Three summers ago, I had the chance of a lifetime to go to Turkey for three weeks. We were studying the Ottoman Empire, and we traveled all over the country looking at historically significant buildings, cities, and tombs. We explored traditions that still exist and things that had passed on since the Ottoman Empire dissolved. It was a truly amazing trip.
While the whole thing was unforgettable, parts of it stand out to me in perfect detail. One was eating at this truck stop on the side of a highway. The entire place was surrounded by a seemingly endless field of sunflowers in full bloom. It was like something out of a fairy tale. I wanted to just run out into the middle of it and take in the wonder of it. I settled for a ton of photos instead.
The second was standing under the dome of Selimiye in Edirne. We also saw Suleymaniye in Istanbul, and it was indeed lovely, but its older sister took my breath away. Sinan was a genius, and when left to his own devices, a creator of perfect grace and symmetry.
The most unforgettable place was much, much older. I had wanted to see Hagia Sophia for as long as I can remember knowing about it. I have loved the name since I learned what it means, Holy Wisdom. When I stood under that golden dome on floors over a thousand years old, it completely stole not my breath but my heart. I went back again on my own when we had a free day just so I could sit down on the cool stone and stare up into that glory. The beauty of that place, its sense of sacredness, was like a physical thing. I have only ever been one other place that came close, the Basilica of St. Francis in Assisi.
Even though we were on the road for a solid week, the rest of our time was spent based in the Sultanahmet district near the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the Hippodrome, Topkapi, the Grand Bazaar, and the Basilica Cistern. We learned, we met people, we explored, and I came to love that city. We never met anyone who wasn't willing to help us. Everywhere people were kind and friendly. Part of me very much wanted to stay there and know it better.
So now, when I see that the rabid violence of suicide bombing has attacked it again, has blown up the very airport we came into and out of, I grieve for the lost and the injured, but I also grieve for Istanbul. That city, that ancient lovely place, deserves to be cherished and protected. It is a unique thing that spans centuries, cultures, empires, languages, even continents. The true goal of the terrorists is, of course, to make people afraid. Afraid to go to places like Istanbul or Paris, these important places where it's possible to see both the ancient past and maybe the future side by side. Afraid to go to places away from home. Afraid of "others."
I've had the "it's not safe to go" conversation already today. I'll hear it increasingly. I've thought it myself. I have to keep telling myself, though, that it's not safe anywhere. Psychopaths walk into our schools and universities, our night clubs, our office buildings, every day with evil intent and heavy weaponry. Even here in this tiny rural place I live, child abductions are attempted, homes are invaded when predators think those inside are elderly or weak. Whatever safety we used to think we had has somehow disappeared, and national borders don't seem to have a lot to do with it. Why then should we allow them to cage us in a corner?
Hamlet tells us that "the readiness is all." We cannot know when our time is coming. We cannot live our whole lives looking for the shadow to fall, listening for Death's soft footfalls coming up behind us. I think we live in a world where it is easy to be afraid all the time, where we certainly have cause for fear. If we give in to it, though, all those horrible, rabid, twisted bastards win. I think we have to keep going places, embracing each other, learning about each other. If this plague of hate is ever going to be defeated, it has to come from its opposite, unity instead of isolation.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Reasons Why I Love Marvel Films
I've been on a major Marvel movie kick lately, and I've been thinking about why they are so enjoyable. Here's what I've come up with so far.
1) A legitimate effort at fun has been made - Every day, it seems like the news is full of new horrors. People are killing each other for no legitimate reason. Things are disappearing or being used up. Both America and the world seem to be increasingly divided. People are just plain hateful to each other based on differences which make no difference. Our political landscape is filled with a wide array of non-choices we'll have to pick from in a few month.
One of the greatest uses of entertainment is being able to escape all that, even for 120 minutes, and Marvel films do that so well. The interplay between the characters is always a delight. The snark between Hawkeye and Quicksilver in Age of Ultron. Tony Stark bating...pick a character. Anyone. Everyone, really. Ant Man in Iron Man's wiring or in Sam's Falcon suit. Ant Man getting punched in the face by Hope. Happy getting taken down by the Widow. Spiderman and Bucky. (Spiderman and everybody.) The entire Bucky/Sam dynamic. One of my favorite scenes of all time was in Civil War when all those huge, ridiculously powerful guys are crammed into that old Volkswagen and Bucky asks Falcon to move his seat but Sam refuses. It was short, little compared to the huge drama going on, but it was perfect. My immediate thought was, "Actual Crap Guys Do." I still snicker thinking about it.
