Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

Take yourself on a little acid trip.
this is so interesting. LCD fascinates me (no, I've never dropped acid, nor do I plan to, but I still think it's intriguing.)
What really amazes me is the number of tests like these that went on a few decades ago (and may still go on now!) Next time my doctor suggests "experimental treatment" for something, I'll be a bit wary before signing any dotted lines.
Regardless of the who and when, what happens to the brain on acid is just fascinating. There are quite a few more videos that follow the same theme as this on youtube. It's equal parts beautiful ad horrifying. Enjoy!

22 things to teach your son about women (or not.)

www.shrink4men.com/2011/03/07/22-things-to-teach-your-son-about-women-or-not/

I thought this was very interesting, especially number ten. What does that even mean?
This article was found on a website  for men who have come out of abusive relationships where the woman was the abuser. I think Dr. Palmatier's critique is just spot on. definitely worth the read.

Monkey Fist

Meet Phillip Roebuck. One Man Band and musician extraoridnaire, he deserves a way better introduction than I could ever give him, so I'll let his music speak for him instead.

This guy is amazing. He is so brilliant, has an amzing voice and stage presence, and he is a totally nice guy.
Also, he's my boyfriend's cousin.
No biggie.

Hog.

This morning, as I walked, groggy eyed, out to the living room to take a quick peek at my easter basket before heading to church with my family, I was delighted to see two cute little buttons glimmering atop my basket of goodies. The pins, delievered to me courtesy of the Easter bunny, bore the image of my favorite animal- the hedgehog. I've loved hedgehogs since I was a little girl, so this throwback treat brought me great delight. I hastily fastened them to the front of my dress as we headed en masse out to door to church. As I swayed throught the stiflingly hot service, my mind, and gaze, began to wander, until my eyes rested on a shiny circle under the bench of the family sitting mext to me. Upon closer scrutiny, it became evident that it was one of my pins. It must have fallen off of my dress at some point in the Mass. As the service progressed, I became more and more nervous. The family above my pin had four small children, one of whom was destined to spy my pin and snatch it up for their own. I'm usually very generous to small children, happy to give them whatever little treasures I have on me, but I was not about to mess around with this pin. I started plotting ways to surreptitiously grab it- I didn't want to attract the attention of the family for fear that they would think I had taken something of their's, nor did I want to come off as a freak who interrupted Mass to hunt down a hedgehog pin. As the priest talked on and on and on, I began to lose focus on his voice, hearing only my own frantic mental prayer- Dear God, please don't let them take my pin.
What the heck is wrong with these kids? Don't they ever look down? Why haven't they noticed it? At least if they noticed it I'd have an opening, or at the very least my suffering would end! Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. As we got back from communion I leaned over to my mom- I couldn't take the pressure. I needed to tell someone about this dilemma. "Mom, I dropped the hedgehog pin. It's over there by those kids. I'm afraid they're going to steal it." Wordlessly, my mom, a seasoned pro at Baby-toy recon, glided over to the other family, plucked the pin from under the feet of the potential-thieves, and returned it to me. As the church burst out in song around us, my mom whispered to me out of the side of her mouth- "Amateur."
Embarrassing. I'm never having kids.

Bounce.

I guess what's weird is that there's pretty much no way I couldn't have come out of this year a little disappointed. I'm sort of dreading going home, having to answer all the "oh how is it" questions about college, Richmond, VCU life. Every time anyone asks me how I like college, I feel a little guilty. I don't know what they're expecting- Yeah. I love it. I enjoy college in that I love sleeping in all day, eating whenever and whatever I want. I like not having to clean my bathroom, I like being able to walk around a city I didn't think I was going to live in and I like being able to hide in public and not have people know who I am. I didn't make a million and one friends this year. I didn't get drunk or high or laid. I didn't party, I didn't riot, I didn't fail any classes. I stayed in most of the time, I cultivated myself, became sure of myself, proud of myself, silently, in my room. I've never been to a club. I didn't go downtown or uptown and I'm nervous that, in shattering the expectations of the eager-to-reminisce inquirers, I'll lose their interest and their feigned support. I didn't do what anyone, myself included, expected me to this year. Didn't party, didn't declare, didn't recreate myself. I just sat this one out, observing. I feel kinda bad, but I think I'd feel worse if I'd done all those things. That isn't who I am this year- forcing myself to get wild out there would have been more of a detriment to my security and sanity then introversion and reflection, for sure. I feel lame, yeah, but if anything, I'm able to recognize that my time here isn't going anywhere. Friends will come and go, parties will have their morning's after, and I'll have gained the peace of mind to endure it all. I didn't do hardly anything I thought I would this year, but I think I'm better for it.

Solitaire

A list of things you can do alone.

