Don't let the flag touch the ground.
I always took this for granted. When on color guard in my scout troop we were all extremely careful that nary a corner touched the carpeting under our feet. The girls surrounding the flag gently held up every last inch of the colored material.
But, why don't we let the flag touch the ground? A flag, really, is just a fancy piece of fabric. It's a bit of nice, thick, woven strands that have been sewn together. Or just one large swatch of cloth that has been dyed in a specific pattern. It has no inherent magical powers or reason for me to honor it.
But, it stands for a country. Our country. My county. The United States of America.
Here's the thing. Why should I honor my country?
Sacrilege!
That's what my inner brain, the one that has internalized all of the country music songs, scouting guidelines, and Saving Private Ryan type movies shouts at me when I type this. But, really, just because I happened to be born in a wealthy, democratic-republic group of states doesn't guarantee I was born into the "best country in the world". I could just have easily been born in Belgium, Rwanda, or China.
Patriotism isn't all bad. However, I think that as Americans we tend to become too religious about this patriotism. The truth is, America isn't heaven on Earth. The founding fathers weren't divinely illuminated religious/political leaders who knew how to set up a perfect governmental system. In fact, they had to re-write their system about ten years after the birth of the country. And even then, they were testing theories that they came up with from studying ancient cultures, political theorists, and philosophy.
Some of the things we have done as a country are horrendous. We eradicated almost an entire people group from land we didn't own so we could live here, and proceeded to ship over another people group which we enslaved and abused, leading to systematic racism which is still prevalent in our culture. Today, we are a consumeristic, wealthy nation that relies on less-wealthy nations to provide us with cheap goods. And these are just the beginning of our problems.
The danger of religious-type patriotism is that it can, in a stubborn religious-type fervor, cause us to allow unspeakable things for "the good of America" (manifest destiny much?). It blinds us from the issues with our country, and maybe even -- gasp -- the hollowed constitution (let us remember that the constitution allowed states to count their slaves as three-fifths of a person).
This patriotism generates propaganda-type media which snowballs as people internalize the messages they are receiving every day through music and movies which glorify America and create more of the same media. This kind of blind patriotism causes a false sense of supremacy has given rise to such horrors as the Nazis in Germany. (What propaganda-type media, you ask? Watch a movie which involves America dealing with another country. Or just turn on a country station).
The point I am trying to make is that we are not the best nation in the world. We are wealthy. We theoretically have a fair government. The assumption of our superiority is false. The assumption that our problems will be fixed if we "get back to the basics" is false. The basics included slavery. As Americans, we need to build on what we have, improve on what the founding fathers gave us to create something better.
The flag is not Jesus. It's a piece of fabric.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
On My Clumsy Life
I'm clumsy. Because I am so lanky, I frequently hear the words "graceful" in reference to my figure. However, such language is usually only applied to me when I stand still. Once I move, such thoughts are banished from said flatterer's head.
Not that I mind being this way. I rather glorify in my faults, which in itself is not overly healthy as this mindset does not always encourage remedying my many vices. However, it does allow me to laugh at myself, which keeps me from taking life too seriously.
Such clumsiness, though, can sometimes cause embarrassing and totally avoidable adventures. Take my last film shoot:
On the way to said shoot, I discovered I had forgotten a prop -- an engagement ring -- which just so happened to be a central element to the script. In the midst of my panic (we had already secured a location and I had rounded up my crew to head there) I had a flash of brilliancy: buy a ringbox from our location and shoot an extreme close-up of the ring in the box later.
Upon arriving at the location, the owner of the Antique Mall rushed off to find us a ring box. He brought back a beautiful vintage specimen. Upon inquiry, however, he said that he owned it -- it was not for sale. After a search on his part of the premises, he kindly offered to let us borrow the ring box to get the angles we needed. Considering myself a responsible and capable individual, I accepted the loan of an antique.
Big mistake.
After being safely carried through the store, down a flight of stairs, and out the door, the precious little ring box slipped off the record I was carrying it on. The combination of 40 degree weather and hard concrete did not mix well for the innocent little box. The hinge broke (I may have used un-ladylike language at this point) sending the lid one direction and the base the other. I hastily scooped it up, and deposited it in my car, too shocked and rushed by the gathering gloom and need for a last few angles to appraise the damage.
Upon further assessment I saw that the hinge was indeed cracked. I considered gluing it, but then realized that the owner might have some sort of special made-for-antique-ring-boxes-broken-by-clumsy-college-girls glue and that my simple clumsy-girl-crazy-glue might cause more harm than good.
I vowed to put the ring out of my mind for the weekend. I enjoyed myself (it snowed, I went dancing and to a bachelorette party) but had to return to reality on Monday when I finished the angles that I needed. I was able to fix the hinge to the point of use, but there was no magically mending the shattered plastic. I dreaded the next day, when I planned on returning the box.
That is what brought me to the city about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I parked a bit down the road from the shop, tension in my throat. Cars sped past, people strolled along, birds fluttered, all oblivious of my impending demise. A fire truck, sirens singing mournfully, wailed past. I briefly hoped that maybe the antique store had a fire and that no one would notice a shattered ring box in the remains. I feel bad about that now. Ah, the frailty of woman on the verge of doom!
