My parents were always amazed at how different their three children were. We still question my sister’s paternity, but then she is quick to remind us that she has the upper thighs of our maternal grandmother’s side of the family. Bless her heart.
As we were growing up, my sister and I could not have been more different. I was the wild child, and as the oldest, I got away with everything since our parents had no idea what I was getting into. My sister was the popular one. As she progressed through high school, she went from homecoming duchess to princess to queen. She is three years younger. I’m sure my teachers would dread getting my little sister in their classes, but then would be pleasantly relieved. I was like the Ally Sheedy character (without the dandruff) in The Breakfast Club while my sister was Molly Ringwald. We fought mercilessly for years. Mostly about the phone. We had those mod, donut-shaped, coil-corded phones, just heavy enough to throw and leave a good size hole in the sheetrock, with receivers perfect for a good headlock/forehead pounding or punch in the eye. All kinds of hair-pulling, biting, spitting, door-slamming, and clothes-stealing. All taking place as I cowered in a corner. She was mean. All I ever did to her was try to steal her boyfriends. When we sold the house we grew up in, a splintered hole remained in the door of our shared bathroom. I think I was the one who kicked it in. She was probably taking too long in the shower, and I needed to get in there to check on my hydroponic pot plants. We often laughed at that hole later, along with all the boys’ names we had carved into the door’s latex-painted trim. Good times.
We didn’t really become friends until we both had husbands and kids. Finally we had similar things to commiserate about. We also discovered the joy of junk shopping. My flea market addiction is fairly well under control, but she is wheels-off insane. I pity the grandchildren who will be stuck cleaning out her garage. Her mission is to encourage novice home decorators to pause to reflect on the aesthetics of their dwellings, to avoid objects of mass production, and perhaps to incorporate some American feng shui by replacing all fake plants with real ones. Even though we don’t look alike, there is no question that we are sisters when we laugh. We have exactly the same rhythm to the breaths and the ha-ha-ha’s. When we laugh together, we have to laugh again at how our laughter is perfectly synchronized. Or maybe one echoes the other, depending on who was a little bit behind on their latest margarita swallow.
My brother and I seem to be a little more alike, seeing as how he’s a philosopher and I fancy myself a connoisseur of logic, law, literature, and apparently alliteration. He studies consciousness; I work on my conscience. He’s an intellectual academic; I’m an ineffectual apathetic. He’s a member of Mensa; I can spell Mensa.
While I share similarities with each of my siblings, my sister and brother seem to be from two different planets. It’s not that he is the smart one and she is the idiot. It’s that he is the smart one and she is the idiot savant.
For example:
My brother was hosting a “Self-Awareness Workshop” in a small town. Several brilliant and scholarly minds from around the world would converge on this tiny podunk village to discuss the theory of consciousness. Picture Einstein meets Green Acres, Stephen Hawking vs. The Beverly Hillbillies, or Marilyn vos Savant in any Will Ferrell movie. That town would have more brain cells and IQ points in it than the number of Jolie-Pitt children multiplied exponentially by the national debt. Here is a brief synopsis of what my brother’s workshop was to cover (these are quotes lifted directly from his brochure):
Self-Awareness Workshop
[P]henomenology of self-awareness, its computational and neurobiological modeling, the philosophical problems surrounding it, and its role in the formulation of a general theory of consciousness with particular emphasis on formulating ways of empirically testing the thesis that all consciousness involves some form of self-awareness.
[T]he computational, functional, and mathematical modeling of self-representing systems; various forms of incompleteness and computational irreducibility and their relation to the phenomenology of cognition, to self-knowledge, and to the opacity of sensory qualities; and virtualization (the computational process whereby the complexity of the “hardware” is systematically hidden from the “user” through the construction of virtual interfaces) as a possible paradigm for understanding the relationship between consciousness, the subject, sensory qualities, and the brain.
After agreeing on the theme, participants will be invited by the chair to propose views about the theme in the form of succinct statements. The statements will be listed and briefly reviewed for their salient logical and probabilistic connections. . . .
My sister and I shared the same reaction: “Ummm . . . What?”
My Sister’s Written Response
(a direct quote, with only some participants’ names redacted to protect their reputations):
Cannot help but notice that I was NOT listed as a participant. I thought I could bring some of my decorating books and present a lecture, complete with a PowerPoint, on how self-awareness is expressed through decorating your environment. Some of the self-representing systems I would touch on, but not limit myself to are as follows:
* Creative use of fabrics and textiles
* Exploring the limits of self-expression with a jar of Mod Podge
* Using an array of differing textures to promote sensory awareness through touch and sight
* Function and aesthetics: the ability to forgo function when aesthetics are being compromised
* The computational process of hiding the – what I like to call “necessary evils” of a dwelling – i.e., light switches, doorbell speakers, thermostat boxes, trash cans and construction and design flaws. The “hardware,” if you will, is hidden from the “user” by creative placement of home decorative items. Leaving us with the question, is one capable of learning this application of virtual interfacing in the realm of interior design, or is it inherently born in the consciousness?
* Various forms of in-completion in the mind and rooms of those who are handicapped in creativity and decorating in all of its manifestations
* How to gain a self-representing system through a collection of material objects that stimulate cognitive and sensory qualities upon entering a dwelling
* Being conscious of the role of accessories in a dwelling and their role in inspiring self-awareness – with that said, also being aware of the role that poor choices in home interior design and decorating play in sucking the very life OUT of the dwellers and their visitors
* The philosophic problems created by surrounding oneself with mass-produced, resin material, and big box home store accessories lacking in quality, character, and design
* I would like to close the PowerPoint with a field trip to a local flea market. This would (in theory) allow the participants to apply their newfound knowledge by selecting discarded items and giving them new life in their respective dwellings. Hence, allowing the participants to experience self-awareness through creativity and application of decoration.
I was thinking you could slip me in (so to speak) somewhere between the lectures. Or maybe my material would be a better fit (so to speak, again) with your material. My lecture could serve as a trailer – “Persons, Shelves, and the Decorative Brain.”
While my brother may be known as the smart one, my sister exhibits her own brand of genius. What she lacks mentally, she makes up for with mockery. And while she may not be able to cogitate or pontificate, she can certainly decorate and renovate. My brother’s workshop was a success even though my sister was not allowed to offer up a presentation. I guess it was all for the best. I have heard that the higher one’s IQ, the less likely it is that one is able to open a can of spray paint.
