Winnie the Pooh: Morality vs. Survival

     I have a problem with Winnie the Pooh. It has nothing to do with the show itself or the animation or the writing or the fact that Christopher Robin’s parents apparently were fine with letting him wander around 100 acres of forest with no adult supervision. No, I’m afraid I’ve turned what was once a simple, children’s show about talking, stuffed animals into a convoluted and intricate moral quandary in my mind. Here we go.

     Let’s look at the eating habits of our fury, woodland friends. And yes, I know, they’re supposed to be stuffed toys, so their diets shouldn’t really be that important, right? Wrong! Most of the time, all of the conflict in an episode will stem from either a dilemma between characters, between the characters and Christopher Robin, or between the characters and food. In many episodes, the main motivation of the title character is to obttain and ingest honey . In fact, it would seem that Pooh’s digestive system works quite a lot like a humans as he constantly is getting “a rumbly” in his “tumbly.” Gopher is seen eating “summer squash” in one of the movies and Rabbit is seen not only eating, but cultivating vegetables in his garden. One can only assume that Piglet would eat whatever’s left over, Kanga and Roo would have whatever Australians eat, and Eeyore, the homeless donkey, would consume grass. 

     All of these characters are herbivores.  The only exception thus far is Winnie the Pooh, who is obviously a bear. But let’s remember that bears are not only carnivores, but omnivores, and while most bears choose to eat other animals, most bears do not have the capacity for language. This is an important point. All of the characters in the show are animals who are, for the most part, seen eating what their species usually eats. They are all also sentient and capable of forming complex thoughts and relationships. Their minds seem to hold the capacity not only for speech, but for choice. So, in the instance of Winnie the Pooh, he simply chooses not to eat meat. Because of his natural physiology, he is able to do this and survive.

     There are, however, two characters who, like the rest, posses human-like minds. The only difference here is that they are carnivores. These two characters are Tigger, a tiger, and Owl, an…yeah, you can figure that one out on your own. These two species are natural hunters. The tiger is one of the most powerful cats on the planet. The owl is a silent stalker with binocular, night vision and extremely sensitive hearing. These two animals are made to kill other animals. And what are the only other animals in the Hundred Acre Wood? That’s right. Their friends.

     From this I gather that both Tigger and Owl choose not to kill their friends. But why (other than the fact that if they did, thousands of children would be scarred after witnessing the incident on television)? I see this as the most human traits of these characters. This is the struggle that humans make everyday: the fight between “morality” and survival. I put “morality” in quotes because morality can mean many different things to many different people. In this case, I’m using the word to mean going against natural urges for a greater good.

     But this definition of “morality” is problematic, especially for this scenario. Because the “greater good” in this situation is friendship, the “greater good” may be a natural urge to survive itself. The desire to gain and keep friendship is a naturally occurring urge. In fact, it may be the most powerful of human urges. To attain and hold onto relationships means being accepted into a societal structure. This societal structure is one of the main factors in the dominance of humans as a species and longevity of individuals of that species (or in this case, several species of like thinking individuals.)

     The next question, then, would be the strength of the accepted social structure that is in place in the world of the characters. Surely, it is a loose one, much looser than any we are part of in the real world. There are no enforcers of moral code. There is really no law to speak of. It would actually be easy for Tigger and Owl to kill and eat some of their friends and flee into the dark recesses of the woods (surviving from then on out on the flesh of Huffelumps and Woozles no doubt.) But they don’t. This means that there must be something in that society, something that the relationship between the animals has created, that would make the carnivores naturally (or at least willingly) inclined to suppress their hunger in favor of this loose structure.

     Perhaps it is shared experience or a truly higher concept that governs the humanoid minds of the starving creatures. But I don’t think so. I think it is a bit simpler than that. 

     I think, more than an urge for societal structure or relationships, there is an urge for normalcy and stillness in a society. Our minds are made like all other animals minds. They are made with the purpose of survival. Deep, under the complexities of our language and noise of abstraction, there is a fear of that destroyer and murderer: change. Change brings the end of everything we once knew. It erodes what we called beautiful and makes its own beautiful. It is merciless and inevitable. I believe our human minds (and the minds of the characters) equate change with death. 

