Tylie Malibu Runaway Rose Hobo
I really love discovering new and upcoming designers! And Tylie Malibu definitely hasn’t failed to impress me! I think I’m in love! So who is this Tylie Malibu? The company, which was launched in early 2000, is the brainchild of Lisa Izad. Based out of California, this designer is all about combining that laid back Californian attitude with a Replica Handbags feeling of luxury and glamor. Izad says she is inspired by the natural textures of leather and the colors of nature that surround her. What I find most appealing, however, is that the production process for these handbags is all carried out in a single workshop located in Santa Monica, California.
Now all that’s left is to pick a favorite style! Introducing the Tylie Malibu Runaway Rose Suede Hobo! It’s not exactly what I would call a hobo, but there is no doubt that this is one lovely bag! The soft suede gives this bag such a soft look, like something you’ve been treasuring for many years. I love the pyramid studs that cover the front flap pocket and the thin double straps. Plus it is available in a wide range of colors, all perfect for Fall! Be sure to check out the wine, it’s super yummy!10luoyuejun0630
Fendi Canvas B Bag
Not all purse lovers are college football fans, but I am sure many of your significant others appreciate it. This past weekend Vlad and I attended what was touted as the college football rivalry and game of the century, the Ohio State vs. Michigan game. Both Vlad and I met through Ohio State athletics while we were students there and will both love Ohio State until the end of time. For an early Christmas present I managed to find Vlad and I amazing tickets to the game. So this past weekend we were busy watching our team clobber Michigan. We even stormed the field after the game. If you looked on TV at the swarm of Scarlet and Gray (mostly scarlet) we were 2 of the people out there. I carried my Louis Vuitton Damier Speedy with me to the game and realized that to be a true Ohio State fan I need a handbag with team colors. Granted this bag is no where near my usual radar (ironically enough because of the color scheme), it is a viable bag option to carry when cheering on Ohio State.
The Fendi Canvas B Bag is made with natural canvas body and red patent leather on the front buckles, shoulder straps, and outlining. The huge contrast is colors is a bit much for my typical palette, but for Ohio State, this bag has colors that work out well. There is a clasp fastening underneath the front flap closure.
Carrie Underwood and Stella McCartney Handbag
Carrie Underwood was spotted at LAX, looking laid-back and almost perfect in her relaxed ensemble. Her face looks glowing and it perhaps all the more looked vibrant as she was wearing a pink jacket and velvety pants, finished with a red luggage and a liquid-shine Stella McCartney handbag.
Perhaps if that dog is not in her hand, we could clearly see her entire Replica Handbags. But hey, I love dogs and it is a great accessory too. So anyway, the Stella McCartney bag seems to be made of some high-shine glossy nylon material and it also seems to come with layers of flap on the front, accented with gold-tone trimming. It also looks large enough to really hold her extra stuff and perhaps there are double shoulder straps to easily carry this bag over the shoulders.
The Stella McCartney Handbag bag may not be the perfect complement to her ensemble, but coming in black tells that it is indeed versatile to work with any outfits.10luoyuejun0629
Louis Vuitton Innsbruck Cabas
Not all men are LV men, but my man is The Mr. picked up a gorgeous Louis Vuitton Taiga Dersou recently. LV has released some new man bags for Fall/Winter 06. The Louis Vuitton Innsbruck Cabas is ‘inspired by the chic elegance of the Innsbruck, Austria ski resort at the heart of the Alps’. This bag is made with suede calf leather with grained calf leather trim and has its focal point as the signature geometric V pattern on the exterior. This bag has an embroidered interior patch that recalls 1950s Louis Vuitton advertisement. For a put-together man, this bag is perfect for work and perfect for traveling to Innsbruck with you.
Prada Calfskin Leather Hobo
Premiere handbag designers like Prada always manages to come up with design that is totally stunning, innovative and lasting. This Prada Calfskin Leather Hobo may not be the most stunning or modern creation from their collection, but it sure is capable to work for years.
It is very simple, but not to the point that it looks so boring. Rather, it makes this bag even more refined and sophisticated, and needless to say versatile. Its neutral tan shade makes it all the more versatile to be paired with Replica Handbags other ensembles. Gold-tone hardware throughout is also present for a hint of elegance, which includes the logo plaque on the center front.
