through his longish Hungarian hair. "Barbara!" He exclaimed - all accenty and delightfully foreign - " Tell me what you think. Do you know how to think? Do you not have an obligation to your mind?" At which point I expertly told him what I thought about the subject at hand, body stirring, eyes locked on target (a practiced coed move).. The silence before his stunned response had me giddy with power and infatuation. But the crushing blow came voiced in his whispered response: "You do not think it... You heeard it... someone telling it to you, or you seeing it on TV.. Cannot any of you think for yourselves!?" He walked away, our anti-affair over.

Zoiks! Astounded to discover that I too had taken up residence in the culture, in Say Neverland, having sworn that I'd NEVER be like the unthinking masses, in that moment I was forced to confess (silently. Didn't need to blow cover for a couple decades yet) that my professor was right! I'd never had an original thought! Every one of them was predictable. Infected by culture and circumstance!

That was twenty-some years ago. Since then I've learned to take enormous pleasure in jumping on many a latest craze of convenience and cultural trend. What's more, I've grown to think that we would all be well served to stop trying to be original or scrupulous in our neverness.

Just to give you an idea of how far a body can come, here is a personal (very) short list of actual events that helped lead me out of Say Neverland. Since college I have: Subscribed to several fashion magazines and tried to make my lips look more pouty; Used and truly appreciated the capacity of perhaps thousands of disposable diapers; Swatted my kids; Yelled at my teenager with abandon (not in public! I would NEVER do that); Increased my cell phone minutes as fully anticipated by my provider because I deserve to be connected to those I love; Quit drinking altogether for many years; Started drinking again; bought a vacuum device as seen on TV; and finally, the reality that shoved me straight to the other side - Picked up and personally laundered my husband's dirty clothes for more than twenty years.

To be shallow and predictable is quite freeing, really, and I've come to appreciate its practicality. For instance, one can use the NSN frame of reference to screen new people and make snap judgments about their character. A basic application is to Cranky Driver. Cranky Driver is pathetically stuck in Say Neverland. He thinks he's never cut anyone off, or jiggled the car outside the lines while dialing a cell phone or putting on lipstick, but trust me, he has! One could conceivably dismiss Cranky Drivers across the board. Never mind Sweet-as-pie-until-they-get-behind-the-wheel Syndrome. Same goes for Angry Demeaning Restaurant Guest, or Your Hair Should be Illegal Girl, or Your Kids are Screwed Up Way Bad Dad.

Of course it all falls apart the moment I'm exasperated at another driver or server or hate a hairdo -or an idea for that matter- to say nothing of the hypocrisy that shows it's ugly head at our house as witnessed by (and generously testified to) my husband and kids, which is precisely the point. Admittedly, the NSN framework can be difficult to swallow, for example when my friend's husband hooks up with a younger woman for six years, leaving her with their ten kids (that's six, then four more. Or, five then five more, or seven and three more for good measure, you get the idea). So when I received their happy-family Christmas photo this time it was quite difficult to see his mug in there too, with the ten beautiful children mostly grown, and my friend in the center, smiling her face off. But in reality, I honestly couldn't say I'd never have left, and likewise can't say I'd never have let him come back.

I tend to think my thoughts are original and valuable and worthy to govern the whole universe, but they're not. A while back, caught completely unaware, I saw a bumper sticker that read: "Don't Believe Everything You Think". It just peeled me into laughter. Ha! Never wear fur? Never become addicted? Never divorce? Never get back together?

Looking back wistfully through the lens of time and cliches, I've become grateful for all the NSN twists and turns as they've kept life's snowball of humility gently on its roll (wow, deep). Those who have passed through the NSNRP make great friends, citizens, contributors, people. It's easy to spot them, they'll laugh at themselves just for refreshment. It's fun on this side! What shall we say to the hypocrite? "Come on over! We got room for one more!"

(Actually, I heard that on the radio)

(Barbara SeVille is the nom de plume of a writer who lives in San Juan County, is a housewife, and a long-time island girl who "Has always had a mind to write about what I see in life, faith, relationships, and the idiosyncrasies of being alive".)

You And The NSNRP

Click to view the rest of the article ******

Of Systems and Superheroes

My husband and I delight in our differences. I delight in punching holes in the unbelievable and logically untenable movies that he watches, and he delights in sighing and shushing my ruminations about our cultural condition with a calculated dose of fact. It's something we do together for fun.

To strengthen our marriage we recently dropped hundreds of dollars on a teensy little DVD player that goes anywhere, like on his lap before bed. He has a desk job so enjoys good (clean) action and adventure movies. At our house one finds: The Matrix, Lord of the Rings, Mission Impossible, Kingdom of Heaven, Star Wars, etc. He just bought National Treasure with Nicolas Cage, and was itching to watch it. I couldn't resist either! Just what we needed – some quality time together.

And so fruitful a time it was because therein I thought I had figured out the current political malaise of Western foreign policy! It's as if a HUGE piece of information was missing, and we found it, right there in the isles of Wal-Mart. What a relief! I'll get to the What If George Orwell Never Wrote 1984 and Postmodernism: Colossal Lie and its Untold Consequences editorials another day. For now, let's look at National Treasure as a possible framework, because I think maybe America's been spending a little too.....much.....time.....at.....the.....movies.