     What better reason could the carnivorous stuffed animals have, then, for repressing their starvation? Killing, even to eat, would send waves across their happy pond. I don’t believe it is friendship that stops Tigger from disemboweling Eeyore, or Owl from snatching up Piglet on stealthy wings. I believe that it is their humanity craving for a suspension of death through a suppression of change by keeping those friendships in place and the social norms intact.

     And how different are any of us? Sure, we have police and an army to enforce the law. We have written rules. We have an understood moral code. But what really keeps us from disturbing the pool is the calming thought of stillness of eternal waters (even if keeping the surface smooth means becoming emaciated.) We grasp desperately for the illusion of immortality and shudder at those who become too hungry and eat.

My Brain (From mid January, 2012)

      I wrote this a while back and just found it. It is still accurate.

      I am a college graduate. I have been told by my peers and parents, friends and teachers, just about everyone that I am intelligent. My grades reflect it (seeing that I barely ever actually did homework or tried throughout my academic career). But every now and then, usually just when I really start getting used to the idea of being at least  relatively “smart”, I do something that seriously calls into question any modicum of intelligence I once thought I had. 

      One such example occurred this morning. I’m moving to California this coming Saturday and was (was) supposed to go get my car looked over by a mechanic before I leave due to some strange occurrence of random gas leakage. The plan was: get up at 7, get to the shop by 8, ask how long and how much money it would take to just look over the car (to see if we needed to tow it or if it was suitable to drive). Here’s what happened.

      This morning at 7am my mother wakes me up. Now, before I go any further, I need to explain something about my brain. It goes through several unique settings depending on the time of the day/how close to being asleep I am. At 7am, I have Morning Brain. So, my mother says, “I didn’t think about this, but there’s no one to give you a ride back from the mechanic, you might be there all day.” She offered to give me a ride but I declined because she would be late for work. At this point, Morning Brain inputs this information: “Nobody can give me a ride back so there’s a chance I’ll be there all day.” This is normal. What is not normal is the extreme jump in logic that Morning Brain then decided to make. “Nobody can give me a ride, so I don’t need to get my car looked at (even though there’s a possibility that it could die halfway through the desert)! Go back to sleep, it’s a-okay.”  MORNING BRAIN! YOU IDIOT!

      I then wake up at 10am. Morning Brain has been shed like a sticky, reptilian skin. A reptilian skin that is peeled off to reveal that old, familiar helmsman: Woke Up Late and is Now in Desperate, Confused Panic Brain. Let’s call it Late Brain for short. Late Brain says: “YOU IDIOT! I’VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES NOT TO LISTEN TO MORNING BRAIN! THIS IS WHY YOU FAILED KEYBOARD HARMONY, YOU DOPE!” Late Brain then tries to calm itself. “Okay, it’s alright. It’s okay. We can fix this. We can still go. We can make it. If we go now, we can make it. GET READY! RUN! RUN! PANIC!” 

      Of course, by the time the shower water slaps me in the face, I realize that if I embark to the mechanic at this point it really will be too late and I certainly will be spending the day there as there will already be a waiting list of customers who have Morning Brains that aren’t FREAKING RETARDS. So, now, I must attempt to explain to my parents why I didn’t get my car fixed without sounding schizophrenic. Good luck, Normal Brain. You have your work cut out for you.

Dogs

      I remember when my dog saw me naked after I took a shower. He was laying in my room, unbeknownst to me, just woefully looking up at me as I took off the towel to start dressing. He startled me and at first I felt embarrassed. My dog, after all, felt like part of the family. He was considered a friend and I often thought of him as having the same thoughts a human would have. I quickly shed my bashfulness. Dogs don’t care if you’re naked. Dogs ARE naked all the time, anyway, so surely they wouldn’t care. 

As I thought about it, though, I realized that it must be strange for animals to view humans taking off and putting on clothes. I could just imagine my dog thinking, “Oh, great, he’s tearing off his skin again. Disgusting.” We really must be odd creatures to other animals. We’re hairless, save for the top of our heads and a few other spots. We have these bony, knobby, knuckled things called “fingers” which I’m sure could be the equivalent to disgusting spider legs to other animals. We walk upright and are constantly making strange sounds, many times for no real reason. 

