Watership Down vs. We're Alive

When I was young, I used to watch this cute little show about bunnies. Happy little bunnies hopping around in the meadows, stealing vegetables from the farms. It was such a cute, simple idea that I was hooked. I don't think I ever missed an episode. I had no idea it was a novel while the show was running. It wasn't until I was browsing through a second-hand shop in the city that I stumbled upon it. Now, I am of the opinion that every book deserves a good home, so Watership Down joined the ranks of unread novels littering bookshelves, tables and ledges around my home. It sat on my shelf half-forgotten for almost two years.

Since graduating high school, the term 'summer vacation' has meant little to nothing to me. Work took priority since moving out of my parents' house. That is to say bills took priority. This is my first year with a salary instead of a wage job. I'll be damned if I'm not taking a proper vacation! I packed up my duffel bag with books and clothes and I hauled ass out of the city for the week.

I felt bad for ignoring all of the unread books spread across my house while I continued to accumulate more. At this rate, I'll never be able to read my own collection because it is growing faster than I can keep up with. When I packed up the books I planned on taking on vacation with me, I decided I would not take anything that has been in my collection for less than a year. I was going to plow through my long-forgottens. This included Watership Down.

Cut to me at my parent's house. The clock reads 4:30AM and there's Ms. May wide awake with a book in her hands. Once I started reading Watership Down, I couldn't put it down. It was actually kind of sad. If I had left it on the dining room table (which is the pinnacle of socialization in my parents' house) I would pick it up as soon as I sat down. Someone's trying to have a conversation with Ms. May? Nope, sorry. I found a book. Everything else in my life became secondary to finding out what happened to the bunnies, even though I already knew the story by heart.

Have you ever had an idea that was just beyond your reach? You stretch out your consciousness to grasp it, but your mind just barely grazes it. That's how I felt about this novel. There was something to it that I wasn't quite getting. After I finished reading, I started to look up book discussions and reviews. I had to know what it was I am missing. I couldn't agree with a single review I read. The general opinion seems to be that this is a novel of leadership and humanity's involvement in nature. Sure, I can see that, but that's not the idea that was keeping me from starting a new novel. I had to solve this mystery!

I sat on the porch with my headphones on and my notebook in my lap. I doodled bunnies in the margin of the blank page and listened to "We're Alive" but the solution wasn't coming to me. Maybe if I distracted myself with zombies, the answer would come more naturally than trying to force ideas.

Eureka! We're Alive wasn't a distraction at all, it was the solution! I've heard that Watership Down is a political allegory, but I am inclined to disagree. It is a struggle between tyranny and freedom, nature and reason, fear and duty. Am I blind?! They aren't political at all, it is entirely human nature! Let me try to explain with a comparison to "We're Alive".

The most important quality these two pieces of media have in common are the settlements. The rabbits in 'Watership Down' are forced to leave one warren that is in danger to find a new home with nothing to rely on but the feeling of one. This is almost directly parallel to the ending chapter of season 2 in 'We're Alive'. The likeness of the residence of the Tower and the warren of 'Watership Down' is striking.

The Maulers (a group of escaped convicts that have taken up residence in a strip mall, for those who are not zombie-savvy) play the same sort of role in the podcast that the rabbits in Cowslip's warren does in the novel. Death to these characters means absolutely nothing. Both groups are willing to sacrifice the lives of their own to ensure the survivors are able to live comfortably without threat of what lies beyond their safe zone.

When I was a kid, Efrafa scared the Hell out of me. These rabbits had zero control over their own lives. Everything they did was directly controlled by the warren and their leader. (Communism..?) This is how the survivors in the Colony lived. Is it possible to actually live happily like this? Again, these are the sacrifices the survivors had to make to ensure their futures. It makes me wonder how much would I be willing to give up to continue living. Would I become a pawn in a larger plan of someone else? Would I follow their direction without question? Would I run or would I stay? Would I fight? Would you?

These warrens and shelters are their home now and those with you are as good as family. Family above all else. Over and over again, especially in the podcast, the cast will run headlong into danger for the sake of one of their own. The family is an extension of the self. What would you risk to save your mother? Your cousin? Often times I feel that I can handle any amount of garbage and mistreatment, but I simply can't abide someone trying to mess with my employees. They are my family now too. I would do anything for them, but would I be able to risk my life for one of them? I really don't know.

The overarching theme I've found is the constant fear they all live in. It has become a natural part of life without being overbearing. How does this relate to you? Everywhere you turn, there is danger but we live with it. We protect ourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Don't approach strange dogs. Unplug your toaster. For all that we have done since our ancestors painted in caves, we all still live in fear.

I think the scariest part of both is how the obvious enemies are not the biggest threat the cast has to face. No enemy puts up the kind of fight or causes as much damage as their own kind. (Efrafa, the Maulers.) This is true in day-to-day life as well. If you need proof, open your local newspaper. How many articles are about shark attacks or bears mauling hikers, and how many are about anthrax in letters, or kids getting shot over drugs? Humanity is its own worst enemy.



I highly recommend anyone reading this to check out "We're Alive" at http://www.zombiepodcast.com. It is well worth your time.

One of the girls who works for me asked me today how long I've had my hair short. She asked me if I had just decided the day I cut off all of my locks to become a lesbian. I know she'd meant it as a joke, but it kind of struck me as odd, I guess. First of all, I never 'decided' to be a lesbian, it was never a choice. I'm not going to get into that, though. That isn't what I wanted this post to be about, I just had to point that out. If you're interested in finding out about homosexuality, ask your local queers. Or Lady Gaga. We were born this way.

