The Watchtower of Destruction: The Ferrett's Journal - January 22nd, 2008
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08:49 am
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Broad Shoulders To Rest A Question On: Hugs
"It's the pat on the back that kills it for me," Cat said.
I shrank back in my seat. "Really?" I asked cautiously. "Because, you know, I do that..."
"Oh, you don't even like to hug, so you don't count," she replied. "You're from New England."
"I like to hug! It's just that it's foreplay for me."
The topic had swung around to hugs and how important they were, and we had agreed that some people were good huggers and others were not. I didn't actually know whether I was a good hugger or not, but more importantly I didn't want to know; I'm of the firm opinion that a trained hug is false. The hug is the expression of your personality as a whole - boisterous or reticent, clingy or giving - and altering that fluid alchemy of full-body touch is akin to changing the formula for Coke. No, you have it or you don't, and that's that.
But then we started thinking in terms of hugs and what made a hugger great, and we realized that like sex, hugs were a matter of personal preference. And a lot of interesting questions were raised about hugging. (I hadn't considered the enjoyment of the girl-on-girl boob-smush, but you betcher ass that Cat had.)
So here's my questions on a cold Tuesday morn:
1) When someone's hugging you, what can they do that will break your enjoyment of the hug? (Apparently, my little back pat doesn't go over well in Cat-world, but what's your ugliness?)
2) What makes a hug great?
(I'm writing about hugs now, for God's sake. Next week, I'll be writing about kitten preferences. This has to stop.)
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09:01 am
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And Here We Go!
The Oscar nominees are out! I've listed the ones I have seen already in bold, and marked the ones I wanted to see in italic. I'll list the films and roles I think should have been on here tomorrow, but suffice it to say that I am vaguely surprised by the Oscar marking Michael Clayton so heavily (though it deserved it) and shutting out American Gangster (which deserved to be shut out) and Hairspray (which didn't even get a best song, though maybe that's 'cause it's a Broadway first song - though I do adore Enchanted's soundtrack).
Best Actor:George Clooney, Michael Clayton (One of the best films I've seen this year)
Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd
Tommy Lee Jones, In The Valley of Elah
Viggo Mortenson, Eastern Promises (Yay! I was so worried he'd be shut out, and it was a phenomenal performance. Plus, you know, LotR nerdery.)
Best Supporting ActorCasey Affleck, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Javier Bardem, No Country For Old Men (This was a supporting role?)
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Charlie Wilson's War
Hal Holbrook, Into The Wild
Tom Wilkinson, Michael Clayton (When I saw this movie, I went, "Tom should not only be nominated, there should be no debate as to his winning." Unfortunately, if Javier Bardem's a "supporting" actor, well, then that goes out the window. But still a brilliant performance.)
Best ActressCate Blanchett, Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Julie Christie, Away From Her
Marion Cotillard, La Vie En Rose
Laura Linney, The Savages (I am so in love with Laura Linney)
Ellen Page, Juno
Best Supporting ActressCate Blanchett, I'm Not There (Betcha Cate's happy this year, huh?)
Ruby Dee, American Gangster
Saoirse Ronan, Atonement (I didn't care for the film all that much, but this was an excellent performance)
Amy Ryan, Gone Baby Gone
Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton (A bit of a cringing role for me, since she played a kind of anti-feminist role here, but still good.)
Best DirectorJulian Schnabel, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Jason Reitman, Juno (A surprise, but a valid one!)
Tony Gilroy, Michael Clayton
Coen Brothers, No Country For Old Men
Paul Thomas Anderson, There Will Be Blood
Best Motion Picture of the YearAtonement
Juno
Michael Clayton
No Country For Old Men
There Will Be Blood
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01:31 pm
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The Things You Own
Today, ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) yuki_onna wrote a heartbreaking essay on small children and human touch that really strikes it home.
Thing is, I witnessed the little girl in the elevator hold out her hand. I had the same thought that she did; how beautiful and nakedly human that little girl was. And yet I never in a million years would have written that essay, because that is her domain. I would have waited until the end of time to have her write it, because I wouldn't have done it right.
Cat was in her place of power.
Cat's most on when she writes about loss and longing. Her characters (whether they're in fiction or just herself as she transforms her own flesh and blood into essay) all struggle for the light but retain this strange grace about them, a simple humanity that stops them from being quite as ungainly and awkward as they think they are. I think of the people she writes about as a swan or a dove, maybe broken a little but still something so pure and unaware that the flaws don't matter... And when she writes, it cuts hard like a knife.
I write hard, too. But I wouldn't dare to try to capture that moment in the elevator. It was what she does.
There was (and it feels stupid to bring this up) a Swamp Thing comic in which Swamp Thing - an unfortunately-named nature elemental - is being pursued by his enemy, Arcane. Arcane has made a bargain with the blackest powers of hell, and he is a juggernaut, a nightmare of stitched-together flesh, an avatar of chaos and hate who has already undone most of the good in Swamp Thing's life. And Swamp Thing is running through the woods, lost, terrified, unsure of what to do.
Arcane chases. And there is a moment when the Swamp Thing stops running and says, quietly, "You should not have come here."
Arcane has erred, you see. Swamp Thing is a creature of nature, and by chasing him into the woods he's unwittingly driven Swamp Thing into the very place where everything succors him. He is of the earth, made of roots and twisted muck and mossy growth... And though Arcane would destroy him in a thousand other places, any other battlefield anywhere, this is the one place where he is unbeatable. "This is my place of power," Swamp Thing says.
It's not even a battle. In that moment, Arcane is ended, simply and quickly.
Cat has her place of power. And occasionally, I even touch mine, though I don't know what it is. I felt it when I wrote on Erin the other day. I felt a tremor of it when I wrote the A Different Fluttershine storyline (and some more when I closed that storyline today, even though it was Roni's idea). I felt it when I wrote my essay, almost a year ago, on the love I feel for my wife and the love I bear for lovers I will never had.
Most of the time I'm fumbling through the dark like anyone else. Then, occasionally, I manage to snap into focus and write something that's strong and wise and noble, something with potency if not necessarily agreement from all. It comes so rarely, but it comes often enough to know that it's there. I just can't lay a name to it, possibly because it's such a part of me that it's like trying to name part of the blood that flows within my veins.
But I like that. I like the idea that though I spend a lot of my days as a sort of gibbering fool, dancing so clumsily for the amusement of many, that there is a place where for one or two pages, I hold domain. It's that small snippet of human existence that somehow I'm most in sync with - a tiny fragment of lighthouse beam that, when it sweeps over me, allows me to become something more. Cat may have a larger beam, some wider segment that allows her to write those beautiful award-winning books that move hearts... But on the right day, when the wind is blowing in the perfect direction, there are moments that I can capture that no one else can touch.
So me. So uniquely me.
So uniquely you.
Because I like the idea that it's not just me who has access to this. I like to think that deep within themselves, everyone has this place of power - a small glade lost in a darkened woods where you can stand against anything the world can throw at you. When you step into that sacred grove, you tap into some channel that makes you unstoppable. The world can send oceans and avalanches at you and you will shrug them off, as long as you find that tiny place to rest your feet.
This is life, kid. You will be driven into deep woods by things you don't understand. There will be days you will be rent mad with panic, fleeing with no purpose or plan, wandering lost and starving and scared.
Somewhere within that woods is your place. There is that one area where all the leylines converge and deliver all the strength that is your very birthright. And in that moment, you will surprise yourself as you shed everything you ever were and become something greater than you have known.
I know it. I just know it.
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