Dreams. Necessary for all members of the human species to survive from one day to the next. A carnival for the mind, a private therapy session with yourself, a retreat from the wars we all fight every day. We dream of sorrow and of laughter, we dream of lust and of love. We dream of those who are around us, those who have departed and those who never were. We dream and remember we dream and forget.
Lately, I’ve been thinking of what I dream about. A way if you will, of taking inventory of dreams that have meant something to me. In some cases, dreams that have helped me resolve through issues, decipher or decrypt problems or even change my life.
When I was going through grad school, I noticed that when I woke up in the morning I was dead tired. My mind was spent. What I discovered was that my mind would be so focused on whatever question was at hand or whatever essay I had to write, that even though part of my brain was asleep, another part kept on working. It was almost as if I my mind was a little cobblers shop. The door would be locked and the candle lights turned off, but in the back room, shoes continued to be made. Thoughts would run through my head, the characteristics of one intellectual entity, the strengths and weaknesses of various cataloging schemes and so on. Either way, by the next morning, the shop would be open, with hundreds of new shoes for sale. The cobbler however would be so tired. His work completed, but at least all he had to do was ring the customers up. I did much the same, I was tired, but all I had to say, all the problems that were asked of me, merely had to be typed up. Usually, with a cup or two of coffee, the words would come pouring out of my mind almost unconsciously and unknowingly, like a wine barrel split open by an axe. Maybe I have always done that and not even realized it. Maybe I only recognized this particular peculiarity of my mind and dreams, because of the nature of the problems and the need to solve them in a particular time and manner.
Dreams have served me in other ways as well. When I first got married, I was still basically a kid. Still discovering myself, still not quite sure of my footing in the world, what I wanted out of life or why it even mattered. All I knew was that I had found someone to love and they loved me. Really, what more was there to it? Five years later and having grown up, I realized, there was so much more than that. Sometimes, we see someone with rose colored glasses and then realize, we didn’t have those glasses on to begin with. I knew what I was getting into. I chose to ignore problems, chose to let things slide, and chose the wrong person for the right reasons.
One inferno like September afternoon, the heat, more from argument then from the sun, she told me she had fallen in love with someone else. She still loved me, but she also loved this other person and she wanted to find out if it was real or not. Real? To find out? As if somehow, it was like trying a new car. As if somehow, all of this would be fine, because it was all about love. As if somehow I would actually still be here or want her.
What did I feel? Was I angry, bitter, sad? Was I fuming with jealousy and rage or about to break down and weep? No. It was mostly just relief. I was a little angry that she thought I was somehow going to put up with it. I was angry at myself for being such a doormat. Otherwise, it was just a gigantic burden lifted off my shoulders. It was like I had done 5 years of hard time off a lifetime sentence and the warden had just told me I was free to go. I have always been more honorable than intelligent, unfortunately. I had made an oath, I had made a commitment and despite being in my own personal hell, I wasn’t going to break my oath. However, now, I had been released of my burden. I was fucking free. Mostly I was just embarrassed. Embarrassed that I was going to have to tell my family and friends at how I had failed. Either way, she was now some other poor bastards problem. I was leaving as soon as I could and as fast as I could.
Always the one to throw caution to the wind, I was in another relationship within a matter of weeks. This time a long distance relationship with someone I had met online, I’ll call her Elizabeth, for her privacy. We meet for the first time at the Austin airport. She flew in from Washington D.C. just to visit, but also to see if there was anything more. To say there was chemistry between us would not do that weekend justice. If my apartment had been made entirely of something more flammable, I think it would have burned down. Every person should have a weekend like that or a few of them if possible. Of laughing and talking and loving and forgetting that there is even a world other than what surrounds you.
We made plans for the future; we even had our future family picked out. Of course reality doesn’t follow plans. I meet Elizabeth at the San Antonio airport in late December. The air was bitterly cold, strange for San Antonio. I remember as we kissed not mere moments from stepping into the apartment, she commented she was falling in love with me all over again. It was how she said it though. Not like it was joyful, but painful. She, like me, was in the process of getting a divorce. She said she wanted to try again with her husband. That I was like a drug that she needed to get out of her system. I know she meant it as saying that I was addicting. I took it more of an insult, in that I was bad for her, like some drugs are bad for a body. I don’t think I had hurt that much before. I didn’t think that much hurt could be inflicted on anyone without death.
Elizabeth stayed for a few days. She talked of what could have been. I talked of what could still be. She left on the day of the New Year. She didn’t want me to walk her to her flight, because she was afraid she would break down and not get on it. The last I saw of her, she melted into a busy airport crowded with holiday travelers and flew away.
We talked and e-mailed. She having at times an uncertainty of what she had done and not knowing what to do. On Valentines Day, she informed me she needed to stop all conversation between us, as it was too difficult to remain friends. Any time I mentioned seeing someone else, she would be so jealous she couldn’t think straight. She hated not having control of herself. I wasn't in any better shape. She need time to think. She didn’t know how long. She told me to do whatever it took to forget her.