Read a book
Listen to music
Explore the internet
Draw/write your dreams
Experiment with herbal teas
Spa treat yourself
Knit
Go for a swim
Take a walk on a sunny day, get lost, find your way back
Write a letter
Sing
Learn an instrument
Cook or bake
Garden
Play a video or computer game
Try out a new hairstyle
Go on an exploratory adventure
Go to the library, leave treasure maps in the books
Work on some art
Practice impressions
Invent a new musical instrument
Teach yourself a new language

Play Solitaire

VCU Foreign Language

Picking up language is pretty much my number one skill. Some people are good at math, some at science, some at sports- I'm good at language. I was so excited for my first college language class- I had gotten a 5 on my AP Spanish exam, so I was expecting great things from the higher level classes. So imagine my surprise when I attended my first spanish course and found that I was essentially the only person in my class who could even speak at a passable level of fluency. I was in a 300 level Spanish Conversation class- obviously, we were expected to only speak Spanish in class, no english allowed, and in order to reach the 300 level, you'd have to have experience with the language. At least, I assumed most people would understand that upon enrolling. Literally only three other people in the class could communicate efficiently in Spanish- and the teacher was really just awful. She's a native speaker, but a terrible teacher, completely unable to communicate the essentials of grammar, syntax, or cultural reference needed to achieve fluency in the language. Not only that, she commonly misunderstood student's questions, misinforming them and neglecting to correct their linguistic flaws. I thought, "maybe it's just this teacher, or just this language. Maybe if I try another tongue I'll see better results." Not so. I'm taking an elementary French class this semester and am seeing the same problems. The teacher, a French native, has a better handle on grammar then my former Spanish teacher (in fact, he's extraordinarily knowledgeable about French grammar) but is also a pretty rotten teacher. Not only is it almost impossible to understand him when he speaks so I miss almost all of the assignments he give us, he relies on the use of an online textbook that doesn't sync up with our lesson plan at all. He speaks French well, but he can barely teach it. I feel bad, because I was really excited to expand my knowledge of other languages at this diverse school, but that just isn't the case.
Have you had a similar experience here at VCU? If not, what made your experience more positive? Is there hope for students hoping to master a foreign language here at VCU?

Singin' in the Rain

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjXQ-MRmROQ&feature=related
(ignore the french bit- the actual song is in english.)

and
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmCpOKtN8ME&feature=related

and possibly my favorite,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FW02c5UNGl0&feature=related


I don't think I could ever express just how much I love this movie. If you've never seen it, I really recommend it. It's essentially the perfect American Screen Musical- funny, charming, upbeat, and a little bit ridiculous. But it's not just your generic feel good movie- the acting, first of all, is PHENOMENAL. Secondly, the script is pretty much perfectly crafted- all the characters are true to form in their dialog while remaining dynamic, a difficult feat in a comedy. Third, the entire concept is framed in such a way that the hugely self indulgent song-and-dance bits are still pertinent to the overall theme, culminating in the final scene where the movie advertises itself, breaking the "fourth wall" like it kind of did in the beginning. \
MOSTLY. Cosmo Brown. Lena Lamonte. That's all I have to say.

Wat Pomp

This is pretty much the greatest thing I have ever seen in all of my life

EVER.
Die Antwoord is without a doubt my favorite band. They're from South Africa, made up of the Ninja (crazy looking tattooed rapper,) Yolandi Vi$$er (blonde, eyebrowless, inbred lookin girl,) and the mysterious DJ HI-TECH (I guess he's the other guy.) I listen to this song every cahge I get- it's just a huge embrace of the bizarre. I definitely encourange anybody who's interested to look up the rest of Die Antwoord's music. Enter the Ninja is pretty great. Evil Boy, another single of theirs, is TOTALLY NSFW, but a banging song nonetheless.
Go forth and conquer, music lovers.

Riot Grrrl.

http://vimeo.com/21868232

I’m not a huge fan of VCU Basketball, or really sports in general, but I happily tuned in to the past two games. I was really excited for our team to make to the final four, so even though we lost to Butler, I was still proud. However, I was not proud at all of the idiocy that went on in the streets afterwards.

I understand being excited that we won. Last week, when we made the final four, I, like many, flooded the streets in celebration of our awesome achievement. However, once the crowd got so massive that we were blocking the streets and the authorities had to be called in, I took that as my cue to leave. As I tried to make it back to my building, I passed crowds of people chanting “fuck the police” and lighting things on fire, and when I got to my dorm, I was unable to cross the street because the police, wielding cans of mace, were blocking the way. All this because we won a game? Again, last night, I went out to get a bite to eat. I was unable to even get onto Broad Street, because people (again) were destroying property and being violent. The police let off tear gas, causing a huge flood of people to come racing back down the street in a mass panic. I managed to duck away inside before the chaos got too hectic, but it was really terrifying. People were being arrested and getting hurt. VCU’s reputation is under attack because of the antics of some over-privileged fuck-the-system stoner white boys who just want a fight, and not justice. I’ve had my fair share of strained encounters with the police. I used to be a real trouble maker and vandal, until I realized how idiotic I was being. What was I fighting for? In this video, there’s a shot of a girl standing in front of a line of police, arms outstretched in peace signs a-la Tiananmen Square. I’m sure she thinks she’s valiant, brave, revolutionary, progressive. Probably lots of people who saw her think the same. But really, she’s an idiot. This isn’t a war protest, this isn’t a struggle for civil equality, and this isn’t a fight for human rights. This is a bunch of drunk, angry, stupid teenagers acting like fools in the middle of a street, destroying things and becoming so violent that the police had to be called in. All this because we won a few games? Because we lost a few games? I don’t see riots like this happening any other times we play. Let’s be honest- most of the people out there weren’t thinking about the VCU Basketball team or even VCU at all. They just wanted a riot, and a riot’s what they got. It makes me sad that everyone was out there last night, protesting nothing, hoping for nothing, just looking for violence, when there’s so much more to hope for in this world. Where are all these students when we’re declaring unofficial war on Libya? Where are all these students when American legislation fails to represent American population? I would take tear gas for political reform. I’d gladly take rubber bullets to end human suffering. Would I do that for Shaka Smart? Absolutely not. So why the hysteria?

