Kristen Wiig mocks Suzanne Somer’s book of poetry, Touch Me.
Archive for May, 2011
a favourite song of mine.
“how do the powerless survive?”
i was at home last night watching oprah’s series finale. at one point i got a little choked up. the moment, for me, came when she reflected on a recent episode where over 200 men, brave men might i add, came forward and admitted that they were victims of sexual abuse.
i am a major supporter of RAINN, and this one moment, being a person who has experienced what the stigma of sexual abuse can do to an individual, was profound for me.
say what you want about oprah, but she found a niche, she found a hole in our society that was eternally pessimistic and cynical and she said, “no no no, i refuse to accept this.” she forced us, whether or not we were capable of doing so or not, to face our demons, and to learn that self-preservation and respect comes from introspection and self-awareness; taking responsibility for our actions and accepting that we can be better than who we are.
it’s not necessarily something we are always capable of doing, but we should make it one of our main objectives — to be the best that we can be.
i grew up watching oprah, and i am sad that the show will no longer lighten the hearts of people all over the planet. americans sure know how to milk a goodbye, but as i sat watching the show last night i thought to myself that it was all okay — sometimes a little light comes sans any caveats.
the only snag to this blissful weekend is that i have strep throat. yep. i had to go to the emergency room on sunday afternoon to get a prescription for some antibiotics. oh well, i’m better now. the weather was wonderful and i got some much needed sleep.
now it is raining. lovely.
My favourite song is Sunday in Savannah by Nina Simone. Lovely. I was listening to it this afternoon while gardening on my balcony. I don’t know where Savannah is but when I sing it I think about sugar, and that sweet air found only in the south.
Every now and again I remind myself how wonderful it is to be breathing. Our bodies may only be shells but without them we would be incapable of appreciating the simple pleasures of music, sun and flowers.
it sounds cheesy but eyes are the windows to the soul. think about it. look into charles manson’s eyes and you can see bile. look into the eyes of mother theresa and you see someone who didn’t believe the words she was preaching. look into the eyes of george w. bush and you see vacancies.
our eyes say a lot about who we are and how we think. sometimes they can even hint at what we’re thinking. but not all of us have been gifted with sight, and others have been robbed of it.
i met a man the other day, who in his thirties, woke up one morning to discover that he was blind. for months, without his knowledge, a tumour had been growing on his optic nerve. everything he had experienced up until that point was now very much in the past. his future as a sightless person was upon him and he had to adjust.
on most days when i see him, he wears sunglasses, and i want to ask him if he wouldn’t mind pulling them down, if only for a brief minute, so that i can learn what colour his eyes are.
but then i think that would be a strange request.
freakish things happen to people just like us everyday. many wallow in self-pity. others move on and live their lives, as best they can.
it’s all any one of us can do.