About a month after I had stopped talking with her and who knows how many times of breaking down at work, or at a social event or just by myself, I had a dream. In the dream, I was walking in an airport. The planes were filled with memories of my past and the luggage carousel had bags filled with events that may or may not happen. A lady, in a blue uniform, told me to go down the moving sidewalk. I asked why. She told me, because it was time I did. She gently turned me around and led me to the moving sidewalk. I stepped on and moved through a long tunnel. At the far end of the tunnel, was Elizabeth. She was on the other side of the moving sidewalk and we moved towards each other in opposite directions. She was dressed in a black leather jacket, with matching blouse and jeans. Her Irish/Cuban complexion of her face was fantastic in the morning sun. As she got closer, she smiled. At the same time I was nervous and sad and joyful and excited. As she approached, the sidewalk stopped moving. She said nothing, but handed me a little box made of silver and ebony, the lid open. Inside was a little locket that had no words, but that I knew represented strength, pride and love. There was a ring, that also had no words but I knew represented drive and ambition. Lastly, there was a little pin, with small rubies in the shape of a sun. I knew it represented forgiveness and a new start. The sidewalk started to move again and she turned to me, smiled, shed a single tear and waved, out of the tunnel and out of my life. I exited out onto the tarmac, a large plane ready for parts unknown.
I woke up with every muscle aching and tears that just would not stop. And it was over. All my grief, all my pain had left me. There was an ache in my heart, but it was distant. There were memories, but they were pleasant. I had forgiven Elizabeth for breaking my heart and it felt wonderful. I knew, even if I wanted to, I could never ever have a romantic relationship with her again. My mind had taken the steps necessary for me to move on. She e-mailed me about 4 months later asking how I was doing and asking about my love life. I told her I was doing great, I hoped she was well and that I was seeing someone. I never heard from her again.
There have been two dreams that I almost do not know if they were dreams. Soon after my relationship with Elizabeth had ended, I was not quite sure where it was that I was supposed to go. The plane was fueled and ready, but I had no idea where the plane was going. I also was worried that nobody was even in that plane to fly it. I had a dream one night and I was standing on the side of the road. Actually, I was standing on the freeway. 281 and Bitters, in San Antonio to be exact. The freeway was a little different. It had all these dividers in the road, some left, some right some up some down, some hanging from an invisible ceiling. As I started to walk, a flying car pulled up. An invisible flying car. Invisible as in invisible, like Wonder Woman’s invisible plane. You could make out the shape, but it was see-through. A woman was at the controls. I recognized her as a girl I had gone to elementary school with. Yet…she was all grown up. I don’t want to use her real name, so I will call her Wendy. Wendy was a little younger than me, but not much, still an adult, not at all like I remember her. Wendy smiled a big, beautiful smile and waved for me to get in. She grabbed my hand as I stepped in, as the flying invisible car had no doors. She said “Ash! It’s been so long! I have a lot to teach you tonight. Let’s go.”
We quickly were flying on the highway, Wendy was weaving in and out and up and down the barriers, going so fast, everything was a blur. Wendy turned to me, still wearing her beautiful smile, her black hair flowing behind her and said laughing and in a voice that could be heard over the wind “Now it’s your turn!”. Controls magically appeared in front of me. A flight wheel and a few glowing blue buttons. I was terrified. I screamed over the wind and traffic, that we would crash if I drive. I don’t know how to drive this thing! Look at all these barriers! You will get us both killed!
She laughed each time I expressed concern. She laughed the hardest at the last part. Wendy turned to me, took my hand and scolded me in a gentle but exasperated tone and said “Ash! Stop being so scared! Stop being so scared of everything. Your whole life you have been so scared of living. You’ve been so scared of growing up!” “After everything you have been through, stop being such a damn wimp, because I know that’s who you used to be, but you don’t have to be that any more.”. She continued on “I told you I was here to teach you. Grab the wheel, I don’t have all night.” I grabbed the wheel and felt a surge of courage flow around and through me. She turned to me in an almost sultry voice “Ash. Look ahead. You have good vision (actually, I wear glasses), you can see far ahead of what is in front you. As long as you are prepared for what is about to come, you can turn and dodge out of the way.” Wendy laughed a big hardy laugh from her slight frame and said “Just keep your eyes on the road and you will be fine.” . We drove the rest of the night, she laughing and emanated this power of both strength and bliss. She would point and giggle as I flew past the barriers at an even faster speed than she had gone. It was like flying. It was beautiful, wondrous and somehow, her laughter tasted like cotton candy. We pulled over. Wendy kissed me on the cheek. I stepped out of the flying invisible car, my legs shaky, like I had just come off a roller coaster. She put her hands back on her steering wheel and looked at me with eyes so full of life and light. “I told you I was going to teach you.” “You know the way now. You’re not scared anymore. I am so proud of you.” She waved and blew me a kiss and flew into the sky. I woke up.
I ended up going back to school and receiving my bachelor degree. I did so well, I ended up getting a fellowship for graduate school. I remember that dream often. I remember Wendy, who taught me and laughed with me as we flew in that invisible flying car. I tried to find the real Wendy. Wendy from what I understand passed away a few years before that dream. I don’t know how or in what manner. I hope that information was wrong. I don’t know if that dream was just a dream and coincidence or if it was something more. I don’t know if it was my psyche that needed to resolve some issues or if Wendy still had to teach me to be unafraid so that she could move on. Perhaps, both? All I know is that Wendy helped me when I needed it and for that, real or imagined, I hope she is flying her invisible car in peace and laughter.
Lastly, I had a dream not unlike the one with Wendy. I tell it now, only because I felt it may need to be shared not just with friends, but also with family, if they choose to read it. In 2003 both my grandfather and grandmother passed away. My grandfather took care of my grandmother and they had celebrated well over 50 years together, closer to 60 really. My grandfather passed first, cancer taking him at the age of 82. My grandmother, never in the best of health and with a mind that was going, passed a few months later. I loved both my grandmother and grandfather very much. I was closer to my grandfather. I believe I’m still dealing to some degree with this death, even though he had a great life. Perhaps it is just the thought of how brief life is. How quickly time seems to fly and how much I’ve come to realize how temporary living is. Perhaps that is why I had this particular dream.