With dimensions of 14 x 15 x 6½ inches, this hobo is made from super-soft calfskin leather and comes in a somewhat slouchy shape. This makes this hobo look even suppler, and the subtle ruching as well adds to its suppleness. It has a zip on top and on the inside is jacquard lining with zipped and snap pockets. It then has a single shoulder strap of 8½-inch drop to carry.10luoyuejun0628
Prada Napa Chevron Antic Handbag
The Prada fall 2006 line has two aspects that are a given. First, these bags are hot hot hot. And second, the bags are pricey- most ranging above $2,000. So many of these bags have made it on to my want list. Adding a textured leather, the Prada Napa Chevron Antic Handbag is made with brown quilted napa leather and golden hardware. The quilted pattern on this bag gives a very interesting outer appearance. While this picture makes the bag look plastic to me, I’ve seen it in person and it flows perfectly. The woven top handles have rings along with a detachable ID tag and zip top closure.
Christina Ricci and Chanel Bag
Now look at who has graced us with her presence, Christina Ricci! This is actually the first time I’ve had the chance to cover Christina on Bag That Style and I am pretty excited about it. I’ve been a Christina Ricci fan for quite some time now. And although I don’t see her in many movies these days, an update here and there is enough to Replica Handbags make me happy.
Here, Christina was spotted visiting a hair salon in Hollywood. Do you think she has this hat on because she is on her way into the salon and thus hasn’t spent much time on her hair or do you think she’s just a fan of the hat? It really doesn’t matter much to me because her look is pretty awesome. Not everyone can pull of the mix and match look as well as Christina has here. Plus, topping everything off with a Classic Chanel Flap Bag can’t hurt at all!10luoyuejun0626
Balenciaga Bag Addicts
If there is one thing I’ve learned in the past year since the opening of our Purse Forum, then it’s that there is no crowd more obsessive, determined, fanatic and crazy such as the Balenciaga crowd. These women would literally kill for some of these bags, the past season’s discontinued colors seems to be particularly sought after. It’s nuts! Balenciaga women need their own Balenciaga way, no questions asked.
One more reason why the Balenciaga Forum is so bloody busy. The Bbag creators are very strict about keeping their bags exclusive, which means that there is really no online stores that sell them… which usually leads to many ladies waiting for months until their most-wanted style and color appear in an authentic eBay auction and *BLAM* they go for the kill like they’d been starving through a winter hybernation. This is the reason why our moderators suggested the installation of an extra section for the fellow Bbag fanatics to point out last minute auctions on Bbags, which is a unique treatment and I was more than happy to give it to them.
Crazy bunch. In a good way, of course. It’s still hysterical for me to sit here and watch the crowd go ape sh*t. Only the Louis Vuitton ladies are struct with a similar, obsessive complexion. But if it came down to it, the Balenciaga ladies would take the pot home.
replica handbags00
gemahrv0416
For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest. My own "truest" Christmas began on a rainy spring day in the bleakest year of my life.
Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart, and I could not afford another one.
I sat down in the streetcar--and there against replica handbags the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything so lovely.
I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself.
I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.
Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) more than a year before.
She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.
The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though twenty dollars was all I had in the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I don't remember.
The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment here and there, for a small salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I Burberry Handbags could afford it for my lithe girl's Christmas presents.
My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name--which Peggy and I would need for food.
She was home from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which I had already Purchased. I had bough her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.
The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there should be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.
As l struggled through the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my life. Unless a miracle happened, I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.
God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was to become of us?
I looked in my mail box. There were only bills Louis Vuitton Belts in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs and I cried, shivering in my thin coat.
But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a Pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.
Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow.
I stood in the cold little kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life, I doubted the existence and his mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.
The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms were full of parcels. "This is a mistake," I said, but he read the name on the parcels and there were for me.
When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address was simply "California", where she had moved.
Our dinner the nigh was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness.
Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing.
Working Christmas Day
gemahrv0415
By Victoria Schlintz
It was an unusually quiet day in the emergency room on December twenty-fifth. Quiet, that is, except for the nurses who were standing around the nurses' station grumbling about having to work Christmas Day.
I was triage nurse that day and had just been out to the Replica Handbags waiting room to clean up. Since there were no patients waiting to be seen at the time, I came back to the nurses' station for a cup of hot cider from the crockpot someone had brought in for Christmas. Just then an admitting clerk came back and told me I had five patients waiting to be evaluated.
I whined, "Five, how did I get five; I was just out there and no one was in the waiting room."
"Well, there are five signed in." So I went straight out and called the first name. Five bodies showed up at my triage desk, a pale petite woman and four small children in somewhat rumpled clothing.
"Are you all sick?" I asked suspiciously.
"Yes," she said weakly, and lowered her head.