      I looked at my dog as I got dressed. He was annoyed, it seemed. I probably woke him up from his pre-sleep nap. But he didn’t get up and go. He could have, but he just decided to take it. It made me think about someone telling me they wish they were a dog. They said that dogs just lay around and have no responsibility. It would be the greatest life ever. I thought about it a bit more as I watched my dog, and I have to disagree with this view point.

      First of all, they’re right. The dog has no responsibility. But more than that, he has no real reason to be here at all. An animal like a dog evolved to survive. Everything in its nature tells it to do things in order to live in wild until it can pass along its seed. We’ve taken away that need for survival with domestication. The dog still has an innate need to survive, to fulfill its potential as a wild animal, but little or no outlet to do so. In fact, we usually always take away the most important, pivotal part of the survival instinct. Mating. Keeping the species afloat could be argued to be the sole reason for all animals’ existence but we snip that away as soon as we can. So, not only does the dog not have responsibility in the human sense of duty, but it has no responsibility in the natural sense either.

      Secondly, the dog has no freedom. At all. And this freedom isn’t taken away because we, as the masters, want to use the dog in a productive way or to a greater end or higher purpose that perhaps the dog can’t see. No. We take away this freedom because we want the dog to keep us company. That’s the only reason. We fence the dog in and don’t allow him to roam freely. Why? Because he might decide he doesn’t want to come back and then the friend we bought will not be there for us. We condition the dog from the time we buy him, we break his mind and weaken him. Why? So he’ll be more friendly and fun! Because we wanted to buy a living stuffed animal! 

      And what happens when a dog fights back after his master rubs his nose in his own filth? Euthanized. Because the dog reacted naturally to having his face pushed into shit. We only want subservient, good dogs. We want broken dogs and weak minds. What happens when a dog gets loose? What happens to stray dogs? What happens if some kid in the park hits it with a stick and gets bit? Bye, bye, doggie. Should have just laid down in your backyard all day and done nothing.

      But as I thought about, I realized we aren’t really all that different, humans and dogs. What points to any of our lives really hold that are any greater than a lounging dog? How different is going to work and coming back from a dog pacing in the backyard? The television isn’t that much different from a bone to gnaw on. Porn seems like a dog treat for conditioning. We have as much freedom as our societal fences allow. Our strays are demonized and mangy. Our loyalty is founded only in our inability to overcome the armed, alpha male. We dare not strike back when our faces are rubbed in our own feces. We learn our lessons and lay there on the floor, looking up woefully at our disgusting, naked masters. And I’m sure our masters’ eyes turn upward with as much weary. Everyone is in a cage built by someone else.

Harry Potter: Flaws in Education

Okay, I love Harry Potter. A lot. This is probably the reason why I’ve given these flaws so much thought. Here we go.

     All wizards and witches start attending wizarding school when they are 11 years old. At this age, they have roughly just finished 5^th grade. This means that all wizards and witches have AT MOST a 5^th grade education. This means you go to Hogwarts or whatever other wizardry school with a 5^th grade reading level. Remember what books most of the class was reading in 5^th grade? Do you? I’ll give you a hint: we still had to differentiate between “picture books” and “chapter books”. If the book has around 100 pages and the font is bigger than NewTimes Roman 12, and you’re not a senior citizen reading a large text pamphlet on gout, you are probably not ready to embark to a school where they teach you absolutely NOTHING academic. The reading skill, or lack thereof, is really the main problem as everything else like science or math can be explained away with, “Oh, they don’t need to know how much force that weight bearing column can withstand. They’ve got magic!” But remember how potions was really hard for almost everyone? Do you think maybe that had less to do with Snape being horrible and more to do with the kids not knowing how to use ratios when dealing with highly toxic, noxious, and otherwise dangerous chemicals and solutions? Yeah, Ron, I’d be complaining about that four page paper, too, if the last thing I read was The Boxcar Children. Oh, wait a second, that’s right, Ron. You didn’t have muggle parents. So you NEVER HAD TO GO TO AN ACADEMIC SCHOOL! Now, I’m assuming that Ron’s parents, along with other magical families, practiced a homeschooling routine until they were ready to go to magic land. The only problem with this is Ron’s parents were never properly, academically trained either. Neither were their parents. Of course Ron had a hard time keeping up in Magical History. The kid was taught to read by people who didn’t freaking know how to read!