In this dream, I was surrounded by a type of mist. I was in an area that was both nothing and everything. I can’t explain how, it just…was. At a short distance, not very far away was a raven haired woman, wearing a red sweater and gray mid-length skirt. I started to approach and as I did, I could feel this wave of joy. Absolute, blinding, joy that came from everywhere. The lady standing in front of me was in her early 20’s. She had black hair that she wore in a style that I’ve seen worn in the late 40’s. Her dress of red light sweater and gray, almost ankle length skirt, as also that of something in the 40’s. Then it hit me. Who this lady was. She had a name tag on her upper chest. A sticky or pinned, I can’t remember which now, name tag with hand written letters. I couldn’t read the letters however. But I knew what it said. It was Mrs. Pena. It was my grandmother. She smiled as she floated and that wave of joy became stronger and stronger till it forced me awake.
My grandmother had white hair since I can remember. But it was her. There is a picture of my grandfather and my grandmother on their wedding day. He in an Army uniform during World War II and she in her bridal gown, with her hair of black in her veil. She looked in my dream, a little older than that picture, at which point I believe she was 19 or 20.
My grandmother was a music teacher. I will always remember her voice and her fingers at the piano. The dream I had, if I understood it correctly, was what she may have worn on the first day of class. At what point, I do not know. Nor am I certain it was not a dream. It didn’t feel like a dream, it felt like…something else. It felt, really like a message.
It has been a few years and I have debated with myself how to even bring this dream up. I know nobody in my family would laugh or think I was crazy, but I don’t even know how to bring it up without sounding stark raving mad. I have no experience as a medium, nor am I even aware if this experience was anything but a dream. Yet, I am compelled to write this, in my own way, to fulfill what was asked of me, with no words being spoken. So, I decided to make a blog entry about it. Maybe my cousins, uncles, aunts, brother or mom have had a similar vision or dream and do not know how to bring I up. I just wanted a chance to mention it in case they had not had a similar experience.
I wanted to tell my family that she is at a destination we all travel to at some point. To tell them that where she is, is radiant and beautiful and so full of joy that it is immeasurable. A message to tell them to love each other and to live a good and great life. Lastly, a message to remember, that the music you hear in your dreams, the music that plays spontaneously in your heart is her way of telling you how much you are loved.
Perhaps it was a dream. I somehow think not. I only hope I did, in my way, what was asked of me. I hope anyone reading this takes something from it and at the very least, enjoys reading it. And I hope your dreams bring to you, what mine have brought to me.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
So, I happen to have the peculiar situation of having a name better suited to someone of the female persuasion. One could even say that my name is more feminine than other female names. That Ashley is more of a name that one would imagine christened upon some imagined and perfect girlfriend or wife, stripper, mistress, whatever and in most cases all the above rolled into one, when it comes to what men want.
However, one might consider, why is Ashley a name given to females now, instead of males? More importantly, how the hairy hell did I get Ashley as my name?
There is no special association in meaning, with a feminine nature in the name Ashley.
In fact, here is etymology of the Ashley:
ASHLEY
Gender: Feminine & Masculine
Usage: English
Pronounced: ASH-lee
From an English surname which was originally derived from a place name meaning “ash tree clearing” in Old English. Until the 1960s it was more commonly given to boys in the United States, but it is now most often used on girls.
Commonly given to boys until the 1960s? I was born in 1971, so, perhaps I was the tail end of males named Ashley. Actually, however there is a clearer answer. My mom. Yep, my mom the reader. My mom the movie lover. My mom who loved “Gone With the Wind” a lot. Almost as much as I like Star Wars. So, I end up being named after a literary character, Ashley Wilkes. Oddly enough, I end up being a librarian. A librarian named after a literary character. I suppose that’s fitting and all. Thankfully I didn’t end up as a Confederate War major. Although, I have never been particularly good at business like Ashley Wilkes. Plus, I can honestly say that I never married a cousin.
Why Ashley though? I mean, I’ve read the book, I forgot for what reason, but I read it. I watched the movie. Enjoyed both the book and the movie. Yet Ashley was so…boring. Sure Scarlet was obsessed with him and all, but she didn’t seem to have her head on straight about things to begin with. Why not Rhett? Maybe because he was a scoundrel? I suppose Ashley was a better man than Rhett, but not nearly as fun. A scoundrel? Would you name your child Han? I guess he would be a different type of scoundrel. I don’t think Rhett would have stuck around when the Imperials and the Death Star focused in on Yavin IV. I’m pretty sure Rhett would have told Leia to go fuck herself.
Speculating even further, if I ever have a daughter, I could try to convince Christina to name her Leia Scarlet. Or would it be Leia Melanie? Or, since Ashley has morphed into a girl’s name, could I name her Ashley? Would she be a Jr.? The R in Ashley R stands for Romeo. Enough giggling. Bastards. It is supposed to have a Spanish pronunciation, however. Ashley Juliet? Or just to carry on tradition, give my imagined future daughter a male first name. Like Jake. That should make everyone happy.
I spent my elementary school years in Laredo, Texas. Even then Ashley was already getting popular as a girls name. In Laredo, it was just a strange name, not really associated with any gender at all, so I didn’t get much grief for it. However, in elementary, in fact, kindergarten, my friends would always shorten Ashley to Ash. I always wonder if other female Ashley’s end up becoming Ashes too? Add fire and ashes joke.
