Saturday, June 17, 2006

The Cults of the Famous and the Dead

All my life people have been telling me how I feel about men, opinions ranging from my friend Hank -- God, you're way too fucking nice and you don't see an asshole for an asshole hence (Hank was one of the few people who could use hence in a sentence and not seem like a jerk) the asshole becomes less of an asshole (commonly known as the Heisenberg effect) to my college roommate Sarah who claimed I suffered from Stockholm syndrome (named after a famous bank robbery where the captives started loving their captors and one hostage even married one of them) where I loved those who would do me harm to a therapist (a brief stint in the hell that is couples counselling) who said, You sort of hate men. So what the hell did I think? Even I couldn't be sure. Men, it seemed, were an inkblot test and how you responded signalled your mental health.

In my young evangelical religious days, I went to a Bible study which laid out the roles for women -- wife (even at twelve I had the sense to see what a blech! that was -- Oh goody, I got to marry one of the douchebag leaders -- Yay! Not!), to exhorter (put in layman's terms, a cheerleader except you didn't get to wear hotpants and too much blue eyeshadow), and prophetess, a woman who spoke in tongues and predicted the future. A prophetess did not belong to one man, but the whole congregation. She told what had been and what would come. It was a role that you could have for life and you got better as you got older. Sort of like writing. Except that I don't have to dress modestly and can whip out the hot pants any time I feel like it, regardless of how I'm feeling about men.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"The beautiful thing about men is that they all wanted the same thing." William Cobb, The White Tattoo

The Famous and the Dead

1 part doomed expectation mixed with lots and lots of champagne and desserts

Benedictions and Maledictions

We Never Fight

I am sitting in my house thinking
about all the ways a person can die,
and I’m wondering if I put you in my
mouth and swallowed you whole would
you still exist or would my acid eat you
alive? So I call you and ask where you
are and you ask me the same question,
out of politeness or interest, I don’t know,
so I tell you the truth -- I am sitting at my
table. There is silence. It’s a table, you
see, and I really don’t know what else to say.

13 comments:

Cheri said...

Michelle-
Most of my family is Mormon...talk about a fucked up religion right there! Ahh I love hearing about Hank, he's the type of friend every woman should have.

robin said...

M, I've been complemplating those very things today! My feelings of shame and inadequacy were brought to the surface this week, the taproot, if you will, and I wonder if I'll ever be free of it. I also think that I do feel protective of you, in a big sister sort of way, especially since your dad died. Even though I was struggling through a hell of my own at that point, I feel guilty for not being there for you more during that time. Thanks for the post. You creatively express what it means to be a woman! Love You, R

cindy said...

Michelle,

love it! Touche. Perfect! Beautiful! With Grouchie added!
The majority of men are so bad (and predicatable) it's a miracle we can thrive despite there comings and goings on. I'm glad we have the Sisterhood.

xo;)
Cindy

John said...

Dear Michelle,

I've always thought a little bit of fighting is a healthy release, but not too much. The slow smolder can be a frightening thing to behold when it eventually catches fire. Marvelously pensive post. Bravo! Cheers to you and yours.

Bonnie said...

Hey honey,

You used to quote Hank as saying, whenever he strongly disagreed about your high tolerance for mediocre or otherwise horrible men he hated, "You just keep telling yourself that." Still makes me smile. Sweet post. Where's Hank when you need him?

Paul said...

O Mighty Isis,

I'm glad we never fight, that would be sad. Marriage is sort of like the Draft, once you're in it it's hard ot get out without a lot of hurtin' going on.

R2 C2!

Michelle's Spell said...

Hey Miss Robin,

Thanks for the great thoughts, and truth be told, I always wanted an older sister -- being the oldest child is tough! I'm so glad you liked today's entry. And you've always been a great support -- always! Cheers, m

Jason said...

I was really trying to figure out some witty and insightful comment to your post. I ran through multiple options, including a weird connection between your post and the huge amount of Gilmore girls I have been watching.

But your picture is way too sexy, cute, attractive, provocative and proving (in my case) the Cobb quote.

No, no. thank you.

cindy said...

Michelle,
Have you seen this case? Seems to fit today's theme:

"She was 14 when she met Felix Polk, who was her therapist. She was 24 when she married him.

During the trial, jurors heard bizarre testimony from the defendant about psychics, secret agents and the daily physical abuse Polk claimed to have endured during a relationship that spanned three decades" before she stabbed him to death. . . . .

xo
Cindy

JR's Thumbprints said...

I could never understand why an attractive woman would get into a relationship with a complete asshole of a guy. I see them lined up waiting to "meet their man" in the prisoner visiting area. Go figure.

As far as the Stockholm Syndrome, I used to be a trained hostage negotiator, prior to ERT (Emergency Response Team) and Rule Number One: Get the hostage to sympathize with their captors. Why? So their captors will value them and not kill them.

Anonymous said...

I hate to do this, but I've never quoted Ian Fleming before: "I must be dreaming."

Anonymous said...

Nope. Definitely no bra fat there.

Sheila said...

Michelle,
my family is catholic.... I used to think it was great but I find myself disagreeing with the catholic church more and more. Anyways... great post today I love the picture and I wish I could have met Hank. He sounds like the best friend one could ever ask for.