There’s another shot in the video of the policemen in their masks- maybe the viewer is supposed to feel fear, intimidation. Maybe we’re all supposed to get greased up in the paint of war, screaming Fuck the police and Remember Kent State! The police aren’t the enemy here- they’re heroes, who have to be away from their families on a Saturday night, facing hundreds of angry people who want nothing more than violence, praying to God that they don’t have to do what they have to do. Last night, I was ashamed to be a VCU student. I only hope that future experience leads these young people to understand how serious their actions are, and that they will learn to act when it really matters.

Furries

My boyfriend's mom is a really talented seamstress- she's designed costumes for the Virginia Stage Company countless times and has worked in lots of Broadway shows like Wicked, Spamalot, and Grease. Needless to say, her kids always have the coolest outfits. A few years ago, she made hats for everyone that looked like their favorite animal. My boyfriend has a fox hood- it's got big fox ears and looks like real fur (it's not, though.) They wear them when they go skiing every winter. As my christmas present, she sewed me this beautiful tiger hood to match my boyfriend's. I know it sounds weird, wearing a hat that looks like an animal head, but they're really exquisitely made and are so warm that I don't mind the funny looks I get. Still, one time I was at shafer with my man, before I'd gotten my tiger. He let me wear the fox hood and as we were getting ready to leave, a guy and his friend approached us and asked if they could ask me a question. He said, "I don't want to offend you, but....
are you a furry?"
I didn't know what a furry was, and told him so, and he thanked me and left, but I of course needed to know what on earth a furry was, so I went straight home and googled it.
Turns out, furries are people who dress in full body animal suits (like mascot suits, with a big removable head and everything.) There's a few sub-groups of furries, but in general, they're people who like the idea of anthropomorphic animals, many of whom create a "fursona," or animal identity. There is also, of course, the furry fetish, where people dress as animals and have sex, or find sexual pleasure in the idea of a human-animal hybrid.
I was kind of terrified to wear my hat after that, but in the warm weather I don't really have to worry about it. Ever since then, however, I've been much more aware of furries- I'm not a furry, nor is my boyfriend, nor do I know any in real life, but I think it's a very different perspective than we usually see, and it's also one that's very interesting and suprisingly deep-rooted.
If you were a furry, what do you think your "fursona" would be? What do you think of the furry culture? Do you know anyone who's a furry, or are you perhaps a furry yourself?

This is a picture of my basset hound, Sherman, wearing the fox hood. What a cutie.

Sucker

Her dark skin sank into the frothing waves like a drop of ink onto paper, the water beading on her smooth shoulders like millions of shards of glass. He reached out to her, but she was already gone. The sweet stench of seaweed rushed to sting his tear-filled eyes as he slowly turned his back to the sea.

Alas. She was gone, but she was all around him. Even the gaping mouth of last night’s dinner staring blankly at him from its newspaper wrapping seemed to shape her name- Rosie. Pictures she’d drawn in the dust on his coffee table; wrappers in his pockets from gum she’d asked him to hold onto; tea cups, unwashed, stained with her lipstick-- all mementos of her, and he, a veritable curator of loneliness. He rubbed the stump of his left hand, as if alleviating his aching arm would heal his broken heart, and carefully reattached the hook, fighting back a sob as he remembered how Rosie taught him how to play banjo, prosthetic limb and all. His eyes, swimming with memories and misery, turned to the ocean, scanning the horizon fruitlessly for her silhouette. How long he had lived here, a hermit in a crabbing town, huddled away in a wind-bleached cottage on the coast, alone-- until Rosie washed in and out of his life with the roaring tide.

Days and nights passed like a silent current under still water. His heart, bobbing on the buoyancy of sweet memories and sinking under the crushing weight of loss, became numb to all things. Every night, like clockwork, he would climb into bed and sleep a dark, dreamless sleep. Every morning he would coax aching, crackling bones out onto the beach to watch troughs and crests for any sign of Rosie. Nothing. Just the nasal trill of sea-gulls circling him like vultures, as if they could scent the deadness inside him. Cool autumn turned into frozen winter; frozen winter into rainy spring, until finally the canary beak of sunlight pierced the grey sky above and summer spread itself over the rocky coast like a thick pat of butter. The beach became peppered with fishing boats, swimmers, sunbathers. Like always, he would scour the horizon for his beloved. Like always, she did not appear… until one day, simply unextraordinary in any other way, she did. The screams of the beach-goers became as a symphony of violins as she wrapped her eight arms around him. He knew they made a funny pair, a fisherman and the kraken, but he did not care- he was happy at last. She pressed him to her heart, her millions of tiny sucker-pads trembling with emotion as stroked her rippling muscular flesh. He breathed in deeply, luxuriating in her scent of brine and Chanel No. 5.