In middle school and high school it wasn’t much of an issue either. Mostly, it was “You don’t look like an Ashley” sometimes followed by, are you Italian or Jewish? I used to get a little miffed that I had the Hispanic last name, but somehow, I was something other than Hispanic. I’ve learned however, that there is a good portion of my ancestry that was indeed Jewish, thrown out of Spain and landing smack dab in the badlands of Northern Mexico, or as we call it, south Texas. Mazel Tov!? All this time. Who knew? I wonder if I have Italian background too? I could have tried out for the Sopranos!
Having a girls name has had some benefits however. No, not the free issues of Latina magazine, which, either by joke or by accident, I have twice had a year long subscription, paid for by…somebody, friend or foe, I know not. Nor is it a boon to me, the free samples of feminine products that come in the mail.
No, what has benefited me the most is a brief and limited idea of what women sometimes have to put up with. This particular insight was gleaned when I first started to use the Internet, in particular, the chat functions, when they first became available, sometime in the early 1990’s. At the time, I had an account at UTSA, that when you logged on to various IRC chat channels, your name was part of your internet address. So, I could pick whichever name I wanted, Bob, Mike, Rocky, I still had Ashley as my internet name.
It wasn’t so much the constant private messages, thinking I was a female, it was the constant, ugly, moronic, simple minded, garbage that being anonymous on the Internet provokes. Is this what women have to endure I would think to myself? If I was female, would I be turned on by the idiotic dirty talk? Would I really have an urge to suck on anything from some half-wit frat boy? Were the words being used, if I was indeed female, designed so as to unlock some deep primal urge that I wouldn’t be able to resist? Don’t get me wrong, I can be as dirty as anyone in the use of language. In fact, I’m quite good at it, if the truth be known. However, there is a time for such language and there is a time when otherwise, using such, you simply fail. You fail at your awkward attempt at being interesting. You fail at your inability to use your mind for even so much as a filter. Lastly and more importantly, you fail at being much of a human being. You managed to retain all the negative qualities of an out of control animal, with the unfortunate ability of retaining your ability to be a tool user.
Do women have to go through this all the time? Yuck. To an extent, I already knew males could be crude animals. Nor am I even declaring that I myself free from being some moronic beast in the line-up above. That particularly time for me really made me wonder about my fellow brethren, made me think about myself. I had always been up until recently, painfully shy, being an anonymous person on the Internet helped me be closer to normal, but I don’t think I was ever so hideously crude as the men I encountered. Plus, I couldn’t exclude females, because I did have messages from females, thinking I too was female and for whatever reason, thinking I was interested in other females (well, there were obvious signs that I was interested in other women). Their private messages had almost the same amount of “dirt” as the males did. Except for one huge difference; the messages from other women were sensual and erotic, while those from the men were mostly just disgusting. I did occasionally have messages from women that were stupid and crude and from men that not only were polite, but also displayed a depth of sensuality about them. Unfortunately, those messages were few and far between. Perhaps it was just the newness of the technology? Perhaps women just have a better way with language? I would like to think so anyway. Otherwise, there are a lot of sick fucks that display a charming mask in person and wait until nobody is watching them to display what they really are.
It was also quite a learning experience in dealing with people in E-mail versus in person, in all manner of interaction. I never had anyone ever get angry with me, I think partially because nobody likes the idea that they made assumptions that had nothing to do with facts. I also think and have been told, that I have an intimidating look. In some instances, where I was treated in a condensing and patronizing manner, in person, all of a sudden, I would be treated with much more respect. All of sudden, I went from being a dumb little girl, to a big smart man. Nothing changed about who or what I was. What credentials or skills I had or did not have remained the same. The only thing that changed was an assumption that I had an F in a box labeled sex and in which many times, the box was ignored over my name.
There have been other instances however, that were reversed. Instead of expecting some smart, brash, young lady to come in, what they got was some big ox that obviously couldn’t be particularly smart nor have anything of note to say or think. I wish I could say I never have experienced my name being a disappointment to someone of any sex, but that would be untruthful. All of us have expectations, even sometimes expectations that come with a name. When those expectations are not met or are much different that expected, I guess some people react, poorly.
There are funnier instances with my name of course. My wife Christina and I make an incredibly hot sounding lesbian couple in the phone listing. Plus, sometimes it is fun to surprise people with my name. I would suspect in my line of work, most people either think little of my name or find it comically ironic that such a feminine name, in a field of mostly women, belongs to someone such as me.
I protest sometimes about my name, but really, it ended up being a good thing. Sometimes I find it funny, sometimes, exasperating. Sometimes I wish I was Rhett, sometimes, I’m glad I’m an Ashley. I can never understand what it is like to be a woman, but I can have a slight inkling. I think to myself thanks to my name I have insight I otherwise might not have. When Christina whispers my name to me, in a moment only meant for each other, is one such very good occasion. True, any name I had been given would be equally as sweet to hear, but perhaps with the name christened me, I try a little harder and appreciate it a little more. And perhaps, just perhaps, somewhere down the line, someone has learned that a name is just a name and it takes a person to actually give it any true meaning.
However, one might consider, why is Ashley a name given to females now, instead of males? More importantly, how the hairy hell did I get Ashley as my name?
There is no special association in meaning, with a feminine nature in the name Ashley.
In fact, here is etymology of the Ashley:
ASHLEY
Gender: Feminine & Masculine
Usage: English
Pronounced: ASH-lee
From an English surname which was originally derived from a place name meaning “ash tree clearing” in Old English. Until the 1960s it was more commonly given to boys in the United States, but it is now most often used on girls.