     So, for practical purposes, the exclusion of reading and math from the magical curriculum prove to be a logical problem. But what about science? Like I’ve previously stated, most everything is explained away with magic in the wizards’ land of illiterate whimsy. Physics don’t particularly matter. Electricity and the like are for all intents and purposes useless to the magical community. So, I guess the lack of science in their education is a-okay, right? Well, let’s delve into a little subject the books do such a nice job of glossing over. SEX.

     It just so happened that 5^th grade was my first encounter with the dread SEX EDUCATION class, where a nervous, quickly deteriorating, middle aged woman with strong ties to the church and an aversion to the word “penis” came to my class and showed a video made sometime in the early 80’s which explained…NOTHING. I distinctly remember the video showing a young boy see a young girl, look down at his pants, and then up at the camera in shock. The scene quickly changed to a poorly drawn medical diagram of something that resembled a faucet as seen through the eyes of the Predator. Any questions that came from the class afterword (which were all encouraged by the lady and our teacher) were greeted with, “Ask your parents.” There was nothing said about how sex happened. The boys were separated from the girls (which resulted in me not knowing what a “period” was until I was about 15) so we had no idea about what girls were going through or would be going through while we, “Would start growing hair places.” Asking my parents was just about as helpful as the dated video, but from the information I garnered from both, I could piece together some sort of working model (albeit still flawed) for the nature of sex. 

     I give this piece of information because it wasn’t until late in middle school, when a different middle aged woman who had strong ties to the church and an aversion to the word “penis”, came to our science class and attempted to frighten us into a life of chastity did I really get a picture of what sex as from my public school system (and that came at the cost of the lady reminding us, “Your grandparents have sex all the time. Think about that.” I’m not making that up.) Now, if you’re Harry Potter, you’re going to a school where sex is NEVER mentioned. By anyone. Maybe if you are someone like Harry or Hermoine and have gone through some sort of schooling in the muggle world prior to your excursion to Hogwarts, you’ve at least had some exposure (though most likely inaccurate and intended to scare you out of ever having sex. Cue the pictures of gonorrhea.) But if you’re someone like Ron, you’ve probably been sheltered from that your entire life. So, once you go to a school with no parents, where you can make your own decisions, and where you have the perfect opportunity to MEET THE OPPOSITE SEX, you are either going to be completely clueless, extremely irresponsible, or unhealthily guilty at the changes your own body is going through and you can’t stop with a spell. I mean, just look at what’s actually happening with the kids. Their sexual development is all off! They start having these little middle school crushes when they’re 16! That’s the time when they’re supposed to get caught poking around in the backseat of his dad’s Buick! What’s the worse anyone ever does in the books? “Snogging.” Yes, it sounds like a dirty sex move involving a bucket of lube and a slip-n-slide, but I’m pretty sure it just means “making out”.

     Anyway, these are some pretty big flaws in logic on the part of the wizarding world. I propose an amendment to the Hogwarts policy immediately, allowing for continued academic education in the studies of reading and math, and a scientific approach to the human anatomy, specifically in the area of sex. I hope the board will consider my proposal and not turn me into a newt. Thank you.

Creepy Little Girls

There was a period of time where every horror movie that came out featured a creepy little girl as the horrible ghost. To be honest, the little girls weren’t as creepy looking as they were malnourished and in need of a shower. Personally, I don’t find something scary just because it needs some shampoo and a carrot, especially if the thing in question is an eight-year-old girl. “Oh, but she can eat your soul!” Firstly, did anyone in those movies in question try, oh I don’t know, fighting back instead of flailing hopelessly like a retarded fish trying to stand up on its fin? Just punt her through the window like you would a feral cat or an ugly baby! Listen, even I could beat a little girl in a fight and I lack the upper body strength to spread Miracle Whip on Wonder Bread (Though that may be due to the hyperbolic adjectives involved, which are disconcerting to me.) Anyway.

            Secondly, in a particular movie, The Ring, the creepy little girl who devours people’s souls (spoiler alert) flops out of the people’s TV. Extremely slowly. After sauntering around in the TV. Extremely slowly. And NO ONE RUNS AWAY!? Seriously. Also, what if your TV is really small?  Would she still be able to come out of it or would she just stick her head out and say, “Hey, you, come on over here so I bestow upon you pain and/or misery.” What if, at the designated time that she’s supposed to kill you, you were riding in a car? I mean, even if you had a TV in your car, she either would barely be able to get an arm through there or she would be tiny.