“Oh Rosie… I thought you’d never come back.”

“SQREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”

“I love you too, Rosie.”

http://www.mediadump.com/hosted-id176-actors-in-character-now-that-is-acting.html

I found this page on stumbleupon, the scourge of the internet. Not only do I think these are some quality photos of some very talented actors, I thought it was a really great idea for a shoot. Alot of times, there seems to be some controversy over the talent levels of TV actors. Some, like Hugh Laurie, fall far beyond the reaches of daytime TV criticism, but others (Thomas Haden Church {is he even on TV?}) are perhaps a little more questionable. To be honest, I wasn't totally blown away by the still shots of some of these actor's emotional portrayals, but all in all, I thought it evidenced some real talent on these performer's parts. It's difficult enough to convey action or emotion without words- depriving the actors of movement through still photography increased the challenge even more. I'm especially interested in how some actors used their bodies much more than others- some just used hands and face (Hugh Laurie) and others (Amy Poehler) engaged their whole bodies. It's something I think is disregarded in acting sometimes- we're so used to just seeing close shots of actor's faces while they rattle off a well sculpted line, we often take for granted the immense talent many of them have.

Queen Elizabeth I's Final Address to Her Parliament

The Golden Speech- reproduced in part here as it was transcribed in its day

To be a King, and weare a Crown, is a thing more glorious to them that see it, then it is pleasant to them that beare it: for my selfe, I neuer was so much inticed with the glorious name of a King, or the royall authoritie of a Queene, as delighted that god hath made me His Instrument to maintaine His Truth and Glorie, and to defend this Kingdome from dishonour, dammage, tyrannie, and oppresion; But should I ascribe any of these things vnto my selfe, or my sexly weaknesse, I were not worthy to liue, and of all most vnworthy of the mercies I haue receiued at Gods hands but to God onely and wholly all is giuen and ascribed. 

The cares and trouble of a Crowne I cannnot more fitly resemble then to the Drugges of a learned Physitian, perfumed with some Aromaticall sauour, or to bitter Pils guilded ouer, by which they are made more exceeptable or lesse offensiue, which indeed are bitter and vnpleasant to take; and for my owne part, were it not for Conscience sake to discharge the dutie that God hath layd vpon me, and to maintaine his glorie, and keepe you in safetie; in mine owne disposition I should be willing to resigne the place I hold to any other, and glad to be freed of the Glory with the Labors, for it is not my desire to liue nor to reign longer then my life and reigne shall bee for your good. And though you haue had and may haue many mightier and wiser Princes sitting in this Seat, yet you neuer had nor shall haue any that will loue you better. 

Thus M^r. Speaker, I commend mee to your loyall Loues, and yours to my best care and your further Councels, & I pray you M^r. Controullor, & M^r. Secretary, and you of my councell, that before these Gentlemen depart into their Countreys you bring them all to kisse my Hand.
F I N I S.

This speech first appeared to me in a standardized post-test in high school. We were asked to analyze some small portion of it, and yet I was so taken with the Queen's eloquence that I actually tore the paper out of the test and pocketed it. I often re-read this speech, not just because of it's extraordinary images and beauty, but because, to me, it embodies the qualities of leadership we look for and yet commonly fail to find in our government. Elizabeth's words seem motivated by honesty and true desire to lead her people. She balances humility with immense strength- she even said herself another time, "I am not a lion, but because I am a lion cub, I have a lion's heart." She acknowledges the lack of power many expected from her, but really, she was a kick ass queen. I know it's difficult sometimes to maneuver the bizarreness of Olde English, but if you put the time into it to translate it for yourself, I think you'll be very pleased with the result.

(Hints to figuring out what she's saying- U=V and vice versa

alot of it, once you figure out the V's and U's, is phonetics.)

Voice

“Hey, you've got John!”

“I know very well who you are, you stinking son-of-a-bitch.”

“Ahhaha, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up! You’re a nasty, low down, pathetic excuse for a human!”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m saying! You miserable little prick, you wasted the best years of my life! I can’t stand you! I hate you!”

“Hang on…”

“DON’T YOU TELL ME TO HANG ON, ASSHOLE. I’ve waited enough for you to grow up and be a freaking man, instead of the whiny bitch-boy pansy-ass taint you are! I’m through waiting! I’m through with you!”

“Wh... Okay, yeah, yeah…”

“Yeah, yeah, you bastard!  I’m not gonna let you get away with this shit. You greasy pustule-crawling worm, you think you can cheat on me like that and be just fiiiine, huh! Well, I’ve got news for you, asshole! Tonight you can go screw your filthy little skank girlfriend- I’m gonna be halfway to Los Angeles tonight, and I’m taking all 'OUR' money with me, you mother fucking leech! Have fun bonking your slut when you can’t even afford condoms!”

“Wait, what?”

“You can just eat shit as far as I care, I don’t ever want to hear from you again! Go fuck yourself and die, you choad-faced dog!”