Commonly given to boys until the 1960s? I was born in 1971, so, perhaps I was the tail end of males named Ashley. Actually, however there is a clearer answer. My mom. Yep, my mom the reader. My mom the movie lover. My mom who loved “Gone With the Wind” a lot. Almost as much as I like Star Wars. So, I end up being named after a literary character, Ashley Wilkes. Oddly enough, I end up being a librarian. A librarian named after a literary character. I suppose that’s fitting and all. Thankfully I didn’t end up as a Confederate War major. Although, I have never been particularly good at business like Ashley Wilkes. Plus, I can honestly say that I never married a cousin.
Why Ashley though? I mean, I’ve read the book, I forgot for what reason, but I read it. I watched the movie. Enjoyed both the book and the movie. Yet Ashley was so…boring. Sure Scarlet was obsessed with him and all, but she didn’t seem to have her head on straight about things to begin with. Why not Rhett? Maybe because he was a scoundrel? I suppose Ashley was a better man than Rhett, but not nearly as fun. A scoundrel? Would you name your child Han? I guess he would be a different type of scoundrel. I don’t think Rhett would have stuck around when the Imperials and the Death Star focused in on Yavin IV. I’m pretty sure Rhett would have told Leia to go fuck herself.
Speculating even further, if I ever have a daughter, I could try to convince Christina to name her Leia Scarlet. Or would it be Leia Melanie? Or, since Ashley has morphed into a girl’s name, could I name her Ashley? Would she be a Jr.? The R in Ashley R stands for Romeo. Enough giggling. Bastards. It is supposed to have a Spanish pronunciation, however. Ashley Juliet? Or just to carry on tradition, give my imagined future daughter a male first name. Like Jake. That should make everyone happy.
I spent my elementary school years in Laredo, Texas. Even then Ashley was already getting popular as a girls name. In Laredo, it was just a strange name, not really associated with any gender at all, so I didn’t get much grief for it. However, in elementary, in fact, kindergarten, my friends would always shorten Ashley to Ash. I always wonder if other female Ashley’s end up becoming Ashes too? Add fire and ashes joke.
In middle school and high school it wasn’t much of an issue either. Mostly, it was “You don’t look like an Ashley” sometimes followed by, are you Italian or Jewish? I used to get a little miffed that I had the Hispanic last name, but somehow, I was something other than Hispanic. I’ve learned however, that there is a good portion of my ancestry that was indeed Jewish, thrown out of Spain and landing smack dab in the badlands of Northern Mexico, or as we call it, south Texas. Mazel Tov!? All this time. Who knew? I wonder if I have Italian background too? I could have tried out for the Sopranos!
Having a girls name has had some benefits however. No, not the free issues of Latina magazine, which, either by joke or by accident, I have twice had a year long subscription, paid for by…somebody, friend or foe, I know not. Nor is it a boon to me, the free samples of feminine products that come in the mail.
No, what has benefited me the most is a brief and limited idea of what women sometimes have to put up with. This particular insight was gleaned when I first started to use the Internet, in particular, the chat functions, when they first became available, sometime in the early 1990’s. At the time, I had an account at UTSA, that when you logged on to various IRC chat channels, your name was part of your internet address. So, I could pick whichever name I wanted, Bob, Mike, Rocky, I still had Ashley as my internet name.
It wasn’t so much the constant private messages, thinking I was a female, it was the constant, ugly, moronic, simple minded, garbage that being anonymous on the Internet provokes. Is this what women have to endure I would think to myself? If I was female, would I be turned on by the idiotic dirty talk? Would I really have an urge to suck on anything from some half-wit frat boy? Were the words being used, if I was indeed female, designed so as to unlock some deep primal urge that I wouldn’t be able to resist? Don’t get me wrong, I can be as dirty as anyone in the use of language. In fact, I’m quite good at it, if the truth be known. However, there is a time for such language and there is a time when otherwise, using such, you simply fail. You fail at your awkward attempt at being interesting. You fail at your inability to use your mind for even so much as a filter. Lastly and more importantly, you fail at being much of a human being. You managed to retain all the negative qualities of an out of control animal, with the unfortunate ability of retaining your ability to be a tool user.
Do women have to go through this all the time? Yuck. To an extent, I already knew males could be crude animals. Nor am I even declaring that I myself free from being some moronic beast in the line-up above. That particularly time for me really made me wonder about my fellow brethren, made me think about myself. I had always been up until recently, painfully shy, being an anonymous person on the Internet helped me be closer to normal, but I don’t think I was ever so hideously crude as the men I encountered. Plus, I couldn’t exclude females, because I did have messages from females, thinking I too was female and for whatever reason, thinking I was interested in other females (well, there were obvious signs that I was interested in other women). Their private messages had almost the same amount of “dirt” as the males did. Except for one huge difference; the messages from other women were sensual and erotic, while those from the men were mostly just disgusting. I did occasionally have messages from women that were stupid and crude and from men that not only were polite, but also displayed a depth of sensuality about them. Unfortunately, those messages were few and far between. Perhaps it was just the newness of the technology? Perhaps women just have a better way with language? I would like to think so anyway. Otherwise, there are a lot of sick fucks that display a charming mask in person and wait until nobody is watching them to display what they really are.
It was also quite a learning experience in dealing with people in E-mail versus in person, in all manner of interaction. I never had anyone ever get angry with me, I think partially because nobody likes the idea that they made assumptions that had nothing to do with facts. I also think and have been told, that I have an intimidating look. In some instances, where I was treated in a condensing and patronizing manner, in person, all of a sudden, I would be treated with much more respect. All of sudden, I went from being a dumb little girl, to a big smart man. Nothing changed about who or what I was. What credentials or skills I had or did not have remained the same. The only thing that changed was an assumption that I had an F in a box labeled sex and in which many times, the box was ignored over my name.