I wondered if antique store owners accept future children as payment.
I forced myself out of my car and down the street. The crisp November air bit my face, I shivered slightly. The ring box was clutched in my right hand. I crossed the road, briefly wondering what the driver at the red light thought of me -- a nervous woman grasping a bright red object in her fist. I probably made a bad impression.
The store was open and bells clinked gaily on my entrance. A smiling woman greeted me as I walked in. I went up to the front desk and inquired after the owner. I had forgotten his name. The slightly nervous woman manning the desk supplied me -- Tim. I remembered that after she said it. Tim the Terrifying.
But he wasn't in.
I have to go back next week.
To be continued....
Not that I mind being this way. I rather glorify in my faults, which in itself is not overly healthy as this mindset does not always encourage remedying my many vices. However, it does allow me to laugh at myself, which keeps me from taking life too seriously.
Such clumsiness, though, can sometimes cause embarrassing and totally avoidable adventures. Take my last film shoot:
On the way to said shoot, I discovered I had forgotten a prop -- an engagement ring -- which just so happened to be a central element to the script. In the midst of my panic (we had already secured a location and I had rounded up my crew to head there) I had a flash of brilliancy: buy a ringbox from our location and shoot an extreme close-up of the ring in the box later.
Upon arriving at the location, the owner of the Antique Mall rushed off to find us a ring box. He brought back a beautiful vintage specimen. Upon inquiry, however, he said that he owned it -- it was not for sale. After a search on his part of the premises, he kindly offered to let us borrow the ring box to get the angles we needed. Considering myself a responsible and capable individual, I accepted the loan of an antique.
Big mistake.
After being safely carried through the store, down a flight of stairs, and out the door, the precious little ring box slipped off the record I was carrying it on. The combination of 40 degree weather and hard concrete did not mix well for the innocent little box. The hinge broke (I may have used un-ladylike language at this point) sending the lid one direction and the base the other. I hastily scooped it up, and deposited it in my car, too shocked and rushed by the gathering gloom and need for a last few angles to appraise the damage.
Upon further assessment I saw that the hinge was indeed cracked. I considered gluing it, but then realized that the owner might have some sort of special made-for-antique-ring-boxes-broken-by-clumsy-college-girls glue and that my simple clumsy-girl-crazy-glue might cause more harm than good.
I vowed to put the ring out of my mind for the weekend. I enjoyed myself (it snowed, I went dancing and to a bachelorette party) but had to return to reality on Monday when I finished the angles that I needed. I was able to fix the hinge to the point of use, but there was no magically mending the shattered plastic. I dreaded the next day, when I planned on returning the box.
That is what brought me to the city about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I parked a bit down the road from the shop, tension in my throat. Cars sped past, people strolled along, birds fluttered, all oblivious of my impending demise. A fire truck, sirens singing mournfully, wailed past. I briefly hoped that maybe the antique store had a fire and that no one would notice a shattered ring box in the remains. I feel bad about that now. Ah, the frailty of woman on the verge of doom!
I wondered if antique store owners accept future children as payment.
I forced myself out of my car and down the street. The crisp November air bit my face, I shivered slightly. The ring box was clutched in my right hand. I crossed the road, briefly wondering what the driver at the red light thought of me -- a nervous woman grasping a bright red object in her fist. I probably made a bad impression.
The store was open and bells clinked gaily on my entrance. A smiling woman greeted me as I walked in. I went up to the front desk and inquired after the owner. I had forgotten his name. The slightly nervous woman manning the desk supplied me -- Tim. I remembered that after she said it. Tim the Terrifying.
But he wasn't in.
I have to go back next week.
To be continued....
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
On Where I Have Been
I knew this would happen, which is why I haven't yet connected blog and FB.
I "took a break" from writing. Really, I don't put much effort into these posts (a fact made painfully clear while I read through my Nov thoughts) so I shouldn't "take breaks"...but...I got out of the habit.
This is me remaking the habit.
However, exciting things happened whilst I was away. Most notably:
My second feature film premiered to 260 people in a real theater.
I succeeded in having all my gifts under the tree Christmas morning.
...on second thought...scratch that
....I still haven't gotten my best friend a present...
...happy platonic Valentine's Day???
...I'm bad at life...
I finished my fall semester with my desired GPA.
And, most notably notable of all
keep scrolling
seriously dude? you've scrolled this far? I thought I was the only one...
I CLEANED MY ROOM!
And it's still clean
drops mic
jk, that's cliche and bad for the mic
I "took a break" from writing. Really, I don't put much effort into these posts (a fact made painfully clear while I read through my Nov thoughts) so I shouldn't "take breaks"...but...I got out of the habit.
This is me remaking the habit.
However, exciting things happened whilst I was away. Most notably:
My second feature film premiered to 260 people in a real theater.
I succeeded in having all my gifts under the tree Christmas morning.
...on second thought...scratch that
....I still haven't gotten my best friend a present...
...happy platonic Valentine's Day???
...I'm bad at life...
I finished my fall semester with my desired GPA.
And, most notably notable of all
keep scrolling
seriously dude? you've scrolled this far? I thought I was the only one...
I CLEANED MY ROOM!
And it's still clean
drops mic
jk, that's cliche and bad for the mic
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