Sticks and stones
July 2, 2006 | 12:00am
"I am beautiful no matter what they say... Words can’t bring me down, I am beautiful in every single way... Yes, words can’t bring me down, so don’t you bring me down today..." – Linda Perry
The worst thing ever said about me would be, let’s see... there would be several vying for number one spot, actually. There’s that I use my position as a commentator to get paid outrageous sums of money – making me a corrupt paid hack and a disgrace to my profession; that I beat up maids – which makes me an ungrateful physical abuser of the helpless; that I got myself pregnant with a politician and had an abortion which, essentially, makes me a whore and a murderer; that I received hundreds of thousands to play the part of girlfriend to a senatorial candidate so he could win the elections on top of the list – which makes me dirt cheap – as I would only do such a thing if I were paid hundreds of millions. Okay, THAT must have been the worst ever.
My friends, who know truth to be otherwise, kept telling me that it all came with the territory of prominence and potency and that I should, in fact, "be honored" to be given so much importance as to inspire a few nasty editorials and a caricaturized magazine cover portraying me as the worst this industry had ever produced. "Imagine," they said, "our li’l ol’ Korina! In the editorials of the self-professed cream of the crop! You’ve made it, girl!" It all seemed like warped messages for the while that I concentrated on the pain. Somewhat like having just lost a loved one to a sudden, freak accident and people are assuring you "it’s alright because they’re in a better place now..." It just doesn’t penetrate. It would be hypocrisy to say it all didn’t matter. But one big, ugly word said about you can sting for a literal brief five minutes or an excruciating five years. Psychologists say it all depends on how long you’re going to believe what other people say is true.
My two nieces were telling me secrets about each other. Four-year-old Tyra didn’t think it would be a big deal that she revealed her cousin Maya, five years old, had a crush on "the pogi boy in the billboard." Maya was stunned – started to smile to her playmate – but soon froze. With one leg up the slide ladder she looked at everyone in the playground who heard. Well... everyone was listening and she was livid. "No I didn’t say that!" Maya screamed. Puzzled Tyra goes, "Yes you did, I heard you!" That was my cue to play aunt and leave them to their mothers. My take from it was that this infliction starts really early. We all need approval from the wrong people.
We all get misquoted, slandered, libeled, plagiarized, backbitten and judged on different levels in an endless number of scenarios everyday of our lives. I guess if you do matter to any one person in this world and any one other person is willing to listen to this guy, chances are, you will get it either straight to your face or through some network with embellishments. Of course, the operative thought here is "if you matter." I’m not sure if that’s any consolation for us who all too well know that you and I are part of this factory line for something all our lives and which, therefore, makes this situation utterly inescapable – all our lives. Hence, our survival kit. And the manual says, "it’s not about you. It’s about them, dummy! Do they matter?"
Too many people have sacrificed their lives and their futures giving too much of a damn to "what other people say" – and they don’t even know it. When the words hit us so hard that they stump the ability of the heart and mind to process (Why did he say that? Am I really like THAT? What led to her saying that to me? about me? Is there something to actually apologize for? Did THAT really happen? Do I deserve this? Who is he, by the way? What could his motives be? Does HE owe me an apology? Is it time to sue? Are these words of greater importance than what I know to be true?), then you might imagine there would have been not too many conquests for Great French military genius General Napoleon Bonaparte since his first successful invasion of Italy in 1797 with his critics calling him an arrogant son of a ----- who never listens to worthy advice; not too many inventions from great physicist Sir Isaac Newton whose mother did not want to invest in his education and was told he wouldn’t go very far because he did poorly in school as a boy; not too many greatest musical hits from the diva Barbra Streisand who was often told she was ugly and that her nose was too big; no happiness for Princess Diana because she was told it was not acceptable; or no more Tour de France championships to win for cycling champion Lance Armstrong because he was told he was going to die. Is there any doubt that even the recent saints Padre Pio or Sister Teresa got it and got it good, too? They all got it, took it, processed it and did away with it. And history vindicates them to proportions unimagined.