There have been other instances however, that were reversed. Instead of expecting some smart, brash, young lady to come in, what they got was some big ox that obviously couldn’t be particularly smart nor have anything of note to say or think. I wish I could say I never have experienced my name being a disappointment to someone of any sex, but that would be untruthful. All of us have expectations, even sometimes expectations that come with a name. When those expectations are not met or are much different that expected, I guess some people react, poorly.
There are funnier instances with my name of course. My wife Christina and I make an incredibly hot sounding lesbian couple in the phone listing. Plus, sometimes it is fun to surprise people with my name. I would suspect in my line of work, most people either think little of my name or find it comically ironic that such a feminine name, in a field of mostly women, belongs to someone such as me.
I protest sometimes about my name, but really, it ended up being a good thing. Sometimes I find it funny, sometimes, exasperating. Sometimes I wish I was Rhett, sometimes, I’m glad I’m an Ashley. I can never understand what it is like to be a woman, but I can have a slight inkling. I think to myself thanks to my name I have insight I otherwise might not have. When Christina whispers my name to me, in a moment only meant for each other, is one such very good occasion. True, any name I had been given would be equally as sweet to hear, but perhaps with the name christened me, I try a little harder and appreciate it a little more. And perhaps, just perhaps, somewhere down the line, someone has learned that a name is just a name and it takes a person to actually give it any true meaning.
Dia de la Raza
First time in a while I get to write something about history and culture, so I will take this opportunity to do so, while i have the motivation.
In America, we call it Columbus Day. In other countries, it is known as Dia de la Raza or Day of the Race. Race, in this case being a created one, with the mixtures of European Spanish and indigenous Indian peoples.
Dia de la Raza is celebrated on October 12th and commemorates the founding of the Americas by Columbus. I don’t even want to get into who found what first, as that can of worms can take up a book. What is interesting is the celebration in itself. Talk about a mixture of pride and anger.
When Columbus first arrived in the Americas he sent word to Spain of what he found and the people he encountered. Columbus forcibly took native peoples to serve as interpreters and guides to help him explore the new world he found.
Upon Columbus arrival in the Americas, there were approximately 200 million natives. By the time James Town was settled, between 5 and 8 million Native Americans had survived. Leaders, healers, teachers, warriors had all been decimated in settlements, villages and cities thought the new world. What the American colonists first encountered was the remnants of what was left, after the ravages of different diseases to a greater extent and guns and hard labor to a lesser, on the native peoples .
Growing up in San Antonio, I don’t really remembering celebrating Dia de la Raza, or even hearing much about it. Granted, I believe in terms of San Antonio, there is a filter somewhere around the Alamo. When something of culture, breezes in from the south, it looses its consistency, gets broken down and is further diluted the farther north it travels, until eventually it is merely an echo or even a rumor of an echo.
Looking back on the event, with 21st century eyes, it is almost incredulous that a person would consider “finding” something that already had native peoples, with a culture of it’s own, although, obviously, much weaker militarily and various degrees less advanced technologically.
However what interests me, are the mixed emotions of such a day. On one hand, such great tragedy swept down on so many people. Cultures became extinct, because the cultural bearers, the keepers of traditions, died off and took what they knew with them. This is a story not unlike others in human history. However, it certainly is different in its size and scope.
On the other hand a whole new culture emerged. The Spanish knowingly and unknowingly created all manner of horrors. Native peoples were subjugated and held the lowest rung on the social ladder. Although, it could be said that they had some type of position, compared to their counterparts to in the north. There was disagreement and debate among the Spanish, if they were doing the right thing. They wanted the native peoples to know the word of God, even if they considered the natives as wild children scattered upon the land and needing a firm paternal hand. It certainly helped that the “children” also sat upon priceless amounts of gold and silver.
Are people treated as children better off than those merely slaughtered? Is it better to be killed off by your conquerors, or is it better to be forced into marriage with them? I suppose that moral quandary is best settled in a debate with ones own soul.
Indeed it is perplexing for the celebrants of Dia de la Raza, in many cases to be a mixture of conquered and conquerors, descendants of native and European peoples. As well, in an odd way, it is a time to mourn and celebrate for cultures that died and for cultures that came into existence and that for the lack of the later, many of us would not be here to enjoy or mourn, as the case may be.
In America, we call it Columbus Day. In other countries, it is known as Dia de la Raza or Day of the Race. Race, in this case being a created one, with the mixtures of European Spanish and indigenous Indian peoples.
Dia de la Raza is celebrated on October 12th and commemorates the founding of the Americas by Columbus. I don’t even want to get into who found what first, as that can of worms can take up a book. What is interesting is the celebration in itself. Talk about a mixture of pride and anger.
When Columbus first arrived in the Americas he sent word to Spain of what he found and the people he encountered. Columbus forcibly took native peoples to serve as interpreters and guides to help him explore the new world he found.
Upon Columbus arrival in the Americas, there were approximately 200 million natives. By the time James Town was settled, between 5 and 8 million Native Americans had survived. Leaders, healers, teachers, warriors had all been decimated in settlements, villages and cities thought the new world. What the American colonists first encountered was the remnants of what was left, after the ravages of different diseases to a greater extent and guns and hard labor to a lesser, on the native peoples .
Growing up in San Antonio, I don’t really remembering celebrating Dia de la Raza, or even hearing much about it. Granted, I believe in terms of San Antonio, there is a filter somewhere around the Alamo. When something of culture, breezes in from the south, it looses its consistency, gets broken down and is further diluted the farther north it travels, until eventually it is merely an echo or even a rumor of an echo.
