July 2007                                                                                Home

'My country right or wrong' ... is like saying, 'my mother drunk or sober.' - GK Chesterton

July 8 2007 10:08 PM   

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The last time she was here Kristina bought us both a copy of a small book and recently she bought me another by Manquel. I want to follow him around and just listen. In the latter book he writes snippets, one of which tells about a protest in Nigeria over the Miss World contest. The protesters were fundamentalists who ran through the streets yelling, " God is great! Down with beauty!" Stuff like that sends me into hours of reverie.

I have no strong feelings about beauty pageants. I have no interest in them. They seem odd. I just don't care. I think the women are beautiful but I think so many people are beautiful. And I think beauty is good. It's more likely that I will disagree with people about what is ugly than what is beautiful.

There is a part of me that likes the idea of men protesting a pageant. But things are rarely simple. I find myself wanting to say this ... but not that. That ... but not this. Beauty is good and worth celebrating. The pageant format is problematic. I can argue against them. But I don't care enough. I just love the complexity in the little snippet from Manquel. I imagine him telling me the story with a smile of irony.

Someone wrote to me about a friend of their's. The friend is fat but has not been ashamed of it. And then someone said an extremely nasty thing to them and they had a rough time. I tried to respond to the email but my reply bounced back. Not sure why.

In the email I was directed to a blog on which the nasty thing was written, which I will not link because there are some things that are just too gross. When hatred is so unfounded and badly articulated I just back away. I might like to have the verbal dexterity of Cyrano when he responded to a crass comment about the size of his nose. But I don't. In the face of vitriol I am rendered dumb.

Well.

Usually.

There are times ...

Beauty matters. I guess I always hope that as people become more , oh, I dunno, authentic, or something, their perception of beauty expands. No pun intended.

Heh.

My inability to write continues. I think about writing. I read about writing. I read about reading. My life is all meta.

Because of the Manquel I thought I might just try to write really small posts. Just notes from my reveries. Like the day after the parade I walked past a Gay Pride sign in a window. It seemed to me that there would be no need for pride about something so intrinsic as preference if there had never been shame. Someone gave me a fat pride necklace but I can't wear it. I am not proud. Nor am I ashamed. I simply am fat. Any meaning making that gets layered onto that attribute of physicality is just fluff.

This ... but not that. That but not this.

I need to rest now. Shore up for the bus and the train and the shuttle and the job and the shuttle and the train and the bus. I have eight more pages of the second Manquel to take to bed and a bit more of the first for tomorrow. Fortification.