A Eulogy, of sorts.

I started going to Cazadero Music Camp when I was 13, awkward in my pubescence and somewhat concerned with what was coming next. I'm still awkward, though that is no longer due to the horrors of puberty, and I'm still concerned with what's coming next, but high school was a lot different than I thought it would be, so I suppose it's kind of silly to worry about the future because it never really turns out how you'd expect. This post isn't about the future, though, or even the present, regrettably, but about the past.

There was always something special about being in the redwoods each summer, whether it be the magic of the sunlight filtering down hazily through the green branches or music echoing raucously through the canyon; sweet strains of march melodies and some big romantic classical piece being performed far more beautifully than most people would ever expect out of a group of young children. The environment of camp is obviously a fantastic one, what with the bucolic setting and passion of the participants, but the employees also make it unique.

A group of individuals collected by audition and interview to work for one of the most grand summer experiences in California by definition must bring something to the table, and they do. Never have I met a more vivacious, outgoing, caring, and utterly talented group of people who share in the joy of bringing music and fun to children. Impressively, the staff who do not work directly with the kids are also hard-working, industrious, friendly, and eager to help, throwing themselves into jobs that might not be glamorous but certainly are required to make the camp run.

Aside from all that, though, what every camp truly needs are the personal touches. Memories and ideas and little friendly details that create a setting that cannot be forgotten. One of those things, for me, was this little black and white dog, Jazz, who belonged to the Camp Director, Jim, and his wife, Anita, the Head Chef.

My first summer I remember trying to pet Jazz, along with the rest of the campers, but also finding her collar on the rec field with a couple of my friends. We eagerly collected our prize of a few 'Mazz Bucks' each, but I kept mine instead of using them to buy candy. I still have one, tucked away in a corner of my room at home, and I'm glad I held on to it. She was always loyally following Mazz around on his journeys surveying the camp, and often could be found lingering in front of the Dining Hall, waiting patiently for someone to drop something or Anita to emerge.

When I started working in the kitchen, I found out one of her favourite places to relax was on the steps leading to the storage room. She had a view into the cooking area, and could watch Anita as she worked. Eventually, Jazz and I developed a rapport, probably because I was willing to scratch her behind the ear for hours at a time. Okay, not hours, but at least 20 minutes. In any case, I was enough of a sucker that if she rested her head on my knee and looked at me expectantly, I'd begin again, if ever I had the audacity to stop.

I suppose it was sort of naive to believe she'd always be there, resting her head on my knee or trotting around the grounds like she owned the place; which she did, in case you had any doubts, but considering I haven't been 13 for a while I might have seen this sad day coming. Jazz recently left to get scraps from the spectral Cazadero, but she will be sorely missed when camp commences again this summer.

I don't know if I can imagine a camp without her little half-cocked ears or wet black nose, but I will live with the memories, fondly. Thank you, Jazz, for bringing joy to so many of us.

Fairy Tale

In another daring escapade,
The princess claims the prince,
And he is hers.

Not unlike when she saved
Him from the vision of
Normalcy that resides
Amongst this (society).

The princess needs no
Prince.

He doesn't pursue, he is
Pursued.

The moral is not to assume
I guess, but in the end,
The girl got the boy.

Not
The other way
Around.


Maybe it's easier to write a poem about expectations and roles when it comes to relationships and 'ownership', but I think the whole idea of 'gender-swapping the patriarchy' is really fascinating when it comes to art. Perhaps it could even be vital for the creation of theatre and literature, because if characters couldn't swap genders without seeming strange, then they haven't been fully created so much as copied.

I also have spent a lot of time recently thinking about this idea of 'the guy gets the girl', as if she is an object to be won and thus incapable of 'getting the guy'. Even movies and books that center around a female protagonist have a tendency to put the male character as the 'owner' of the relationship.

Maybe it's because women (in the eyes of current and previous societies) have no claim to their bodies. They are merely there to be consumed by men and are sexualised as commodities rather than treated as individuals. I know a lot of men don't think like that about women, but some do, and it's incredibly negative and reductive for everyone.

I guess the point of what I'm trying to say is that it's important to determine if the things you say could hold up regardless of the receiving party's gender (and wherever they fit on the spectrum). It's also important to consider whether what has been said is reductive in its treatment of gender, because creating and following patriarchal conventions by continuing their use is negative to the cause of equality.