And don't even get me started on Deadpool. That entire film is just a gift.
2) A legitimate effort at more than just escapism has also been made - Because they're not just fluff. Even when we laugh at the one-liners, we can come away from the films thinking seriously about important concepts. Loyalty (and who deserves it), purpose, self-definition, coping with situations that we can't control, the need for second chances, who gets to write history and tell stories, the effects of conflict and violence on the macro and micro level, it's all in there. If you don't believe me, go to Tumblr for about five minutes and look at the way that talking about Marvel films is allowing people to talk about the very same real-world issues they help people escape for a minute, too.
It's a little like Shakespeare to me. (I'm going somewhere with this. I promise. Don't throw things or pass out.) He used these fabulous characters and riveting stories to present important ideas. Mercutio is fabulous, so sparkly he almost steals the entire play from that other moody teen, but what we need to learn from him is that his excess destroys him and that friends can get caught up in our drama whether we intend them to or not. Hamlet, with all his intelligence and sublime skill with language, teaches us it is possible to wait too long and that everybody suffers from it. Macbeth shows us what happens when ambition subsumes loyalty and character. And on and on. This is a whole separate blog post from me, so I'll stop here. What I'm saying is that the MCU films do a lot of this same kind of thing. There's something deeper at the core of them that makes them more than blockbuster entertainment.
3) Even though it can't be easy to be an actor for these films, they always look like they like each other and like what they do - I know that being a part of something like the MCU has got to be a big choice for an actor for a lot of reasons. I assume they are physically rigorous films, especially since many of the actors seem to be doing as many of their own stunts as they can. They also seem to require long commitments to the franchise. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not, but I'm assuming it limits what actors are allowed to do otherwise even though most of the MCU films do well at the box office.
I also figure that being a part of something like MCU denies those actors a great deal of the pleasure of being an anonymous person. I'm just a lowly school teacher, nothing so public and glorified as a film actor, but I actually love to go hang out with my friends who live in other cities just for the sheer pleasure of not having to worry about who I'm going to see that might know me. I'll never forget the time I got one of my ear piercings redone and came to school the next day to be told, "We saw you getting your ears done." I hadn't seen them, and the entire thing was paranoia-inducing. Where were they? Why did they care? Was I floating around out there in a Snapchat getting my ears repierced? Jesus.... If it's like that for me as a public school teacher, can you even imagine what it is like to be one of the actors in these films? Is there anywhere they can enjoy being just them and not Cap or Nat, Bucky or Tony Stark? I hope so. Everybody deserves a place to be simply themselves.
The biggest thing I guess I'm talking about is the apparently endless parade of interviews and convention panels. Because I have a board on Pinterest called Geekery that I add stuff to from Doctor Who, Star Wars, MCU films, etc., I see a bajillion interview pins (again, probably mostly assembled from things from Tumblr, that frothing bastion of fandom, God bless it). It has to get old. I wonder how many thousand times they get asked the same questions. Some of the things I see they've been asked are things I wouldn't be able to respond to well, but they always seem to stay classy (reasons they're actors and I'm not, probably).
In spite of all these things that would be drawbacks to me, they also always look like they like each other and are having a lot of fun. They support each other, defend each other from the really brainless, tactless, and crass questions. I really hope that's true. I hope that they look forward to making these movies and mess around on set and during those ridiculous interviews and are basically just happy. Maybe they don't all hang out at one of the hundred-and-eighty-seven-guys-named-Chris's houses on the weekend, but while they're there, it seems like they're having a blast. It increases the enjoyment of the films to me to think that it's in some way an effort of friends.