Conservative author Ann Coulter dares call the widows of men who perished in the 9/11 World Trade Center attack in New York "millionaire broads reveling in their status as instant celebrities... I have never seen people enjoying their husbands’ deaths so much..." Her new book, Godless:The Church of Liberalism, is a bestseller. Coulter is deified and crucified alternately all throughout America for publishing comments that are otherwise common among cocktail conversationalists but are, for some fear of verbal reprisal, never made public by anyone. There she was on Jay Leno’s show in a very small black dress, with endless legs, high-heeled pumps and long, straight blonde hair running down her very bare back and saying to her Liberal critics, "I wear their contempt as a badge of honor..." and she gets a round of applause from every other liberal voter among the audience. I’m no Democrat or Republican sympathizer (too far a concern from your basic pothole along EDSA that is the more pressing issue to resolve) – but I do recognize a winner... The maverick who doesn’t wait for and depend on the strength of numbers to stand up alone for even the loneliest of convictions.
I’ve learned the sticky way that there often is no such thing as rules of engagement in such kind of warfare. There is also no way to expect that the boundaries you respect will likewise be honored by your detractor. Often the one who will exhaust issues surrounding the value of an opinion until it rests comfortably where it should in my head, I also discovered the exhausting way that people will have opinions but not necessarily translate to the truth.
We’d like to stay pleasant but fact is not everything about life is pleasant and we have no choice but to confront that, resolve it or come to terms with it. In the end I always thought that, if I knew I did a good job no one could convince me otherwise. Likewise, if I knew I botched it no one could make it look or sound better to me – like, don’t even try, thanks but no thanks. "That kind of resolve," my Mom told me once, "might just see you through."
So today, that one edition of a magazine where I was portrayed and libeled as the worst.. . the magazine that hardly ever gets read due to its very, VERY low publication is happily framed on a wall, lonely and surrounded by hundreds of positive articles in my 20 or so years in the business; by trophies, awards and plaques of appreciation and, most importantly, photographs of me with my two nieces who believe I am a goddess incarnate and tooth fairy incognito rolled in one; of my brothers who believe I am the best sister one could ever have (sealed by the fact that I am the only one they ever had); of my nephews who would be my rottweilers anytime I give the signal; of my Mom and my Dad who always told me "sticks and stones may break your bones but words could never harm you... if you know yourself enough and don’t let it."
(E-mail me at korina_abs@yahoo.com)
The worst thing ever said about me would be, let’s see... there would be several vying for number one spot, actually. There’s that I use my position as a commentator to get paid outrageous sums of money – making me a corrupt paid hack and a disgrace to my profession; that I beat up maids – which makes me an ungrateful physical abuser of the helpless; that I got myself pregnant with a politician and had an abortion which, essentially, makes me a whore and a murderer; that I received hundreds of thousands to play the part of girlfriend to a senatorial candidate so he could win the elections on top of the list – which makes me dirt cheap – as I would only do such a thing if I were paid hundreds of millions. Okay, THAT must have been the worst ever.
My friends, who know truth to be otherwise, kept telling me that it all came with the territory of prominence and potency and that I should, in fact, "be honored" to be given so much importance as to inspire a few nasty editorials and a caricaturized magazine cover portraying me as the worst this industry had ever produced. "Imagine," they said, "our li’l ol’ Korina! In the editorials of the self-professed cream of the crop! You’ve made it, girl!" It all seemed like warped messages for the while that I concentrated on the pain. Somewhat like having just lost a loved one to a sudden, freak accident and people are assuring you "it’s alright because they’re in a better place now..." It just doesn’t penetrate. It would be hypocrisy to say it all didn’t matter. But one big, ugly word said about you can sting for a literal brief five minutes or an excruciating five years. Psychologists say it all depends on how long you’re going to believe what other people say is true.
My two nieces were telling me secrets about each other. Four-year-old Tyra didn’t think it would be a big deal that she revealed her cousin Maya, five years old, had a crush on "the pogi boy in the billboard." Maya was stunned – started to smile to her playmate – but soon froze. With one leg up the slide ladder she looked at everyone in the playground who heard. Well... everyone was listening and she was livid. "No I didn’t say that!" Maya screamed. Puzzled Tyra goes, "Yes you did, I heard you!" That was my cue to play aunt and leave them to their mothers. My take from it was that this infliction starts really early. We all need approval from the wrong people.