The premise of this and lots of predictable action adventures reinforces the ideals of the West. For example, here we have Nicolas Cage and his benevolent and wise father. We learn that they both worship the foresight of America's Founding Fathers' and their unfathomable cleverness in hiding and protecting a huge priceless treasure that no one except academic superheroes like them can appreciate. They skillfully track it down with their own insight and intelligence; so that makes them almost as great as the Fathers, see? Let's say they work from the same System. The Noble System. There's a babe involved, of course, a Superbabe that can climb and run really fast and look alarmed yet in control, and she worships the Noble System, too. They all do that together as we watch, trying to sort out details of the System as they consecutively unfold. There's a proverbial bad-guy, too. You know that guy! He's actually a graduate of the Noble System, but has turned to the Dark Side – woops, wrong movie – he's bad now - so the good guys must come to understand – nay, dance - with the Evil System. Noble and Evil duke it out, Evil loses, Noble gets the babe and the car and the house, rightful spoils for a job well done.

Remember, in order to try this at home you have to start by whispering gently into your spouse's ear now and again, simple things like "Oh, I'm so sure," and " Riigghhhht". As the plot unfolds, lead gently into more and more profound commentary and conclusion, things like "No wonder this country is so screwed up. People actually believe they can outsmart everybody and there's no accountability." Careful now, as it's important to wait a while before delivering the whammy. You'll know the right time. It's usually right at the end, which is good because the music is with you and they kind of turn it up louder in the movie to add emphasis. Now, unpack your theory by jumping up and down indignantly on the bed.

"Honey, don't you get it? We're in Iraq because Americans watch too many movies!! The Noble Colin Powell carefully guided us through the plans of Evil hatched on an Axis in the Middle East! They thought they broke the Evil code! And then the media couched it in simple terms to suit our gluttonous, treasure-hunting psyches!"

He paused the movie then, and looked at me with that expressionless admiration that makes it all worthwhile, and which this time, frankly, had me a little scared.

"The war is in the hearts of men, Barb. It's been going on for thousands of years. Everyone wants world peace, but no one wants to help Mom with the dishes. Shush."

I Shushed all right, but what a great night for both of us!

Click to view the rest of the article ******

How I Single-Handedly Undermine Elections

Nine Or So Days And Counting First, I wake up. Then I get out of the bed. Then I turn on the TV. A man whose deep Northwest voice I recognize talks political dirt about someone I never heard of before. He tells me the other guy in the tuxedo is very bad. But the guy talking sounds bad, too. He sounds very, very bad and the other guy not as bad, just his picture is bad. So I think maybe I'll vote for the guy with the bad picture in a tuxedo, I wonder who he is? Breakfast, lunch boxes, school clothes, backpacks, laundry, email, mother-in-law, cold coffee. I tune out completely when the tricky people come on T.V. who want me to vote wrong. The Super Analyst Guys and Gorgeous News Gals talk and talk about polls and estimates and elections strategies, things I don't understand, certainly don't trust. Doesn't Disney own those people? Wait, I think that's my wireless provider, too, which means they own me! Click! Beep! Dryer's done. No wrinkles at my house!

The house is clean so I get the mail. Lots of Elections Flyers and Cards. They're printed to look like writing - nice try guys! - and it looks expensive. Hmmm… wonder who printed this, nice bleed but they should get a better graphics guy. Why do people pay so much for bad graphics? I do not read it because there are other bad things in the mail: Bills, tax stuff, many annual reports. Some money guys in New York work together to manage my accounts and every time they make a trade someone sends annual reports wrapped in blue plastic. They've been doing that a lot lately, market's on fire.

That's a really nice picture of Milene. She's smart and together. Why does she want to audit anything anyway? Nice shot of Joan, she's been doing so well at the court for years. I'll vote for Joan. If Joan gets elected the place will keep running smoothly. I'm voting for Milene and Joan. Keep, keep, toss. Toss-toss-toss-toss-toss. I wish someone could manage my voting options like those brokers. They would get it: Don't send things in the mail. Woops! School is out in twelve minutes, almost out of milk! No milk!

We all go to the grocery store. Everyone is hungry so we bicker about snacks and gum. From time to time I get quirky smiles from somebody and then remember they are running for office. But I don't know which office because there's no time for newspapers, so I stick my head deep into the freezer to sniff out the orange juice deals. Pete Visser talking to Kevin Ranker in produce? Woops, quick left turn! Their wives must be so together.

Bush is on the little TV in the kitchen so I try to listen and chop. My head tips to the side. Who does he think he's he talking to? Are we supposed to swallow this? I'm conservative…. My friends are conservatives. There aren't any WMD's, so why are our guys over there? Iraq hasn't much oil, the Arabs have it, right? How do you turn a Shiite into a subject of a democracy? "Not gonna happen. Not gonna do it."

My friend Steven the Spin Buster says American's need to take a basic civics course because we couldn't be in Iraq unless the government allowed it. I have no idea what that means. He says Bush is President of a democracy where the majority wants nothing to do with suffering and sacrifice, that's who he's talking to. Hmmm, I still do have a huge car (and really love it. Nice stereo, seats seven). I must be way dumbed-down. Way.

On November 6th I am guilt struck and rifle through the catalogs and bills to find my voter's pamphlet. I'm educated! I should know something! Guilty. Who are these people and what are the issues? I should have gone to the forums. Quick! Website! Too late. I'm a bad, bad citizen. People in China are starving their children so that I can vote! Our guys are dying in Iraq so I can vote! I am deeply ashamed and want the "A" but haven't studied. It's too late.

Note to Self: Don't vote, your vote is bad, you don't care enough to think it through. The issues are twisted and so is your head. They are important and complicated and you are not. It's late and I'm tired. So I don't vote.