4) The female characters kick ass - The women are as interesting and strong as the men and nobody acts like that's anything other than the way it should be. I have loved Wonder Woman since I was a little girl small enough to fit into Underoos, and I have always, always wanted to see a film in which she was not a cameo or just done wrong. Marvel doesn't seem to have that issue. They aren't afraid of women who can hold their own. I can't wait to see Hope Pym as the Wasp. When the Scarlet Witch blasted Vision through the floor in Civil War, I (silently) cheered. Kick that ass, girl. I'm still catching up on the Daredevil series, but Electra is so very well done, deadly and complicated. And yes. Like the rest of America, I do want an entire Black Widow movie. She deserves it. (And throw some Red Room Bucky up in that, too.)
5) They are not afraid of brokenness - All of the MCU heroes have big, huge faultlines running right up the middle of them. Serious things have happened to them, things they couldn't control. They've made choices the best they could or had all their choices taken from them. Accidents have happened. They lost things. They lost people they loved. They've lost part or all of themselves.
Bucky is the poster boy for this and one of my very favorite characters in the entire MCU. Each time we see him in the films, he is picking the pieces of his life up and sorting through them. Even though he has been as destroyed as a person can be, with the help of his friends, he is trying to put those pieces back in place. Sebastian Stan does an amazing job showing this process. Bucky can't be easy to play.
This is what real life does. All that ugliness I mentioned at the top that surrounds us every day is doing this stuff to us, and we have to pick ourselves up and deal with whatever remains. I think the MCU heroes do an excellent job of giving hope that it is possible to stand up and keep trying. Sure, we're never going to be kidnapped by HYDRA, twisted by the Red Room, recreated by the mind stone, but we are going to get knocked down, hurt in hearts, minds, and bodies, and there's a lot to be said for seeing survival of the worst in fiction. It's important to have stories that show us people can overcome.
6) The villains are complicated - As a million little Loki fangirls will attest, even Marvel's bad guys aren't simple. Maybe it's the richness of the decades of source material and all the incarnations they've gone through as different writers shaped the characters, but instead of just big powerful evil, there's always a reason. There's always a backstory. They aren't Iagos; they're Claudiuses. (And I promise, that's my last Shakey reference.) The Marvel villains are the flip side of the hero's brokenness. They show us what happens when you choose NOT to get up. When you choose to hold on the the darkness instead of finding some way to purge it or leave it behind. They are as important in that dynamic as the heroes are.
My favorite of them is almost inevitably Wilson Fisk. D'Onofrio always amazes me with the depth he brings to anything he plays, and his portrayal of the many, many layers behind Kingpin is one of the main reasons I like Daredevil so much. The character is absolutely terrifying, utterly ruthless, but as the details of his becoming are revealed, it becomes possible to have compassion for him. Then he decapitates somebody with a car door, and you are not quite sure how to feel. That's the way a good villain is supposed to function.
7) The characters grow and change - Captain America has undergone this beautiful and complex transformation, but all of them evolve. The Tony Stark we saw in Civil War wasn't the same guy from Iron Man. All the characters in Daredevil are shifting, and it's impressive to watch. Even fairly newly-introduced characters like the Scarlet Witch and the Black Panther have changed dramatically from who they were when we first met them. Others are poised on the edges of that kind of change, especially Bucky, and I hope we get to see it happen. Real life leaves marks. When characters don't change due to what they encounter, they're allegories, and while allegories are interesting, I don't think we learn as much about survival from them as we do from more dynamic characters.
And I could probably go on, but I'll stop here. It may seem kind of an odd thing for me to write about, but it's what was on my mind today. Gotta go watch a movie.
Friday, June 10, 2016
Thoughts on the Day of Muhammad Ali's Funeral
When we registered yesterday, we were warned to take the Skyway (or, as I like to call it, the Habitrail) to and from the convention center today because of the crowds expected to be lining the street for Muhammad Ali's funeral. Everyone standing in line everywhere was abuzz with the list of people who were going to be in attendance.
This morning, we left to go grade papers in the cool of the dawn, and there was nobody out yet. By the time we went into the large open area outside the grading room for our morning break, streets had been blocked off and official vehicles could be seen over at the YUM! Center. It had begun.
We couldn't see any of the actual procession, but we saw bunches of people standing around waiting for it. Some of the readers looked up the live stream on their phones, and so groups of two or three stood there at the windows watching slow moving progress on the tiny screens and trying to figure out if it would get to our location before we had to go back inside again.
