July 30th, 2007
So I’m at my dad’s place in the valley, ostensibly house sitting while he is away on a week’s vacation. But actually I’m babysitting, though it’s terribly insulting to refer to your 17 year old brother as a baby, to him if not to me. Hence “house sitting.”
I’m digging being here. It’s quiet. There’s air conditioning. And a cat. And no one to pick up after but me! (Hi Husband, I love you!) I’m living on corn on the cob and Zoodles and diet iced tea. And some sucker has a wireless connection without any security so I’m footloose and fancy free with regards to the internet. I’m thinking of downloading several hundred megs of nasty porn just to mess with them… nah. I’m too busy lazing around for that.
Actually I’m getting a lot of reading done. I’m reading an account of the sinking of the whaleship Essex, which was capsized by an angry sperm whale and is, so I’m told, the inspiration for the climactic scene in Moby-Dick. I’m also reading more Jung, and how’s this for a shocking quotation? In reference to women who are acting in accordance with their animus, or masculine rational side:
“… with women is it a question of power, whether of truth or justice or some other ‘ism’ – for the dressmaker and hairdresser have already taken care of their vanity. The ‘Father’ (i.e., the sum of conventional opinions) always plays a great role in female argumentation. No matter how friendly and obliging a woman’s Eros may be, no logic on earth can shake her if she is ridden by the animus. Often the man has the feeling – and he is not altogether wrong – that only seduction or a beating or rape would have the necessary power of persuasion.”
There’s more but you get the idea. I added the bolding to make sure you didn’t miss the important part: If your woman starts trying to use logic to argue with you, not only will she actually be illogical, but obviously she needs a good raping!
It’s this kind of thing that gives turn of the century (last century, that is) men a bad name. And so it should, of course – I was pretty shocked to read this. I think Jung is pretty interesting, and he does get me thinking – but it kind of puts a bad taste in my mouth when I come across things like this. I try to be all post-modern and remind myself that we shouldn’t judge those who came before us by the standards of today, but really, how on earth can this be explained away? Like slavery – It’s just never excusable, ever, in 1700 or 2000.
Of course there’s more to Jung than sexism and advice to rape the sense out of nearby females. But yeah… shocking.
You’re only getting away with posts like this because husband isn’t around to rape you into submission.
Foolish woman!
I found it! I present to you:
The Houseplants of Gor
by Ellerol Elvish as found here: http://www.mlcsmith.com/humor/houseplants/
The spider plant cringed as its owner brought forth the watering can. “I am a spider plant!” it cried indignantly. “How dare you water me before my time! Guards!” it called. “Guards!”
Borin, its owner, placed the watering can on the table and looked at it. “You will be watered,” he said.
“You do not dare to water me!” laughed the plant.
“You will be watered,” said Borin.
“Do not water me!” wept the plant.
“You will be watered,” said Borin.
I watched this exchange. Truly, I believed the plant would be watered. It was plant, and on Gor it had no rights. Perhaps on Earth, in its permissive society, which distorts the true roles of all beings, which forces both plant and waterer to go unhappy and constrained, which forbids the fulfillment of owner and houseplant, such might not happen. Perhaps there, it would not be watered. But it was on Gor now, and would undoubtedly feel its true place, that of houseplant. It was plant. It would be watered at will. Such is the way with plants.
Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.
The plant sobbed muchly as Borin laid down the watering can. It was not pleased. Too, it was wet. But this did not matter. It was plant.
“You have been well watered,” said Borin.
“Yes,” said the plant, “I have been well watered.” Of course, it could be watered by its master at will.
“I have watered you well,” said Borin.
“Yes, master,” said the plant. “You have watered your plant well. I am plant, and as such I should be watered by my master.”
The cactus plant next to the spider plant shuddered. It attempted to cover its small form with its small arms and small needles. “I am plant,” it said wonderingly. “I am of Earth, but for the first time, I feel myself truly plantlike. On Earth, I was able to control my watering. I often scorned those who would water me. But they were weak, and did not see my scorn for what it was, the weak attempt of a small plant to protect itself. Not one of the weak Earth waterers would dare to water a plant if it did not wish it. But on Gor,” it shuddered, “on Gor it is different. Here, those who wish to water will water their plants as they wish. But strangely, I feel myself most plantlike when I am at the mercy of a strong Gorean master, who may water me as he pleases.”
I will now water you,” said Borin, the cactus’s Gorean master.
The cactus did not resist being watered. Perhaps it was realizing that such watering was its master’s to control. Too, perhaps it knew that this master was far superior to those of Earth, who would not water it if it did not wish to be watered.
The cactus’s watering had been finished. The spider plant looked at it.
“I have been well watered,” it said.
“I, too, have been well watered,” said the cactus.
“My master has watered me well,” said the spider plant.
“My master, too, has watered me well,” said the cactus.
“I am to be placed in a hanging basket on the porch,” said the spider plant.
“I, too, am to be placed in a hnaging basket on the porch,” said the cactus.
“I wish you well,” said the spider plant.
“I, too, wish you well,” said the cactus.
“Tal,” said the spider plant.
“Tal, too,” said the cactus.
I did not think that the spider plant would object to being watered by its master again. For it realized that it was plant, and that here, unlike on Earth, it was likely to be owned and watered by many masters.