“Haha, gotcha! I'm not here right now, leave a message at the beep!”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep

“Hey baby… gotta love that voice mail, soooo funny, haha. Hey, I’m not gonna be able to make it to dinner tonight, my boss asked me to work late. I’ll text you though, okay? Love youuuuuuuu.”

Inkd

I’ve always been fascinated with tattoos- when I was a little kid I was constantly drawing on myself. Whenever any of my siblings would come home with a stick-on tattoo, I would throw a fit until I got one, too. As I grew older, my love of ink stayed strong. Far too many a time have I been yelled at by my parents for writing all over my arm. Nearly all of my friends have sported sharpie-ink drawn onto skin by my hand. I was obsessed with the history of tattoos and the symbolism behind them- from ancient tribes to sailor stories, corporal illustration was something I couldn’t get enough of. I could never decide if I’d rather be a tattoo artist or just get some tattoos, but I was certain that body-modi would be a part of my life. However, now that I have the resources to make this long time dream a reality, I find myself balking at the chance to permanently alter my appearance. I don’t know if it’s the fact that everyone and their mother (literally, their mother) has a tattoo or that I don’t feel like any of my stories merit a living symbol on my flesh, but suddenly, the idea of getting inked up has less appeal. I still love tattoos, though, but maybe not on me. What do you think? Are tattoos worth the pain and money required to get them? If you were to get a tattoo, what would you get, or if you have one, what is it and why?

In the same vein.

This weekend I rode the train up to DC with my mom to visit my sister. We did the routine "OMG HOW DO WE NAVIGATE THE METRO" and "OMG WHITEHOUSE" and  "OMG LEGLESS VETERAN TRUMPET PLAYING BUSKER" before we settled down for a pizza and some Ben & Jerry's delivery. Yeah, that's right, they deliver Ben & Jerry's in DC. No big.
Anywho, the three of us hunkered down in my sister's basement apartment with her English bulldog and chatted the night away, planning our adventures for Saturday and deciding whether or not we would avoid our other family members in the city.
It's kind of strange- everyone in our family is well adjusted, interesting, and fun to be around. Nobody's too goofy or awkward (although my grandpa is a mouth-kisser, making for mega weird greetings and goodbyes) and yet, for whatever reason, there's always a sense of hesitancy whenever we go to visit anyone. It's not just relatives- if friends ask us to come over for dinner or meet at the beach, we always go, but not before a hearty twenty minutes or so of everyone bracing themselves for all the uncomfortablenesses that may or may not (usually not) happen. It's become a sort of backwards ritual, backwards because of how social myself and my siblings are by nature. Put us in a room full of strangers, we'll make twenty friends in twenty minutes, but ask us to answer a phone at home or invite someone over, you'd think we were hermits. I don't know what it is, this sort of bi=polar socialization, but everyone in my family seems to have it, except my dad.
He just doesn't like anyone at all.
Regardless, my mom, sister, and myself, finally decided to have dinner the following night with my brothers family and my aunt and uncle. Primed for social disaster, we rolled up to the house about thirty minutes late, fifteen of which had been spent debating whether or not we should even go. Needless to say, the time between walking in the door and walking out simply flew by with hardly a silent moment, and after heartfelt goodbyes and promises to hang out again soon, we found ourselves driving back to my sister's, marinated in equal parts good company and guilt.
"That was great" said my mom.
"I had fun" quipped my sister.
"We're awful people."
They couldn't agree more. We resolved to be better next time, not be so cynical- try getting more enthusiastic about hanging out with family, be more social, have more fun.
"We really should, guys," urged my mother. "They're so charitable- we should be more positive! We should be more hospitable." Agreed, agreed.
"Maybe next time I'll give them a big ol' mouth-kiss." Right back to square one.

In defense of chivalry.

Since when did chivalry become misogynist? I was recently at a camp where the women were served dinner before the men, as a communal gesture of respect and old timey manners. One of the young women refused to be served before the men, and stood at the back of the line, insisting this was “so not politically correct” and “totally anti feminist.” As a proud supporter of women’s rights, I found her political take on chivalry a little wonky.

I think for me, the issue resides in the definition of the term “feminist.” Some perceive (incorrectly, in my opinion) that feminism is about making women “equal” to men, when in fact, I believe it to be entirely otherwise. Feminism is about ensuring equal opportunity for women, while at the same time embracing the uniqueness of Woman-kind. This young lady felt patronized by being treated differently than men, and I can understand that. When I was her age, I, too, refused to eat before the gentlemen when offered, but as I age, I feel there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the privilege of first-choice at the buffet. I feel that politeness towards women, when offered as an appreciation of our natural grace and importance to society, is in fact a wonderful step towards equal appreciation for all human kind. With that said, the following behaviors are, in my mind, more or less unacceptable for a man of reasonable age.

1)      Not getting the door for a lady—It’s about as basic as it gets. Open it, step back, hold it, let her pass, go on with your day and feel good about your classy display of manners.

2)      Ogling women, especially when you’re with another lady—I get it. We’re gorgeous... but keep your eyeballs in your head and your you-know-what in your pants and treat us with the respect we deserve. The female body is hardly as beautiful as the female mind, and there are sure some lookers out there. Get to know us for who we are, not what size or shape.