At lunch, I needed to get out and walk around a minute, and I took the opportunity to walk to a souvenir shop/information center right across the street from the convention center. There was a huge line of people, and they were all clamoring to buy orange shirts commemorating the day.
After the day's grading, I went to grab a sandwich, and everywhere, there were things related to Ali, signs on the side of city buses, a big electric billboard showing images from this life, people walking by in shirts. After I got my food, I walked back to the hotel. When I got to the street the YUM! Center is on, it was lined with makeshift booths fabricated from crates, folding tables, tarps. People were hawking $10 shirts for two city blocks' worth of space. It was a little surreal.
The thought that kept coming to me over and over again was how his family felt about this, how he would have felt about this. I guess to me grief is just such a private thing that I hate the thought of sharing it with anyone. Maybe it is different for them since he was such a world-famous icon. They'd been sharing him with everyone everywhere for so long that it has to be different, I suppose.
It bothered me that people were lined up and selling shirts for the same reason. It always seems so unbearably crass and, to be honest, cruel when I see what looks like someone trying to make money of someone else's tragedy. Maybe they were out there with them to honor a hero. Maybe it was a tribute somehow.
Then there are those who were buying the shirts. Did the people who bought them do so to honor him? Or was it sort of a "been there, done that" trophy? We wound up being here by the greatest accident of timing. Thousands of others made the journey specifically for this funeral. Why did they come? It's a question I would especially like to ask of the "dignitaries" who have kept the skies and the police force busy. Some of them had meaningful ties to Ali and his family. It made sense that they would come to honor that. How many others showed up because it was the place where all the cameras were running right now?
None of it is really my business. I just hope that it was all the way he would have wanted it, the way his family felt comfortable with. In the end, that is the only thing that could possibly have mattered today. No matter what he was to the rest of the world the rest of the time, he was their husband, father, family member, friend, and now he is gone. Their grief deserves respect. I hope they feel that it was given.
This morning, we left to go grade papers in the cool of the dawn, and there was nobody out yet. By the time we went into the large open area outside the grading room for our morning break, streets had been blocked off and official vehicles could be seen over at the YUM! Center. It had begun.
We couldn't see any of the actual procession, but we saw bunches of people standing around waiting for it. Some of the readers looked up the live stream on their phones, and so groups of two or three stood there at the windows watching slow moving progress on the tiny screens and trying to figure out if it would get to our location before we had to go back inside again.
At lunch, I needed to get out and walk around a minute, and I took the opportunity to walk to a souvenir shop/information center right across the street from the convention center. There was a huge line of people, and they were all clamoring to buy orange shirts commemorating the day.
After the day's grading, I went to grab a sandwich, and everywhere, there were things related to Ali, signs on the side of city buses, a big electric billboard showing images from this life, people walking by in shirts. After I got my food, I walked back to the hotel. When I got to the street the YUM! Center is on, it was lined with makeshift booths fabricated from crates, folding tables, tarps. People were hawking $10 shirts for two city blocks' worth of space. It was a little surreal.
The thought that kept coming to me over and over again was how his family felt about this, how he would have felt about this. I guess to me grief is just such a private thing that I hate the thought of sharing it with anyone. Maybe it is different for them since he was such a world-famous icon. They'd been sharing him with everyone everywhere for so long that it has to be different, I suppose.
It bothered me that people were lined up and selling shirts for the same reason. It always seems so unbearably crass and, to be honest, cruel when I see what looks like someone trying to make money of someone else's tragedy. Maybe they were out there with them to honor a hero. Maybe it was a tribute somehow.
Then there are those who were buying the shirts. Did the people who bought them do so to honor him? Or was it sort of a "been there, done that" trophy? We wound up being here by the greatest accident of timing. Thousands of others made the journey specifically for this funeral. Why did they come? It's a question I would especially like to ask of the "dignitaries" who have kept the skies and the police force busy. Some of them had meaningful ties to Ali and his family. It made sense that they would come to honor that. How many others showed up because it was the place where all the cameras were running right now?