We all get misquoted, slandered, libeled, plagiarized, backbitten and judged on different levels in an endless number of scenarios everyday of our lives. I guess if you do matter to any one person in this world and any one other person is willing to listen to this guy, chances are, you will get it either straight to your face or through some network with embellishments. Of course, the operative thought here is "if you matter." I’m not sure if that’s any consolation for us who all too well know that you and I are part of this factory line for something all our lives and which, therefore, makes this situation utterly inescapable – all our lives. Hence, our survival kit. And the manual says, "it’s not about you. It’s about them, dummy! Do they matter?"
Too many people have sacrificed their lives and their futures giving too much of a damn to "what other people say" – and they don’t even know it. When the words hit us so hard that they stump the ability of the heart and mind to process (Why did he say that? Am I really like THAT? What led to her saying that to me? about me? Is there something to actually apologize for? Did THAT really happen? Do I deserve this? Who is he, by the way? What could his motives be? Does HE owe me an apology? Is it time to sue? Are these words of greater importance than what I know to be true?), then you might imagine there would have been not too many conquests for Great French military genius General Napoleon Bonaparte since his first successful invasion of Italy in 1797 with his critics calling him an arrogant son of a ----- who never listens to worthy advice; not too many inventions from great physicist Sir Isaac Newton whose mother did not want to invest in his education and was told he wouldn’t go very far because he did poorly in school as a boy; not too many greatest musical hits from the diva Barbra Streisand who was often told she was ugly and that her nose was too big; no happiness for Princess Diana because she was told it was not acceptable; or no more Tour de France championships to win for cycling champion Lance Armstrong because he was told he was going to die. Is there any doubt that even the recent saints Padre Pio or Sister Teresa got it and got it good, too? They all got it, took it, processed it and did away with it. And history vindicates them to proportions unimagined.
Conservative author Ann Coulter dares call the widows of men who perished in the 9/11 World Trade Center attack in New York "millionaire broads reveling in their status as instant celebrities... I have never seen people enjoying their husbands’ deaths so much..." Her new book, Godless:The Church of Liberalism, is a bestseller. Coulter is deified and crucified alternately all throughout America for publishing comments that are otherwise common among cocktail conversationalists but are, for some fear of verbal reprisal, never made public by anyone. There she was on Jay Leno’s show in a very small black dress, with endless legs, high-heeled pumps and long, straight blonde hair running down her very bare back and saying to her Liberal critics, "I wear their contempt as a badge of honor..." and she gets a round of applause from every other liberal voter among the audience. I’m no Democrat or Republican sympathizer (too far a concern from your basic pothole along EDSA that is the more pressing issue to resolve) – but I do recognize a winner... The maverick who doesn’t wait for and depend on the strength of numbers to stand up alone for even the loneliest of convictions.
I’ve learned the sticky way that there often is no such thing as rules of engagement in such kind of warfare. There is also no way to expect that the boundaries you respect will likewise be honored by your detractor. Often the one who will exhaust issues surrounding the value of an opinion until it rests comfortably where it should in my head, I also discovered the exhausting way that people will have opinions but not necessarily translate to the truth.
We’d like to stay pleasant but fact is not everything about life is pleasant and we have no choice but to confront that, resolve it or come to terms with it. In the end I always thought that, if I knew I did a good job no one could convince me otherwise. Likewise, if I knew I botched it no one could make it look or sound better to me – like, don’t even try, thanks but no thanks. "That kind of resolve," my Mom told me once, "might just see you through."
So today, that one edition of a magazine where I was portrayed and libeled as the worst.. . the magazine that hardly ever gets read due to its very, VERY low publication is happily framed on a wall, lonely and surrounded by hundreds of positive articles in my 20 or so years in the business; by trophies, awards and plaques of appreciation and, most importantly, photographs of me with my two nieces who believe I am a goddess incarnate and tooth fairy incognito rolled in one; of my brothers who believe I am the best sister one could ever have (sealed by the fact that I am the only one they ever had); of my nephews who would be my rottweilers anytime I give the signal; of my Mom and my Dad who always told me "sticks and stones may break your bones but words could never harm you... if you know yourself enough and don’t let it."
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