3)      Not walking on the street side of the sidewalk—This one is a little more nitpicky and understandably can be difficult to remember, but if you’re walking with a lady or pass one on the sidewalk, it’s considered good etiquette to pass on the street side of the sidewalk. I’m not sure how this habit came about, but I sure like it. It just seems sweet when I’m walking with my boyfriend, and he’ll switch sides with me to walk by the street. (I think he does this because I’m actually pretty terrified of falling into the street, a phobia of mine…. But still.)

4)      Not standing up when a woman enters/leaves the room or table—Again, this can seem a little excessive if you’re in a crowded restaurant, but the idea is that if a woman approaches in a formal setting, you should stand up and acknowledge her. (Flippin do this for anybody, really. Throw a sweeping bow in there, or some applause. Have fun with it, because there is no better feeling than walking into a room and having everybody take the time to greet you sincerely.)

5)      Making tired, over played, misogynist jokes. All. The. Time.—I realize I sound like some stuffy grandmother, yammering on about chivalry and manners, but what it comes down to is this: Women (really, all humans) are important, beautiful, unique, and valuable. Treat us like it- and for all you women reading this, treat each other like it. The “get me a sandwich, woman” and “shouldn’t you be in the kitchen” jokes can be (barely) funny the first time someone says them, but after that one time, it just gets stupid. It makes you appear as someone willing to disregard a person’s dignity for the sake of a half-hearted chuckle. With that said, I understand joking around with your friends, and who am I to tell you what to do with your time, but really, reconsider those lines. It’s not funny- it’s kind of lame.

Most importantly—Be genuine. If you really don’t care for women at all, you’ve got bigger problems than can be fixed by a few polite actions, and if you really feel ideologically opposed to having manners, far be it from me to pressure you otherwise. But I challenge you to take a good hard look at how you treat women. Look at how we are treated in this society, how we treat each other, how we treat ourselves-as women AND as men, as human beings with dignity. We’ve come a long way as a society, and we have a long way to go. We might as well try to be polite while we get there.

BLOGGER TAKES DOWN MAINSTREAM MEDIA

I hate headlines. Yesterday I saw a headline that said "VATICAN NIXES IPHONE." Immediately, I assumed that the Pope must have banned iPhones or something- because isn't that what the headline leads you to believe?  The link led me to this article.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/41491844/ns/technology_and_science-wireless/

In fact, the article was about how the Vatican maintains that Catholics can not phone in their confessions to receive the sacrament of reconciliation. There's a new iPhone app for Catholics that guides them through an examination of conscience- that is to say, it helps practicing Catholics prepare for the sacrament, but not actually confess on the phone. There's nothing sensational about that- anyone who is familiar with Catholic teaching shouldn't be surprised by that- and yet there I was, terrified that there would be yet another reason for people to jump to assumptions about my faith.

I feel that far too often, mainstream media over-sensationalizes day to day news. If a person were to base their understanding of current events solely off of headlines, they would end up with quite a skewed view of the world. A headline of "BOY FACES COURT, ALLIGATOR SEX TRIAL" certainly paints a certain kind of picture- yet, the article may in fact be about two entirely different things. There seems to be no end to the attention grabbing tactics common in journalism today.

What's your opinion- do you think headlines are intentionally over-hyped to grab attention? Do you think this is necessary- if so, why do you think it got this way?

Facetime.

Today I gave up skype, and that's saying alot for me. On a usual day, I'll be on skype for at least three hours on end. My boyfriend and I are really close, and so skype is a really great tool for us. That isn't to say we talk the whole time we're online. I'll have skype on while I'm doing homework or playing a game online- it allows us to have constant availability without constant chatter. However, today, there will be no constant communication. In fact, there will be hardly any communication for the rest of the weekend. I'm going on a retreat, where computers, ipods, cellphones, etc, will all be off limits. I know I'll make it through, as I have countless times in the past, but I certainly won't care for it. Not only will I not be able to see my honey's face while we chat, I won't be able to talk to him at all. Sometimes people give me a hard time because he and I talk to eachother so often, but I thought that's how it's supposed to be. I don't think it's unhealthy- I talk to him not out of necessity or insecurity, but because he genuinely is more interesting than anyone else I know. I see nothing wrong with having an open dialogue (open as in without time-constraint) with anyone, especially with your sweetheart. What do you think? Is it unhealthy to talk to your boyfriend/girlfriend all the time? How much of a relationship nowadays is facilitated through electronic communication?

Jellybean.

My Story-

I got it right.

I saw him looking back at me in the mirror, watching me to see which room I’d volunteer for. As I raised my hand, his own shot up in the air and we were matched. Our job was to clean up the room, make sure it was clear of costumes and makeup and inhabitable for classes the following week. As I walked down the hallway, Tyler flitted about beside and behind me. My heart thudded thickly in my chest, wheezing with nerves and frustration. I’d been hot for Tyler for months now, and every time he got close, I’d get burned. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to fall for him again, not this time.

I pushed open the heavy door, pasting a smile onto my face and saying, through gritted teeth, “All right. The first twenty minutes will consist of us cleaning up and fixing the futon. The next twenty minutes will consist of me taking a nap on the futon.”