            But if I were in a situation where a little girl ghost was about to walk up to me (ALWAYS EXTREMELY SLOWLY) and take my soul to horrible oblivion I would do something that nobody ever tries. Freaking talk to her. She’s a little girl. She has feelings too. Look at it like this, if you walked into a room and a group of people looked at you and screamed in terror and ran away shrieking, “It’s hideous!” or “Why is its hair so stringy?!” how would you feel? Good? NO! You’d feel bad. And if you had the power to eat someone’s soul, you might take out your bad feelings on others by using that power.

            So, next time a little girl gets shat out of a television and tries making you all blue and dead, just stop and say, “Hey, there. What’s your name?” Let her take a bath. Seriously. Let her wash her hair. You could buy her some new clothes! Spend a day and get to know her. You guys could bond. Get her a hobby. Teach her how to play basketball. She could get really good and go for the team and then at the playoffs the other team would be like, “She can’t play! She’s a soulless monster!” and the ref would be like, “There’s nothing in the rule book that says a ghost can’t play basketball.” And then, at the end, her original owner could come back and try and take her and so the judge would be like, “I don’t want to make a decision! Just stand in those two corners and yell at her until she chooses.” But her original owner brought a rolled up newspaper so she comes right back to you and then they make like four sequels where she plays different sports. Actually, this is starting to turn into Air Bud, so I should really wrap it up.

            The moral of this story: Think positively. And never buy a giant TV. Or watch crappy horror movies. Or watch Air Bud.

Princess Peach and Love

Anybody who knows what a videogame is, or has seen a videogame, or has been alive in the last twenty years and isn’t brain dead or an old person who fears any sort of change and still tries to communicate without being “retro” via rotary phone and often makes references to how Jack Benny was “a looker,” has heard of Mario. They also know that Mario is always trying to save Princess Peach. That’s right, for over twenty years, now, Peach has been captured by Bowser and saved by Mario. Over and over.

            So, the first two times Peach gets kidnapped, I can understand it. She never thought anything bad could happen to her, being a Princess and all, and suddenly (gasp!) she’s kidnapped! She’s rescued and decides there’s nothing more to fear since Bowser’s been defeated…but the then (gadzooks!) she’s taken once again and saved by the brave and handsome plumber. I can understand those first two times. It is at this point, however, that, if you are Princess Peach, you BUY A FREAKING SECURITY SYSTEM! I mean, come on, Peach, what kind of princess are you? Why don’t you have the equivalent to the secret service following you around everywhere you go? I mean, you’re a princess. Did it not cross your mind that you might be a high profile target to begin with? And then after MULTIPLE kidnappings? Seriously! Get a dog or SOMETHING!

            Here’s what I think is really going on. It’s always Bowser that kidnaps the princess, right? And he doesn’t DO anything to her or with her while she’s kidnapped. He doesn’t ask for a ransom. He doesn’t rape her. He doesn’t steal anything from her. He doesn’t kill her. He just takes her and then sets her in a moderately accessible room in his castle. I think he’s in love with her. And I think she knows it.

            I think Bowser came up to her one day, poor, hideous, turtle-backed Bowser, breath smelling of sulfur and corndogs, and professed his love to her. I think she wanted Mario to notice her. I think she decided to be a little manipulative bitch. The next time Bowser awkwardly came up to her, probably with a sloppily drawn card and a mixed tape filled with a cheesy, tasteless song selection, she told him that she really liked him (bitch) and that she needed a strong man-turtle-thing to help her out with something (AKA getting the attention of the popular Mario, the whore.) She probably cuddled up to him and acted like she was interested in things he said and acted like she was interested in his goals and ambitions and acted like she was interested in him. Now, Bowser new what was going on, he’s not an idiot, but he agreed to fake-kidnap her anyway because, well, he was in love.

            He was in that stupid kind of love, that disgusting kind of love. The kind where even though they hurt you and lie to you and use you, you still play dumb and go along because, damn it, you’ll get to be with them in some capacity at least. Even if it would be better to leave, every time you see their face or hear their voice, the pit of your stomach burns and your brain releases all those tasty endorphins and you can make yourself believe that they’ll really love you if you do what they ask. Bowser wasn’t stupid. He was human.