"Okay," I replied, unconvinced, "who's first?" One by one they sat down, and I asked the usual preliminary questions. When it came to descriptions of their presenting problems, things got a little vague. Two of the children had headaches, but the headaches weren't accompanied by the normal body language of holding the head or trying to keep it still or squinting or grimacing. Two children had earaches, but only one could tell me which ear was affected. The mother complained of a cough, but seemed to work to produce it.
Something was wrong with the picture. Our hospital policy, however, was not to turn away any patient, so we would see them. When I explained to the mother that it might be a little while before a doctor saw her because, even though the waiting room was empty, ambulances had brought in several, more critical patients, in the back, she responded, "Take your time, it's warm in here." She turned and, with a smile, guided her brood into the waiting room.
On a hunch (call it nursing judgment), I checked the chart after the admitting clerk had finished registering the family. No address - they were homeless. The waiting room was warm.
I looked out at the family huddled by the Christmas tree. The littlest one was pointing at the television and exclaiming something to her mother. The oldest one was looking at her reflection in an ornament on the Christmas tree.
I went back to the nurses station and mentioned we had a homeless family in the waiting room - a mother and four children between four and ten years of age. The nurses, grumbling about working Christmas, turned to compassion for a family just trying to get warm on Christmas. The team went into action, much as we do when there's a medical emergency. But this one was a Christmas emergency.
We were all offered a free meal in the hospital cafeteria on Christmas Day, so we claimed that meal and prepared a banquet for our Christmas guests.
We needed presents. We put together oranges and apples in a basket one of our vendors had brought the department for Christmas. We made little goodie bags of stickers we borrowed from the X-ray department, candy that one of the doctors had brought the nurses, crayons the hospital had from a recent coloring contest, nurse bear buttons the hospital had given the nurses at annual training day and little fuzzy bears that nurses clipped onto their stethoscopes. We also found a mug, a package of powdered cocoa, and a few other odds and ends. We pulled ribbon and wrapping paper and bells off the department's decorations that we had all contributed to. As seriously as we met physical needs of the patients that came to us that day, our team worked to meet the needs, and exceed the expectations, of a family who just wanted to be warm on Christmas Day.
We took turns joining the Christmas party in the waiting room. Each nurse took his or her lunch break with the family, choosing to spend their "off duty" time with these people whose laughter and delightful chatter became quite contagious.
When it was my turn, I sat with them at the little banquet table we had created in the waiting room. We talked for a while about dreams. The four children were telling me about what they would like to be when they grow up. The six-year-old started the conversation. "I want to be a nurse and help people," she declared.
After the four children had shared their dreams, I looked at the Mom. She smiled and said, "I just want my family to be safe, warm and content - just like they are right now."
The "party" lasted most of the shift, before we were able to locate a shelter that would take the family in on Christmas Day. The mother had asked that their charts be pulled, so these patients were not seen that day in the emergency department. But they were treated.
As they walked to the door to leave, the four-year-old came running back, gave me a hug and whispered, "Thanks for being our angels today." As she ran back to join her family, they all waved one more time before the door closed. I turned around slowly to get back to work, a little embarrassed for the tears in my eyes. There stood a group of my coworkers, one with a box of tissues, which she passed around to each nurse who worked a Christmas Day she will never forget.
Light in the Window
By Eileen Goltz
It was the first night of Chanukah and the night before Ellie's last final. As a freshman she was more than ready to go home for the first time since August. She'd packed every thing she needed to take home except the books she was cramming with and her menorah, the 8 branch candelabra that's lit every night of Chanukah. Ellie had been so tempted to pack the menorah earlier that night. However, just as she was getting ready to justify to herself why it was OK to "skip" the first night's lighting - (A) she'd have to wait for the candles to burn out before she could leave for the library and (B) she had no clue as to where her candles were hiding - her conscience (and common sense) kicked in. The voice coming from that special place in her body where "mother guilt" resides said, "You have the menorah out, so light it already." Never one to ignore her mother's advice, Ellie dug up the candles, lit them, said the blessings, placed the menorah on her window sill and spent the rest of the evening in her room studying.
Ellie's first winter break was uneventful, and when she returned to her dorm on the day before classes started she was surprised to find a small note taped to her door.
"Thank you," the note said. It was signed "Susan." It was dated the day that Ellie had left after finals. Ellie was totally perplexed. She didn't know a Susan. Convinced that the letter had been delivered to her by mistake, Ellie put the note on her desk and forgot about it.