Tyler snaked around from behind me, his voice clutching at my mind like an octopus reaching from the deep. “And the last twenty minutes will consist of me eating you out on the futon.”

No sir. I’m not the kind of girl to go for that brazen, playboy type. “Resisting him has never been easier,” I thought to myself. Still, I’d known him for so long, I could see past his d-bag machismo. This bravado was a façade- Tyler wouldn’t even know what to do with himself if given the chance.

I brushed his comment off and we busied ourselves with tidying up the room. As we cleared the floor of clutter, my mind became more and more disarrayed. Why would he say that? Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Heart beating, brain grinding, I desperately tried to calm myself. Tyler interrupted my reverie.

“So I’ve been thinking.”

He’d cornered me behind a chalkboard, the kind that flips over so you can write on either side. I stared at the upside-down phonetic alphabet as he drew closer. I’d been hot for Tyler for months now, and every time he got close, I’d get burned. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to fall for him again, not this time.

“How would you like to date me… and another couple?”

There were sirens going off in my head, bleating out DON’T ASK DON’T’ ASK DON’T ASK, struggling in vain to drown out my heart’s whisper of “yes.”

“What do you mean?”

He explained. “It would be like if you and I dated Luke and Daniel. Together, you and I don’t have to be a couple, but we, as one, are attracted to Luke and Daniel as one, and they, together, are attracted to us together.”

My heart couldn’t have sunk lower if it had been made of cement. Just some experiment. Just for fun, to try it out. He didn’t want me, he just wanted a game. Every ounce of will in my body hardened against him in outrage as I spat, “What a stupid idea. That would never work.”

“But would you want to try it?”

“Yes,” whispered my heart. “But you’d never find another couple to do it with us,” blurted my mind.

In walk Madison and Shane, the hot new couple of the week. In a whirlwind of “Hey wanna try it” and explanation, Tyler and I were suddenly dating Madison and Shane. Please, God, let this be end of it. Alas, Shane, close friend and ever the instigator, was fully aware of my conflicted amorous feelings towards Tyler.

“One problem. Since Madison and I are dating, you and Reenie should date too!”

Over the beaming light of Tyler’s big brown eyes and freckles all turned on at one hundred percent intensity, I saw Shane grinning devilishly at me, pleased as punch at the awful situation he’d just put me in. As Tyler’s mouth opened, asking, my heart threw itself at the barricades I’d been layering on night after night, month after month; it breaks through, jumps to my mouth, and whispers,

“Yes.”

Tyler's Take-

It's like I ate a jellybean and was knighted without knowing it. A friend became my girlfriend.  The Song of Roland played, but I still had to learn the words. I had no idea what I was doing, but there wasn't anyone else I would be more comfortable trying this with, I knew that at least. It's like I learned how to breathe without knowing what breathing was, and I thank God that oxygen was there when I didn't know I needed it and that I didn't hold my breath.

Little

It's November, your birthday.
You're two years old. My arm,
outstretched in pride and love,
rests on the back of your chair.
You stare, grinning, into the camera.

Big blue eyes and blonde hair pair us together.
You have a little face, little hands, little idea

of what is to come, beyond sweet cake,

presents, and song. You know all the words.

You'll always be judged by your intelligence.

We always fight for control- you made me so mad.
But you're smart, and strong, and I'm so proud
to be your sister. I feel like I left you all alone
to fight Mom and Dad by yourself, with little fists.
I'll always want to protect you more than I want to be right.
Why aren't we friends?

Bully.

To make a long story short, I began this year with a roommate for whom I was really poorly suited. We didn't get along by any stretch- I quietly put up with her neurosis and rebelled when necessary, she hyper-scrutinized my every move and gossipped about me to anyone who would listen. It was bad. I moved out. It got better.
To make a long story long, I wrote this after moving out. I was going to give it to her, but I'm a coward.
So instead I'll just post it on the Internet.

.
.
.

I remember everything I’ve ever done wrong. I know who I’ve hurt, how it hurt, why it hurt. I know it. I hate it. I feel it every day. I’m haunted.


I remember everything ever done wrong to me. I remember the one time you and then she said and I remember the look on your face and the tone of your voice and every damned word that came out of your mouth. I remember how it hurt, where it hurt, how long it hurt. I feel it. Still. I’m haunted.
I can’t forget.


I bear the scars of my every wrong, of every word, action, thought that defies my better nature. I labor under the shroud I make myself out of other's weakness, their ignorance, their fear, their hate.
I remember every time I closed the door and was flooded with a million things to say that I should have said could have said if only I’d said but I’d never say it.  I never say anything. I remember every blow you dealt with your words and with your actions and I remember every muscle in my body struggling to break free of my self control and make your body remember to never talk to me that way again. I never did anything.

I don’t say anything. I don’t do anything. I don’t, I won’t, because, as much as you hurt me, as angry as I am at you, as worthless as you are to me, I know how it feels to be hurt and I know I’m a stronger person than you. As much as I want you to feel the pain you make me feel, to have the burning inside your heart that tells you “This Will Never Go Away,” to think to yourself how bad it is, to think to yourself it could never get better, I won’t let you be crushed under the burden of emotion that I know I can bear better than you.