Looking back on the event, with 21st century eyes, it is almost incredulous that a person would consider “finding” something that already had native peoples, with a culture of it’s own, although, obviously, much weaker militarily and various degrees less advanced technologically.
However what interests me, are the mixed emotions of such a day. On one hand, such great tragedy swept down on so many people. Cultures became extinct, because the cultural bearers, the keepers of traditions, died off and took what they knew with them. This is a story not unlike others in human history. However, it certainly is different in its size and scope.
On the other hand a whole new culture emerged. The Spanish knowingly and unknowingly created all manner of horrors. Native peoples were subjugated and held the lowest rung on the social ladder. Although, it could be said that they had some type of position, compared to their counterparts to in the north. There was disagreement and debate among the Spanish, if they were doing the right thing. They wanted the native peoples to know the word of God, even if they considered the natives as wild children scattered upon the land and needing a firm paternal hand. It certainly helped that the “children” also sat upon priceless amounts of gold and silver.
Are people treated as children better off than those merely slaughtered? Is it better to be killed off by your conquerors, or is it better to be forced into marriage with them? I suppose that moral quandary is best settled in a debate with ones own soul.
Indeed it is perplexing for the celebrants of Dia de la Raza, in many cases to be a mixture of conquered and conquerors, descendants of native and European peoples. As well, in an odd way, it is a time to mourn and celebrate for cultures that died and for cultures that came into existence and that for the lack of the later, many of us would not be here to enjoy or mourn, as the case may be.
A beginning from an ending
This was a posting I made early in October, when a character in a comic strip, Funky Winkerbean, passed away.
Thanks to Jill for posting this to her blog, Brilliant at Breakfast, when I didn’t have one up and really had no intention of making one. After writing so much this month, I decided to go ahead and create a blog as a way to share my writings, but mostly as my own little library of thoughts, ramblings and general chicanery, that others may view as they please.I see Lisa Crawford, who plays the character Lisa Crawford Moore on the comic strip Funky Winkerbean sitting down and doing an interview about her departure from Funky Winkerbean.
Lisa, thanks for taking the time to speak with us today.
Lisa: You are so welcome. I'm happy to be interviewed.
Lisa, you have been a character in Funky Winkerbean (FW) for decades. We saw your character grow from an awkward teenager to a successful lawyer, marrying your best friend and having a child with him. How do you feel about your departure from FW?
Lisa: Wow, there are just so many emotions going through my head right now. Obviously sadness and loss is the primary emotion I'm feeling. I have loved working on FW. I practically grew up on the set of FW. I am personally close to most of the cast and I hope to see them regularly after this.
I'm also partially happy. I think it's time I move on. I have had offers to appear in other strips. I may have a small part on For Better or Worse, as a predatory home wrecker, trying to break up Michael's marriage. I still do not know if I will take the part, but it would be a challenge.
More importantly, I'm going to go home and eat and eat and eat. I had to lose 45lbs this last 6 months! I need to gain back 20lbs (laughter).
Was the idea of killing of your character, strictly Tom Batiuk's (TB) idea, or did you have any input?
Lisa: Well, I have a small ranch in
I ride to the fence gate, let Tom in, he gets out of his rented car and tells me he has made an important decision and he and I have to talk.
Tom and I have always had our differences. I do believe I have slapped him on at least two occasions, with little regret on my part. But I love Tom, both professionally and personally. He told me what he had planed for my character. I slapped him for the third occasion.
Tom and I spent two of the most heart wrenching two days working out what would happen to Lisa. I made peace with Tom and understood where he was going with the character. I didn't quite like it, but I understood.
I also made peace with my character Lisa last winter too. There is a small grave on a hill on the ranch, under an old mesquite tree that represents my time on FW. The grave has a maternity dress I wore during the whole teen pregnancy episode, a Robin costume I wore when I married Les, a pink ribbon I got during breast cancer awareness month walkathon and a whole bunch of mud from my tears.
You and Les Moore have had a professional and personal relationship for years. You both seemed like the perfect couple. What happened and where are you two now?
Lisa: Boy, where to star with that? Les and I have been friends from day one. I have always adored Les as a friend. I believe it all started to change some time in the late 80's. In fact, I know the precise moment and it involved Tina Yothers. About two weeks before, that said "moment" Les and I were at a party in
Fast forward two weeks and who do I see Les with on the set? That's right, Tina Yothers from Family Ties. I don't know the full story, but an episode of Family Ties was going to involve Tina stuck up a rope in gym and Les was going to make a guest appearance, stuck up another rope, right by her. Lazy writers at the time, I guess. I didn't know that feelings for Les I had, had grown to the extent I was feeling at that moment. I was fuming. I was absolutely f***ing livid. I was about as angry and jealous as I think I have ever been. I wanted to take a fresh, steaming hot Montoni pepperoni pizza and smash it right in Tina's face.
You know, you spend a lot of time with someone, you sometimes don't recognize feelings that sneak up on you. I really thought I thought of Les as a brother, honestly. A good friend, a buddy even. But more than that? If you would have told me I would end up falling for Les, I would have told you that was about as likely as Charles Schultz writing in that Charlie Brown actually kicks the football from Lucy and then goes and actually kicks Lucy's ass.
A year passed and as many of my fans know, Les and I ended up getting married and we have two wonderful children together. Reality sat in about 5 years down the road and unlike the comics, Les and I changed and it was not in a way that made us grow closer. Towards the end of our marriage, things got so ugly, I almost had to quit the strip. I really pushed Tom into writing that difficult time into the strip. You know, Les falls for one of his students. Gets arrested. Thrown in jail, beaten and only occasionally seen in the comic. Tom didn't go for it, said it could be a good plot line, but it would be hard to bring in any comedy in it. Comedy. Cancer? Sure. Les's character getting busted with jail-bait and thrown into state prison, not so much. It was just the anger in me talking, but still. Gets me worked up just talking about it.