When I discovered that I liked girls, I was still quite young. One of my very first crushes that I remember clearly was the yellow Power Ranger, Trini. It was very confusing to try to grasp sexuality at such a young age, before I really knew what sexuality was. All I knew about it at the time was that Barbie and Ken were supposed to go together like Mommy and Daddy go together. Barbie was not supposed to make smoochie faces at Teresa, that's weird and gross and wrong.

I thought something was wrong with me.  Maybe I was broken? Maybe I was supposed to have been born a boy. For a long time i thought this was the only logical explanation. This may have had a part in why I felt so easy around boys instead of girls. this is what I was supposed to be doing, if my gender wasn't broken, so I might as well do it anyway. Digging in the dirt was just much more enjoyable than playing dolls.

That isn't to say that I didn't still do girly things from time to time. I felt obligated. I was trapped in the wrong body but nobody knew it, so I had to be a lady and I was stuck. It wasn't exactly something I could bring up to my parents one night over dinner. "Mommy, how come I'm a girl?" I couldn't put my finger on why it was wrong, it was just an instinct that this topic was untouchable. It was as wrong to talk about as how it felt. It was not meant to exist and was an abomination to even speak the name of.

So I guess I had to learn to live with it. I played dolls with my cousins and house with the girls in my neighborhood. I had crushes and experienced puppy love and grew out of childhood as a rough and tumble tomboy with both knees skinned and crying that I tore my new tights.

It wasn't until I was in my early to mid teens that the idea of bisexuality was explained to me. Woah, hold the phone here. I can like girls AND boys? And that's an okay thing? Holy smokes, ladies and gentlemen, alert the media! This was life altering news and I had no idea what to do with it. I'm not broken after all, it was just not something that occurred all that frequently in my small, one-horse town. At least not yet.

During my highschool years, I really tried to open up to this other side to my sexuality. Like I said before, I figured if i was stuck in a girl's body, I would have to get used to doing the things that girls do. This included dating boys. I wasn't that I found boys... unattractive. I liked them plenty. Hell, I still do. There is something safe and comfortable about being with a guy that makes sense. But no man has ever made my heart thunder in my chest the way a woman can. Yoga pants are just unbelievable.

What was I talking about? Oh right! high school sweethearts.

My first sincere lady love was a lovely girl named Meagan. She was everything I idolized, everything I wanted to be at the time. She was rambunctious, she was opinionated, she was BOLD! Nothing would stand between this girl and what she thought was right, while I was so soft spoken and shy. I was an easy target for bullies and apparently so was she, but she took my hand so fiercely, damn the world if they didn't like it. I couldn't be so brave. I was terrified. What would my parents say? What would my friends think? Would they still love and accept me if I was different? Up until I started seeing this girl, there was not a whisper of gay culture in my high school. People would gawk at us holding hands and whisper when we passed. I could not handle this shit.

In the end, I chickened out. I told her that I was not ready to be open about this kind of thing just yet and I wasn't ready to call her my girlfriend. She was upset and rightfully so, so we went our separate ways. It was by far the hardest breakup I've ever had to face.

It was a very long time before I would be able to let another girl in. I've never officially dated a woman since, but i still consider myself a bisexual. Well, no. That's not really true either. I don't care much for that term, it seems so linear. I'm queer. I'm queer in many ways aside from my orientation, so it just seems fitting for me. I don't think I need to be actively with a girl to consider myself a bisexual, but I've heard a lot of flack from other self-proclaimed bis that this is a big deal and anyone else is a poser.

What the hell does it matter to them who I'm with or who I think is attractive? Regardless.

It has been a long journey of self-discovery to accept myself this far. I feel confident in myself and the person I want to be. I don't consider myself to be transgendered. I am a woman and I've recently come to terms with that. I still have some difficulties, though. I am still more comfortable being a 'bro' than a 'Ms.' and I still identify more with a man than a woman. It comes from self-confidence really. I don't know if I'm explaining myself very clearly. Sometimes I think I make such rash decisions to be alternative and masculine because I still don't feel like I make a very good girl. I'd never pass for a stereotypical hot chick, so why bother trying? why put on makeup every day and do my hair and pick out the perfect outfit when I still can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear? So I completely rebel against it or ignore it completely because if I don't try, I can't fail. I'm a boy because I'm good at it, I'm a girl because I was born this way.

Not that I'm not happy with my body. Don't get me wrong. If I were another person, I'd totally tap this. Its the me inside and the me outside that don't sync up and make me such a sloppy mess. I'm a recovering fat girl hiding her insecurities behind the facade of an inflated ego. It sounds complicated. I love me and I hate me at the same time.

Girls still scare the piss out of me. Maybe its a nerd thing, but I have absolutely no ability to talk to women and if I find them attractive, forget about it. I'll be hiding in the corner over there, thank you very much. Dudes are simple, they don't play games and largely the guys I keep company with understand that I'd rather be treated like one of them without taping my breasts down and making my personal opinions an awkward conversation topic.

 I 100% support all transgendered people. I think what they do is incredibly brave and not at all something I could handle. They are the victims of unreal hate crimes and to be able to face every day with their chins up is such a sign of strength. I couldn't do it. I admire them.

This post, I think, has rambled on enough. I don't know why it bothered me so much that this one girl commented on my haircut.

Oh God. What if she was flirting with me?

...Fuck.