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Death and the Maiden
Nov. 12th, 2001 11:31 pmBlood really is thicker than water. If you put the two liquids in the same glass, the blood will sink to the bottom because it has a higher density. It also has the ability to clot, which water does not, and it has a pH other than zero.
Of course, the same can be said of toothpaste, or oil paint. Or orange pulp.
I have always defined family with a somewhat broader brush than most people. The sheer number of individuals who have claim to my loyalty is faintly terrifying; if any of them were to ask me to drop everything and make a girdle round the world, I would do it without question. I doubt intellectually that I would kill for any of them, but past history has proved that when the situation arises, I am quite prepared to rise to the challenge. Certainly, I would give up my future, and probably quite a few internal organs, if I was adequately convinced that they were needed. My only solace is the knowledge that most of the involved parties would never ask me – either because they don't realize they can, or because they (rightly) fear their power.
As a result, I do a lot of thinking about what constitutes a family. I don't think it necessarily involves love, although that's certainly the ideal – I know too many "families" whose members really loathe one another. Besides, I love everyone, but I don't think of everyone as my family. It's not tied to genetics either, because married couples do not share DNA.
To be honest, it's a question which bothers me a great deal, particularly because of the census' distinction between "families" and "households" and how that impacts taxation. I tend to see it as a way of legislating morals, of perpetuating an us-vs.-them mentality, and of polarizing interest groups with fiery rhetoric.
At the same time, I cannot deny that there is a difference between the two terms.
I am beginning to think that it may have something to do with catch phrases. This is, of course, clearly ridiculous, which may be why I find it appealing. This occurred to me while I was talking to Raine, whom I lived with for two years and have lived apart from for two. All I had to do was laugh in a certain way, and we fell easily into a routine from Help!; when she quoted L.A. Confidential, I did the applicable hand motions without a second thought, even though we were speaking by telephone. It's the familiarity of a sofa you've watched a thousand movies on, or the mug you have always used to drink your tea – you may not even like the damned mug, but you're used to having it there.
I miss her, even though she has a recorded ability to drive me crazy. Anyone who can pull off a red PVC ball gown at a fraternity formal is fully deserving of my eternal admiration. A world without her in it, even if we rarely speak, would be greatly diminished.
I've been trying to reach her for weeks now, because of a very brief e-mail to the effect that things were going badly for her. It is conceivable that she could die, although it is unlikely, and I am both surprised and unsurprised that I am not affected by the news. I suspect it is linked to my perception of time – since every moment is eternal, death is not something which enters my consideration.
"Denial," you may be saying at this point.
Too right, but it hasn't failed me yet.
All of this thinking about family has made me think about Patrick. I've known him for over a year, and we've been best friends for most of it. I can practically put a date to when the switchover occured -- my one and only toga party, at which I behaved in the same manner as I generally do whilst drunk. Namely, I withdrew completely from the rest of the party and set up court on a rotting picnick table. Patrick happened to be the person who was standing closest to me at the time, and so he was the one subjected to an effluence of my observational philosophy. He still hasn't worked out a way to avoid these random disclosures and seems to have persuaded himself that he doesn't want to.
I mention this because he still isn't family, and I don't know why. By all rights, he ought to be -- I know his parents, and he knows mine. I regularly crash on his futon; he often shares my sleeping bag.
Nevertheless, there is a layer of intimacy that is simply missing. It's very strange. I think perhaps it might have to do with his position as my squire -- I'm too much his teacher to be his sister. Idol, says Val, who wishes she had my ability to form cults. The situation makes me uneasy.
oh.
i just figured it out.
It's because he thinks he'll have to kill me someday.
[Editor's note: Biologist Val says that family ties are either blood or sex, but of course she does, because she thinks that everything is about either blood or sex, or -- ideally -- both.]
Of course, the same can be said of toothpaste, or oil paint. Or orange pulp.
I have always defined family with a somewhat broader brush than most people. The sheer number of individuals who have claim to my loyalty is faintly terrifying; if any of them were to ask me to drop everything and make a girdle round the world, I would do it without question. I doubt intellectually that I would kill for any of them, but past history has proved that when the situation arises, I am quite prepared to rise to the challenge. Certainly, I would give up my future, and probably quite a few internal organs, if I was adequately convinced that they were needed. My only solace is the knowledge that most of the involved parties would never ask me – either because they don't realize they can, or because they (rightly) fear their power.
As a result, I do a lot of thinking about what constitutes a family. I don't think it necessarily involves love, although that's certainly the ideal – I know too many "families" whose members really loathe one another. Besides, I love everyone, but I don't think of everyone as my family. It's not tied to genetics either, because married couples do not share DNA.
To be honest, it's a question which bothers me a great deal, particularly because of the census' distinction between "families" and "households" and how that impacts taxation. I tend to see it as a way of legislating morals, of perpetuating an us-vs.-them mentality, and of polarizing interest groups with fiery rhetoric.
At the same time, I cannot deny that there is a difference between the two terms.
I am beginning to think that it may have something to do with catch phrases. This is, of course, clearly ridiculous, which may be why I find it appealing. This occurred to me while I was talking to Raine, whom I lived with for two years and have lived apart from for two. All I had to do was laugh in a certain way, and we fell easily into a routine from Help!; when she quoted L.A. Confidential, I did the applicable hand motions without a second thought, even though we were speaking by telephone. It's the familiarity of a sofa you've watched a thousand movies on, or the mug you have always used to drink your tea – you may not even like the damned mug, but you're used to having it there.
I miss her, even though she has a recorded ability to drive me crazy. Anyone who can pull off a red PVC ball gown at a fraternity formal is fully deserving of my eternal admiration. A world without her in it, even if we rarely speak, would be greatly diminished.
I've been trying to reach her for weeks now, because of a very brief e-mail to the effect that things were going badly for her. It is conceivable that she could die, although it is unlikely, and I am both surprised and unsurprised that I am not affected by the news. I suspect it is linked to my perception of time – since every moment is eternal, death is not something which enters my consideration.
"Denial," you may be saying at this point.
Too right, but it hasn't failed me yet.
All of this thinking about family has made me think about Patrick. I've known him for over a year, and we've been best friends for most of it. I can practically put a date to when the switchover occured -- my one and only toga party, at which I behaved in the same manner as I generally do whilst drunk. Namely, I withdrew completely from the rest of the party and set up court on a rotting picnick table. Patrick happened to be the person who was standing closest to me at the time, and so he was the one subjected to an effluence of my observational philosophy. He still hasn't worked out a way to avoid these random disclosures and seems to have persuaded himself that he doesn't want to.
I mention this because he still isn't family, and I don't know why. By all rights, he ought to be -- I know his parents, and he knows mine. I regularly crash on his futon; he often shares my sleeping bag.
Nevertheless, there is a layer of intimacy that is simply missing. It's very strange. I think perhaps it might have to do with his position as my squire -- I'm too much his teacher to be his sister. Idol, says Val, who wishes she had my ability to form cults. The situation makes me uneasy.
oh.
i just figured it out.
It's because he thinks he'll have to kill me someday.
[Editor's note: Biologist Val says that family ties are either blood or sex, but of course she does, because she thinks that everything is about either blood or sex, or -- ideally -- both.]