About a half an hour before she was getting ready to head out for dinner, there was a knock at Ellie's door. There, standing in the hall was a woman Ellie didn't recognize. "I'm Susan," she said. "I wanted to thank you in person but you'd already left before I finished my finals."
"Are you sure it's me you're looking for?" asked Ellie. Susan asked if she could come in and explain.
It seemed that Susan had been facing the same dilemma that Ellie had been that first night of Chanukah. She really didn't want to light her menorah either. Not because she was packing, or was heading home, couldn't find the candles or because she busy studying but because her older sister Hannah had been killed by a drunk driver ten months earlier, and this was the first year that she'd have to light the menorah candles alone. The sisters had always taken turns lighting the first candle and this wasn't Susan's year. She just couldn't bring herself to take her sister's place. Susan said that whenever it was Hannah's turn to light the first candle, she'd always tease Susan that the candles she lit would burn longer and brighter than when Susan lit them. One year she even went so far as to get a timer out. It had always annoyed Susan that Hannah would say something so stupid but still, it was part of the family tradition. Susan said that it was just too painful to even think about Chanukah without Hannah and she had decided on skipping the entire holiday.
Susan said that she had just finished studying and was closing her drapes when she happened to glance across the courtyard of the quad and saw the candles shining in Ellie's window. "I saw that menorah in your window and I started to cry. It was if Hannah had taken her turn and put the menorah in your window for me to see." Susan said that when she stopped crying she said the blessings, turned off the lights in her room and watched the candles across the quad until they burned out.
Susan told Ellie that it was as she was lying in bed that night thinking about how close she felt to Hannah when she saw the menorah, that it dawned on her that
Hannah had been right. Hannah's last turn always would have candles that would burn longer and brighter than any of Susan's because for Susan, Hannah's lights would never go out. They would always be there, in her heart for Susan to see when she needed to reconnect with Hannah.
All Susan had to do was close her eyes and remember the candles in the window, the one's that Hannah had lit the last time it was her turn.
What do women really want?
gemahrv0415
Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him, but was moved by Arthur's youthful happiness. So he Replica Handbags offered him freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if, after a year, he still had no answer, he would be killed.
The question was : What do women really want?
Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and, to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. Well, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end. He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everybody : the princess, the prostitutes, the priests, the wise men, the court jester.
In all, he spoke with everyone but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. What most people did tell him was to consult the old witch, as only she would know the answer. The price would be high, since the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.
The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no alternative but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer his question, but he'd have to accept her price first : The old witch wanted to marry Gawain, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend! Young Arthur was horrified: she was hunchbacked and awfully hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage water, often made obscene noises... He had never run across such a repugnant creature. He refused to force his friend to marry her and have to endure such a burden.
Gawain, upon learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He told him that nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the reservation of the Round Table. Hence, their wedding was proclaimed, and the witch answered Arthur's question :
What a woman really wants is to be able to be in charge of her own life.
Everyone instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared.
And so it went. The neighboring monarch spared Arthur's life and granted him total freedom.
What a wedding Gawain and the witch had! Arthur was torn between relief and anguish. Gawain was proper as always, gentle and courteous. The old witch put her worst manners on display. She ate with her hands, belched and farted, and made everyone uncomfortable.
The wedding night approached : Gawain, steeling himself for a horrific night, entered the bedroom. What a sight awaited! The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen lay before him! Gawain was astounded and asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her (when she'd been a witch), half the time she would be her horrible, deformed self, and the other half, she would be her beautiful maiden self. Which would he want her to be during the day and which during the night?
What a cruel question. Gawain began to think of his predicament :
During the day a beautiful woman to show off to his friend, but at night, in the privacy of his home, an old spooky witch? Or would he prefer having by day a hideous witch, but by night a beautiful woman to enjoy many intimate moments?
What would you do? What Gawain chose follows below, but don't read until you've made your own choice. Noble Gawain replied that he would let her choose for herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time, because he had respected her and had let her be in charge of her own life.
The Doll and the White Rose
gemahrv0414
I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Chirsmas gifts.I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself .I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do .Chirsmas was Replica Handbags beginning to become such a drag.I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Chirsmas.But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department .Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys,and wondered if the grandkids would even play whit them.I found myself in the doll aisle.Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll.
He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself . I just kept loking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said,"Are you sure I don't have enough money ?"She replied a bit impatiently, "You know that you don't have enough money for it." The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere that she had to go and get some other things and would be back in a few minutes . And then she left the aisle .The boy continued to hold the doll.