The rumors about Funky and me are just that, rumors. It didn't take anyone else to come between us, we did that all on our own. Les and I came to an understanding. I had to come to realization that I could not change Les, and Les could not change who me. Les will always be, in my opinion, much like his comic strip character; a great listener and a good friend with a good heart and of course, a bit of a dork. Unlike his comic character, Les has almost no ability to commit to a relationship. I truly believe that Les would shrivel up and die if there were no women for him to seduce on an almost monthly basis. Myself? I had no desire to put up with it. Les was and is a great friend and a fantastic father. He unfortunately, made a lousy husband. Having children together, we managed to work things out as far as being friends with each other. Sometimes, he even listens to the fairly good advice I give him. Sometimes I think he should accidentally get shoved into one of the pizza ovens in the comic strip.
We know about your relationship with Les, how about your relationship with the other cast members?
Lisa: As I mentioned, I'm fairly close to most of the cast, especially the ones that have been there for a while. I have a home in
Is there any particular cast member you have or had a rocky relationship with?
Lisa: Other than Les? No, not really. I sometimes was a bit distant with Mr. Dinkle and to this day, I still call him Mr. Dinkle. It may not seem like it, but he is just so intense. So focused. So in character at all times. I learned so much of my craft from him, but never got to know him on anything other than a professional level.
Lisa, I want to clarify a rumor for us. Did you and Cindy ever have a lesbian affair?
Lisa:(nervous laughter) OH my! Where did that rumor come from?
It's been an urban legend for years and is quite a popular item to speculate about on the internet.
Lisa: (laughter) The internet. Of course. It's a series of tubes!
Well, I can say, I did have a wild side when I was younger. The whole teen pregnancy thing was actually not that far off from really happening. Cindy however?
Well, I'll end this rumor right now. No lesbian affair.
(giggling) But we made out on at least two occasions! We were teenagers and peppermint schnapps does strange things to me. Cindy was and is a hottie, can you blame me?
In 1992, Tom had you all age by 10 years, how did you all manage that?
Lisa: Well, the same way this upcoming jump will be handled. Lots and lots of make up. In 1992 it was such a relief to stop playing a teenager. I had to stoop to make myself look smaller and had to wear this girdle that made me have a figure only slightly more busty and curvy than a teenage boy. It was a nightmare. Most of us had had enough at that point. Tom may have said it was his idea, but frankly, most of the "teenagers" almost walked off for good.
How do you feel about the next 10 year jump, with your departure from FW?
Lisa: Well, I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned, but I will be in a few strips, mostly as flash backs and on video. Everyone else will just need to spend a little bit more time with make up and prosthetics here and there.
Also, a lot of the kids currently on the strip are being, well fired. I mean, in a way, it's a good thing. Growing up as a 6 year old, your entire life on a comic strip is too much. Look at what happened to those Family Circus kids. I mean, each one is in their 50's and they have to be digitally altered to still fit the strip. How many times has Billy been arrested for his "child" like behavior outside the strip? I'm sure there is only so much a judge is going to put up with and roaming around the neighborhood, jumping on peoples cars, walking through their houses and messing with their property may be cute for a 7 year old, but not a crazed 52 year old.
Autumn, who plays my daughter Summer is just a sweetie. Wise beyond her years. She actually will be on the ranch next year as I really have grown to think of her as a daughter.
The young lady that will be the new teenage Summer has already been hired. Apparently she was going to be in a new Spider-Girl strip, as the teenage daughter of Peter and Mary Jane Parker, but that didn't work out.
As far as character development? Who knows. I don't really know where Tom will be taking some of these characters. I heard that Wally Winkerbean does not have a contract yet, so maybe Tom still has some thinning of the heard to do. (points her finger in the shape of a pistol at a picture of Wally and her on her wall)
Is there anything you would like to say to FW fans before to end the interview?
Lisa: I would just like to thank them all for their support. I have seen the final strip with my character already. It's hard to watch yourself in a strip like that. The whole time, I was thinking of all the memories I have about FW. The laughter, the tears, the depression, the absolute joy. Those memories just came swelling back and it hit me like a real death would.
I think it's important to remember, that FW, like life has a whole grab bag of events that happen to the characters. We may not like the sadness, but it helps define laughter. We may not like the ugliness that sometimes life offers up, but it makes the beauty in life, that much more beautiful.
Lisa was a character in a comic strip called Funky Winkerbean. She loved and laughed. She cried and even hated, just like all of us. She was a geek who feel in love with another geek and that love was everlasting, as corny as that may sound. She had a child that no mother could love any more strongly. She died on her terms against an impossible fight. Yet, she lives on...every time you see Summer. Every time you think of her as a pregnant teenager trying to figure things out. Every time you think of her and Les being married on Halloween as Batman and Robin. Every time you think of her fighting and winning against breast cancer. Every time you think of her, Lisa is very much alive. It is your own comic strip in your own mind, it is your story of Lisa that matters. If you don't close the page on her memory, she will never be gone.
Lisa, thank you again for letting us interview you.
Lisa: It was my pleasure. And just to let you know, I'm going to have a book out by summer. Tentatively titled "Confessions of a Comic Strip Starlet: The Lisa Crawford Biography". I have several publishers who want the rights, but I have not picked one yet. Keep a look for it on Amazon.com and my subsequent tour to promote the book!
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