            So, he kidnaps her. Mario, being a nice guy who genuinely wants to just do the right thing, goes to rescue her. The whole thing leaves Bowser in a pit of lava, looking up at Peach, HIS Peach, being carried off by Mario. He pulls himself out to hear the joyous news of Mario saving HIS Peach. He sees the pictures in the paper where they’re all smiling and holding up Mario on their shoulders because he’s the hero.

            And then Peach comes back. And Bowser agrees again, even though it hurt him so bad last time. Even though he told himself he wouldn’t. He agrees and makes things more elaborate this time. Makes Mario’s path harder. Because, hey, maybe if he defeats the hero, Peach will see how great he is and how strong and how she really was supposed to be with him all along and how stupid she was for falling for Mario.

            This time, he smashes through the floor of his own castle, just missing the surprisingly spry drainage technician. He falls to the depths of his own dwelling. He sees the little plumber carrying off his Peach, and they’re getting smaller and smaller.

            He keeps going and going until he truly hates Mario. No matter what he tries, Mario is better. He’ll always be better. No matter what obstacles or enemies, Mario just gets past them. And the ending fights are always the same. Bowser can’t compete. He doesn’t have a chance. He wasn’t born with a chance. Mario is better.  He’ll always be better. And Peach will always want Mario.

            Bowser continues the cycle because his love has become infatuation, which has become obsession. Mario continues the cycle because he’s an okay guy who has the ability to save a life and doesn’t want to see a life be lost, firstly. I also think, though, that after that first time of saving the Princess he started liking the attention. He started to like being called “hero”. And, heck, the Princess obviously is into him. This seems to make her even more into him. He’s an alpha male, right? He’s a superhero, right? Why shouldn’t he have an alpha female? A super heroine?

            But why does Peach do it? Certainly, if she really wanted Mario, she could just write him a note or call him or have one of those child laborers in the mushroom hat ask him out for her. I mean, you live in a freaking castle. Invite the guy over. You have magical paintings that take you to different dimensions! I don’t think there will be a lack of things to converse on.

            No, she doesn’t do it just for Mario. She does it for the power. She does it because she knows she can make Bowser do whatever she wants. She knows that she can make Mario do whatever she wants. It feels good to have people do things for you. It feels good to know that someone is drooling over you, is masturbating to you, is literally having his thoughts clouded by you…and then to say “no” to it (doesn’t it, ladies?). It’s validating to have people think about you. It makes Peach feel like she’s a person, even if it makes Bowser feel like he isn’t (okay, I know, he’s a Koopa, not a person, but that’s not the point!).

            Then again, it might just be daddy issues. I mean, she’s a Princess, right? Where are the KING AND QUEEN!? There is no reference made that would hint that she even has a father. How did she inherit the castle, for god’s sake? My guess is she’s been lonely from birth. She never knew her father, and if she did when she was younger, he certainly isn’t around now. I bet she feels abandoned and is reaching out anyway she can for male attention. Really, deep down, she’s just as sad, pathetic, and lonely as Bowser and as manipulated by herself as Mario. None of them has anything that they didn’t take from someone else.

            The moral of the story: People are horrible. Mario is a fun game.

My Visit to Grandma's

I visited Grandma yesterday!

Grandma lives in a retirement home but daddy calls it a morgue. I don’t know what that means, but he looks sad when he says it.

I went with mommy. When we got there, she had the same look as when we watched the end of Ole Yeller. I liked Ole Yeller because I like dogs but not cats! I am allergic to cats!

I like Grandma, she’s funny! Daddy said she has “dementia”. Yesterday, grandma told me there were horny men in her pill divider!

Grandma’s friend is called Mr. Jenkins. Grandma likes him because he’s says nice things, but mommy said she can’t see him anymore because last time grandma pulled out his catheter and whipped herself with it and sang church songs. Grandma’s funny!

Mommy told me I should give grandma a hug, but whenever I tried she just looked at the humidifier all scared and said, “He’s just a boy! Have mercy, oh Dark One!”

After dinner, Grandma said she had buried treasure and drew me a map on the back of one of her old people diapers. But when I followed the directions, all I found was an old chicken leg with lots of grandma’s sewing needles stuck in it under a couch cushion.

My visit to Grandma’s was fun! I can’t wait for next week!