I may hate you. I may want you to disappear. I may want to burn this building down so I can know I’ll never run into you again. Your personality, your ideas and ideals, your values, your beliefs, your choices are all repugnant to me. I despise the thing you choose to be, I hate the role you choose to play. I hate the thing you’ve told yourself you will be. But I can’t hurt the human in you. I won’t do it. Because I know that no matter how worthless you are, how terribly you treat me or how much poison you spread around my life, you have value that deems you worth respect, if only on a biological level. You are alive so I will not hurt you. Say what you will about me. Think what you will and run and tell all your friends.  Fight with who you think I am, scream at who I wouldn’t be to you, loathe my assumed persona and see me as you want to see me. Rally away, beat it down. You’ll only be hitting at a ghost.

I’m haunted. I can’t forget.


But you’ll

never

 win.

Conflicted, with a scholarly aftertaste.

I knew from the beginning that I’d be going to college. My parents made it very clear, as did my school system. Every level of education stated that their purpose was to prepare us for the following level- first grade prepared us for second, second for third, so on and so forth until senior year, preparing us for the pinnacle of academia- college. The issue was, I had (and to be honest, have) very little idea why I’m here. I’m aware of the necessity of having a college degree to get any sort of white collar job, and doubt that I’ll ever find myself regretting a college degree, but I balk at the idea of accruing such an immense debt all for- what? For a piece of paper that says I was able to keep my head down and get through four years of processed learning? Maybe I’ll get a second piece of paper, on with a big fancy Master’s on it, but even then, where will I be? I have lots of interests, and I genuinely want to learn, but I don’t know that any of my interests are truly worth a couple ten thousand a year. Sure, there are plenty of jumping-off points, but I’m not entirely sure I’m really setting myself up to make the best of this huge investment. I’d rather be here than working at an ice cream shop at home, but what’s to say that this education is really going to establish a viable enough skill set to make me marketable in mainstream industry? Especially with artistic interests- will a BA or BFA in an arts discipline make me a better artist than someone who didn’t go to school? Maybe I’ll learn a little more technique, or network more, but at the end of my days, will I look back and think to myself- Gee, that extra thousand dollars worth of busy work and credit hours really made a difference! Not to sound ungrateful, but I doubt it. I’d rather reminisce and be able to recognize the countless points in my life where I grew as a person- where I heightened my life and the lives of those around my through experience, not just what was on my resume.

If only education were as free as its results are freeing. I do believe in education; I think it’s vital to being a better human, but I’m not quite sold on the extremist of a university degree.

I always found public expressions of personality to be sort of off-putting.

I, like nearly every other girl in my fifth grade class, kept a diary under my pillow, tucked away from the prying eyes of my sisters and little brother. My mother advised me against this public-secrecy- as a writer, she understood the power of words, and the incredible compulsion to put them to paper, but as a sister, she knew the dangers of writing your innermost thoughts and storing them anywhere your siblings could find them. "Be careful what you write, Irene. It never goes away." Needless to say, she was never a big fan of the Internet.
When I first started writing on Internet forums, I thought I'd only do so out of support for my other friends who blogged. I'd make a Wordpress, a Tumblr, what have you, and, when reminded, would log on to read their inanities and occasionally post some of my own. I never really wrote anything worth mentioning until I realized I could blog on Myspace- and once I realized that, there was no stopping me. My rants ranged from familiar spats to full on hate-letters to friends I had lost, loves I had never had. The Internet became my own personal dartboard; I would hurl anonymous hatred out into the vast expanse of  URLs and HTML without any repercussion. That is, until my mom found my blog and so soundly kicked my proverbial ass that I was scared to look at a QWERTY again, let alone implement it.
I would hope that somewhere in all that mess I would have found a sense of stability in my writing, but alas. My Moleskine can only hold so much, my emotions can only last so long without an audience, my self-awareness will only allow me a few minutes at a keyboard before I think to myself,
"Who am I kidding? No-one's going to read this anyway." And yet, here I am, the proud owner of a blushing blog. Hey Public, nice to see ya.

Mao Zedong had a Five-Year Plan, too.

Ah, the ever-popular bucket list.

This year
I will get into my desired major
I will lose fifty pounds
I will learn how to swim
I will get a job
I will do No-Shame
I will become a Resident Assistant
I will drink more water
I will go someplace new at least once a month
I will watch a new movie or read a new book once a week
I will pray every day

Within five years
I will get engaged or married
I will open a bakery
I will get my own house or apartment
I will travel to Spain or France
I will learn to speak Spanish fluently
I will knit everyone in my family a sweater
I will run a marathon
I will swim in the Pacific Ocean
I will go someplace exotic for vacation

Within my lifetime-
I will own a big dog
I will shake the Pope's hand
I will shave my head for a cause
I will go on a cruise
I will learn French
I will fly an airplane
I will write a book
I will meet royalty
I will paint all of my childrens' rooms like their favorite storybook
I will learn how to play the banjo and harmonica at the same time
I will skinny dip
I will attend and awards show
I will give a speech to a crowd
I will take piano lessons
I will write an award winning screenplay or direct an award winning show
I will, after turning sixty, engage in progressively more dangerous things until I die doing something extraordinary, or
I will die peacefully in my sleep next to my husband.