None of it is really my business. I just hope that it was all the way he would have wanted it, the way his family felt comfortable with. In the end, that is the only thing that could possibly have mattered today. No matter what he was to the rest of the world the rest of the time, he was their husband, father, family member, friend, and now he is gone. Their grief deserves respect. I hope they feel that it was given.
Wednesday, June 08, 2016
Laughter
Monday, I went to my slightly delayed six-month checkup with my neurologist. The nurse took my blood pressure, and when she told me what it was, I felt myself grin. I couldn't stop it. I asked her what it had been the last time I came in, and she checked the chart, told me.
The grin got bigger.
In six months, I've gone from running numbers so high my doctors wanted to put me on blood pressure medicine and/or some kind of anti-anxiety medicine to textbook normal or better. That's worth grinning over, I think.
When I'd gone to see them in January, I was having at least two debilitating (i.e. - medicine required to stop them, somebody had to come get me from school because I was too sick to stay, too sick to drive) migraines a week. I felt horrible all the time.
In the last month, I have had only two migraines at all, and both of those were during that last horrible, horrible week at my old job when so many bad things happened.
Last time, the consultation I had with the neuro nurse took a long time. It was fairly solemn as we discussed the possibility of daily maintenance medicine to stop the headaches again, all the old terrible things like Topamax - which steals my words and my personality - and newer variations - some that would spike blood pressure, some that might make me lose both weight and hair, others that would definitely increase my appetite. This time, I spent more time laughing and chatting with the nurse practitioner than we did discussing my treatment options.
My God, what a difference a change can make.
I can even give you the date things started to change. I have a picture taken that day. I was in a new Shakespeare First Folio scarf that I'd bought for the 400th anniversary celebration. That was the day I decided to go take a chance and talk to the administrators at what would become my new/old school. That was the day I finally admitted to myself after that conversation that change was possible. I remember driving home down familiar roads talking to my mother. I can remember feeling the first tiny tendrils of hope stir.
It's grown since then. Once I made the official decision to leave my old school, I found the number of migraines I was having dropped off sharply. Other alterations followed.
I laugh again now. I noticed it the other day. I was walking Stella around the yard on one of her many daily jaunts, and she did something ridiculous, clown that she is, and I started laughing. It felt a little strange, and I realized why. I am not sure when it stopped, but I haven't laughed at things in a long time.
Now, I snicker at Stella and Tybalt's semi-stealthy stalking of one another. I chortle at stupid puns on FB. I laugh sometimes until I cry at geeky pins on Pinterest. I get amused with myself and the guys I play with on Sunday nights when I can't get my crap together with the bass. There's humor in the world again, and it feels so good.
Before those of us who were leaving got out of my old school, there were some hateful comments made regarding the fact that I'm changing schools. Much of it was just the usual backstabbing crap that went on constantly, but some of them were bold enough to say it to our faces. Certain people were quick to tell me and the others who left to go where I'm going that nothing good awaited us because "you know how they are out there."
I really don't. Not anymore. Even though I graduated from the school to which I am returning, I haven't had anything to do with it for more than twenty years, so, no. I don't know how they are. That whole statement infuriated me. Some of the very same people who were so fast to judge based on a stereotype would follow up in the same breath with some complaint about how our school received criticism based on stereotypes, too.
Nothing is ever what we think it is from the outside. I am certain there are differences. The population makeup is different in percentage of ethic group, in balance of socio-economics, in setting (rural v. urban), and most importantly, in size (my new school will be about half the size of my old one). What I refuse to believe is that people who do not live there, who do not have children attending that school, who do not teach at that school or know anyone who does, who likely have never seen the campus except for the sporting fields, are reliable sources of information about it. This holds true for every place in the world. We don't know unless we go to see it for ourselves. If humanity could just hold on to that one idea and practice it, I wonder just how much ridiculousness and cruelty we could end?
I am sure there are going to be challenges, sources of frustration, things I would want to change. As I've told people before, though, "There is crap everywhere. You just have to figure out what of it you can deal with and what of it you need to get away from." I figured out the last bit the hard way.
