Thor, the Norse god of thunder, a guy who wields a hammer. Unfortunately in this painting he seems to be wielding it on humans and horned goats, rather than using it for good.
But I've been flailing around for a name for the day I might rant, and I've tossed out Petty Peeves as I don't really want to be petty or peevish. There are better things to do with one's time and energy, like build a cool bookcase. If I rant, I want it to be funny, so it might go into the Hump of the Week. But I'm human, not a god or a stand-up comic, so I might fail at all of this, and flail some more.
As to the Wasteful Love aspect, the Throwaway idea, love so plentiful we can fling it around, well, yes, but neither of those names quite works.
So, for the nonlinear time being, Thor's Day it is, a weird catchall for stuff I love or stuff I might be tempted to complain about, right before smacking myself in the middle of the forehead with a rubber hammer for being so petty.
For instance, yesterday, there was Jorie Graham, wrapped in scarves, casual among the formally robed academics milling about before the convocation at Wesleyan, walking up on stage to clear her area of the water bottle, notes, et cetera that she had placed there by her chair, kindly contributing to the formality, leaving the stage bare before the rituals and music and words that would fill it...and nothing to complain about, but I didn't know how to interpret her actions till afterwards, after hearing her, after placing them in the context. A petty complainer might have seen her 1) drawing attention to herself and/or 2) disturbing the formality by picking up the items 3) she shouldn't have left there in the first place, and 4) I have made many a petty assumption like that in my past, alas, and/or 5) sat beside people who make them.
And then?!: everything is sweet, everyone is plainspoken, students perform in a brass quintet, and Jorie Graham blows me away with her call to empathy. No need for apprehension, in its meaning of petty fear, dread, foreboding; only for apprehending, in its meaning of understanding.
And that's Thor, above, in layers, being dressed as a woman, a bride, in an elaborate prank to fool a guy who has demanded the goddess Freya as his wife and stolen Thor's hammer as a way to get her. Although it's a comic poem, it's not going to end well (see humans and goats above). So, on Thor's Day, I might rant and rave, I might rage against the man or the machine, but I will hope to do it humorously, in love, and aiming for a better understanding, so I don't break anything with my hammer.
Pop Interlude and Thanks
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