After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for , He said,"It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Chirsmas.She just knew that Santa would bring it."I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it . He said,"No,Santa can't go where my sister is....I have to give the doll to my Mama to take to her."I asked him where his siter was . He looked at me with the saddest eyes andsaid,"She was gone to be with Jesus.My Daddy says that Mamma is going to have to go be with her."
My heart nearly stopped beating .Then the boy looked at me again and said,"I told my Daddy to tell my Mama not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store."Then he asked me if i wanted to see his picture .I told him I'd love to.He pulled out some picture he'd had taken at the front of the store.He said,"I want my Mama to take this with her so the dosen't ever forget me. I love my Mama so very much and I wish she dind not have to leave me.But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister ."
I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so qiuet. While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pilled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy ,"Shall we count that miney one more time ?" He grew excited and said ,"Yes,I just know it has to be enough ." So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it . Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said ,"Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money ."Then the boy said ,"I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Mama can take it with her to give my sister .And he heard my prayer.I wanted to ask him give for enough to buy my Mama a white rose ,but I didn't ask him ,but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Mama. She loves white rose so much."In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away.
I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shoppong in a ttally different spirit than when I had started .And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition ,The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support.Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story.
Two days later I read in the paper where the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected . Later that day ,I could not help myself and I went out and bought aome white roses and took them to the funeral home where the yough woman was .And there she was holding a lovely white rose,the beautiful doll,and the picture of the little boy in the store.I left there in tears ,thier life changed forever .The love that little boy had for his little sisiter and his mother was overwhel .And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces.
How to save the world
gemahrv0414
Until a generation or two ago, we were all taught that animals had no feelings, no intelligence, that they were incapable of feeling pain -- it was all autonomic reaction, they were mere robots. Only humans, magically endowed by God, had these distinguished qualities.
With such staggering, almost unfathomable, universal Replica Handbags ignorance of animal nature, it's not surprising that we really know nothing of human nature. We can, after all, judge the nature of our species only from our own personal nature. There is absolutely no consensus on our innate nature, or even if there is such a thing. Some people believe we are all inherently evil, sinful, and need strict control to prevent us from running amok and committing deadly sins without remorse or restraint. Some people believe we are all inherently well-intentioned, and in the absence of stresses we will always be sociable, generous, even altruistic.
Psychologists and sociologists, with their dumbed-down, simplistic models, seem especially incompetent at understanding our nature. We are left to piece together our own perception of what makes us tick, and we tend to socialize with others who share our worldview of human nature and how the world works.
In Straw Dogs, John Gray painted a picture of human nature as self-absorbed and driven by immediate needs (urgency before importance):
The mass of mankind is ruled not by its own intermittent moral sensations, still less by self-interest, but by the needs of the moment. It seems fated to wreck the balance of life on Earth -- and thereby to be the agent of its own destruction. What could be more hopeless than placing the Earth in the charge of this exceptionally destructive species? It is not of becoming the planet's wise stewards that Earth-lovers dream, but of a time when humans have ceased to matter...
Humans use what they know to meet their most urgent needs -- even if the result is ruin. When times are desperate they act to protect their offspring, to revenge themselves on enemies, or simply to give vent to their feelings. These are not flaws that can be remedied. science cannot be used to reshape humankind in a more rational mould. The upshot of scientific inquiry is that humans cannot be other than irrational.
This assessment seemed intuitively valid to me, consistent with Pollard's Law: We do what we must, then we do what's easy, and then we do what's fun. While this book's assessment of the future of our species was gloomy, Gray seemed to be making the point that, just as we emerged from the cauldron of evolution as a remarkable accident, an improbability, so too was our demise accidental, the result of overpopulation and overconsumption that was in turn the result of a series of extraordinary adaptations (the inventions of catastrophic agriculture and what we call civilization) necessitated by a horrifically bad roll of the cosmic dice (the striking of Earth by a meteor that wobbled its orbit and caused the ice ages). I could buy short-sightedness and selfishness as 'human nature' but only in the context of the four boldface words above. When times are desperate, yes, I can see us behaving the way we now do. These are not normal times. We live in a horribly overcrowded, violent world where psychopathy is an effective survival strategy and where we are all (and not always just metaphorically) prisoners.
This is what lies behind the apparent contradiction between my belief that our civilization is in its last century, and my passion for creating models of better ways to live. If we can get away from the mental and physical prisons of modern society, we might rediscover how we were meant to live. In a world without desperation, scarcity, urgency, what true human nature and what astonishing joy and accomplishment might emerge? And even if it's too late to save our species from civilizational collapse, that knowledge of working models might be useful to the survivors. And if we gotta go, what a high to go out on!