And, to be honest, even if the naysayers turn out to be right (which I do not anticipate happening), I still needed to go through the process of making this change. I feel better, more hopeful, more at peace with myself right now than I have in....longer than I can remember. I sing with the radio. I write stuff. I take care of my house, my self. I cook dinner for myself, for my family.
I laugh.
If nothing else is ever gained from this change, by God, I laugh again. That is enough.
The grin got bigger.
In six months, I've gone from running numbers so high my doctors wanted to put me on blood pressure medicine and/or some kind of anti-anxiety medicine to textbook normal or better. That's worth grinning over, I think.
When I'd gone to see them in January, I was having at least two debilitating (i.e. - medicine required to stop them, somebody had to come get me from school because I was too sick to stay, too sick to drive) migraines a week. I felt horrible all the time.
In the last month, I have had only two migraines at all, and both of those were during that last horrible, horrible week at my old job when so many bad things happened.
Last time, the consultation I had with the neuro nurse took a long time. It was fairly solemn as we discussed the possibility of daily maintenance medicine to stop the headaches again, all the old terrible things like Topamax - which steals my words and my personality - and newer variations - some that would spike blood pressure, some that might make me lose both weight and hair, others that would definitely increase my appetite. This time, I spent more time laughing and chatting with the nurse practitioner than we did discussing my treatment options.
My God, what a difference a change can make.
I can even give you the date things started to change. I have a picture taken that day. I was in a new Shakespeare First Folio scarf that I'd bought for the 400th anniversary celebration. That was the day I decided to go take a chance and talk to the administrators at what would become my new/old school. That was the day I finally admitted to myself after that conversation that change was possible. I remember driving home down familiar roads talking to my mother. I can remember feeling the first tiny tendrils of hope stir.
It's grown since then. Once I made the official decision to leave my old school, I found the number of migraines I was having dropped off sharply. Other alterations followed.
I laugh again now. I noticed it the other day. I was walking Stella around the yard on one of her many daily jaunts, and she did something ridiculous, clown that she is, and I started laughing. It felt a little strange, and I realized why. I am not sure when it stopped, but I haven't laughed at things in a long time.
Now, I snicker at Stella and Tybalt's semi-stealthy stalking of one another. I chortle at stupid puns on FB. I laugh sometimes until I cry at geeky pins on Pinterest. I get amused with myself and the guys I play with on Sunday nights when I can't get my crap together with the bass. There's humor in the world again, and it feels so good.
Before those of us who were leaving got out of my old school, there were some hateful comments made regarding the fact that I'm changing schools. Much of it was just the usual backstabbing crap that went on constantly, but some of them were bold enough to say it to our faces. Certain people were quick to tell me and the others who left to go where I'm going that nothing good awaited us because "you know how they are out there."
I really don't. Not anymore. Even though I graduated from the school to which I am returning, I haven't had anything to do with it for more than twenty years, so, no. I don't know how they are. That whole statement infuriated me. Some of the very same people who were so fast to judge based on a stereotype would follow up in the same breath with some complaint about how our school received criticism based on stereotypes, too.
Nothing is ever what we think it is from the outside. I am certain there are differences. The population makeup is different in percentage of ethic group, in balance of socio-economics, in setting (rural v. urban), and most importantly, in size (my new school will be about half the size of my old one). What I refuse to believe is that people who do not live there, who do not have children attending that school, who do not teach at that school or know anyone who does, who likely have never seen the campus except for the sporting fields, are reliable sources of information about it. This holds true for every place in the world. We don't know unless we go to see it for ourselves. If humanity could just hold on to that one idea and practice it, I wonder just how much ridiculousness and cruelty we could end?
I am sure there are going to be challenges, sources of frustration, things I would want to change. As I've told people before, though, "There is crap everywhere. You just have to figure out what of it you can deal with and what of it you need to get away from." I figured out the last bit the hard way.
And, to be honest, even if the naysayers turn out to be right (which I do not anticipate happening), I still needed to go through the process of making this change. I feel better, more hopeful, more at peace with myself right now than I have in....longer than I can remember. I sing with the radio. I write stuff. I take care of my house, my self. I cook dinner for myself, for my family.
I laugh.
If nothing else is ever gained from this change, by God, I laugh again. That is enough.
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