In his new book, Black Mass, Gray removes the above four word qualifier from his assessment of human nature. Not only does our world face intractable problems, he asserts, we live in an "intractable world". He rails for most of the book against various "idealistic" approaches to coping with such a world: Western religious orthodoxy, utopianism, the entire spectrum of political ideologies, and post-modern ideologies of scientific, teleological, 'free-market' economic and techno-utopianism. Only realism, an acceptance that 'progress' is a myth and that civilization necessarily entails a constant struggle against despots, liars, murderers, thieves, megalomaniacs, genocides, oppressors, hoarders, extremists, psychopaths, mobs and other manifestations of human frailty. Moral dilemmas where opposing views and needs are simply irreconcilable are inevitable, he argues. And then, wham:
The cardinal need is to change the prevailing view of human beings, which sees them as inherently good creatures unaccountably burdened with a history of violence and oppression. Here we reach the nub of realism and its chief stumbling-point for prevailing opinion: its assertion of the innate defects of human beings. Nearly all pre-modern thinkers took it as given that human nature is fixed and flawed, and in this as in some other ways they were close to the truth of the matter. No theory of politics can be credible that assumes that human impulses are naturally benign, peaceable or reasonable.
No when times are desperate qualifier. It's hard to say whether this represents a darkening of Gray's perception of human nature or merely a tacit acknowledgement that in our terrible modern world times are always desperate. My guess is that it's the former, and that Gray would not think much of intentional communities. He would probably believe, as others who see humans as 'fixed and flawed' would, that such communities are merely idealistic, smaller-scale 'fixed and flawed' societies even more open to despots and cultists than larger, more heterogeneous cultures.
And this takes us back to the essential point that no one really 'knows' human nature. Our experience and context of it is too narrow, and the narratives of human behaviour throughout history are inevitably tainted by their authors' worldviews. As Lakoff has explained, we accept information that is consistent with our personal worldviews and reject, almost subconsciously, information that is not. Paul Simon, quoted at the top of this article, said the same thing. We believe what we want to believe. There is no 'objective', unarguable data that can be applied to change those beliefs. We are all, ultimately, as Gray himself argues, figments of reality -- lonely collections of organs that evolved consciousness in their collective self-interest. He writes, in Straw Dogs: "We act in the belief that we are all of one piece, but we are able to cope with things only because we are a succession of fragments. We cannot shake off the sense that we are enduring selves, and yet we know we are not."
What is the 'nature' of a 'succession of fragments'? I would argue that (at least when times are not desperate) its nature is evolutionary -- to live, to experience, to be happy, and to socialize in the interest of enabling a continuation of that happy experience. It is in our collective interest to get along, to love, to converse, to live together in community, to maximize life and its diversity.
But then what do I know. I'm just a figment of reality, a succession of fragments, a complicity of the creatures that make up my body, like anyone else.
Love of self
gemahrv0413
When I was younger,I thought that to love one's self was vanity and not a virtuous trait.As I have grown olders,that belief has past away,as have so many others .There is Replica Handbags a vast deviation between being vain and loving one's self.
We are all in this world together striving for more or less the same things.To contribute and have our lives count for something.To love and be loved.To laugh and yes,to cry.
We seek shelter,nourishment,a mate,warmth,clothing,family,friends;we seek approval,love and selfesteem.We are all imperfect.Often during our search we forget to simply enjoy what life is.We become so caught up in what could have been,what should be,what maight be,that many of our todays are lost.Let yesterday rest,live for today,hope and dream for your tomorrows.
If there is some part of you that lessens your selfimage,some part of you that prevents you from loving yourself,change it,for only you can.Life is filled with things we have no control over,but overselves we can control.You are the clay,you are the sculptor and you have the ability to creat a masterpiece.The shape and form are there.You have only to refine the work.
Is the task an easy one? No.There will be slips and flaws and you will be repuired to work and rework the clay before the piece condemning it as worthless because of a blemish or nick? Of course not,where then would all the word's treasured art be?I doubt we would have any.How many masterpieces do you think have been created in one fell swoop,a first effort completely successful without error,without change?Is it possibole we fail to see that mankind is the most marvelous of all works of art? A living, continuous,developing work of art.
Again, I say to you that these words are merely feedlings and thoughts,one person's outlook and subject to change with tomorrow's setting sun,as I too continue to sculpt the lump of clay given to me at birth,called self.